by Raye Wagner
Like having to go to Half Moon Bay. But Hope didn’t say it. Instead, she focused on herself. “I hate how it affects my reflexes.”
Hope dried her hands and came out of the bathroom.
“I know, right? Not sure why the boys like it so much. Now, do you need anything?”
“Nope. I’m going to brush my teeth and clean up. Then can I go sit with Athan?”
Dahlia nodded. “You might have to fight Obelia for the right, but I won’t stop you.”
“Thanks, Dahlia.”
“Sure, ’course. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re safe.”
Emotion welled in Hope’s throat. It was nice to have friends.
“I’ll check on you later, Hope.”
“Okay.”
The door clicked shut, and Hope went to lock it. She went back to the bathroom and set her knives on the counter. She rinsed her mouth and then brushed her teeth and her tongue. Twice. Sticky with sweat and blood, Hope turned on the shower and peeled off her clothes. She let the hot water beat down on her skin, relieving the tension in her back.
She dressed in gray sweats and a black T-shirt and then padded her way to Athan’s room. Hope knocked once, and when there was no answer, she slowly opened the door.
Athan’s room was dark, lit only by a small floor lamp in the shape of a candlestick. The walls were a pale-olive-green and the bedding and upholstery a darker shade of the same color with accents of rich blue. Trophies from track and field lined a high shelf, and several shelves of books lined one entire wall. In one corner were a smattering of musical instruments and a desk by the window.
The desk was covered with papers, and there were several frames containing black-and-white pictures. As Hope drew closer, she saw a beautiful woman with fair hair, pale skin, and bright eyes. There was another one with Athan, the woman, and an older man who looked a lot like Athan. They were dressed in what appeared to be period costumes from the 1800s, and they were laughing. There were a few others of Athan and the man in regular clothes and one picture of a young lady with dark hair and dark eyes.
Suddenly feeling as though she were prying, Hope stopped examining the room and went over to the bed. A chair was pulled up next to the bed, and Hope sat in it.
“Athan?” She reached out and took his hand. It was warm and dry, and touching him brought back memories. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered the words and put her head on the bed. His scent was everywhere. Her tears fell silently.
Hope awoke in the middle of the night, stiffness in her shoulders and neck from sleeping at a weird angle. Her first thoughts were of Athan, and she studied his body to see if he’d moved.
A sheen of sweat covered his brow, and, even in sleep, his features were contorted with the pain.
Hope went to the bathroom and ran a washcloth under cold water. When she stepped into the room, she noticed the door ajar. A cursory glance around revealed nothing significant out of place or altered. She went to the door and scanned the hall. There was no one, and Hope tried to shake off a sense of unease.
She went back to Athan and put the washcloth on his forehead. A familiar squeak made her sit upright. That was her door! She dashed down the hall.
Her door was closed but unlatched, yielding to the pressure of her hand. Certainly she would’ve closed it. With raw nerves, she eased the door open but left the light off. Her eyes, similar to that of a cat, dilated quickly, allowing for perfect vision even with the minimal light. Scanning her room, nothing seemed amiss in the almost sterile environment. She stayed in the doorway until the door was wide open, touching the opposite wall. Through the break on the hinge side she could see the blank wall. No one there either.
She stepped through the door. The air carried her familiar smell and something more. Somebody had been in there. And probably more than one somebody. She crossed the room, checked the closet, and then the bathroom. Nothing. It was as stark and ugly as always, and completely unoccupied. The smell could have been Dahlia and Xan.
Hope reached across the counter for a cup, and something nagged at her consciousness. Her gaze traveled over the bathroom—the toilet, shower, counter, mirror. Something was missing.
Her clothes lay in a heap on the floor, right where she’d left them, the blood now a dark, rusty stain. She kicked them to the corner and reached down to pick them up. Her muscles screamed in protest. She jerked upright, and her head swam. Her nausea resurfaced, and a feeling of defeat crawled over her. She’d better lie down before the exhaustion, or whatever this was, made her. She dropped her clothes in the laundry basket and collapsed on the bed.
IN THE HOURS BETWEEN night and morning, Hope awoke to the distant muffled voices of an argument. Sleep pulled and sucked at her consciousness, promising relief from the aching of her muscles. She rolled to the side and then pushed herself up on the bed. The nausea was gone, but her head was only lightly tethered and threatened to float away.
She crossed her room and opened the door. The voices scratched and clawed at each other, almost like physical blows. She debated going back to bed, but her stomach growled, letting her know that wasn’t an option.
When she recognized his voice, she ran down the stairs and straight into the kitchen.
“Xan!” Her smile froze and dropped with her limbs when she took in the rest of the scene.
Endy and Obelia faced him but turned to glare at Hope, accusations sharp in their eyes. Xan held both her daggers in his hands. His consternation made her want to run back upstairs and throw up again.
“Where did you get those?” She stepped forward and held out her hand.
“They were in your room. Do you think they’re yours?” Endy reached out to grab the gold dagger, but Xan held them high.
“They are.” She glared at Endy and held out her hand to Xan. Her anger spilled over, and she glared at him when he didn’t give them to her. “They were given to me by my mother.” She pointed at Endy. “You went into my room without my permission.” She stepped forward, tempted to hit him. “Besides the rules of propriety, aren’t there house rules that forbid such prying?”
“Hope.” Xan sounded weary.
“What?” Her jaw clenched. How dare they make her feel like she was on trial for having immortal weapons? How dare their sneaking be the reason she got in trouble? And beneath the anger was screaming, hot fear. Suddenly, the smells in her room were recognizable. Recognizable because they stood right in front of her. Both Obelia and Endy had been in her room.
“These are yours?” It was as though Xan were willing it to not be true.
“They are.”
“Where did you get them?” He seemed to sink into himself, as if the burden was too heavy to bear. “Did you steal them?”
“Steal them?” She frowned. “No. I told you my mother gave them to me.”
“Who’s your mother?”
“Leto.”
“Leto? The Titan goddess? Impossible!” Endy sounded outraged. “There is no way—”
“Stop.” Xan grabbed the golden demigod by the shirt. “Obelia, why don’t you and Endy go find someone else to harass?” He shoved Endy away from him. “I’d like to speak with Hope alone.”
“We want to witness.” Obelia scowled and took a step toward Xan.
Xan towered over her, glaring at the petite demigod. “Get. Out. Now! You too, Endy.”
Obelia’s legs bowed, and she walked away without another word.
Endy stood, his body ramrod straight, scowling at Xan.
“Endymion!” Xan roared.
Hope covered her ears.
“I command you to leave this room!” Xan punctuated his directive with his fist to Endy’s face.
Something crunched, and Endy staggered backward and fell to the floor, blood dripping from his smashed nose. He looked up at Xan with a mixture of terror and hatred, while his hand smeared the crimson across his face. “You . . . you broke my nose.”
Xan stood over Endy, his fists clenched and his frustration simmering
at the surface.
“I can’t believe you,” Endy growled. “You know what this means.” He pointed at the weapons still in Xan’s hands. “She’s a monster. There’s nothing else that could explain—”
With a flick of his wrist, Xan threw the dagger with the blood rubies. It spun through the air, flashing silver and red. With a thud, it lodged in the floor right between Endy’s legs.
“Shut your face. I’ll decide what I do.” He waved the gold dagger. “Now, if you don’t leave in the next five seconds, Sun-boy, I will kill you with your own weapon.” He held up the golden blade.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he said. Despite his bravado, he scrambled up, then wiped his nose with a wince.
Xan smiled cruelly. “Try me.”
Endy shifted, as if to walk forward, but then shifted again and stepped back.
“You’re an idiot, Xan. If you had your way, you’d get us all killed. Well, I’m not going to sit here and do nothing. I’m getting my brothers.” With that, he walked from the room, cursing under his breath.
Oh gods, his brothers.
Xan pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit down.”
Hope dropped into a wooden chair.
Xan crossed over to the doorway and stooped low. He clasped the hilt of the dagger and pulled it from the floor, leaving a gaping scar in the hardwood.
He took a seat across the table from Hope and set the daggers between them.
“Where did you get them?”
“From my mom.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Like I said.”
“And your mom is Leto?”
“Yes.”
“The Titan goddess?”
Hope dropped her head. “No.”
Xan rubbed his hand over his face. “Is your mom a goddess?”
“No.” There it was. Now there was no way of going back.
“What in the name of Hades?” He pushed back from the table and paced the room. “Even Poseidon said . . . Oh gods, he knew. This is bad.” He stopped pacing and came back to the table. He pulled the chair out and flipped it backward before sitting down. He narrowed his icy blue eyes. “But you’re not mortal?”
“No.” Hope focused on the table, her finger tracing concentric circles in the wood.
He took a deep breath. “I can hardly believe I’m asking you this.” He reached out to touch her, but withdrew his hand before contact. “Hope, are you really . . .”
Hope forced herself to meet his eyes.
Sadness, worry, pain crossed his features, one after another. Xan dropped his head into his hands, and his breathing hitched.
She owed him this. “My mom died about a year and a half ago,” Hope began. “She’d started dating Paul Crawford. She said it didn’t mean anything; they were just having fun. And it was nice to have a friend. Sarra, Paul’s daughter, was my best friend.” She pushed away the emotions climbing through her heart. “She was the first friend I’d had for, well, most of my life really. Until then, we’d moved a lot, trying to stay hidden from the other immortals, Skia, demigods, even the gods.”
Hope took a deep breath. “Anyway, it was Friday. I went to school like any other day. Sarra and I rode the bus; we talked about what we were reading and what we were going to do on Saturday. I was in English when someone from the office came in. They called my name, and I was surprised. I’d never gotten called to the office before. But I thought my mom had come to get me to go on a trip or maybe shopping, you know?” She paused, the memories catching up to her.
She tried to stop the tears from coming, pushing her emotions down. She gasped a couple of shaky breaths before continuing, “When I got there, they had me sit outside the principal’s office. Then, the school counselor called me into her office. She told me there had been an accident, a fire, at our apartment building. That my mom had been caught in it and she’d passed. That’s how she said it. ‘She’s passed, Hope,’ like it was a test she’d taken. At some point, I stood up and ran out of her office. I remember running on the street. I ran all seven miles to the apartment. And when I got there, it was black. Burned. Not all of it, but enough. I sat there until Sarra got off the bus, and her father took her away, calling me a monster.”
Hope couldn’t hold back her tears, and they slid down her cheeks and onto her shirt. “I ended up in foster care for a few weeks until the court cleared my emancipation paperwork. I don’t remember much except yelling and babies crying.” She dropped her head into her hands. “I do have one vivid memory of sitting in my room at a time that I had changed. Someone was banging on the door, and I screamed for them to go away. I couldn’t have them see me like that.” Hope gestured to her body.
Xan said nothing, but his eyes were wide.
Hope continued, “It’s only two days and one night, when Apollo’s power is the strongest. Otherwise I look human.” She raised her shoulders and brought her elbows close to her body, curling into herself. “After the emancipation was granted, I moved to Goldendale. Priska was trying to track down information about what had happened to my mom. I got settled, got into a routine, and went to school. But, I was . . . lonely. And then I met Athan. At first, I didn’t even like him. After a Skia attacked me, we kind of became friends. At least I thought we were friends. I didn’t even know he was a demigod until another Skia attacked us both. Anyway, Athan said . . .” She shook her head. This wasn’t about her and Athan. “It doesn’t matter what he said.”
Her gold eyes pled for understanding. “I had no intention of ever coming to a conservatory when Athan tried to recruit me before he knew what I was. I knew demigods killed monsters. But . . .” She couldn’t tell him about Artemis. “I was told I needed to get to the Olympian library. This was the only way.”
“Bloody Mer,” Xan swore.
“Now, I don’t even know why I did. I haven’t found a single answer.” She put her head in her hands. “I’m sorry, Xan. I didn’t mean to deceive you.”
“I still don’t know what you are. These daggers are really yours?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Are you the Sphinx?” He ran his fingers through his hair.
Hope didn’t want to answer, but if anyone deserved the truth it was Xan. Gods, he was going to hate her. It was physically painful to have to admit it. She closed her eyes and nodded her assent.
“Bloody Hades!” He slammed his fist on the table.
Shame bound her. Hope shifted in her chair; her body screamed to flee. But she owed him this, so she gritted her teeth and stayed seated.
Xan yelled and shoved away from the table, his chair crashing to the floor. He grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip. With a yank, he pulled her up. “What the Hades were you thinking?”
INSTEAD OF WAITING FOR her response, he dragged her across the kitchen toward the pantry.
No, not the pantry.
He stopped in front of the other door, the one with the key pad, and punched in a code. With a forceful yank, he pulled the door open, shoved her in, and then slammed it shut.
What the Kracken?
Hope stared at a stainless steel wall, the seams of the door almost invisible.
Thump. Thump, thump, thump.
Oh, gods. Xan was pounding on the door.
Guilt churned her stomach, but she pushed it away. Honesty wouldn’t have gotten her a better result. She wouldn’t have even gotten in the front door. Artemis had told her this would be the only way. What more could she have done?
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
She surveyed the cold room. It was small, no more than three cubic meters. The walls, ceiling, and floor all appeared to be stainless steel. The door was flush with the wall, no handle on her side. The light came through small holes in the ceiling, the artificial light harsh and bright.
Thump, thump, thump.
She sat in the corner and pulled her knees to her chest.
Thump. Thump.
It was like Athan all over again, only worse. So much worse.
Why was it so much worse?
<
br /> Thump.
She dropped her head to her knees and let her tears drip to the cold, hard floor. She knew he’d feel that way. Hadn’t Priska warned her? If they discovered what she was, they would kill her.
The hissing of air startled her from her stupor.
Xan stood in the doorway, sadness filling his eyes. He extended his hand, his raw knuckles dripped blood onto the hardwood floors. “All the books . . . All the stories . . . I thought the Sphinx was killed in Thebes. I thought Oedipus killed you after he solved the riddle. How old are you really?”
She scrambled up but stayed where she was. “Seventeen.”
“How long have you been seventeen?” He crossed his arms and frowned.
She hated that he didn’t trust her anymore. “Almost a year. I’ll be eighteen next month.”
He seemed to make a decision as he stood aside and waved for her to pass. “But you were created thousands of years ago?”
If he was going to kill her, he wouldn’t let her out, right? Could she trust him? Hope stepped into the kitchen. “Not me, my grandmother, Phaidra. She was the first Sphinx. She lived thousands of years. Her daughter, my mother, was named Leto.”
“Leto. By the gods. How did Poseidon know?” He let out a slow breath. “You don’t know what this means.” He blinked, pausing too long as he cursed to himself. “All right.” He closed the door, crossed the kitchen, and sat down at the table.
Hope stared. Certainly he couldn’t mean to continue their previous conversation?
He indicated that she sit.
Maybe he did. She sat across from him.
“Tell me, how is it that you are not”—he gestured to her body—“the Sphinx all the time?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at the door to the steel room. The door was dented, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. She averted her eyes. “This is how it’s always been for me and my mom. Only around the new moon when Apollo’s power is the greatest, otherwise we appear human.”
“The history of the Sphinx ended when you, or rather your grandmother, died after Oedipus solved her riddle. She was always a Sphinx.”
