The Crown of Zeus: The Library of Athena Book 1

by Christine Norris

  I want to go home. She meant to New York.

  After school, Megan stood on the front steps of St. Agatha’s, waiting for her ride home, wondering how much a one-way ticket from Heathrow to JFK cost. She was miserable and had a ton of homework; her backpack felt like it was going to rip her shoulder off.

  She shifted her bag to the other shoulder and watched a group of six girls clustered nearby. She had seen a couple of them in her classes, and was pretty sure they were in her year, but didn’t know any of their names.

  She watched out of the corner of her eye as they whispered intently between themselves and took furtive glances in her direction. Megan couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she sure knew who. Just like at lunch. Don’t they have anything better to do?

  She allowed this to go on for a few minutes, appearing oblivious to their whisperings. Finally she had enough. She whipped her head around and marched over to them.

  “Excuse me.” She walked right up to the tallest girl. “Is there a problem?”

  Three of the girls turned bright red, took a few steps back, and slunk away, their heads down, leaving their three co-conspirators behind.

  Proper English girls don’t gossip, do they? Megan gave a wide smile that dripped with sugar.

  “There’s no problem, is there, girls?” the tall one said in a flat tone, still toe-to-toe with Megan.

  “Well, I think there is.” Megan’s smile was gone. “You’ve all been giggling and talking about me behind my back. Care to share?”

  The girl licked her lips. “We were just wondering…”

  “About what? My accent, my shoes, or my hair maybe?”

  The girl pushed a lock of her straight black hair behind her ear, unfazed. “Ah, no, actually. We were wondering about your house.”

  It was Megan’s turn to step back. “My House? Oh, I’m in, uh, Whitmore, I think?”

  The girls giggled. Megan felt like she had missed the punchline of a joke, and her cheeks burned.

  It was the girl with short brown hair and glasses who replied. “No, not your academic House, your house. You know, where you live?”

  Megan lifted her eyebrows, confused. “You want to know about…my…house?”

  The third girl, a pretty blonde with loose, shoulder-length curls, pulled her Burberry purse up higher on her shoulder. “You do live in the big manor house on Knapford Road, right? The Paragon?”

  “The Parthenon,” Megan corrected. “What about it?” It wasn’t the conversation she expected, but she was kind of happy they were actually talking to her.

  The dark-haired girl pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, also seeming to choose her words carefully. “We wanted to know, you see, er, whether or not you’ve seen anything…anything strange since you’ve been there?”

  “What do you mean, strange? Like African artifacts strange? Or like bad decorating strange?”

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” the second girl said. She pushed her thick glasses up her long nose. She gave a furtive look. “Like ghosts. Unhappy spirits roaming about the halls at night.”

  Megan almost laughed out loud. “No. Why would you think that?”

  “The stories about that house are sort of a local legend,” the tall girl said. She gave the other two a superior look. “I never believed them, but…”

  “Oh, Rachel, come off it,” said the blonde. “You were scared witless when my gran told you the story.”

  “What story?” Megan crossed her arms over her chest and relaxed.

  Rachel hesitated. “The ones that say the ghost of that crazy old man who used to live there haunts the place.”

  “Sir Gregory? You think that the ghost of Sir Gregory haunts my house? Why would you think that?”

  These girls are nuts, Megan thought. Out of their minds. But hey, they’re talking to me, right? She wondered for a moment if they were keeping her busy long enough for someone to tape a “Kick Me” sign on her back. It was something the kids at her old school would have done to a new kid. In a heartbeat.

  “They say he was murdered, right there in his own bed,” the blonde girl said. “And that his spirit walks the halls all night, looking for the killer. My gran says he’s guarding something, something that no one has ever been able to find. A great treasure hidden in the house or on the grounds, and that’s why he was killed in the first place. His ghost keeps people away.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Megan didn’t believe in ghosts, of course, and she didn’t know how Sir Gregory died. But it was nice to have a conversation with someone her own age. If she could keep the conversation going, maybe they could talk about something less…weird.

  Rachel’s face was serious. “That’s why the house has been empty for so long.” She smiled and she snorted a laugh. “It’s all a right bunch of rubbish if you ask me.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Megan said. “I’ve been there for days and haven’t seen a ghost.”

  “Honestly?” the blonde said.

  “Really. How ridiculous is that? Ghosts—there’s no such thing.” Megan clucked her tongue, and the words came out before she really thought about them. “But if you want to see for yourselves, you’re welcome to come and visit.”

  The invitation served two purposes; first of all, she wanted to see their reaction to being invited to a “haunted house”. Second, she had surrendered to the fact she was not going back to New York any time soon. She couldn’t take another day like today, so maybe if she was friendly she’d have someone to hang out with.

  The girls paled. The one with the glasses was suddenly interested in something on her shoe. Rachel, however, kept her gaze steady with Megan’s.

  “All right, then, I’ll come.” She pushed out her chin. “Just tell me when.”

  “How about this weekend?” Megan said. “Uh, just let me clear it with my dad.”

  “Fine. I’m Rachel Cuthbert, by the way.” Rachel extended a hand to Megan. “This is Claire McIlhenny.” The girl with the glasses gave a nod. “We’re both in Whitmore, by the way. This is Harriet Darrow.” The blonde raised her hand and waggled her fingers. “She’s in Benson.”

  “And you’re Megan Montgomery,” Claire said.

  “That’s right. So, do all of you want to come over this weekend? We can make it a slumber party.” She tried to look serious, but the giggle in her voice gave her away. “Maybe we can have a séance.”

  Rachel gave Claire and Harriet a look that said they’d better not refuse.

  “Yes, we’d love to come,” Claire said. “Thank you.”

  There was an awkward silence. “Look, we’re sorry about all that, before, you know,” Rachel said. “The whispering and all. It was rude.”

  A car horn beeped. Megan glanced over her shoulder; her dad sat behind the wheel of their rental car, waving.

  She turned back to the girls. If she was going to do this, make friends, she couldn’t hold a grudge. She swallowed her pride. “It’s okay. Forget it. That’s my dad over there, so I gotta go. I’ll let you know tomorrow about this weekend. It’ll be fun.”

  Rachel smiled. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  Megan ran to the car and opened the passenger side door. “Who were they, honey?” her dad asked.

  “Just girls from school.”

  “You’ve made some friends on the very first day? I knew you would.”

  “Yeah, Dad, you were right again.” She settled her books on her lap. Suddenly things were looking up.

  Her father pulled out of the St. Agatha’s driveway and pointed the car toward the manor. “By the way, I found out about our house today.”

  “Is it haunted?” Megan asked, not sure if she was kidding or not.

  “No, but it really is kind of a weird story, at least I thought so. I had to ask a bunch of people before I found one that knew. A secretary that’s been with the firm for thirty years. I had to pull it out of her—it was like she didn’t want to tell me. Anyway, she confirmed everything Bailey told us about Sir Gregory.”


  “Uh-huh.” Megan was only half paying attention.

  “It just so happens that my firm, way back when it was just a small family operation, helped him to finance many of his expeditions. It was a rather symbiotic relationship. That is to say, we invested in him and he delivered. He became one of our best clients.

  “Over the years, Sir Gregory and Mr. Baird, who founded the firm, became good friends. They took vacations together, his family spent weekends here at the manor, that sort of thing.

  “Sir Gregory had no family. His parents had died years earlier, and he had never married.”

  “How sad,” Megan said, “to live in that big house all alone.” I can totally relate.

  “When Sir Gregory died he left everything to the Baird family. The Bairds already had plenty of money and had several houses, but Mr. Baird would not sell this house. People made offers, good ones too I was told, but no sale. He always told his family he promised Sir Gregory he wouldn’t sell it, that he swore he would keep it safe, whatever that means.

  “It has remained within the Baird family ever since. The firm is now owned by Mr. Baird’s grandson, and it was stipulated in his grandfather’s will that it’s not to be sold, ever. So it’s sat here empty for years. The staff was kept on to keep the up the house and the grounds. The firm has managed Sir Gregory’s estate well, so there’s plenty of money to pay them.”

  He turned into The Parthenon’s drive and through the gates. “So that’s how we get to live in this great big house. Kind of cool, huh?”

  Megan knitted her brows and watched the gigantic house grow bigger as they moved closer. “Yeah, I guess. But why was it empty for so long? Didn’t anyone else in the firm want to live here?”

  “Don’t know. Come to think of it, when I asked the secretary she claimed she didn’t know either. I guess all the bigwigs at the firm have big houses already or live in the city and don’t want to be all the way out here. We needed a place to stay, so…”

  “That’s interesting.” Megan thought back to the story Rachel, Claire and Harriet told her. “Oh, that reminds me. Dad, let me ask you something…”

  Her father wholeheartedly agreed to the sleepover, and invited the girls to stay for the whole weekend.

  Apparently standing up to the three girls had been exactly what they required in a friend. Her second day was certainly much better than her first. In class, there was a seat saved for her. She didn’t hear one giggle the entire day. Rachel told her to sit with them at lunch, and introduced her to a bunch of the other third-year students. She studied with Claire and Rachel during Professor Livingston’s tutoring sessions, and Harriet waved to Megan across the library or when the passed in the halls.

  Wednesday she tried out for the Whitmore hockey team. Rachel was already on the team, and cheered for her during her tryout. The other girls who tried out were good, but Megan was better. She made the team easily.

  Although Megan liked Claire and Harriet, she had the most in common with Rachel. Besides hockey, they liked the same music, they read the same books. At night, the two spent time they should have been using to do homework sending instant messages back and forth or talking on the phone.

  By Friday, Megan was excited. She spent her study time writing a list of things she wanted to do, like staying up all night, telling scary stories and horseback riding.

  She was also a little nervous. She had known the three girls less than a week, but it was long enough to know she liked hanging out with them. A weekend party like this could make or break their new, still-fragile friendship. With a sleepover, you got to know people much more intimately than at school or a regular party. You saw each other in your pajamas, for example, and found out who snored or drooled in their sleep. It was crucial that this first get-together go well.

  She still missed her old friends—that kind of been through stuff, known them for forever, tell you deepest, darkest secrets to type of friendship. She crossed her fingers and hoped everything would go off without a hitch.

  At six o’clock the doorbell rang. Megan hopped down the grand staircase and almost ran into Bailey opening the front door. Harriet and Claire came inside, each with a bag slung over one shoulder. The girls greeted Megan with a cheery hello.

  “Where’s Rachel?” Megan asked.

  Claire pushed up her glasses. “She told me to tell you she would be a few minutes late. She said she had to stop and pick up something for tonight.”

  “Shall I take the young ladies’ things upstairs?” Bailey asked.

  “No thanks, Bailey,” Megan said. “I think we can manage.” She waved the girls upstairs. “Come on, follow me.”

  “Wait for me.” Rachel stuck her head in the door just before Bailey closed it. “Hallo all, sorry I’m late.” She wore a mysterious, slightly mischievous smile.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not. Harriet and Claire just got here. We were just on our way upstairs.” There was a rectangular box under Rachel’s arm. “What’s that?”

  Rachel patted the box. “I’ll show you later. Come on, let’s see your room.”

  Megan led the girls upstairs, watching their awestruck expressions as they walked down the hallway. She could almost see their minds working, thinking about what they would tell their parents and classmates.

  They entered Megan’s room.

  “Wow,” Claire whispered. “You live in here all by yourself?”

  “It’s brilliant.” Harriet set her bag on the floor. “I love the architecture, so grand yet unassuming.”

  They put their things away and Megan gave her friends a tour of the house. She proudly pointed out all of the things she knew about each room, which were mostly things she had learned from Miranda. In the kitchen Maggie, The Parthenon’s plump, jolly Irish cook, gave them each a fresh sugar cookie, then scooted them out so she could finish preparing dinner.

  Her father was in the study in the south wing, which had been outfitted with updated office equipment and turned into his home office. When Megan opened the door, he looked from his computer monitor and waved the girls inside. Megan introduced him to Claire, Rachel and Harriet.

  “Come in, come in, girls, it’s nice to meet you. Make yourselves at home.” He bade the girls to sit in the chairs on the other side of the desk. “So, what do you think of our little country cottage? Good place for one of those English mystery stories, what do they call them…? Cozies, that’s it.”

  The girls giggled in the polite way reserved for parents of friends. Harriet tossed her curls over her shoulder. “It’s lovely, Mr. Montgomery. Thank you for having us.”

  “You are very welcome, any time,” he said.

  Megan tried not to show how embarrassed she was by her dad’s weirdness. Do parents take a class on this stuff? “Yeah, okay, Dad, we’re gonna go back up to my room until dinner.”

  “You girls have fun.” Her father was already staring again at his computer screen. “Maybe you’ll find some secret passageway behind a bookshelf or a skeleton in a closet.”

  “Yeah, bye,” Megan said. I’m going to die. Right here, die of total embarrassment. My dad is such a dork.

  Maggie outdid herself with dinner that night. Instead of a fancy gourmet meal, there was homemade pizza. The girls devoured it almost the second it hit the table.

  Dessert, hot fudge sundaes with a choice of toppings, was served in an unused room of the south wing that Megan and her father had turned into a media room. Megan and her friends sat in front of a big screen television and watched movies. First they watched Megan’s favorite Audrey Hepburn movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

  “I can’t believe I’ve never watched that before,” Harriet said. “It was really good.”

  Rachel chuffed. “I would think you’d have been first in line to see a movie with ‘Tiffany’s’ in the title.”

  Harriet put her nose in the air. “Ha ha.”

  It was after one in the morning when the four girls trudged to Megan’s room. A fire crackled in the fireplace, inv
iting them in. None of the girls actually intended to sleep, but they all put on their pajamas and fluffy slippers and climbed up onto Megan’s gigantic bed.

  Megan was pretty proud of herself—so far things were going well.

  Rachel fetched the box she brought with her and set it in the middle of the bed. “I thought about what you said the other day.” She pulled the lid off the box. “About us having a séance. I thought it might be a lark, so I went out and got this.” She lifted a spirit board and pointer from the box.

  “Rachel, we can’t,” Harriet squeaked. “Those things are black magic. My gran says that evil spirits work through them. They can possess you, or worse.”

  Rachel choked back a laugh. “It’s not black magic, you git, it’s only a game.” She looked at Megan. “It’s your party. What do you say, Meg?”

  Megan thought quickly—she didn’t want to choose one friend over the other. But she really wanted to do something besides paint her toenails and eat junk food. And it was her party, after all.

  “I’ll get the lights.” She ran to her vanity and pulled some candles, little glass cups, and a butane lighter from a drawer. She kept these supplies because Bailey had warned her the power sometimes went out during storms. She lit the candles and handed one each to Claire and Harriet, then turned off the desk lamp and the chandelier.

  “And I’ll be the medium.” Rachel rolled off the bed, went to her bag and rifled though it. She drew out a long blue scarf and tied it around her head, like a carnival gypsy.

  She sat cross-legged on the bed and balanced one long side of the board on her knees. Megan put her knees under the other side. In the light from the fire and candles, Rachel’s face looked strange; shadows that shifted with the light fell into the hollows of her eyes and cheeks.

  “Do you want to play, Claire?” Rachel asked.

  “Sure, why not.” Claire squeezed in on one short end. “It’s just a game, after all. There’s no scientific proof of the existence of spirits and the like.”

  “How about you, Harriet?” Megan teased. “Sure you don’t want to join in? Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise.”