Dark Frost: A Mythos Academy Novel

by Jennifer Estep

  With the library empty, I thought about once again using the Reaper girl’s map to try to find the Helheim Dagger, but what was the point? I could spend years searching the library and never figure out exactly where the dagger was. Although, I supposed if I couldn’t find the dagger, then neither could the Reaper girl. That thought didn’t cheer me up, though.

  After I finished shelving the books, there was nothing left to do but sit behind the counter and wait until my shift was over. Since I was totally bored, I opened the architecture book again so I could work on my essay. Once more, I turned to the pages that featured the gryphon statues. Height, weight, type of stone used. The information was the same as before, but I couldn’t quit staring at the photographs of the statues. I couldn’t get rid of this nagging feeling that something was wrong with the photos or maybe even the statistics on the page.

  I glanced down and noticed my mom’s diary peeking out of the top of my bag. She’d drawn the statues when she’d been a student. Maybe her diary could help me figure out why I was so obsessed with them now. I grabbed the diary, flipped over to the right pages, and compared my mom’s drawings of the gryphons to the photos in the architecture book.

  For the first time, I noticed an arrow pointing to the base of one of the statues.

  The arrow was on my mom’s drawing. It was so tiny that I hadn’t noticed it before but just thought it was part of the rest of the random doodles and squiggles on the page. But the more I looked at the arrow, the faster and harder my heart started to pound. Why would my mom draw an arrow there? Why in that particular spot? What was so special that she’d felt the need to mark it that way? My eyes flicked back and forth between her drawing and the photographs in the architecture book.

  It took me a few seconds to realize that only one of the statues had a base.

  The right statue, the one I’d seen my mom stare at when I’d first touched the diary and flashed on the image of her sitting on the library steps. That gryphon sat on a square slab of stone that was maybe three inches high, while the other statue looked like it had just been plopped down beside the steps with no slab to support its heavy weight.

  My heart picked up speed, racing as fast as my thoughts. What if—maybe—just maybe—my mom hadn’t hidden the dagger inside the Library of Antiquities after all? What if she’d hidden it outside instead? What if she’d tucked it away in the base of the gryphon statue so it would be safe?

  No, I thought. That was stupid. The answer couldn’t be that simple. Hundreds of kids walked by that statue every single day. Surely, someone would have found the dagger by now if it had really been hidden there. My imagination was working overtime, and it was another false lead, just like all the Xs on the Reaper girl’s map of the library.

  I closed the diary and the architecture book and stuffed them back in my bag, but I couldn’t stop fidgeting and thinking about that arrow—that one tiny arrow pointing at the gryphon. The more I tried to fight the urge to go outside and look at the statue, the more the feeling welled up inside me that I absolutely had to—that I needed to right this very second.

  I bolted off the stool.

  I ran around the library counter, down the long, main aisle, through the double doors, out into the hallway, and then finally outside. The night was cold, so cold that the air burned my lungs, and a dark frost had already coated the entire quad, painting everything a sinister, shadowy silver. The area was deserted, and I was all alone except for the frost, the darkness, and the statues. Even now, I felt like they were watching me from the shadows, tracking my movements.

  But I only had eyes for the gryphon statue, the one sitting on the right side of the steps. I bent closer to peer at the statue, comparing it to the left one. Just like in the photographs and my mom’s diary, the right statue stood on a base while the left statue didn’t.

  I stood there a second, staring at the statue, wondering if I was right and if I should really do this. I’d always felt there was a force lurking beneath the stone of the statues, especially the gryphons outside the library. What if I touched it and the statue sprang to life? No one was on the quad, so no one would hear me scream. Even if by some miracle Nickamedes did hear the sound from inside the library and came to investigate, well, there wouldn’t be much left of me by the time he arrived.

  But I had to do this. According to Nike, finding the dagger and moving it to another, safer location was the key to keeping Loki locked away in his prison. Protecting the dagger was what would prevent the evil god from gathering his army of Reapers together and trying to take over the world again.

  I’d already seen people die this week, students I went to school with, kids my own age who hadn’t deserved to have their lives cut short. I’d seen the tears and fear of the other students and everyone else on campus, and I could only imagine what the families of the murdered kids were going through, the grief eating away at their hearts. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt; I didn’t want anyone else to go through that kind of pain ever again.

  I thought of my mom and how clever and brave she’d been hiding the dagger to start with. Even though she was gone, I still wanted to make her proud of me. Her and Grandma Frost and all my other ancestors who’d served Nike over the centuries. I wanted to be worthy of the magic the goddess had gifted me with, and protecting the dagger from the Reapers was one way I could do that.

  But first, I had to find the dagger, and this was my best lead so far—and maybe my last chance. All I had to do was lean forward and touch the stone, and I’d get the answers to my questions—one way or another.

  Heart hammering, I drew in a shaky breath, brushed my fingers against the cold stone, and waited for my magic to come to life—and maybe the gryphon along with it.

  Chapter 21

  The images and memories immediately slammed into my mind, like a tidal wave washing away everything else.

  I got the sense that the gryphon was old, ancient even, in the same way that Vic was. And like Vic, there was a—a spark in the statue, some sort of force or spirit that I could feel staring at me from deep, deep inside the stone. The force reminded me of the burning red eyes—Loki’s eyes—that were always watching me whenever I used my psychometry to slip into Preston’s mind. But the statue didn’t radiate the same malevolence the Reaper and the crimson eyes did. Instead, what I felt was more of a ... watchful presence. Like the gryphon was guarding not only the library but all the kids who passed by it on a daily basis and even the academy at large, just like Metis had said. It filled me with a sense of peace, safety, and comfort.

  I stood there, eyes closed, my hand pressed against the cold stone, trying to make sense of all the images flashing through my mind. There were thousands of them, stretching back and back and back in time. Seasons came and went in the blink of an eye. Snow melted into spring, the summer sun beat down, fall leaves swirled by, and then the snow came again. All through the seasons, all through the long years, kids leaned on the statue and walked past it and a few even stuck used pieces of gum on it. Yucko.

  After a few seconds, the first, overwhelming rush of memories and feelings faded away, slowing to a steady stream, and I was able to start sorting through the images, looking for a specific one attached to a very specific person. I ignored the flashes of guys touching, leaning against, or sitting on the statue, instead focusing on the ones of all the girls who’d been close to the gryphon over the years. Not her or her or even her ... but her!

  The memory almost slid by before I could grab hold of it, but I managed to catch it before it disappeared into the dark of my mind. I ignored the other images still slipping by and brought the one I wanted into focus.

  The memory took place on a cold night much like this one. A girl my own age stood in front of the gryphon statue. Brown hair, violet eyes, pale skin dotted with freckles. Her face was as familiar to me as my own was, although I would never be as beautiful as she’d been.

  “Mom,” I whispered, even though she couldn’t hear me, even though it
was just a memory.

  My mom looked out across the empty quad, scanning the shadows. Violet eyes are smiling eyes. That’s what my mom had always jokingly said, but she wasn’t smiling tonight. Instead, her lips were clamped down into a tight, thin line, and her whole body was rigid with tension and fear—fear that the Reapers searching for her would find her before she could complete her mission for Nike. My mom felt she was running out of time, but she was still going to stop a moment and look around. She was still going to be as careful as she could.

  When she was sure she was alone and that no one was watching her, my mom pulled a piece of black cloth out of her backpack. She set the cloth down on the library steps, and something sticking out of the edge of it scraped against the stone. My mom froze, her eyes darting around, as if that one small noise would somehow draw the Reapers immediately to her.

  But no one erupted out of the shadows, and after a minute, my mom relaxed and turned back to the statue. She ran her hands over the gryphon this way and that, like she was looking for something. Finally, she found what she was searching for. My mom reached forward and twisted the very end of the gryphon’s tail. A second later, the base of the statue slid forward like a door hinging open, revealing a secret, hollow space inside.

  My mom paused and glanced around, once again making sure no one was watching her. Then, she picked up the black cloth, pulled the edges together, slid it inside the hidden compartment, and twisted the gryphon’s tail back the other way. The base of the statue closed, hiding the cloth from sight.

  My mom sighed, and her body relaxed. It was done—her mission was complete. She took one more look around before she drew up the hood of her jacket, tucked her hands into her pockets, and hurried away from the library, melting into the shadows... .

  I dropped my hand from the gryphon and opened my eyes. I let out a breath and was surprised to feel how weak my knees were. I had to sit down on the steps until the shaky feeling faded away. Then, I got back on my feet and approached the gryphon statue once more.

  My eyes flicked to the creature’s lion tail, and I bent down to study it. It looked like just another part of the statue, just another piece carved out of a single hunk of dark gray stone. If I hadn’t seen my mom twist the end of the tail, I never would have thought to do such a thing—or that there was a hidden compartment underneath it.

  I wondered how my mom had found it in the first place. If she’d listened to the same sort of myth-history lecture I had, if maybe that was how she’d discovered the statue’s secret. It didn’t really matter in the end, though. All that was important was finding the dagger and taking it somewhere safe—somewhere the Reapers could never get to it.

  “You protected it well all these years,” I murmured, talking to that spark of awareness I’d sensed deep inside the stone. “But the Reapers are closing in on the dagger’s location, and now, I have to move it somewhere else. I hope you understand. I’ll do my very best to protect it—I promise you that.”

  The gryphon didn’t say anything, but its lidless eyes seemed to narrow in the faint golden glow cast by the lights that lined the library balcony. For the first time, the faint motion didn’t unnerve me. Instead, it comforted me, like the gryphon knew it was time for the dagger to be moved, like it somehow recognized me as being connected to the girl who had hidden it here in the first place. After a moment, the gryphon dropped its eyes, and its head seemed to dip ever so slightly, almost like it was giving me permission.

  Fingers trembling, I stretched my hand forward and twisted the end of the gryphon’s tail.

  It moved just as smoothly as it had for my mom, and the secret compartment slid open with the barest whisper. My hand shook so badly that I had to stop and curl it into a fist for a moment before I felt steady enough to open it back up and reach inside the hollow chamber. My fingers touched something soft and silky in the darkness, and another image filled my mind—my mom slipping the cloth into the same spot I was now pulling it out of.

  I drew out the black cloth, then twisted the gryphon’s tail again, hiding the secret compartment from sight. Fingers still trembling, I unwrapped one corner of the cloth, then the other—slowly revealing the Helheim Dagger.

  The dagger was lighter than I’d thought it would be—much, much lighter. It barely weighed more than the silk it had been wrapped in. Instead of metal, the dagger was made out of black marble that glimmered with tiny bronze flecks. A single ruby was set into the hilt, but the gem was dark, like the light that had once been inside it had been extinguished. It took me a moment to realize that the gem was shaped like a single, narrowed eye. I wondered if the gem was Loki’s portal to this realm, a window from his mythological prison. I wondered if the evil god could somehow look through the ruby and see me holding the dagger right now. I shivered at the thought and quickly covered the weapon back up with the black cloth.

  For a moment, I just stood there, not quite believing I’d done it, that I’d actually found the dagger. A grin spread across my face, and I wanted to let out a wild whoop of triumph, but I clamped my lips together and pushed those thoughts away. I had other things to focus on, like what to do with the dagger now that I actually had it.

  Nickamedes, I thought. I’d go back into the library and show the weapon to Nickamedes. He’d call Metis and Ajax, and then, we could figure out how to hide it again—

  “Well, Gypsy,” a low voice said behind me. “Thank you so much for finding the dagger for me. I was starting to wonder if you were up to the task.”

  Something rustled behind me, and I spotted a shadow sliding over the frost, rushing toward me. I whirled around, but it was already too late. The Reaper girl’s fist connected with my face, and the world went black.

  The first thing I was aware of was the throbbing ache in my cheek.

  Pulse, pulse, pulse. It was a slow, steady pain, keeping perfect time to the beat of my heart. It hurt so much, but I focused on the pain, moving past it, shoving it into the back of my mind. Even though things were still fuzzy in my brain, I knew that I was in Big, Big Trouble. I could feel the hate emanating from the other people around me. The ugly emotion pressed down on my chest like a lead weight, suffocating me. I couldn’t tell how many of them there were, but they all despised me. My stomach twisted at the rage that just kept flowing off them like waves slamming into the shore.

  “Well,” a familiar voice said. “I think the Gypsy is finally waking up.”

  I knew that voice, I thought, still feeling a little dazed, but I couldn’t quite believe it was her. She’d seemed so nice, so much like me, but she was a Reaper, and she’d used me to help her find the Helheim Dagger. That much I knew, even if I didn’t know exactly how she’d tricked me into doing her bidding.

  I opened my eyes to find Vivian Holler perched on the desk in front of me.

  “Hello, Gypsy,” Vivian said. “Surprised to see me?”

  I shook my head, but that just made my face ache even more. I wiggled my jaw, trying to get the worst of the pain over with. Slowly, the sharp, pulsing throbs faded into softer, more manageable twinges, and I was able to look around without a haze of white stars blurring my vision.

  I was tied to a chair in an opulent living room filled with dark wooden furniture, antique sofas, and crystal vases full of roses. The overpowering scent of the black and blood-red petals permeated the air, making me gag, but I kept scanning the area. I turned my head and found myself staring at a gold statue shaped like a bird, its wings spread wide. An enormous painting featuring the same sort of bird with the same wings hung on the wall behind it. I realized where I was—in the living room I’d seen when I’d first touched the Reaper girl’s—Vivian’s—map of the Library of Antiquities.

  “Wings,” I mumbled, eyeing the statue next to me. “What’s with all the wings?”

  Vivian arched an eyebrow. “That’s what you want to know? Not how I tricked you into finding the dagger for me? Really, Gypsy, I thought you’d say something more interesting than that. But if you
absolutely must know, I’ll be happy to show you.”

  Vivian let out a low, sharp whistle and turned toward a set of doors that led out onto a balcony. Even though it was dark outside, I could still see the black shape of something drop from the sky and land on the balcony. Vivian walked over, opened the doors, and stepped back.

  A second later, a Black roc hopped inside the room.

  The roc was enormous, easily as big as Nott—if not bigger. Its wings were a slick, shiny black, shot through with glossy streaks of red that gleamed like rivers of blood, and the roc’s black, curved talons looked like they were almost as long as my arm. In myth-history class, Metis had once said that rocs were Arabian creatures that were strong enough to grab people and fly away with them. I’d thought the idea was ridiculous then, but now, I totally believed it. The roc definitely looked like it could eat me with two snaps of its sharp, pointed beak.

  The roc’s eyes were a bright, shiny black as well, but that ominous, Reaper red spark burned in the inky orbs. I shivered and looked away from the creature.

  “You don’t like my pet?” Vivian asked. “What a shame. My family has been raising them for generations, you know. Practically all the Reapers get their rocs from us. We’re quite famous for breeding them to be especially vicious.”

  She let out another whistle and pointed at the balcony. The Black roc hopped outside, its talons scraping against the floor. Vivian shut the door behind it, although I could still see the roc lurking outside, peering in through the doors like it wanted to peck its way through the glass to get to me.

  Footsteps whispered behind me, and a few seconds later, Preston stepped into view. Vivian resumed her perch on the desk, and Preston went over to stand beside her. Preston’s orange jumpsuit was gone, and he was dressed in expensive clothes once more. Boots, designer jeans, a luxurious cashmere sweater, a leather jacket. All black, of course. Just like his rotting soul.