"But no one must see what I am about to show you, so you must send your friends away," he says, his voice a low whisper. When I look at him like he's crazy-I'm here alone, aren't I?-he adds, "A pair of them are about to burst through the far doors, and a third has been watching you from the second story chemistry classroom since shortly after you arrived."
I scowl up at the classroom window. That would be Griffin, I'm sure of it. Stalking out into the moonlight, I look directly into what I know are his bright blue eyes-just so he knows I know-and point toward the Academy entrance. I sense his hesitation and then a shadow finally moves across the darkened window and I know he's gone. Probably to go wait on the front steps.
Then, before I can even turn back to see if Damian is impressed, the far doors fling open and Troy and Urian come racing into the courtyard.
"We've got it," Troy shouts.
"My computer finished its search," Urian says, holding up a computer printout and looking extremely proud of his gecky self. "We figured out who sent the e-mail."
"Yeah," Troy gasps, skidding to a stop in front of me. "it's-"
"Damian," I say, bursting his bubble. "I know."
Urian drops his jaw. "How?"
I jerk back over my shoulder. Footsteps echo across the courtyard and I know Damian has stepped out of the shadows.
Troy-who is always kind of a chicken when it comes to authority figures-blanches. "Um, ah, Headmaster Petrolas," he stammers. "I thought, um, you were in er, Thailand."
Damian takes two steps toward Troy, who is practically shaking, and says, "I am." in his best headmaster tone.
Troy looks too scared to speak.
"Yes, sir," Urian says, grabbing Troy by the wrist and dragging him backward across the courtyard. "You were never here. We never saw you."
Damian smiles and gives me a quick wink.
"On your way out," he says, before they disappear through the doors, "see to it that Mr. Blake remains at a safe distance."
Urian actually salutes and then pushes Troy through the doors.
I squint at Damian. "You enjoy inciting fear, don't you?"
He gives me an innocent look-which is probably where Stella learned it-and says, "It does seem to help keep the peace."
Damian definitely has hidden depths. Who would have imagined he would send me anonymous notes and e-mails and autoporthimself all the way from Thailand just to… Wait. I'm not sure what he's really doing here.
"Hey, so why did you-"
"I thought you would never ask," he says with a mischievous grin.
Who is this guy, and what has he done with my stuffed-shirt stepdad?
"Follow me."
I do follow him. All the way to the center of the courtyard, he stops on the mosaic, one oxford-clad foot on either side of Plato's head.
"What I am about to show you," he says, sounding more and more into the whole spy game with every word, "you can never tell another soul. None know and none canknow."
"You're not talking about the secret archives, are you?" I ask, remembering Mrs. Philipoulos' similar warning to me and Nicole. "Because honestly, everyone already knows about that."
"No," he says, squatting down and placing his hand on Plato's nose. "I am not speaking of the archives." He presses on one of the mosaic tiles, no bigger than a half-inch square, which slides down about an inch. "I am speaking of this."
"Of wh-"
Before I can finish my question, the ground beneath my feet starts shaking. All the tiny tiles in the mosaic quiver back and forth. My California-bred instincts kick in and my first thought is, Earthquake!Does Greece have earthquakes? Maybe it's a volcanic eruption, or tsunami, or-
"I suggest you take two steps back," Damian says, calm as can be. "Unless you wish to end up at the base of a very long staircase."
For half a second, I'm frozen in confusion. What is going on? Isn't this a natural disaster? What staircase?
Then, as Damian's smug look turns to concern, I heed his warning and take a giant leap back. Just as the mosaic beneath my feet drops. It falls in a series of thunks, leaving a steplike ledge with each crash. I feel like I'm in one of those Hollywood secret passages, where the movie hero pulls the gargoyle's head and a stone staircase appears in the floor.
"What the-"
"We must hurry," Damian says, stepping onto the first ledge and waving at me to follow. "The stairway will only remain open for a short time. And I need to return to your mother before she discovers I am gone."
As he moves down the stairs, I hesitate. This is so weird. I can't count the number of times I've been in this courtyard and never thought twice about this mosaic. And all the time it was a secret entrance to-
"Phoebe," Damian shouts up from the bowels of the Academy. "We do not wish to be caught below when the stairway closes. I assure you it is not a pleasant experience."
Throwing my worries and wonders to the wind, I hurry down after him.
Chapter 11
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
PHOTOMORPHOSIS
SOURCE: APOLLO
The ability to control light and fire. Most common expression consists of
bringing light into an area of darkness (ie: a case or basement). May
also manifest as fireworks, flames, and, in remarkably rare cases, fire-
breathing. Do not attempt fire-breathing as it does irreparable damage
to the esophagus!
DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
TRAILING DAMIAN DOWN A DARK, dank, corridor beneath the Academy courtyard was not where I expected to be right now. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I still thought it was going to be Stella or Adara pulling my chain. Maybe even Xander- his name was on the library employees list and he has taken somewhat of a personal interest in my problems. But Damian?
"I never would have guessed it was you," I say. "Stella or Adara, maybe. Xander even. But not you." Then again, it is just like him to make me work for my information.
"Keeping you guessing was part of the plan," Damian laughs, then his voice turns more serious. "Xander has explained his situation?"
"Yeah," I say. "He won't tell me what happened the year he was gone, though."
"That is at his discretion," Damian sounds a little sad. The gods tend to make their punishments deeply personal."
I can understand that.
"Well, I feel better about the whole test thing, just knowing he went through it already and-aaack!" I squeal as I stumble over an uneven stone and pitch into the wall.
"Are you all right?" he asks from somewhere up ahead.
The faint moonlight that had illuminated the staircase and a few feet beyond faded into black about twenty steps ago. I can't see an inch in front of my face and have been following the sound of Damian's footsteps.
"I'm fine," I say, wiping my damp palm against my jeans. "I can't see anything."
"Of course," Damian says.
I hear footsteps and a soft click. Suddenly the hall is bathed in flickering torchlight-very medieval.
"My apologies. I was so focused on getting to the vault that I did not take into account that you have never been here before."
"No problem. I've taken worse tumbles in my life." Really I'm just thankful to see that the dampness on the walls is just condensation and not something more disgusting like slime or mold. "We're going to a vault?"
"Yes," Damian says, turning and continuing down the corridor. "I removed the record from the archives last fall."
"Why did you send me the call number if you knew it wasn't there?"
"Because I-"
"Wait. The distraction. I get it." I may not like it, but I get it. "Soyou moved it?"
"Yes. Several inquiries into Mount Olympus documents came across my desk and I grew concerned that someone might stumble upon your
father's record. I moved it to the vault to protect you."
To protect me?" I ask, practically jogging to keep up now that we can actually see where we're going.
"I didn't want you to discover the contents of the record carelessly. I wanted to present them to you myself." He pulls up his hurried pace as we reach the end of the corridor. "You were not ready to learn the truth. I now believe you are ready to make that determination for yourself."
Before I can get offended that he thought I couldn't handle the truth before-we went through all that last year with the Greek-gods-are-morc-than-myth thing-I notice where we've stopped. The corridor dead-ends at a small chamber with twelve doors radiating out in a semicircle. It looks like some sort of medieval labyrinth, with walls of massive dark stone blocks and giant-size doors that look like they're made of high-rise-grade steel. Above each door, carved into a giant slab of stone that spans the entire doorway, is a very ancient-looking symbol. The symbol above each door is different.
"What are these?" I ask nervously.
"Dodecathuron,"he replies. The twelve doors of Olympus."
"Of Olympus?" I repeat. "As in Mount Olympus? Do these doors lead there?"
Damian shakes his head. "When the Academy was built, the gods fought over the right to patronize the school. After many weeks of violent battles, Themis finally proposed a compromise. Each Olympian would be the school's patron for one month of the year. None of them was entirely happy, of course, so each demanded a separate access portal."
"But you said they don't lead to Olympus?"
"They don't," he explains. They lead fromOlympus. If we were to open one of the doors, we would find an empty room on the other side."
"If they're empty," I point out, "then where is the vault?"
Damian turns back toward the corridor we just left and points. "There."
"Where?" I ask, spinning back around and expecting an empty hallway. Instead, there's a giant steel door filling the entire space that we just walked through. "H-how?"
Whirling in a three-sixty, I confirm that I'm not crazy. There are the twelve doors of Olympus, the vault door, and solid stone walls. What happened to the corridor we just came down? And how are we supposed to get out?
"There is a safeguard on this room," Damian explains, stepping to the steel door and deftly spinning the combination lock above the handle. "Once someone enters the room, it shifts, turning on a smooth and silent revolve to reveal the vault."
"How is that a safeguard?" I ask.
"If someone enters who does not know the combination…" He sounds a little smug as he grasps the handle and twists. A loud click echoes in the chamber just before the door creaks open. "… they will not be able to get out."
"So what?" I ask, glancing around the room to make sure I hadn't missed spotting the skeletons of unwitting students who had been trapped here. "They would be stuck here and die of starvation-" I suddenly realize there are no air vents or anything. "Or suffocate when their oxygen runs out?"
"You should consider a career as a writer of fiction," Damian says, stepping into the massive vault and scanning over the shelves of books that line one side. "You have a very vivid imagination."
"No," I explain, stepping closer and peeking in at the vault's contents. "I've just read enough myth to know better."
Damian laughs.
The vault itself is the size of Cesca's walk-in closet-in other words: huge. As tall as the corridor ceiling, it's at least six feet wide and so deep I can't see the back wall. I am not about to step inside-I've seen enough after-school specials about kids getting accidentally locked in a safe-or maybe that was a refrigerator-to know better. But even from my position of safety, I see tons of stuff.
The entire left wall is lined with deep bookshelves, full of leather-bound books that look even older-if possible-than those in the secret archives. On the right, there are even deeper shelves, like the ones you use in your garage to organize junk. They're jam-packed with boxes and baskets and see-through storage containers. Eachone seems to be carefully labeled in Greek letters, but I bet it's a nightmare to keep track of everything.
"What is all of this?" I ask absently, not really expecting Damian to answer. He's not generally the forthcoming type.
"The vault is designed to safeguard the most dangerous items of the Academy collection," he explains.
"Dangerous stuff from the library?" I ask.
"From all of our collections." He pulls a book from the stack and dusts off the cover. "Here it is."
I've been trying to translate one of the Greek labels, but when he says that my eyes instantly snap to the dust-covered leather-bound book. My heart goes crazy in my chest. Right there, inDamian's hands, is the record of my father's trial. The proceedings that led to the smoting decree-a virtual death sentence.
Damian holds it out for me.
My hands shake as I reach for the record. I'm not sure what I expect, but nothing earth-shattering happens when my fingers close over the leather. The ceiling doesn't crumble. I don't get zapped to Hades by some unforeseen curse. I don't wake up and find that it's all a dream.
I glance up at Damian, suddenly very afraid and very nervous. What if there are things in here that I don't want to know, things I can't handle?
"You do not have to read it now," Damian says, his voice soft and reassuring. "In fact, you do not have to read it at all. It is rightfully yours. You may keep it as long as you need. I know you will guard it well."
At this exact moment he's not being smug or parental or head master-like or anything but understanding.
Clutching the record to my chest, I say, "Thank you, Damian."
Then, before I can stop myself, I rush forward and throw one arm around him in a big hug. He doesn't even hesitate before wrapping his arms around my shoulders and hugging me back. For the first time since being uprooted and thrown into his world, I feel like we just might-might-become family.
Our stepdad-stepdaughter moment is cut short by a deep rumbling sound coming from the depths of the vault.
"We need to go," Damian says, abruptly releasing me and stepping back. "Now."
I barely jump out of the way before he grabs the open vault door and slams it shut. He fingers the combination lock and spins it back and forth quickly. I'm trying to figure out why he's opening the vault again when he twists the handle, and instead of the vault opening, the vault disappears. The corridor is back.
"Hurry," he says, grabbing my arm and propelling me into the hall.
With my dad's record clutched under one arm, I jog toward the distant staircase-the distant moonlight. I hear Damian's oxfords echoing on the stone floor behind me. When I reach the stairs, the ground starts to tremble again.
"Up," Damian shouts over the growing roar.
I take them two at a time, my quads screaming that they still haven't fully recovered from running the stadium steps, I burst into the courtyard and turn around in time to see Damian leap from theopening to land on Athena's feet, just as the staircase closes up behind him.
He rolls onto his back, eyes closed, and panting. With a nervous giggle, I decide not to point out that he's getting his suit dirty.
"I am most definitely getting too old for this," he says between pants.
I've never seen Damian overexert himself like this.
"Why didn't you just zap us out of there?" I ask, wishing I'd thought of that before running for my life.
"Impossible," he wheezes. The safeguard blocks powers usage in the chamber and the corridor."
Standing over Damian, I say, "That's pretty inconvenient."
I offer him my hand.
He takes it and lets me haul him to his feet. "Inconvenient, but necessary," he says, dusting off his suit. He glances at his watch. "I need to get back to your mother. I trust your friends will see you home safely."
"Of course," I say, sad that he's leaving already. "I guess you can't tell Mom I say hello."
He smiles, like he can sense my sadness. "I'll tell
her."
I give him my best smile-but I bet it comes off pretty weak.
"Is everything else all right?" he asks. "Your running. Your friends."
"Yes," I say, glad I can honestly say things with Griffin are fine now.
"And your powers?" he asks. "They are less erratic. Are you feeling more comfortable with your control?"
I bite my lip. It's not like I can lie to him-he'll read my mind and know it's not true. "It's getting better. But not perfect," I admit. "I'm still having trouble."
"You will get there," he says, laying a hand on my shoulder. "I trust in you."
"I know." And I do, really. It's not like I ever expected instantaneous control. "I'm working on it. Stella and I are working on it."
"Good." He steps back and smiles. "And stop worrying about the test. I regret ever having mentioned it."
"No, I'd rather know," I say.
Better to know the demons you face, right?
Oh gods. I hope there aren't demons. What if I have to fight monsters or gorgons or something? What if I-
"Phoebe," Damian interrupts my crazy thoughts, taking both my shoulders in his hands and looking directly into my eyes. "Stop. Worry will only impede your control. Just keep practicing and keep training. You will get there."
I take a deep breath and try for some of Nola's Zen calm.
"You'd better go," I say, thinking calm, calm, calmso he won't read that I'm still freaking out. "Mom will worry."
"Of course." He nods and starts to glow. Then stops and says. "Oh, and tell Miss Matios that if she returns the record she borrowedfrom the archives to my office before I return, there will be no detention."
Then he glows and is gone.
Only Damian could know that a student broke the rules from thousands of miles away. Some principals have eyes in the back of their heads… he has eyes everywhere!
We're lucky he never found out about the time Nicole and I switched places to take fall finals. If he knew she had taken my physics exam and that I'd taken her history test, we'd be in detention until graduation.
* * *
Goddess Boot Camp omg-2 Page 17
