That’s why I was head over heels for the Spartan. Logan could be everything from fun and flirty to stubborn and infuriating, but then he went and said things like that. Was it any wonder I had such a massive crush on him?
Okay, okay, so maybe it had started out as a crush a few months ago, but given everything we’d been through, my feelings for the cute Spartan warrior had quickly deepened into something more: love. At least, that’s what I thought it was; that’s what it felt like to me—this warm, soft, fizzy feeling that filled my heart whenever the Spartan grinned at me, whenever he teased me or tried to make me forget about my worries, at least for a little while.
Like now.
I sighed and put my head down on his shoulder. Logan hugged me to his chest. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Just being close to him was enough for me, after all these months we’d spent dancing around each other.
“You guys ready to order?” the barista asked.
We stepped up to the counter. The Spartan ordered a triple espresso since he loved the caffeine rush, while I got a hot, honey-pomegranate tea. Logan started to pull his wallet out of his jeans, but I beat him to it and handed the barista a twenty-dollar bill.
“My treat,” I said. “After all, I’m the one who suggested coffee in the first place way back in the fall.”
Logan nodded. “That you did. All right, Gypsy girl. Your treat—this time. The next round’s on me.”
We got our drinks and went over to a table in the corner of the shop next to a stone fireplace. Since the students had been given the afternoon off, we weren’t the only Mythos kids who’d decided to come to Kaldi’s and get something to eat and drink before the assembly started in another hour or so. I spotted several students I knew, including Kenzie Tanaka, Logan’s Spartan friend, who was here on his own date with Talia Pizarro, a pretty Amazon in my gym class. I waved at them, and Kenzie winked at me before turning his attention back to Talia.
“What is he doing here with her?” A sneering voice drifted over to me.
I looked to my right to see Helena Paxton staring at me. Helena was a stunning Amazon with caramel-colored hair and eyes. Since Jasmine Ashton’s death in the fall, Helena had established herself as the new mean-girl queen of the second-year, seventeen-year-old students at Mythos. She sat at a nearby table with two of her Amazon friends, all of them dressed in pricey jeans, stiletto boots, and tight, fitted sweaters; they had perfect hair, jewelry, purses, and makeup to match.
“I thought Logan’s standards were a little higher than that. Guess I was wrong. Then again, guys will do anything—and anyone—to get some.”
Helena’s voice was low, but the cruel smile on her face told me that she meant for me to hear every word. I’d never done anything to Helena, except stand up for another girl she had been teasing, but that had been enough to put me on the Amazon’s hit list. Now, every time she saw me, Helena went out of her way to be snotty to me. Try as I might, I could never seem to get the best of the Amazon, not even dream up a quick comeback to get her to just shut up.
Helena murmured something else to her friends, and they all started snickering. My hand tightened around my mug of tea. Not for the first time, I wished that I had an Amazon’s quickness so I could bean Helena in the head with my mug. But she would only catch it and throw the mug back at me before I could blink.
“Ignore them,” Logan said in a low voice. “They’re just jealous that you’re here with me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. You and your ego.”
Logan’s grin widened, and I couldn’t help laughing. No matter how bad things got, the Spartan could always make me laugh. Something else that added to that warm, fizzy feeling in my chest.
We sat there in silence, listening to the murmurs from the other kids and the gurgles of the espresso machines. After all the battles we’d survived recently, it was nice to just sit with Logan without worrying about what was going to happen next, what new crises would pop up, or what Reapers might be lurking around, masquerading as students, professors, or even the coffee shop staff.
But after a few minutes, the reality of the situation hit me. I was on a date with Logan freaking Quinn, one of the cutest guys at Mythos Academy—and I had no idea what to say to him.
“So ... what do people talk about on dates?”
Logan looked up from his espresso. “What do you mean?”
I shifted in my seat. “I mean you have a lot more experience at this than I do.”
In fact, Logan had a reputation for being a total man-whore who went from one girl at the academy to the next. Me? I’d had exactly one boyfriend for a grand total of three weeks before I’d met Logan. So going on a date was still sort of a new experience for me. Besides, the Spartan had this natural, easy charm that made everyone like him—girls and guys alike. Me? I was about as charming as a wet sock.
“I mean, I know what we talk about at the academy all the time. You know, weapons training, where Loki might be hiding at, when he’s going to come and kill us all, how we’re supposed to stop him.”
Actually, that last one was more like how I was supposed to kill the evil god. Yeah, me, kill an actual, living, breathing, walking, talking god. And not just any god, but Loki, who was pretty much evil incarnate.
But that was the seemingly impossible mission Nike had given me the last time I’d seen her a couple of weeks ago—something I hadn’t shared with Logan or any of my friends. Kill a god. I had no idea how Nike expected me to do that. I had no idea how anyone could do that, especially me, Gwen Frost, that weird Gypsy girl who touched stuff and saw things.
Logan kept staring at me, and I found myself opening my mouth once more.
“I mean, I guess we could talk about how I’m actually getting a little better at using weapons, although I doubt that I’ll ever be in your league. Or we could talk about Nyx, and how totally cute she is. Or Daphne and her healing magic. Or Carson and how obsessed he is with the winter concert the band is putting together ...”
Babbling. I was finally out on a real date with Logan, and I was babbling like a windup doll someone had cranked into high gear.
Logan reached over and put his hand on top of mine, which was still wrapped around my mug. “Relax, Gypsy girl. Relax. You’re doing just fine. We don’t have to talk about anything if you don’t want to. I’m just happy to be here with you and relax, especially with everything that’s been going on these past few weeks. You know?”
His fingers felt warm and firm against my own, but more than that, I felt the warmth in Logan’s heart—and all his feelings. His strength, his bravery, his determination to fight Reapers and to protect me no matter what. All those images, all those feelings flashed through my mind, driving away the doubts I felt about me, Logan, and everything else that was going on right now.
My psychometry magic let me know, see, and feel the history of any object I touched, and the same was true when it came to other people. More than once, my hand had brushed against someone else’s, and I’d realized that what they said didn’t match what they felt. That’s what had happened with my first boyfriend. He’d kissed me, and I’d realized that he was really thinking about another girl instead.
But I didn’t have to worry about any of that with Logan. I knew all the Spartan’s secrets, and he knew mine. Well, except for the whole Gwen’s-supposed-to-kill-Loki thing. I still wasn’t sure exactly how to bring that up, and I wasn’t going to. Not today. There would be time enough to obsess and worry about that later. Right now, I just wanted to enjoy my date with Logan.
“How is it that you always know just what to do and say to make me feel better?” I said.
Logan grinned. “Just another part of that Spartan killer instinct. I can slay the ladies just as well as I can Reapers.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned over to punch him in the shoulder—and managed to knock over his espresso and my tea. Liquid cascaded all over the table, most of it spilling off the far side and into Logan’s lap. The Spart
an jumped up, but he didn’t have an Amazon’s quickness, so he couldn’t avoid getting soaked.
“Sorry!” I said, getting to my own feet. “I’m so sorry!”
I reached for the silver holder on the table, intending to rip some napkins out of it, but instead, I ended up knocking it to the floor as well. The napkin holder clang-cla-cla-clanged across the floor.
By the time it skidded to a stop and the noise had faded away, all the people in the shop had stopped their conversations and work and turned to stare at us. Embarrassment made my cheeks burn, while Logan looked like he’d had water dumped all over him.
“Sorry,” I mumbled again.
“It’s okay,” he said, holding his hands out to his sides to keep from touching his now-sticky clothes. “I’ll just go get cleaned up.”
He headed off toward the bathroom. I sighed, grabbed some napkins out of the holder, and started mopping up the mess I’d made. After a few seconds, most people went back to their conversations—except for Helena and her friends. They were too busy laughing at me to talk.
I put my head down, ignored them, and cleaned up the liquid as fast as I could before wiping off my hands. I threw all the used napkins into a nearby trash can, then sat down at my table and slumped as low as I could in my chair. So far, this date hadn’t exactly been a big success—or even just the fun time I’d wanted it to be. Once again, I’d messed up everything without even trying. Sometimes I thought that was my specialty in life.
I was so busy brooding that I didn’t pay any attention when the door to the coffee shop opened and three men trooped inside. Once again, all conversation stopped, and I felt a collective emotion ripple off everyone in the shop: fear.
“The Protectorate,” I heard Helena whisper.
The Protectorate? What was that? Who were these people? I’d never heard of them before, but apparently they knew me because the men walked in my direction, their eyes fixed on my face.
I tensed, then sat up in my seat, wondering who the men were and what they wanted. Could they be Reapers come to attack the students in the shop? I’d wanted to be alone with Logan, so I’d left Vic, my talking sword, in my dorm room. Stupid of me not to bring the weapon with me, even though we’d only been getting coffee. I should have known by now that nothing was simple at Mythos—not even my first date with Logan.
My eyes scanned the nearby tables, looking for something I could use as a weapon, but the only things within arm’s reach were the two empty mugs and the napkin holder. I wrapped my hand around the napkin holder and put it in my lap under the table and out of sight of the men.
This wouldn’t be the first time Reapers had attacked me. If these men decided to do the same, well, I’d fight back as hard and fiercely as I could. Besides, one good scream, and Logan would come running out of the bathroom. I had no doubt the Spartan could hold his own against the men—and then some.
One of the men stepped up and stared down at me. He was handsome enough, with blond hair and pale blue eyes, but his mouth was fixed in a firm frown, as if he constantly found fault with everything and everyone around him. He looked at me, and I stared at him a moment before my gaze moved to the two men flanking him. One of them was tall and slender, while the other was short, with a body that looked fat but was really all hard muscle.
The strangest thing was that the men all had on dark gray robes over their winter clothes. The robes reminded me of the black ones the Reapers always wore, although the men weren’t sporting the hideous, rubber Loki masks the Reapers did. Instead, a symbol was stitched into their robes in white thread on their left collars close to their throats—a hand holding a set of balanced scales.
I’d seen that symbol before. It was carved into the ceiling of the prison in the bottom of the math-science building on campus, and it had also been in the middle of the Garm gate that Vivian Holler had used to free Loki. My unease kicked up another notch. Nothing good was ever associated with that image, as far as I was concerned.
“So you’re her,” the first man said. “Nike’s newest Champion. Not quite what I expected.”
His voice was soft, smooth, and cultured, but there was obvious power in his words, as if he was used to being obeyed no matter what.
“Who are you?” I snapped, my fingers tightening around the flimsy napkin holder. “What do you want?”
“And you don’t even have the good sense to know when you’re in trouble,” the man murmured, as though I hadn’t said a word.
I snorted. Oh, I knew I was in trouble. I was almost always in trouble these days. The only question was how bad it would be this time—and if I could somehow manage to get out of it alive once again.
The man kept staring at me with his cold, judgmental eyes, and I lifted my chin in defiance. Whatever happened, whatever these men wanted with me, whatever they tried to do to me, I wasn’t going to show him how confused and scared I was. Reapers thrived on that sort of thing. I didn’t think these men were Reapers, since no one in the shop was screaming or trying to get away from them, but they weren’t here for anything good. I could feel the hostility emanating from them in waves, especially from the leader.
The man tilted his head to the side. “I wonder what he sees in you.” After a moment, he shrugged. “No matter. It won’t change anything.”
“Change what?” I asked. “Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want with me? And why are you wearing those ridiculous robes?”
Anger made the leader’s cheeks take on a faint, reddish tinge. The short, muscular man choked back a laugh. The leader turned to glare at him, and the other man pressed his lips together, although I could see his chest shaking, as though he was trying to swallow the rest of his amusement. The third man seemed bored, like this was an errand he was eager to get over with.
Okay, this was getting weirder by the second. I was looking past the men, wondering what was taking Logan so long, when the leader stepped even closer to me, his eyes glittering with anger.
“Gwendolyn Cassandra Frost,” he said in a loud, booming voice. “You are under arrest.”
K TEEN BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer Estep
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Kensington and KTeen Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-7582-8837-0
Jennifer Estep Bundle Page 87
