Goddess in Time, Page 2

  So when it comes to obeying Olympic law, well, I obey the ones I feel like obeying, and ignore the rest. And I don’t feel like obeying too many of them.

  I turn my back on Troy before he can see the tears of frustration pushing at my eyes. Normally it would take serious injury to make me cry, but between the book and my parents and the hope I’m feeling for the first time in a decade, the emotions are a little overwhelming.

  He makes a quiet growl in his throat. “Is this about your parents?”

  “So what if it is.” I grab the book up against my chest, steeling myself against my emotions as best I can, turning to face Troy with all the defiance I feel for Olympus. “They don’t deserve their punishment.”

  It was a stupid idea—my stupid idea—and Griffin Blake, my childhood best friend, went along with it. We didn’t know what would happen; we didn’t know the consequences. We didn’t know our parents would take the blame.

  “I know, Nic,” Troy says, stepping forward and reaching out like he wants to comfort me.

  I don’t do comfort, either.

  “And neither do Griffin’s parents,” I snap, pulling away from him.

  That’s the worst of it. My parents getting banished is bad enough, but at least they’re still alive. I can still call them and email them. After graduation I’ll get to go see them. Griffin’s . . . they’re just gone. They took the blame, and when he tried to explain, they told Olympus he was lying to protect them. For that, for his supposed lies, they got the worst of the punishment. Vanished, off the face of the earth. Because the gods knew that would make Griffin’s suffering all the more excruciating.

  Griffin and I didn’t speak for years. Not until he started dating Phoebe and she made us talk through our history. I’d spent ten years blaming him, thinking he’d just let our parents take the fall. That day we lost each other and our parents.

  All because of a stupid childhood mistake.

  “Nic, I know you feel guilty about what—”

  “Guilty?” I gape at him. “Guilty? Because of what I did, my parents got expelled from everything they knew, and Griffin’s got dead. Our parents stepped forward to take responsibility for our actions, and they ended up paying too high a price to keep us safe.”

  “What you both did,” Troy argues. “Griffin was part of it, too.”

  “Yes, we both fed the ambrosia to Hera’s son,” I spit. “But I was the one who suggested it.”

  “You were seven.” Troy puts his hands on my shoulders, trying to make me feel better. “You didn’t know.”

  “That doesn’t matter. None of that matters.” I shrug off his hands. “I should have been punished, not them.”

  I should have been banished. Or smoted. At least then I wouldn’t have to live every day with this all-consuming guilt. There hasn’t been a feast day or holiday since the decree when I didn’t beg Zeus and Hera and the rest of the clowns to let me take the punishments instead.

  As if they would ever listen to a lowly descendant. A half blood, in their eyes.

  Every time I see Griffin, every time I miss my mom, every time I get to do whatever rebellious, crazy thing I want to do, I think about the fact that my parents don’t have that kind of freedom. And Griffin’s don’t have any.

  “Your parents knew what might happen.” Troy shakes his head sadly, still trying to make me feel better. “But what’s done is done, you can’t go back and—”

  “Can’t I?” I hold up the book.

  “No,” he says, reaching for the book. “No way.”

  I jerk it out of his reach. “Yes.”

  “That’s crazy, Nicole.”

  Like I don’t know that.

  “Don’t you see?” I stare at the book. “I was meant to find this. It’s why Phoebe came to this island and why I became her friend. It’s why she and Griffin got together and why she forced me to patch things up with him. It’s why I went into the secret archives with her. It’s why the book started glowing when I walked by.”

  “It started glowing when I sat on your bed, too,” Troy argues. “Maybe it just likes people.”

  “Troy, this is the chance I’ve been looking for!”

  Why can’t he understand what an amazing opportunity this presents? Why can’t he see that the potential consequences don’t matter? But he can’t. Which is precisely why I didn’t want him to find out about the book in the first place.

  “This is the chance I’ve been waiting for.” I swing the book away from his grasping hands. “With this I can go back to that moment and fix . . . everything.”

  “It’s too dangerous.” He stops trying for the book, instead focusing his attention on me. Like he can make me understand his point. “Do you know what will happen when Olympus finds out? And they always find out.”

  The problem is, I do understand his point. It just doesn’t matter.

  “I don’t care.”

  “You should.” He steps back, shaking his head at me. “You should care a lot. Time travel is one of the unbreakable laws. The gods will rain down punishment on you that will make one of Headmaster Petrolas’s detentions look like afternoon tea.”

  And boy do I know from Headmaster Petrolas’s detentions.

  Maybe, if it were anything but this, I would be too scared to follow through. As it is, I’m pretty scared. But I’m determined even more.

  The potential gain far, far outweighs the risks.

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice, Nicole.”

  I meet his gaze full on, trying to make him understand my side. “Not one I can live with.”

  For several long seconds, he just stares into my eyes, his green and gold trying to read any weakness in my determination. I even feel a tickle in my brain and I know he’s using psychospection to feel out my thoughts, too. He might find some fear and doubt in there, but he will also find a steel wall of firm resolution.

  I know he senses that when he finally takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

  A lot of things in my life may come and go, but I can always count on Troy to be reliable, cautious, and—in the end—completely supportive and understanding.

  “Fine,” he finally says. “What do we have to do?”

  “We?” I laugh. “There’s no we in this game, Travatas. I’m doing this alone.”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “Troy—”

  “Oh, so you want me to tell a certain vengeful librarian you have a book from the secret archives out on loan?”

  I’m not amused.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He just shrugs, giving me that adorably innocent puppy-dog look that always seems to get him out of tight spaces. “Or maybe Headmaster Petrolas. I’m sure he’d like to know what you have planned.”

  “I could curse your mouth,” I threaten. “Make it so you can’t say anything.”

  “Tongue’s already cursed, remember?”

  Right. He finally confessed his dream of becoming a musician to his parents, and they cursed his taste buds to ensure a constant reminder of their disapproval. Troy descends from Asklepios, the god of medicine. You don’t deviate from an ancient line of doctors without a little parental fury. He hasn’t been able to eat sweets for weeks.

  He’s trying to make a joke out of the situation, but that doesn’t change my mind. Griffin is the only other person with a stake in the outcome, and I’m not asking him—or anyone else—to take this risk on my behalf. Enough people have already paid for my actions. I’m not adding to the list.

  “I don’t want you to get into trouble,” I explain. He’s already in enough hot water about the whole musician thing. “I won’t risk you getting hurt.”

  Or worse. When dealing with the gods, there’s always something worse.

  “Nicole,” he says, in a tone way more steely and serious than I’m used to from Troy, “you’re my best friend. You need my help. There is no way I am letting you go through this alone. End of discussion.”

&nb
sp; My mouth drops opens to argue, but I snap it back shut just as quickly. Troy doesn’t usually make stands like this. I love him, but he’s about ninety percent coward. It took him almost eighteen years to come clean to his parents about his music. The fact that he’s standing up to me, of all people, is shocking and impressive.

  Besides, he’s right that I will probably need help. Who knows what the requirements for time travel are going to be? Not me, clearly, since I’ve been too chicken to even open the book. And he’s also right that he’s my best friend. What he might not know, though, is that I trust him more than anybody else in this world—or any other world.

  If I’m going to have a partner in crime in this enterprise, it’s going to be Troy or no one.

  I finally say, “Okay.”

  “Listen, Nicole, I know you don’t like relying on—” He jerks back and blinks a few times. “Did you just say okay?”

  I stare at him.

  “Wow.” His green-gold eyes widen in shock. “This must really be serious.”

  “It is.”

  Straightening his shoulders, like he needs to muster his strength, he asks, “So, what do we do first?”

  “I don’t know,” I explain, giving the book a wary look. “I haven’t read it yet.”

  “What are we waiting for?” He grabs the book from my hand, drops back onto my bed with his back against the wall, and sets the leather volume in his lap. “Let’s crack this baby open.”

  He’s showing way more courage than he feels, I’m sure. But I’m thankful for every ounce of fake bravado. Maybe this is why I waited. Maybe I’m supposed to read the book with Troy, to follow the instructions and travel back through time with him at my side. All of a sudden, my fears and doubts and cowardliness evaporate. I’m ready.

  I climb onto the bed next to him, scooting back to the wall for support. We each wrap one hand around the corner of the cover, and pull it open.

  I’m not sure what I expected to happen. Thunderbolts, swarms of locusts, a Go Directly to Hades, Do Not Pass Go, Do Not Collect $200 card. But, in reality, opening this particular book is just like opening any other.

  As the burgundy leather cover swings out of the way, there is a blank page followed by a title page, which reads:

  The Art and Science of Chronoportation: How to Travel Through Time Without Getting Caught

  “That’s promising,” Troy says.

  “Not getting caught would be a definite advantage,” I agree.

  Next is a table of contents, listing a preface, several chapters on the history of chronoportation, and—finally—the instructions. We look at each other and then Troy quickly flips to the last section. We don’t need a history lesson; we need directions.

  “The power of chronoportation is not as simple as the other twelve dynamotheos powers,” Troy reads. “Time travel requires more than just mental skill and should never be undertaken without careful consideration of the consequences.”

  “Blah blah,” I say. “Skip ahead to the good part.”

  “Funny,” Troy says, giving me an ironic look. “I think this is the part you need to hear most.”

  I throw him a scowl. “If you’re going to be dogging me about this the whole time, then you can leave now.”

  He sighs, and turns back to the book.

  “It says,” Troy explains, even though I’m reading over his shoulder, “we need to get the blessing of Chronos, the god of time.”

  No wonder Olympus outlawed time travel. Chronos is one of the old gods—a primordial. They and their powers make the Olympic gods nervous. They’ve been around since before time began—literally, since Chronos is the god of time. They don’t abide by Olympic law and there have been more than a few . . . skirmishes about that throughout history.

  “And to do that,” Troy reads ahead a bit, “we need to gather three offerings.”

  “What kind of offerings?”

  Troy reads silently for a minute. “It doesn’t say specifically. Just that they need to represent the three Olympic kings.”

  “That would be Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades.”

  Rulers of Olympus, the oceans, and the underworld.

  “Oh, look.” Troy points to a spot farther down the page. “It says, see Offerings to the Gods by the same author.”

  I have a bad feeling about that. Climbing off the bed, I log on to my computer and pull up the Academy’s online library catalog. It only takes a few seconds to verify my fears.

  I slump in my chair.

  “Don’t they have it?” Troy asks.

  “Oh, they have it all right,” I answer. “It just happens to be another volume locked away in the secret archives.”

  “That’s bad.” Troy closes the book and comes to read the computer screen over my shoulder. “How did you get in last time?”

  “Mrs. Philipoulos took us in.” And that hadn’t been easy. She had been ready to send us out on our ears until she realized we were looking for Phoebe’s dad’s trial record. She deemed that worthy of bending library rules.

  Highly doubtful she’d do the same for a book about making offerings to the gods. Especially if I’m the one doing the asking.

  “Well, we need to get inside,” Troy says. “Any ideas?”

  “Not unless you know someone who works as a library aid.”

  Troy is silent, and I look up to find his cheeks bright pink.

  “Actually . . .”

  “Spill.”

  “Look, I don’t even know if she’ll help.”

  She? “Who is she?”

  Troy shakes his dark-blond head. “Let me ask her. It’ll be better if you don’t get involved.”

  I scowl at him—a trick that usually works—but he ignores me as he pushes to his feet.

  “Meet me in the upper level of the library in an hour.” He hands me the book. “Either I’ll have it or we’ll figure out a Plan B.”

  I watch, confused, as Troy leaves my room. Other than hiding his dream of becoming a musician from his parents, he’s usually rubbish at keeping secrets. That he’s keeping this one from me—and that it involves a girl who makes him blush—only makes me more intrigued.

  But if this girl can get the book that will help me make things right, I’ll let him keep his secret. For now.

  3

  The library makes me uncomfortable. All that gold and marble and the smell of musty, old books. I’d rather be pretty much anywhere.

  I start tapping my fingers on the surface of one of the ancient-looking tables. The place is empty. The Academy only offers a few summer programs—like the premed one Troy’s parents are making him take—so the campus is pretty deserted. Even Goddess Boot Camp, the training camp Phoebe had to complete to learn how to use her new powers, is over. All the snooty rich kids are off on their yachts in Ibiza or working at Daddy’s law firm or Mommy’s ad agency for the summer. The only ones left are the ones in summer school and those of us who have nowhere else to go.

  I’m stuck on the island year-round. If I didn’t get a reprieve from all the godlets in the summer I’d go insane.

  It’s been more than an hour since Troy said to meet him here. I’m getting antsy. If he can’t get his hands on the book, I don’t know what the next step will be. I can’t exactly knock on Headmaster Petrolas’s door and ask him how to travel through time.

  It’s not like he can expel me—terms of the Olympic decree—but I’m sure I’d get a lifetime of his worst detentions ever.

  If Troy can’t get the book, though, it might be—

  Troy appears at the top of the grand, curving staircase looking very guilty. His eyes shift left and right before rushing over to my table and dropping into the chair next to me.

  His hands are empty. My heart thumps.

  “Your girlfriend couldn’t get it?”

  He lifts his brows, spreads his arms out over the table, and then pulls something out of his left sleeve. His grin tells me everything I need to know.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he insis
ts.

  Snatching the small, green book from his fingers, I ask, “How?”

  Before he can answer, an annoying female voice says, “See you around, Troy.”

  I turn to see Adara—aka evil cheer queen from Hades—waving as she crosses to the main entrance. My jaw drops. No wonder he didn’t want me involved. My temper has a short fuse around petty popular girls.

  This descendant of Aphrodite is pretty much the antithesis of everything I am, was, or ever will be.

  “What?” She can’t be his secret helper. She’s like our archenemy. “Not Adara?”

  He can’t be interested in her. He can’t like her. He just can’t.

  Troy waves to the cheer witch while shushing me. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh, really?” I ask as the door closes behind her. “What exactly do I think?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You dating that vapid cow is definitely something to worry about.”

  He scowls at me. “We aren’t dating.” He nods at the book. “Don’t we have work to do?”

  I’m torn between wanting to push him for answers and wanting to find out what the three offerings are. My best friend dating my worst enemy is pretty awful, but I have more important things at stake at the moment. I can grill him later. In the end, the bigger picture wins out.

  I flip open Offerings to the Gods without hesitation. “Don’t think I’m letting this go indefinitely.”

  Troy smirks and then bends his head over the book. “What does it say? What are the offerings?”

  I quickly flip through the yellowed pages. It’s really short, maybe two dozen pages altogether—barely worth the binding—so it doesn’t take me long to skim the key points.