Midnight Frost (Mythos Academy #5)(9)
Author: Jennifer Estep

The card went on to talk about some of the creatures Ran had supposedly caught and tamed with the net, but I skimmed over the rest of the words.

Instead, I reached back into my bag and grabbed the thin, threadbare net itself. To my surprise, it had folded up quite easily, and I’d looped it over and over again, until the whole thing was no bigger and not much thicker than a belt. I threaded my fingers through some of the loops and reached for my magic.

But the only thing I saw was the endless rise and fall of the blue-gray ocean, and the only thing I felt was a smooth, constant motion, as if I was bobbing up and down like a fishing lure riding the tops of the waves. The sharp tang of the sea filled my nose, while the sounds of the swells slapping against each other echoed in my ears. I licked my lips and tasted salt. Even more of it seemed to be crusted in my hair, and I could almost feel gritty bits of sand sticking to my skin, as though I’d spent the day at the beach.

It wasn’t unpleasant, though. In fact, the sensations were some of the nicest I’d experienced with my magic in a long time. So nice, so calm, so soothing, that I could have let the waves carry me away – and all my fears, worries, and heartache along with them.

But I had a job to do, so instead I concentrated, focusing on the net and all of the images, memories, and emotions attached to it, but the scene and the feelings didn’t change. After a few more seconds, I opened my eyes, unwound my fingers from the gray seaweed, and stuffed the net and the card back into my bag.

"Anything new?" Oliver asked, watching me.

I shook my head. "Nothing I haven’t seen before."

"But Nike showed it to you, so it has to be important, right?"

"I guess. Although I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with a mythological fishing net when we’re hundreds of miles away from the ocean."

My eyes drifted upward, searching for inspiration – or some sort of clue. For months, I’d only been able to see darkness whenever I’d gazed up at the ceiling inside the Library of Antiquities. But a few weeks ago, Nike had shown me the amazing fresco hidden beneath the shadows – one of me and my friends fighting the Reapers in some great battle. Each of us had been holding a weapon or some other object, and those were the artifacts that Nike had asked me to find and keep out of the Reapers’ hands. So far, though, Ran’s net had been the only thing I’d been able to identify and track down.

But once again, shadows obscured the fresco. No help there. At least not tonight.

"But it looks like the net in my drawing, right?" Oliver asked.

I couldn’t draw to save my life, but Oliver had some mad art mojo so he’d happily sketched the fresco for me, based on my own crude drawings and descriptions. His detailed sketch was also nestled inside my messenger bag for safekeeping.

"Your drawing is perfect, and this is definitely the right net," I said. "It’s not your fault I’m too dumb to understand what the big deal is about it."

"Don’t worry, Gwen. You’ll figure it out. You always do. I have faith in you."

"Well, it’s a good thing one of us does," I grumbled.

Oliver grinned at my sarcasm.

Since I’d struck out with the net, I shelved a few more books and dusted a couple more artifact cases, but my mind wasn’t on the tasks, and I was only going through the motions, just like I had ever since Logan had left. More than once, I found myself staring off into space, wondering where he was and what he was doing. If he was okay. If he was cold or hungry or scared or tired.

If he was thinking about me.

After about two minutes of that, I’d shake off my sorrow and get angry at for myself for obsessing about him. Vic was right. I really needed to quit brooding and get on with killing Reapers. Or at the very least, finish my homework for tomorrow.

Easier said than done. Because five minutes later, instead of reading through my myth-history book like I should have been, I found myself thinking about Logan again.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I turned around on my stool and faced Oliver, who was messing with his phone.

"So . . ." I said in a light voice, trying not to let on how important this was to me. "Have you heard anything from Logan?"

Oliver froze. He looked at me, then glanced down at the screen. Guilt flickered in his green eyes.

"You’re texting with him right now, aren’t you?"

Oliver winced. He typed something else on his phone, then slid the device into his pants pocket. He didn’t answer my question.

"How is he? Where is he? Is he okay? Is he ever coming back to the academy?"

They were the same questions I’d asked everyone a hundred times already. The same ones I thought about late at night in my room, especially after I’d had one of my nightmares.

Oliver sighed. "Logan needs some time, Gwen. He needs some space, from the academy and everything that happened. But yes, to answer your question, he’s fine. At least, that’s what he says when he texts me." He hesitated. "If it helps at all, he asks about you all the time."

"And what do you tell him?" I asked in a soft voice.

He hesitated again. "That you miss him. That we all miss him. That we need him, and that he should get his ass back here as soon as he can."

"And what does he say to that?"

Oliver shrugged. "Nothing. Just . . . nothing. I don’t know when he’s coming back. I don’t know if he’s ever coming back. Not after what the Reapers did to him. And especially not after what he did to you."

I let out a breath. The thought that Logan might never return was one I hadn’t let myself dwell on too much, but now, it was all I could think about, like a cold fist wrapped around my heart and slowly crushing it, crushing me, from the inside out. Suddenly, it was too small behind the checkout counter. Too cramped, too cluttered, and much too crowded for me to catch my breath.

Oliver noticed my stricken expression. "I didn’t mean that, Gwen. It’s not your fault Logan’s gone."

But it was, and we both knew it. I shook my head, grabbed some books, and disappeared into the stacks before Oliver could see how much I was hurting.

Thankfully, Oliver decided not to follow me. I went back to a remote part of the stacks, the spot where Vic’s case had once been. I stood there, eyes closed, books clutched to my chest, trying to breathe. In and out, in and out, in and out, like my mom had taught me to do whenever I was worried, nervous, scared, or upset.

Worried? Check. Upset? Definitely. And once again, I felt that spurt of anger at Logan for not being here, for leaving me behind to deal with everything.

It took a few minutes, but my heart stopped aching, and the pressure in my lungs slowly eased. I still felt cold inside, though – cold, dull, and empty. My anger was gone, or at least iced over for the moment, and I couldn’t even cry. My tears seemed to be as frozen as the rest of me felt deep down inside.