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Touch of Frost

Touch of Frost (Mythos Academy #1)(2)
Author: Jennifer Estep

"So?" she said. "I’ll pay you more. However much you want."

"Sorry. Once I give my word to somebody, I keep it. And I told Carson that I would find the charm bracelet for him."

Daphne tilted her head to the side like I was some strange creature that she’d never seen before, some mythological monster masquerading as a teenage girl. Maybe it was stupid of me, not taking her up on the cash that she was so willing to give me. But my mom wouldn’t have taken Daphne’s money, not if she’d already made a promise to someone else. My mom, Grace, had been a Gypsy, just like me. With a gift, just like me.

For a moment, my heart ached with guilt and longing. My mom was gone, and I missed her so much. I shook my head, more to push the pain aside than anything else.

"Look, just give me the bracelet. That’s all I want. That’s all Carson wants."

Daphne’s lips tightened. "He-he knows? That I took the bracelet? And why?"

"Not yet. But he’s going to if you don’t give it to me. Right now."

I opened the top of the plastic bag and held it out to her. Daphne stared at the rose charm glinting inside. She bit her pink lip, smearing her gloss on her teeth, and looked away.

"Fine," she muttered. "I don’t know why I even took it in the first place."

I did because I’d flashed on Daphne when I’d touched the charm. As soon as my fingers had brushed the silver rose, an image of the blond Valkyrie had popped into my head. I’d seen Daphne sitting at Carson’s desk, staring at the bracelet, her fingers tightening around the metal links like she wanted to rip them in two.

And I’d felt the other girl’s emotions, too, the way that I always did whenever I touched an object or even another person. I’d felt Daphne’s hot, pulsing jealousy that Carson was thinking about asking out Leta. The warm, soft, fizzy crush that Daphne had on Carson herself, despite the fact that he was a total band geek and she was part of the popular crowd. Her cold, aching despair that she didn’t like someone the rest of her snobby friends would approve of.

But I didn’t tell Daphne any of that. The less people knew about my gift and the things I saw and felt, the better.

Daphne yanked the bracelet out of her bag. Carson Callahan might be a band geek, but he had money, too, which was why the bracelet was a heavy, expensive thing loaded down with a dozen charms that jingled together. Daphne’s nails scraped against one of the charms, a small heart, and more pink sparks of magic fluttered like fireflies in the air.

I held out the bag again, and Daphne dropped the bracelet inside. I closed the top and tied off the plastic, careful not to touch the jewelry itself. I didn’t want another slide show into Daphne Cruz’s psyche. The first one had almost made me feel sorry for her.

But any sympathy I might have had for Daphne vanished when the Valkyrie gave me the cold, haughty stare that so many mean girls before her had perfected.

"You tell anyone about this, Gwen Frost, and I’ll strangle you with that ugly purple hoodie you’re wearing. Understand me?"

"Sure," I said in a pleasant tone. "But you might want to pull yourself together before you go to your next class, Daphne. Your lip gloss is smeared."

The Valkyrie’s eyes narrowed, but I ignored her venomous dirty look, unlocked the bathroom door, and left.

Chapter 2

I stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway. Somewhere deeper in the building, a bell chimed, warning me that I had five minutes to get to my next class, so I fell in with the flow of students walking toward the west wing of the English-history building.

From the outside, Mythos Academy looked like an elite Ivy League prep school, even though it was located in Cypress Mountain, just outside of Asheville, up in the high country of western North Carolina. Everything about the academy whispered of money, power, and snobbery, from the ivy-covered stone buildings to the perfectly manicured grassy quads to the dining hall that was more like a five-star restaurant than a school cafeteria. Yeah, from the outside, the academy looked exactly like the kind of place rich people would send their spoiled trust fund babies to in preparation for them going on to Yale, Harvard, Duke, or some other acceptably expensive college.

Inside, though, it was a different story.

At first glance, everything looked normal, if a bit stuffy and totally old-fashioned. You know, suits of polished armor lining the halls, each one clutching a sharp, pointed weapon. Stone carvings and expensive oil paintings of mythological battles covering the walls. White marble statues of gods and goddesses standing in the corners, their faces turned toward each other and hands held up over their mouths, as if they were gossiping about everyone who passed by their perches.

And then, there were the students. Ages sixteen to twenty-one, first-year students all the way up to sixthyears, all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities, with books and bags in one hand and their cell phones in the other, texting, talking, and walking all at the same time. Each one wearing the most expensive clothes their parents could afford, including Prada, Gucci, and, of course, Jimmy Choos.

But if you looked past the designer duds and flashy electronics, you’d notice other things. Strange things. Like the fact that so many of the students carried weapons. Swords, bows, and staffs mostly, all stuffed into what looked like fancy leather tennis bags. Color-coordinated to match the day’s outfit, of course.

The weapons were just accessories at Mythos. Status symbols of who you were, what you could do, and how much money your parents had. Just like the colorful sparks and flashes of magic that crackled in the air like static electricity. Even the lowliest geek here knew how to chop off somebody’s head with a sword or could turn your insides to mush just by muttering a spell or two.

It was like going to school in an episode of Xena: Warrior Princess.

That’s what all the kids at Mythos Academy were-warriors. Real, live mythological warriors. Or at least the great-great-whatever descendants of them. The girls were Amazons and Valkyries, for the most part, while the boys tended to be Romans or Vikings. But there were other warrior types mixed in as well-Spartans, Persians, Trojans, Celts, Samurais, Ninjas, and everything in between, from every ancient culture, myth, or fairy tale that you’d ever heard of and lots that you hadn’t. Each one with their own special abilities and magic, and the egos to match.

As a general rule, though, everyone was rich, beautiful, and dangerous.

Everyone except for me.

Nobody looked at me and nobody spoke to me as I trudged toward my sixth-period myth-history class. I was just that Gypsy girl, and not rich, powerful, popular, pretty, or important enough to register on anyone’s social radar. It was late October now, almost two months into the fall term, and I had yet to make a friend. I didn’t even have a casual someone I could sit with at lunch in the dining hall. But my friendless state didn’t bother me.

Chapters