Touch of Frost (Mythos Academy #1)(51)
Author: Jennifer Estep

I was going to do the right thing this time. The smart thing. Get a quick look at whatever was happening, at whoever had made Morgan come here, then slip out and go get help from Professor Metis, Coach Ajax, or even Nickamedes back at the dining hall.

I moved through the stacks, trying to get a look at Morgan through the rows of musty books that separated us. The sound of her footsteps was louder in here, echoing all the way up to the ceiling and back down again, and she was still walking at that slow, steady pace.

Through the bookshelves, I caught a glimpse of the Valkyrie. Morgan still had that blank, empty look on her face, like she wasn’t even aware of what she was doing, like she wasn’t even in control of herself anymore. Like she was … possessed.

Like somebody had dripped her blood into the Bowl of Tears.

The thought erupted from the bottom of my brain, bursting through to the surface. I flashed back to last night in my room when I’d been reading Jasmine’s book, the one that had all the information about the Bowl of Tears in it. I focused on the memory, and the words on the page popped into my head.

It was rumored that Loki used the Bowl to bend people to his will. That once a person’s blood was dripped into the bowl the god-or whoever had the Bowl at that time-had complete control over him or her… .

The words triggered other memories of all the things that I’d seen and done over the past few days. Nickamedes talking about the Bowl and the fact that whoever had stolen it shouldn’t have even been able to take it out of the library in the first place. The ripped-up photo of Morgan and Samson that I’d found in Jasmine’s room. The rage that I’d felt when I’d touched the picture. All those books about magic and illusions that had been on Jasmine’s bookshelves. The stone statue almost braining Morgan and Samson when they were getting busy outside the library. The prowler showing up, then evaporating after Logan had killed it.

But the one thing that I kept coming back to over and over again, the biggie, was the fact that I hadn’t felt anything, that I hadn’t gotten any kind of flash or vibe at all off Jasmine’s body that night that I’d found her in the library. The night that I’d thought she’d been murdered. I’d thought that there had been something wrong with my Gypsy gift, my psychometry magic, but maybe … just maybe there hadn’t been anything there for me to feel in the first place. Not really.

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. My Gypsy gift always let me see something, whether I wanted to or not. But not with Jasmine, which was the first time I hadn’t seen anything at all. Ever. All the images, all the memories and feelings, suddenly came together in my head, clicking into place like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I thought I had a pretty good idea who had killed Jasmine, stolen the Bowl of Tears, and why.

Oh no. If Morgan was walking toward who I thought she was, then the Valkyrie was in big trouble, and so was I-

I was so busy figuring things out that I wasn’t really looking where I was going and I bumped into one of the glass artifact cases. But not just any case-The Case, the one with the strange sword in it. The one with the hilt that looked like half of a man’s face. I hit The Case so hard I jiggled the sword inside-causing the eye in the hilt to snap open.

I froze and blinked several times, thinking, no, hoping that it was just a figment of my imagination. That the eye would disappear the way that it had before and I could tell myself that I was just seeing things because I was in a bad, bad situation and feeling a little stressed. Okay, a lot stressed.

I blinked and blinked, and nothing happened. The eye was still there, and it was still staring at me.

The eye was a peculiar color, somewhere between purple and gray, the kind of color that made me think of a softly falling twilight, that sliver of time after sunset just before the world went dark for the night.

I was in an awkward position, half-sprawled over The Case, my fingers leaving streaks all over the glass, but I couldn’t move. I just couldn’t look away from the eye in the sword. I felt this peculiar sensation in my chest, a sort of euphoria. For some reason, looking at the weapon made me happy. The same way that fighting seemed to make Logan happy. I shivered. Why would a sword make me happy? I didn’t even know how to use one-

The eye suddenly narrowed, as if sizing me up, as if it knew every single one of my secrets just by looking at me. I felt like I was somehow falling into it, drowning in its twilight gaze, that I could never look away from that single, piercing stare and that, strangely enough, I didn’t really want to.

I don’t know how long I would have stood there, just staring at the unblinking eye, if I hadn’t heard something hiss behind me.

A low particular evil hiss that I’d heard only once before. The kind that made my blood run cold and my heart turn to ice. The noise cut through my dazed reverie and snapped me back to reality. I thought about what had happened the last time that I’d heard that awful sound.

Oh no.

I slowly turned around and looked over my shoulder.

A Nemean prowler stood behind me.

It looked just the same as the one had outside the library last night. A black, pantherlike creature with big claws and even bigger teeth that could kill me as easily as it could breathe. If it actually breathed at all and didn’t just exist on pure evil alone. I still wasn’t sure about that part.

The prowler hissed at me, its lips curling back to show off its fangs. Which, of course, glinted magnificently in the strange twisting golden glow that filled the library. I swallowed, but it didn’t dislodge the hard lump of fear stuck in my throat. This time, though, I didn’t bother to say, Nice kitty. There was nothing nice about it, especially not the way it was looking at me.

For a moment, I thought the prowler was going to pounce on me right there and tear out my throat with all its many, many teeth. But instead, a low whistle sounded and the creature moved off to one side so its master could come closer toward me.

A figure wearing a long scarlet cloak crusted with jewels strode down the aisle. The crimson cloth billowed out as the person drew nearer. The rippling fabric made me think of a river of blood. I shivered again. The sight of it shouldn’t have surprised me, though. After all, I’d seen an image of her buying it online when I’d touched her laptop. I just hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. Veronica Mars I was not. The person wearing the cloak was definitely smarter than me. Smarter than us all. Because she’d pulled this whole twisted scam off beautifully so far.

The cloak had a hood on it, so I couldn’t get a good look at her face. All I saw was a hint of a smile on her pink lips and the flash of white teeth. For some reason, hers scared me even more than the prowler’s did.

"Hello, Gypsy," a low voice murmured from the depths of the hooded cloak. "I was wondering when you were going to show up."