The image freezes on the old man for a minute as he laughs, the rough sound echoing off the stone walls of the temple. “It has been too long since any hematheos sought the power of chronoportation.”
I shift my weight to my other foot. “It’s not strictly legal.”
“No,” he says, the image going back to the flickering cycle, “it is not.”
The primordials and the Olympians have never been the best of friends. They have disagreed about how to run the world since, oh, before the world was around. Unfortunately for the primordials, the Olympians are currently in charge. Which means their rules rule. They say no time travel, so no time travel.
Hardly seems fair to the god of time.
“But it is possible,” I argue, shoving my hand out farther. “And I brought the offering.”
“Yes,” he says, slithering forward as the image locks on the serpent. The lion’s head leans close over my palm, inspecting the objects held there.
In a flash, the image of the old man snatches the objects from my palm, shoves them into his mouth, and swallows them.
I feel my eyes widen as the image flickers twice more and then settles on a new one—the young man from the three-headed serpent, but with a man’s body to match. He smiles, his sky-blue eyes sparkling with energy.
“Thank you,” he says, rolling his shoulders like he’s been sitting in a cramped airplane seat for twelve hours. “I needed that.”
This third image, the young man with a gleaming smile, curly blond hair, and a body to rival Adonis himself, is a surprise. I always pictured the god of time more like the first image—a frail old man, stooped with age. Who’d have thought Chronos could be such a hottie?
“Few see my true image,” he explains. “Many choose to view time as an hourglass, with youth and vitality draining away as the sands fall.” He gestures at his body. “But time and age are merely constructs of perception.”
“Um, okay . . .”
This guy sounds like he’s lost his marbles.
But the sharp glare he throws my way is completely clear.
“Forgive me,” he says, stepping close. “I have been alone too long. You summoned me for a reason.”
“Yes,” I say, trying not to stammer. “I need to travel back in time.”
His blue eyes narrow. “Need to?”
“I—” Darn it. “I want to.”
It’s a struggle to hold my emotions in check as memories invade. Memories of Mom and Dad. Griffin’s parents. The happy times on Mount Olympus. The nights I cried myself to sleep in my dorm room. It all swirls around in my mind.
Chronos studies me. I hope he can’t read my thoughts, because they’re a total mess. I try to get them under control, to keep my reasons for wanting to time travel a secret.
“For what purpose?” he asks.
“To observe.” I have to give him a believable answer that is not the truth. “It’s research.”
He steps so close I can smell the mothball scent that surrounds him. “Do you intend to alter the past?”
“No,” I lie without hesitation.
Traveling back in time, breaking one of the unbreakable rules, is bad enough. According to the book, even though changing something in the past doesn’t mess with the present, even Chronos disapproves of messing with godly decree. If he thinks I’m going back to circumvent an Olympic punishment, then he will deny my request.
I hold my breath and focus my thoughts as he scrutinizes me.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is probably more like ten seconds, he snaps his fingers. A shiny gold coin appears in his hand.
“This,” he says, holding the coin in front of my eyes, “is your key back to the present. It will return you to your time of departure.”
He grabs my wrist and carefully places the coin in the center of my palm. It’s heads up and I instantly recognize the face as that of Chronos as an old man.
As he closes my fingers around the cool metal disc, he says, “The other coin, your key to the past, must be given by your godly ancestor.”
Yay. Quality time with the bimbo queen.
“Know this,” he says. “With the other coin you can choose only the date. You will arrive at whatever hour of day you leave this point in time, and so you must wait until the hour you wish to visit before initiating your journey.”
I squeeze my hand into a fist, my heart racing.
“When your ancestor grants the coin,” he whispers, leaning forward to speak next to my ear, “picture the date in your mind and you will be transported.”
I can’t move. I’m stunned frozen by the realization that I’m this close. That I have in my hand the ability to fix everything. I’m only one chat with Persephone away from making things right.
As Chronos steps back to a normal distance, I stare straight ahead.
“Good luck,” he says with a cryptic twist to his lips, “and timespeed.”
I nod, unable to speak.
Then, in a soft flash of blue light, Chronos is gone and I am alone in the temple, alone with my thoughts, with the chance to undo the past literally within my grasp.
10
When I walk out of the temple, everyone starts talking at once.
“Did it work?”
“What did he look like?”
“Did you get the coin?”
“What happened?”
“Are you okay?”
The last question is from Troy. I give him disapproving look—of course I’m okay—and then pull the coin from my pocket. I hold it up, the golden metal shining in the setting sun.
“I got it,” I say, and everyone falls quiet.
This quest just got more real than anyone ever imagined. With this little piece of gold—okay, not so little: it has to weigh at least a few ounces—the idea of time travel has gone from a distant dream to near reality.
Trust me, I feel the weight of it settle on my shoulders.
“Now what?” Phoebe finally asks.
“Now,” I say with a shrug, “I wait. Chronos said I have to call Persephone at the same time of day I want to go back to.”
Griffin rolls one shoulder. “I don’t remember the exact time,” he says. “Just that it was early afternoon.”
“I do.” I’ve read the official transcripts enough times that I have the entire thing memorized. All three hundred and forty-eight pages. “Two seventeen.”
“It’s almost seven now,” Stella offers.
I nod. “I have to wait until tomorrow.”
We stand in a nervous circle, silent on the steps of the pantheon temple. My mind races. When it gets to be too much, I break the silence.
“No point hanging out here,” I say. “There’s nothing to do until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, we have an early run,” Phoebe says, wrapping her hand around Griffin’s arm.
“I have a reading list a mile long,” Stella says. “Oxford has high expectations for incoming students.”
“So we’ll meet back here tomorrow at . . . ?” Phoebe asks. “Two?”
I shake my head. “Quarter ’til. I want to be sure to have enough time.”
Everyone agrees to reassemble tomorrow and then disperses, leaving me and Troy standing on the steps. He moves to face me on the next step down.
He repeats his earlier question. “Are you okay?”
“Stop asking me that,” I answer immediately. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He tilts his head down and looks up at me from under a scowl. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I say, ignoring his chiding look. “I’m fine.”
He watches me, like he’s deciding whether to argue with me or not. In the end, he asks, “Want to grab something to eat? I hear the dining hall has lasagna today.”
But I’m already shaking my head before he finishes. “I have a couple errands to run.”
“I could go with you,” he offers.
“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” I ask, though even the thou
ght of Troy with Adara makes me nauseous.
“For the last time,” he says, practically growling, “I do not have a girlfriend. Adara and I are not dating. Let it go already.”
“No,” I say. “If you’re not dating, then what are you doing? Because it certainly isn’t nothing.”
“You really want to know?” he asks.
I stare him down. “I really want to know.”
His cheeks flame up like he’s standing too close to a bonfire.
“I’m helping her,” he says. He ducks his head. “I’m helping the squad.”
“The squad?” I echo. “The cheerleading squad?”
He rubs his hands over his short hair. “I’m writing them a song, okay?”
“You’re writing a—?” I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “Troy Travatas,” I say, struggling to keep a serious look on my face. “Are you writing a cheer?”
My laughter dies as he looks up at me, those gentle hazel eyes so full of embarrassment. That look cuts right through my humor. I don’t want to be responsible for making him feel bad. About anything.
“That’s pretty cool.” I soft-punch him in the shoulder. “Your first professional gig.”
He gives me a half smile. “I’m not getting paid or anything.”
“You don’t have to wear a uniform, do you?”
“No,” he says with a laugh.
I scan down to his feet. “Too bad. Your legs would look great in one of those pleated skirts.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head and I know I have my Troy back.
“Ha-ha,” he says, “very funny. Now if you’re done teasing me, we can grab dinner—”
“No,” I say, cutting him off as I force myself to refocus on the quest at hand. “I need some time alone.”
The thing about Adara provided some much-needed comic relief, but the big picture still looms. I have a huge day tomorrow. The stress and pressure are almost overwhelming.
Troy winces just enough to show that I hurt him. I know he’s sensitive and I know I’m pushing him away. But I can’t feel bad about that right now. There isn’t room in my brain.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, brushing past him as I walk down the steps.
I don’t turn back to see how long he stands there.
As I head away from the temple, I force thoughts of Troy out of my mind. I have enough to think about. I’m about to go back in time to stop my younger self from feeding ambrosia to Hera’s baby son. There is a whole world of pressure in that single act.
Just traveling through time is a crazy feat. As far as I know, no one has done it in centuries. Maybe even millennia.
There are reasons time travel is illegal. Altering the course of time is tricky. What if I do it wrong? What if I can’t stop myself or I make the situation worse? Having my parents banished and Griffin’s smoted was bad enough. What if I screw up and the punishments are worse?
I walk through the village, blindly wandering wherever my feet take me.
The what-ifs racing through my mind are overwhelming. I don’t usually waste time thinking about consequences. I’m more of an act-now, worry-about-detention-later girl.
But this? This is too big. Too important.
I’m not sure how long I walk. When I finally find myself standing in front of the boys’ dorm, it’s pitch dark and I’m shivering in the night air.
I enter the building, climb the stairs, and stop in front of Troy’s door.
He opens it before my third knock.
“I’m not okay,” I blurt. “I’m scared.”
I can honestly say that those are words I’ve never said to anyone before in my life. I don’t get scared. And on the rare occasion that I might, I push the pointless sensation aside. Fear is a waste—it doesn’t accomplish anything.
But today, no matter how hard I shove, the fear stays lodged in my heart.
I stand there, watching Troy, waiting for him to respond. Waiting for him to laugh or say something sarcastic like, Never thought I’d see the day.
But he doesn’t.
He steps forward, wraps his arms around me, and squeezes tight.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispers against my hair. “Everything will be fine.”
As I relax into his hug, I want to believe him. More than anything in the world, I want to believe things will work out.
I’m just not used to fearing that they won’t.
“Don’t jinx her,” Phoebe says. “She hasn’t done it yet.”
“There is no such thing as a jinx,” Stella replies.
“Just curses,” Xander says.
Griffin adds, “And luck.”
“It doesn’t have to be real,” Phoebe argues, “to mess things up.”
Troy hushes them.
I don’t turn to look at my friends. My mind is focused on the temple door above me and what is waiting for me inside. I spent the entire night wide-awake, sitting on Troy’s bed, thinking about this moment. Dreading it—but also anxious for the time to get here already.
“Stella’s right,” I say, not looking away from the door. “I don’t believe in jinxes.”
But I do believe in action.
Without another word, I put one boot in front of the other and march up the steps. This shouldn’t be so hard. I faced down one of the old gods yesterday. How much worse could Persephone be?
At the door I hesitate for only a second—I don’t allow myself any longer—and then push my way inside.
Sliding the door shut behind me, I scan the temple interior. The mosaic murals covering the walls on all sides depict major events in mythology. The battle between the Titans and the Olympians. The Trojan War. Hades kidnapping Persephone. Clearly, all the high points.
I walk over to the one depicting my ancient ancestor getting carried away into the underworld, hanging over Hades’s back like a sack of stupid potatoes. How is it possible the dimwit and I share blood?
“Stop stalling,” I finally mutter, forcing myself to turn away from the mural.
Time to get this over with.
I walk to the center of the temple, close my eyes, and shout, “Persephone!”
I shake my head as I open my eyes, bracing myself for my first conversation with my ancestor goddess. Nothing happens—no bright light or puff of smoke. The temple remains as empty as when I walked in.
“Persephone!” I shout again. “Here, dummy, dummy, dummy.”
Nope.
I try a dozen more times, a dozen different ways.
Nothing.
Oh my gods, I have the dumbest ancestor in the history of all mythology. She doesn’t even come when one of her own calls for her.
I keep shouting her name as I make a tour of the temple, yelling for her at every corner and column.
“Listen, you dumb cow,” I shout, reaching the end of my admittedly short rope, “I need your help. Trust me, if I could do this any other way I would. Aaarrgh!”
Did I really expect anything more from the idiot queen of the underworld?
I stop in front of her mosaic—the depiction of what should be her greatest shame—and just stare. Other than our blond hair, I have nothing—nothing!—in common with her. I would never let myself get kidnapped. If I did, I would never agree to stay with my kidnapper. And I would never, ever, no matter what, abandon my friends or family when they need me.
With a primal scream, I slam a combat boot into her mural.
“Come on,” I scream one last time. “Don’t you want to get away from the underworld for a few minutes?”
“Why would I?” a lyrical female voice says from behind me. “It is, after all, my home.”
I spin around—stunned, relieved, and furious to find Persephone standing at the center of the temple. She is a vision in a flowing golden gown, her hair piled up in a mess of yellow curls.
“I—uh—”
My mind goes blank for a moment. I’m stunned silent.
Persephone closes the space between us, mo
ving so smoothly that it looks like she’s floating. Who knows? Maybe she is.
“Why did you call me to the temple?” she asks, a confused but kind look on her face. “What can I do for you, child?”
What can she do for me? She’s talking to me like I’m a total stranger, not one of her unlucky descendants. For the love of Zeus, she’s dumb.
My anger returns tenfold.
“I need a golden coin,” I snap. “I have to go back in time.”
She tilts her head slightly, making her look like a curious poodle. “Chronoportation is illegal.”
“I know,” I say with tense growl. “I still need the coin.”
She shakes her head and smiles. “But why would you call me?” she asks. “You must request the coin of Chronos from your ancestor god.”
“That is why I called you.”
Seriously. If this conversation goes on any longer without her handing over the coin, I’m going to strangle her.
“But why?” she repeats. “I am not your ancestor.”
“You’re not—” I shake my head. “Of course you are.”
“I’m afraid not.” She gives me an amused look. “Do you not think I would recognize my own children?”
“No, actually I—”
Before I can finish telling her exactly how dumb I think she is, the goddess of Spring smiles and vanishes in a puff of shimmering smoke. Just like that, she’s gone and I’m alone in the temple.
I’m so stunned by her disappearance that my mind freezes, stuck on her words. Replaying them over and over. I am not your ancestor. I am not your ancestor. I am not your—
It can’t be true. Can it?
“Holy Hades.”
Is it possible that she really isn’t my ancestor? That I’m actually not a descendant of Persephone?
On any other day that news would leave me elated. Thrilled. Over the freaking moon to find out I’m not related to the most embarrassing goddess on the family tree.
But today? I’m pissed. I don’t have time to celebrate. I need to find out who my ancestor is so I can get that second gold coin.
And I know only one person who might know the answer.
The moment I open the temple doors, I’m bombarded with questions again. Everyone rushes me, assuming I’ve gone back in time and changed things, and eager to hear all the exciting details.