Once again, I went through the motions, shelving the books I'd grabbed. When that was done, I wandered up the stairs to the second floor. It was quieter here, and the only sound was the faint scuffle of my sneakers on the marble. Oliver would probably get worried and come looking for me at some point, but for now, I enjoyed the silence - and the solitude.
Eventually, I wound up in a familiar spot in the circular pantheon - in front of Nike's statue.
The Greek goddess of victory looked the same in her marble form as when she appeared to me in real life. Her hair twisted into ringlets and falling down past her slim shoulders. A white, toga-like gown wrapped around her slender, muscled body. Wings arching up over her back. A crown of laurels resting on top of her head. Features that were somehow strong, cold, terrible, and beautiful all at the same time.
Normally, I said a few words to the goddess whenever I came up here to her statue, but I didn't feel like it tonight. Instead, I curled up into a ball at the base of the statue and leaned my head back against the cool, smooth marble.
After a while, I felt calmer, like I had the strength to go downstairs and face the rest of the night, but I stayed where I was. Since I was on the second floor, I had a bird's-eye view of all the students studying below - including the guy standing by the checkout counter.
I wasn't sure what drew my attention to him. Maybe it was the way he just stood there, as though he were waiting for someone to come and help him. Maybe it was the furtive looks he kept giving Oliver, who was still sitting behind the counter and texting on his phone again, oblivious to everything else. Or maybe it was the fact that he didn't have anything in his hands. No textbooks, no notepads, no pens, not even a tablet that he was using to idly surf the web instead of doing his homework like he should have been. But something about the guy just seemed . . . wrong.
I scooted over to the edge of the balcony so I could get a better look at him. Jeans, green sweater, brown boots, brown leather jacket. He had on the same clothes as everyone else, right down to the designer logos that covered the expensive fabrics. So I studied his face. Brown hair, dark eyes, tan skin.
Wait a second. I knew him. Jason Anderson. A Viking and a second-year student like me. He sat two desks over from me in English-lit. I'd never paid much attention to Jason before, except to say hello or ask him to pass me a book or a copy of the latest pop quiz we were taking. But something about him made me keep watching him now.
Jason tentatively put one hand on the counter, then another one - and then he reached out and grabbed my water bottle.
I frowned. What was he doing messing with my drink? As I watched, Jason slid a small white pouch out of his jeans pocket. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching him, then dropped the bottle down by his side and held the pouch up over it. Some sort of white powder dropped into the water. Jason quickly swirled around the liquid inside so the powder dissolved in it.
I sucked in a breath. Was he - could he be - was he poisoning my water?
Jason put the bottle back on the counter where it had been. He started to turn around, but then he spotted the second bottle - the one that belonged to Nickamedes. Jason must not have been sure which water was mine because he glanced around again, then did the same thing to that bottle. White powder, shake the water around until the poison dissolved, then set it down like he'd never even picked it up to start with.
"Reaper," I muttered.
Jason glanced around a final time, making sure no one had seen what he'd done. Then, he turned, went over to the study table where he'd been sitting, and gathered up his things. Now that his mission was complete, he was leaving the library, leaving the scene of the crime.
My eyes narrowed. Not if I could help it.
I scrambled to my feet and started to run.
Chapter 5
I ran into the stairwell and raced down the steps as fast as I could. I was in such a rush that I jumped down the last five steps, almost falling on my face before I managed to right myself at the last second. I drew in a breath and hurried along the back wall of the library. More than a few couples stood in the shadowy stacks, eagerly macking on each other, but I didn't have time to be disgusted by the PDAs. My focus was on stopping the Reaper boy - nothing else mattered right now.
I broke free of the stacks and skidded to a halt in the middle of the main aisle. Jason had been walking toward the open double doors that led out of the library. He'd been texting on his phone, and his head snapped up at the squeak-squeak-squeak of my sneakers on the floor.
"You!" I screamed, pointing my finger at him. "Jason Anderson! Stop right there!"
The Reaper froze. He was in the middle of the study tables, and all the kids stared at him, then me, wondering what was going on.
I slowly walked toward him, not sure what other tricks he might be plotting. Jason blinked and stuffed his phone into his jacket pocket. His hand also dropped down, and he fumbled with a zipper on his backpack. I picked up my pace and charged at him, not wanting to give him the chance to draw a weapon on me, especially since Vic was still in his spot behind the checkout counter.
I put my shoulder down and barreled into the Reaper, laying him out like a linebacker would a quarterback, and we both went down in a heap, slip-slip-sliding across the slick floor. All sorts of things slid out of his open backpack - books, pens, his laptop, a sword encased in a red leather scabbard.
"Gwen!" Oliver's voice rang out above the confused shouts of the other kids.
"Reaper!" I yelled back, surging to my feet. "He's a Reaper!"
Jason reached out, snatched up his sword, pulled the weapon free of the scabbard, and got back on his feet.
"Die, Gypsy!" Jason hissed at me.
He raised his sword high, and I ducked to one side. The blade sliced by my shoulder and sank into the top of one of the study tables, right in front of where Helena Paxton, a mean-girl Amazon, had been sitting. Helena shrieked, pushed her chair back, and stumbled away.
Jason cursed and struggled to pull his weapon free of the wood. I snatched up one of Helena's books off the table, darted forward, and slammed it into the side of his head. He cursed again and lashed out at me with his fist. I turned, so that the blow only dug into my shoulder, but I still yelped as pain exploded in the joint and shot down into my arm, making me lose my grip on the book, which clattered to the floor. He definitely packed a punch with his great Viking strength. I started to throw myself forward again, but Jason managed to pull his weapon free. I stopped short. He grinned, realizing that I didn't have a sword, and he crept even closer to me.
"Now what you are going to do, Gypsy?" he taunted.