"Look. There's Gwen Frost."
"Is that a real Fenrir wolf she has with her? It's so cute!"
"I wonder what she's up to now?"
"The Gypsy girl? Probably trying to figure out how to stop the Reapers. They say she's Nike's Champion . . ."
Those whispers and more swirled around me like the bits of snow had outside. I grimaced, but there was nothing I could do but pretend I didn't hear everyone talking about me or the chimes on their phones as they texted their friends about the latest Gwen Frost sighting. Daphne had told me that someone had even come up with an app so everyone could track me around campus with their phones. As if I didn't have enough problems already without everyone knowing exactly where I was all the freaking time.
Oh yeah, everyone seemed to be watching every move I made, and it had only gotten worse since the Reaper attack at the winter band concert. Now, all the kids at Mythos knew that I was Nike's Champion - and that I was supposed to save us all.
They didn't know the details, though. That all I had to do was find some mysterious magical artifact that would supposedly let me kill Loki, who was pretty much all-powerful and evil incarnate.
No pressure or anything.
Nyx cocked her head to the side, staring up at the other kids. She gave a tentative little growl, hoping that someone would drop to their knees and pet her, but the low sound only made the other students shy away from her. I couldn't blame them for that, though. Most kids at the academy weren't used to mythological creatures like Fenrir wolves, Nemean prowlers, and Black rocs trying to do anything but kill them.
I was the last one in line, and, finally, it was my turn to order. I scanned the menu tacked up beside the cash register.
"Give me a bottled water, a jumbo pretzel with nacho cheese sauce, and a dark chocolate brownie," I said.
Silence.
I peered around a display of blueberry muffins. A woman sat on a stool behind the cash register, reading through a celebrity gossip magazine as if it was the most interesting thing ever. The woman was old - even older than Grandma Frost - with a shock of long, white hair that seemed to flow into the long, white gown she wore. Her eyes were as black, bright, and shiny as a bird's, while dark wrinkles streaked across her face, almost like the thin grooves were filled with shadows instead of just sagging skin. She licked her thumb and turned another page in her magazine, completely ignoring me, even though I'd stepped up to the counter as soon as the Viking in front of me had left.
I sighed. Raven was here today. I should have known.
Raven ran the coffee cart, one of the many odd jobs she had at the academy, along with being on the security council, overseeing members of the Protectorate when they cleaned up crime scenes, and watching over any Reapers being kept in the prison in the math-science building. I didn't know exactly why Raven had all of these jobs, since she didn't seem particularly qualified for any of them and was always scanning through some magazine or another, but everything important always seemed to get done, and I guess that's all the Powers That Were really cared about.
I cleared my throat, and Raven finally put down her magazine. I repeated my order, and she moved from one side of the cart to the other, heating up my pretzel and cheese sauce in the small microwave and handing them to me, along with my bottled water and brownie. I reached into my jeans pocket, drew out a ten-dollar bill, and handed it across the counter to her, careful not to let my fingers brush hers. Not only could I flash on objects, but my psychometry also kicked in whenever I touched another person. Right now, I had no desire to see how bored Raven was sitting at the coffee cart making hot peppermint chocolate for folks.
Still, as I looked at her, it seemed like her face flickered for a moment, as though there was something underneath her features the same way there was something lurking beneath all the statues on campus.
"One day I'm going to figure out what you're hiding with all of those wrinkles," I said.
Raven raised her bushy eyebrows at me, but she didn't say anything. She'd never said anything to me, so I had no idea what her voice sounded like, whether it would be light and lilting or the cackle and crackle of an old crone.
She handed me my change, sat down on her stool, and stuck her nose back in her magazine. I rolled my eyes, grabbed my food, and hurried down the main aisle to the checkout counter. Nyx trotted along beside me, her toenails click-click-clicking against the floor.
I stepped behind the counter, laid my food down on it, and put my messenger bag on the floor next to a large gray wicker basket. Grandma Frost had given me the basket so Nyx would have a comfy place to hang out while I was working. I crouched down and unclipped the leash from around the wolf's neck, although I left the collar on her.
"I have to go to work now, so stay in your basket, okay?" I murmured, rubbing her tiny ears between my fingers.
Nyx leaned into my hand and let out a contented sigh. Then, she plopped down on her cute, pudgy, baby belly, tucked her tail over her nose, and closed her violet-colored eyes. She'd been coming to the library with me for several days now, so she knew the drill.
"The fuzzball has the right idea," Vic said, his half of a mouth stretching into a wide, loud yawn. "Wake me when there are Reapers to kill."
"I wouldn't dream of doing anything else."
Vic glared at me, picking up on the sarcasm in my voice. "Hmph!" he huffed, then snapped his eye shut.
I left Vic in his scabbard and propped the sword up next to Nyx. Despite his snit, I knew that Vic would give a shout and let me know if he or Nyx needed anything, and that Nyx would come running to get me if something happened to Vic. I liked that the two of them could watch each other's backs, especially these days, when we all knew that Reapers could attack anywhere, anytime - even in the Library of Antiquities.
I plopped down on a stool and logged in to the computer system. Then, I opened my bag of food and arranged it on the counter. I dunked my pretzel into the warm, nacho cheese sauce and was about to take a big bite when a door opened in the glass office complex behind me, and the sharp tap-tap-tap of wing tips on marble sounded. A moment later, a shadow fell over me, and someone cleared his throat.
"Yes, Nickamedes?"
"You are late, Gwendolyn," he said. "At this point, do I even have to say again? Perhaps it would be more appropriate to say as usual, or as always, or even for the umpteenth time."
"I'm not late," I protested, waving my pretzel in his direction. "I've been in the library for ten minutes already. I was at the coffee cart. See?"
Nickamedes sniffed. "Standing in line is not the same thing as actually being behind the counter working."