“Well, here we are,” Vic murmured.
I glanced down. The sword hadn’t said anything on the ride over here, but now, his purple eye was wide open, and he was staring straight ahead, his metal face set into hard, determined lines.
“Thank you for being here with me for this.”
Vic rolled his eye up so that he was looking at me.
“No thanks necessary. It’s what I do, Gwen. This isn’t the first time I’ve ever gone into a Reaper stronghold.”
I nodded. After that, there was nothing left to say, so I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and started walking.
The driveway dipped down before arching up a long, steep hill, with the house sitting at the very top. The structure was made out of light gray stone and looked more like a sprawling mansion than something you would find in a subdivision, even one as ritzy as this. I half-expected it to be covered with creepy statues, like the buildings at the academy, but only elegant balconies and tall glass windows fronted the mansion. Of course it wouldn’t have any statues on it. The Reapers probably wanted to blend in with the rest of the neighborhood as best they could, not stand out by having some dark, Gothic mansion. At least, that’s what I assumed. Maybe that’s why all of those paintings, statues, and carvings of the Black rocs had been on the inside of the house, since the Reapers couldn’t put them on the outside.
I glanced left and right as I walked up the driveway, but I didn’t see any Reapers patrolling the grounds or peering out at me from the trees in the woods that flanked the edges of the enormous yard. They must all be waiting inside for me.
Yippee-skippee.
The thought made my throat tighten with panic, but I swallowed down my fear. Nothing mattered except rescuing Grandma Frost—and hoping that the laurel leaves would kill or at least injure Loki. Or, really, do anything but make him stronger.
It seemed to take forever, but all too soon, I reached the front door of the house. I trudged up the steps and stared at the brass knocker, which was shaped like a snarling gargoyle. I squared my shoulders again, grabbed the knocker, and let it fall back down against the wooden door.
Thump.
I waited, but I didn’t hear anyone moving inside the house, and I didn’t see anyone pushing the curtains aside to peek out the windows at me. Was anyone even here? Or was this another one of Vivian’s games? Or worse, a wild goose chase—
The door was abruptly jerked open, and I had to bite back my shriek of surprise.
But the person on the other side was all too familiar. Auburn hair, pretty features, golden eyes. She was even dressed like I was, in jeans, boots, and a gray sweater. Her gold Janus ring flashed on her finger, and I stared at the two faces. I wondered what the god would think of me using his key to steal Sol’s candle. After a moment, I shook off my thoughts and raised my gaze to the girl standing in front of me.
“Hello, Gwen,” Vivian drawled. “So glad you could make it.”
The Reaper girl and I stared at each other for several seconds. So did Lucretia and Vic, since both swords were sheathed in their scabbards and belted around our respective waists. The swords didn’t say anything, and neither did Vivian or I. The time for talking, threats, and insults was long past.
“This way,” Vivian said.
She stepped aside. I swallowed again and entered the mansion. Vivian closed the door and then moved back in front of me.
“I really hope I don’t have to remind you not to do anything stupid or your grandma dies,” Vivian said in a pleasant voice.
I glared at her.
She let out a pleased laugh. “Oh Gwen. It’s going to be so much fun finally watching you die.”
She turned and walked away, and I had no choice but to follow her.
Vivian wound her way through the first floor of the mansion, which featured lots of spacious rooms with high, vaulted ceilings. I looked around at all of the opulent furnishings that filled the house. In some ways, it was like being at the Crius Coliseum or some other mythological museum. Jewelry, weapons, armor, and more lined the walls or were displayed under glass cases, while crystal chandeliers hung down from the ceilings, bathing everything in soft white light. I wondered what all of the artifacts did, but, of course, Vivian didn’t tell me, and it wasn’t like I had time to stop and actually look closely at anything.
I was too busy staring at all of the Reapers.
As we moved deeper into the mansion, I saw more and more Reapers. They lounged on couches and chairs or hunched over tables, their heads close together as they talked softly to each other. They all snapped to attention as Vivian and I passed them, then got to their feet and trailed after us, each one wearing a black robe, although they’d left their rubber Loki masks off today. I supposed they didn’t think I’d be able to identify any of them later.
They were probably right about that. If I lived through the next hour, it would be a wonder.
Vivian strode up several sets of steps, then threw open a pair of double doors, leading me into a large, familiar room.
“I thought you might like to see this again,” she purred. “For old times’ sake.”
Dark wooden furniture, antique sofas, crystal vases full of black and bloodred roses. It was the same opulent living room I’d woken up in the night she’d kidnapped me after I’d found the Helheim Dagger. The one with all of the creepy Black roc paintings, statues, and carvings decorating everything from the walls to the tables to the sofa legs. The room looked the same as I remembered, right down to the chair in front of the desk, the spot where I’d woken up and realized that Vivian was Loki’s Champion and that she was working with Preston Ashton.
Only this time, another figure was sitting in that same chair, flanked by two Reapers.
“Grandma!” I said, running past Vivian and over to her.
Grandma got up out of the chair, and I threw myself into her arms.
“I’m okay, pumpkin,” she whispered into my ear, even as she smoothed down my hair. “I’m okay.”
Tears scalded my eyes, but I forced myself to blink them back. Now was not the time to show any sort of weakness, not in front of the Reapers. I drew away from her and gave her a critical once-over. An ugly, purple, fist-shaped bruise marred her right cheek, and more cuts and bruises dotted her hands and arms, probably from where she’d struggled against the Reapers in the park. But overall, she looked okay.
“Touching,” Vivian said. “Really. But let’s get on with things.”
She snapped her fingers at the Reapers who’d entered the room behind us. “Bring them.”