Dark Frost (31 page)

Authors: Jennifer Estep

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Action & Adventure, #Survival Stories, #Paranormal, #General

BOOK: Dark Frost

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By the time it skidded to a stop and the noise had faded away, all the people in the shop had stopped their conversations and work and turned to stare at us. Embarrassment made my cheeks burn, while Logan looked like he’d had water dumped all over him.

“Sorry,” I mumbled again.

“It’s okay,” he said, holding his hands out to his sides to keep from touching his now-sticky clothes. “I’ll just go get cleaned up.”

He headed off toward the bathroom. I sighed, grabbed some napkins out of the holder, and started mopping up the mess I’d made. After a few seconds, most people went back to their conversations—except for Helena and her friends. They were too busy laughing at me to talk.

I put my head down, ignored them, and cleaned up the liquid as fast as I could before wiping off my hands. I threw all the used napkins into a nearby trash can, then sat down at my table and slumped as low as I could in my chair. So far, this date hadn’t exactly been a big success—or even just the fun time I’d wanted it to be. Once again, I’d messed up everything without even trying. Sometimes I thought that was my specialty in life.

I was so busy brooding that I didn’t pay any attention when the door to the coffee shop opened and three men trooped inside. Once again, all conversation stopped, and I felt a collective emotion ripple off everyone in the shop: fear.

“The Protectorate,” I heard Helena whisper.

The Protectorate? What was that? Who were these people? I’d never heard of them before, but apparently they knew me because the men walked in my direction, their eyes fixed on my face.

I tensed, then sat up in my seat, wondering who the men were and what they wanted. Could they be Reapers come to attack the students in the shop? I’d wanted to be alone with Logan, so I’d left Vic, my talking sword, in my dorm room. Stupid of me not to bring the weapon with me, even though we’d only been getting coffee. I should have known by now that nothing was simple at Mythos—not even my first date with Logan.

My eyes scanned the nearby tables, looking for something I could use as a weapon, but the only things within arm’s reach were the two empty mugs and the napkin holder. I wrapped my hand around the napkin holder and put it in my lap under the table and out of sight of the men.

This wouldn’t be the first time Reapers had attacked me. If these men decided to do the same, well, I’d fight back as hard and fiercely as I could. Besides, one good scream, and Logan would come running out of the bathroom. I had no doubt the Spartan could hold his own against the men—and then some.

One of the men stepped up and stared down at me. He was handsome enough, with blond hair and pale blue eyes, but his mouth was fixed in a firm frown, as if he constantly found fault with everything and everyone around him. He looked at me, and I stared at him a moment before my gaze moved to the two men flanking him. One of them was tall and slender, while the other was short, with a body that looked fat but was really all hard muscle.

The strangest thing was that the men all had on dark gray robes over their winter clothes. The robes reminded me of the black ones the Reapers always wore, although the men weren’t sporting the hideous, rubber Loki masks the Reapers did. Instead, a symbol was stitched into their robes in white thread on their left collars close to their throats—a hand holding a set of balanced scales.

I’d seen that symbol before. It was carved into the ceiling of the prison in the bottom of the math-science building on campus, and it had also been in the middle of the Garm gate that Vivian Holler had used to free Loki. My unease kicked up another notch. Nothing good was ever associated with that image, as far as I was concerned.

“So you’re her,” the first man said. “Nike’s newest Champion. Not quite what I expected.”

His voice was soft, smooth, and cultured, but there was obvious power in his words, as if he was used to being obeyed no matter what.

“Who are you?” I snapped, my fingers tightening around the flimsy napkin holder. “What do you want?”

“And you don’t even have the good sense to know when you’re in trouble,” the man murmured, as though I hadn’t said a word.

I snorted. Oh, I knew I was in trouble. I was almost
always
in trouble these days. The only question was how bad it would be this time—and if I could somehow manage to get out of it alive once again.

The man kept staring at me with his cold, judgmental eyes, and I lifted my chin in defiance. Whatever happened, whatever these men wanted with me, whatever they tried to do to me, I wasn’t going to show him how confused and scared I was. Reapers thrived on that sort of thing. I didn’t think these men were Reapers, since no one in the shop was screaming or trying to get away from them, but they weren’t here for anything good. I could feel the hostility emanating from them in waves, especially from the leader.

The man tilted his head to the side. “I wonder what he sees in you.” After a moment, he shrugged. “No matter. It won’t change anything.”

“Change what?” I asked. “Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want with me? And why are you wearing those ridiculous robes?”

Anger made the leader’s cheeks take on a faint, reddish tinge. The short, muscular man choked back a laugh. The leader turned to glare at him, and the other man pressed his lips together, although I could see his chest shaking, as though he was trying to swallow the rest of his amusement. The third man seemed bored, like this was an errand he was eager to get over with.

Okay, this was getting weirder by the second. I was looking past the men, wondering what was taking Logan so long, when the leader stepped even closer to me, his eyes glittering with anger.

“Gwendolyn Cassandra Frost,” he said in a loud, booming voice. “You are under arrest.”

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