Kiss of Frost (3 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Estep

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

BOOK: Kiss of Frost
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Valkyries also had magic, hence all the sparks flickering around us and in other spots in the dining hall where the girls were sitting. Every time Daphne’s French-manicured nails scraped against something or she got particularly emotional, little princess pink sparks would shoot off her fingertips and fill the air. Daphne had once told me that her fingers were like sparklers on the Fourth of July. I didn’t mind the cracks and flashes of color, though. Sitting next to her was like being close to a rainbow. Well, if rainbows were solid pink. And volatile. Sometimes Daphne’s temper flared up almost as much as the sparks did.
Daphne’s magic hadn’t quickened, or manifested, yet, but once it did, she’d have even more power. Valkyries had all sorts of magical abilities, like being able to heal people, control the weather, and even create illusions.
I shivered. I’d learned that last one the hard way a few weeks ago, when Jasmine Ashton, another one of the rich Valkyrie princesses at Mythos, had summoned up an illusion of a Nemean prowler to try to kill me. If you believed in an illusion, it could hurt you—even kill you—like the real thing. The prowler—a big, black, pantherlike monster—would have ripped me to shreds if Logan hadn’t stabbed it to death, causing the illusion to vanish.
Maybe I had my own twisted kind of power today, because as soon as I thought about Logan, he stepped through the door of the dining hall—with Savannah right beside him. No doubt Logan had come here to grab some breakfast before classes started, just like I had. The Spartan had showered and changed since I’d last seen him in the gym, and his black hair was still damp. He’d traded in his T-shirt and sweatpants for acid-washed jeans, a blue sweater, and a black leather jacket that outlined his muscled shoulders. He looked totally sexy.
I watched Logan wind his way through the dining hall, past the oil paintings of various mythological feasts that covered the walls, and the polished suits of armor that stood guard beneath them. He led Savannah to a table not too far away from where Daphne and I were sitting. Like all the others, the table was covered with creamy white linens, dainty china, and a heavy crystal vase full of fresh poppies, hyacinths, and narcissus flowers.
The table also had the advantage of being right next to the open-air indoor garden that stood in the middle of the dining hall. Grape vines twisted through the area, winding their way over, around, and sometimes through the thick branches of the olive, orange, and almond trees planted in the black soil there. Marble statues of Demeter, Dionysus, and other gods and goddesses could be seen in various spots in the garden, their heads facing out and their eyes open, as though they were watching the students eat the bounty of the harvests they represented.
Logan and Savannah might as well have been eating in a romantic restaurant. The ambience was pretty much the same—especially given the dreamy way the two of them stared into each other’s eyes.
Daphne realized that I wasn’t paying attention to her anymore and turned around to see what I was looking at. Her pretty face softened with knowing sympathy, which made me feel even worse.
“Did I mention that it’s not just Mythos students who will be at the carnival?” Daphne asked. “Lots of kids from the New York academy will be there too.”
I blinked. “There are more academies out there? I thought this was the only school for warriors.”
“Oh, no. There’s a school up in New York and one out in Denver. Paris, London, Athens—there are lots of Mythos branches around the world, although the one here at Cypress Mountain is the biggest and the best.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
Daphne rolled her eyes. “Because it’s the one we go to, silly. Plus, we’ve got the Library of Antiquities. None of the other branches has a library like ours, especially not one with as many artifacts.”
At the academy, students learned about gods, goddesses, warriors, myths, magic, and monsters from every culture in the world—Greek, Norse, Roman, Japanese, Chinese, Native American, Egyptian, Indian, Russian, Irish, African, and all the others out there. I supposed it made sense there would be other branches, other schools, located throughout the world.
“Anyway,” Daphne said. “My point is that there will be some new blood there. Some of the guys from the New York academy are supercute. I flirted with a couple of them myself during last year’s carnival. Plus, most of their parents have mansions in the Hamptons, which is a great place to go for spring and summer breaks.”
“Cute guys, huh?” I asked, still staring at Logan.
“
Tons
of them,” Daphne promised. “I’m sure we can find you somebody to hook up with for the weekend. Somebody to take your mind off other ... things.”
I sighed. It had been weeks since I’d asked out Logan and he’d rejected me, but my feelings for him hadn’t changed one bit. I didn’t know what would take my mind off the sexy Spartan, except for maybe a total lobotomy.
“So what do you say, Gwen?” Daphne asked. “Are you ready to have some fun?”
Savannah threw back her head and laughed at something Logan said. The soft, happy sound zipped across the room like a spear, burying itself in my skull.
“I’ll think about it,” I promised my best friend.
Then I grabbed my stuff, got up, and left the dining hall, so I wouldn’t have to see the happy couple eat breakfast together.
Chapter 3
Despite my sour mood, the day passed by with its usual mix of classes, lectures, and boring homework assignments. The last bell rang after sixth period, and I headed outside, along with the other students.
It was early December, and I pulled my purple plaid coat a little tighter around my body, trying to keep warm. Even though it was midafternoon, the sun’s rays did little to penetrate the thick, heavy, gray clouds that cloaked the sky, and my breath frosted in the air, like a stream of icicles before flowing away to the ground. Winter had already spread its chilly blanket over North Carolina for the season. That’s where the academy was located, in Cypress Mountain, a suburb tucked up in the mountains above the artsy town of Asheville.
You could tell Mythos was a place for rich kids just by walking around campus. All of the buildings were made out of old, dark, gray stone covered with curling coils of ivy, and every single one of the perfectly manicured lawns sported a thick layer of grass, despite the cold. Plus, the open quad that lay in the middle of campus looked like something you’d see in a brochure for an expensive college—lots of curving, cobblestone walkways; lots of iron benches; lots of shade trees.
In a way, Mythos Academy was a kind of college, since the students ranged from the first-years, who were sixteen, all the way up to the sixth-year kids, who were twenty-one. Since I was seventeen, I was a second-year student, which meant I had roughly four and a half more years to go before I’d graduate. Oh, goody.
The main quad spread out like a picnic blanket that had been thrown across the top of a grassy hill overlooking the rest of the lush academy grounds. I stepped onto one of the ash gray cobblestone paths that led down to the lower quads, where the student dorms and other smaller outbuildings dotted the landscape. All around me the other students headed down to their dorms or back up the hill to attend whatever after-school clubs, sports, or activities they were involved in. Not me, though. I hadn’t joined any clubs, and I wasn’t coordinated enough to play any sports, especially not at Mythos. Everyone was so much faster, stronger, and tougher than I was, thanks to their ancient warrior genes and the magic that went along with them.
I made a quick stop at my dorm—Styx Hall—to drop off Vic and some of my schoolbooks before heading out again. Instead of going back up to the main quad, I went the opposite direction toward the edge of campus, and I didn’t stop walking until I reached the twelve-foot-high stone wall separating the academy from the outside world. A closed gate stretched across the entrance, with two sphinxes perched on the wall on either side, staring down at the black iron bars between them.
My steps slowed, then stopped altogether as I stared up at the statues. The sphinxes were reportedly imbued with some kind of magic mumbo jumbo, and only folks who were supposed to be at the academy—students, professors, and staff—could pass through the gate and get by the sphinxes’ watchful eyes. I didn’t know exactly what would happen if someone tried to force his way in past the statues, but I felt like there was something underneath the smooth stone facades—something old and violent that could erupt at any moment and gobble me up if I so much as breathed wrong.
But it always seemed like there was a loophole when it came to magic, and with the sphinxes, it was the fact that they were designed to keep Reapers out—but not students in. That’s what Professor Metis had told me, and I believed her, since the creatures hadn’t come to life and clawed me to death yet. Still, it always took me a moment to suck up enough courage to dare to slip past them.
I glanced around, but no one else was within sight here at the edge of campus, which was just the way I wanted it. I drew in a breath, then darted forward, turned sideways, sucked in my stomach, and slipped through a gap between the iron bars. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I could feel the sphinxes’ lidless eyes on me, tracking my every awkward movement and shallow breath. It only took a second for me to slide out to the other side of the gate, but it felt much longer than that. I didn’t look back at the statues. It was one thing to suspect there was something inside the stone watching me—it was another to see it for myself.
Students weren’t supposed to leave the academy grounds during the week, since, you know, we were all supposed to be studying, training, and stuff. That’s probably why I felt like the sphinxes were glaring at me, but I didn’t care. Sneaking off campus was a pretty minor infraction compared to some of the other things that went on there.
Besides, if I didn’t sneak out, I wouldn’t be able to see my Grandma Frost.
I wasn’t crazy about the fact that I’d started attending Mythos Academy back at the beginning of the school year, but even I had to admit that Cypress Mountain was a pretty suburb. Upscale shops lay on the other side of the road that curved past the academy, selling everything from books and coffee to designer clothing and custom-made jewelry and weapons. There was even a car dealership full of Aston Martins and Cadillacs, and another lot where the Mythos kids parked their expensive rides, since students’ cars weren’t allowed on campus during the week. But the most popular stores with the academy kids were the ones that sold wine, liquor, cigarettes, and condoms—and that wouldn’t look too closely at your ID as long as you paid in cash, preferably hundreds.
I caught one of the afternoon buses that shuttled tourists down from Cypress Mountain to the city and back up again. Twenty minutes later, I got off in a residential neighborhood full of old, spacious homes, just a few streets over from downtown Asheville. I walked to the opposite end of the block, then hurried up the gray, concrete steps of a three-story house painted a light shade of lavender. A sign beside the front door read P
SYCHIC
R
EADINGS
H
ERE
. The brass plate looked a little dull, so I polished it up a bit with the edge of my jacket sleeve before I used my key to let myself inside.
“Back here, pumpkin.”
I’d barely closed the front door behind me when my grandma’s voice drifted down the hallway. I couldn’t see her from where I was, but it sounded like she was in the kitchen. Grandma Frost was a Gypsy, just like me, which meant that she also had a gift, that she had magic. In Grandma’s case, she could see the future. In fact, that’s how she made extra cash—by giving psychic readings here in her house. People came from near and far to get Geraldine Frost to read their fortunes. But unlike some of the conmen out there, Grandma didn’t lie to anyone about what she saw. She always told people the truth, no matter how good, bad, or ugly it was.
I walked down the hallway and stepped into the kitchen. With its white tile floors and sky blue walls, the kitchen was a bright, cheery space and my favorite room in the whole house.
Grandma Frost stood in front of one of the counters, chopping up dried strawberries and dropping the ruby red pieces into a bowl of cookie dough. In addition to her psychic powers, Grandma also had some mad baking skills. I breathed in and could practically taste the dark chocolate, rich brown sugar, and bittersweet almond flavoring she’d already stirred into the batter. Yum.
Grandma must have just finished telling her fortunes for the day because she was still dressed in what she called her “Gypsy gear”—a white silk blouse, black pants, black slippers with curled toes, and most important, lots and lots of colorful scarves. The gauzy layers of lilac, gray, and emerald fabric fluttered around her body, while the gleaming silver coins on the ends of the scarves jingled and jangled together in a merry way. She also had a scarf wrapped over her head, hiding her iron gray hair from sight. Grandma had taken off the stacks of rings she usually wore on her fingers. The silver bands clumped together in a small patch of sunlight on the kitchen table, the jewels in them flashing and winking like faceted fireflies.
“You were expecting me,” I said, slinging my messenger bag into a chair and eyeing the gooey batter with hungry interest. “Did you get a psychic flash that I was coming over?”
“Nah,” Grandma Frost said, her violet eyes twinkling in her wrinkled face. “It’s Wednesday. You always come to see me on Wednesdays, before you work your shift at the library. I finished a little early today, so I thought I’d make some cookies for you and Daphne.”
I’d brought Daphne over and introduced the Valkyrie to my grandma a few weeks ago. The two of them had totally hit it off, thanks in part to the excellent applesauce cake Grandma had made that day. Daphne didn’t have a raging sweet tooth like Grandma and I did, but the cake had still knocked off her pink argyle socks. Now, every time I came over here, Grandma always sent me back to Mythos with a treat for both me and Daphne, usually packed up in a tin shaped like a giant chocolate-chip cookie. The tin matched the cookie jar on the counter.
“So what’s going on at school this week, pumpkin?” Grandma asked, dividing the batter into small, round balls and then sliding the cookies into the oven so they could bake.
I sat down at the table. “Not much. Classes, homework, weapons training—the usual. Although Daphne keeps asking me to go with her to this thing called the Winter Carnival. The Powers That Were at the academy are taking all the kids over to one of the ski resorts. There are supposed to be carnival games and parties and stuff all weekend long.”
“Oh?” Grandma said. “I remember that from your mom’s days at the academy. She always seemed to have a lot of fun on those trips.”
I shrugged. “Maybe the carnival will be fun, maybe not. I’m not even sure yet if I’m going or not.”
Grandma looked over at me, but her violet eyes were suddenly blank and glassy, like she was seeing something very far away instead of just me sitting in her kitchen.
“Well, I think you should go,” she murmured in that odd, absentminded voice she used whenever she was staring at something only she could see. “Get away from the academy for a while.”
She was having one of her visions. I sat there, still and quiet, while something old, powerful, and watchful swirled in the air around us. Something familiar and almost comforting. Something that made me think of a certain goddess I’d met not too long ago.
After a few seconds, Grandma’s eyes snapped back into focus, and she smiled at me once more. The moment and her vision had passed, and the ancient, invisible force that had been stirring in the air around her was gone. Sometimes Grandma got all sorts of details when she had one of her visions, seeing the future with sharp, crystal clarity. Sometimes, though, her psychic flashes were vague and hazy, and she only got a general sense that something good or bad was going to happen, but not exactly what it was. This must have been one of those vague and hazy times, because she didn’t say anything else about why I should go to the Winter Carnival or what might take place once I got there. Besides, Grandma had always told me that she wanted me to make my own choices and chart my own destiny, instead of acting on a possible future that might never come to pass in the first place. That’s why she rarely shared the specific things she saw whenever she had a vision about me.
Grandma sat down beside me at the kitchen table while we waited for the chocolate-strawberry cookies to bake. “So, pumpkin, what are you on the trail of this week?” she asked, smiling. “Tracking down more lost cell phones and laptops for the other Mythos students?”
“Nah,” I said. “Everyone’s focused on the Winter Carnival. Nobody’s hired me to find anything for them this week.”
Cell phones, laptops, wallets, purses, car keys, jewelry, discarded bras, and missing boxers—my psychometry magic helped me find all sorts of things that were lost, stolen, or otherwise missing. Of course, if the object wasn’t where it was supposed to be, I couldn’t actually touch it, but people left vibes everywhere they went and on everything they handled. Usually, all I had to do was run my fingers across a guy’s desk or dig through a girl’s purse to get an idea about where he’d last left his wallet or where she’d put down her cell phone. And if I didn’t immediately flash on an item’s location, then I kept touching that person’s stuff until I did—or saw an image of who had swiped it. Most of the time, it was pretty easy for me to follow the trail of psychic bread crumbs to the missing item.
“And how are you feeling, pumpkin?” Grandma asked in a softer voice. “About everything? It’s been several months now since ... the accident.”
I looked at her, wondering at the way she’d said “the accident,” like the words had some hidden meaning, but Grandma’s face was dark and sad. Besides, I knew what she was really asking: how was I handling my mom’s death.
My dad, Tyr Forseti, had passed away from cancer when I was a kid. He and my mom, Grace, had been married, but she’d kept the last name of Frost and given it to me, as was the tradition for all the women in our family, since our Gypsy gifts, our powers, were passed down from mother to daughter.
I don’t even remember my dad, but my mom had died back in the spring, and everything about her death was still sharp and fresh and painful. I had a lot of guilt—okay, a
ton
of guilt—over my mom’s death, since I’d sort of caused it.
Back at my old high school, I’d picked up another girl’s hairbrush after gym class. I’d figured I’d be safe enough using it, since it was just a hairbrush. Most people didn’t have a lot of feelings about what they used to comb their hair.
I’d been wrong.

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