Curse of the Sphinx Read online

  “Everything good?”

  “Yeah. We’re just finishing up,” Hope answered.

  “Perfect timing. I’m going to get started on dinner.”

  Sarra nudged Hope.

  “Mom, can Sarra stay for dinner? We have a little bit of Spanish homework we need to do, and this way she won’t have to come back later.”

  “You’ll have to talk with your father, Sarra. If he says it’s okay, it’s fine with me.”

  Several weeks had passed, and the two girls were practically inseparable. Despite this, neither Hope nor her mom had met Sarra’s father.

  “I’ll ask him right now.”

  “Just let me know.” Leto left the two girls and headed to the kitchen.

  Sarra’s phone buzzed.

  “What did he say?” Hope leaned over to look at the screen.

  Sarra’s eyebrows pulled down. “He wants to come over and meet you and your mom.”

  “Okay.”

  “No, you don’t understand. He . . . he hasn’t been particularly . . . normal since my mom left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sarra never talked about her mom, except the one time to say that she was gone.

  Sarra sighed. “It was a long time ago, and I was at voice lessons. Mom dropped me off, but Dad came to pick me up. Dad said that they’d had a disagreement. She was gone when we got home. We haven’t heard from her since.”

  Hope’s palms started to sweat. “Did she die?”

  Sarra laughed. “No, she just took off. Met some other guy. Decided life was better with him than with us, I guess. Anyway, Dad’s buried himself in work ever since. Kind of like the living dead. He doesn’t really care much about anything anymore.”

  “But you moved here? He brought you here.”

  “Yeah, for work. He’d been working as a contractor for Microsoft, but they offered him a permanent position, so here we are.”

  Sad. Even though her father had left, Hope had her mom. And her mom was always present.

  The doorbell rang a while later, and soon voices carried down the hall.

  “Ms. Nicholas, I’m Sarra’s father, Paul Crawford. I wanted to thank you for letting Sarra come over. I sure hope she hasn’t gotten underfoot or anything.”

  His words were reserved, but the warm tenor carried back to the bedroom. Sarra pushed off the bed and darted from the room.

  Hope followed.

  “Not at all,” Leto replied. “It’s been nice for Hope to have a friend.”

  “Yes, well, it has made Sarra’s transition very easy. It was hard for her to leave the place she called home. I’m very grateful to you both.” He stood stiffly in the doorway.

  Paul Crawford was too young to be called middle aged. He was as tall as Leto, a couple inches shy of six feet. With his pale-gold hair, tanned skin, and bright blue eyes he looked like a ray of sunlight, but his demeanor was halting and stilted.

  “You know, if she becomes a nuisance, you can send her home,” he said.

  Sarra stood close to her father, her head hanging down.

  “I doubt that girl could ever be a nuisance.” Leto’s smile was blinding, and Paul stood momentarily dumbfounded. She turned to the girls. “Why don’t you two go finish your homework while I work on dinner? Paul, are you comfortable with a knife?” With that, she turned and headed into the kitchen.

  He watched Hope’s mother disappear. Hope had seen that look before: the unconscious parting of the lips, the glowing cheeks, the darting looks. Every shoe salesman, grocery-store bagger, and waiter got that same infatuated expression for her mom. When he cleared his throat and walked into the kitchen, she knew he wouldn’t mind staying for dinner.

  “What can I do to help?” he said.

  There was a brief pause before Leto answered. “Could you dice this tomato and chop some lettuce? We can have tacos in no time.”

  Hope was smiling widely when she opened the door to her room.

  Sarra peeked up from her work and scowled. “What?”

  “You guys are going to stay for dinner.”

  Sarra’s exhale was loud and long. “Okay.”

  She scrutinized her friend. “Okay?”

  The violet eyes narrowed, and her brow furrowed. “I just can’t believe it. He hasn’t cared about anything for years. Not dinner, my homework, grades, or anything.”

  “So then this is good, right?” Hope sat down on the bed next to her friend.

  Sarra’s features cleared into a slow smile, and she leaned back against the wall. “Yeah. This is good, I guess. I just . . . I hope it lasts.”

  “GO TO JAIL!” Paul’s laugh was infectious, and he moved his small metal wheelbarrow to the red square.

  The last few weeks had been nothing like her previous years of seclusion.

  “I’ve spent more time in jail than playing this game.” He stood up. “I’m going to make popcorn. Anyone else want anything?”

  They were sitting around the coffee table on the floor in the living room. What had started as a standing invitation to dinner had evolved into weekly game nights.

  “Just some water, please.” Leto’s face tilted up to Paul, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed.

  Hope caught a look between them and was distracted from their game of Monopoly.

  For as long as Hope could remember, Leto had never dated. In fact, she couldn’t remember her mom entertaining any type of attention from men. It wasn’t that men weren’t interested. The gods knew they’d tried.

  Leto had been burned by Hope’s father. They’d met and married all within a few months. To hear her mom tell it, she thought they were happy, but when she told him about the curse only a couple weeks after their wedding, he left. And Leto was pregnant.

  Ever since Hope was born, they’d lived on the run. So this . . . this was different. As if a veil had dropped, she saw how much her mother had changed. Gone was the withdrawn, furtive woman she knew so well, the one who lived in fear.

  “It’s your turn.” Sarra nudged Hope and handed her the dice, her face bright with exuberance. “You better hope you don’t get a seven, or you’ll end up in jail with my dad.” The sad expression from weeks ago hadn’t resurfaced. “And then you’ll never win this game.”

  “I don’t think anyone is really competing with my mom, anyway.”

  Leto controlled the railroads, utilities, and the last quarter of the board. By the time Hope hobbled across Go, she had just enough money to unmortgage her properties.

  “Here’s your water.” Paul handed Leto a glass and then set down a large bowl of popcorn. “Is it my turn yet?”

  Leto’s lips tipped up into a wicked smile. “What kind of turn do you want?”

  “I went for you. Sorry, no doubles.” Sarra spoke at the same time.

  Sarra looked over to Hope and rolled her eyes.

  “Gross, Mom.” She looked at Paul and then at her mom, and stood up. “Sarra and I are going to go to bed. You won, Mom.”

  Leto looked at the board, then up to Paul. “It looks like I did.”

  In the sanctuary of her room, Hope closed the door.

  “Do you think they’re serious?” Sarra jabbed her thumb toward the door.

  “I’ve never seen her interested in anyone before.” Her thoughts flitted back to the way Paul and her mother stared at each other. “Ever.”

  “Oh please, she’s gorgeous.”

  “Whatever.” Hope flopped onto the bed, rolled onto her back, and stared at the ceiling. “I never said guys weren’t interested in her; she wasn’t interested in them.”

  “Well, she’s interested in my dad.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Would it bother you if they got married?” Sarra raised her brows, her violet eyes bright.

  Did it bother her? If Paul was what her mom wanted, she wanted her mom to be happy. It shouldn’t bother her.

  But the curse. What would it mean? If it meant fulfillment, and her mom would die . . . She definitely didn’t want Pa
ul and Leto to get married. Did that mean they should move? She definitely didn’t want that, either.

  One hundred and fifty-two days since last move

  HOPE FLIPPED THROUGH the channels again. She’d just finished her book, but it was still too early to go to bed, so she sat on the couch hoping to find something good on TV.

  “Knock, knock.” The voice was accompanied by the opening of the front door.

  “Aunt Priska!” She jumped from the couch and ran to the door, gripping her aunt in a fierce hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

  “By the gods. I don’t think you’ve hugged me like that since you were five.” Priska took off her tailored green pea coat and draped it over the couch. “Where’s your mom?”

  Hope bit her lip and backed away. “She’s on a date.”

  Priska’s mouth fell open and she stopped midstride. “A date?” She shook her head. “That’s not even funny.”

  She didn’t even know what to say. “I . . . uh . . . I’m not kidding. Remember my friend Sarra?”

  Priska nodded slowly. “Yes.”

  “Her dad.”

  “Her dad?” Incredulity lined every feature of the older woman’s face.

  “I didn’t want to say anything to you, like I’m telling on her or something. Every time I bring it up to Mom, she tells me to leave it alone. That she’s just having fun.”

  It was more than that. It was wonderful to have a friend. Hope loved her life. But over the last few weeks, something about her mom had started to scare her.

  “Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but . . .” She looked out the window.

  “But?” Priska touched her knee, tapping it, reminding her that she was waiting.

  “But I’ve never seen her like this.”

  The small woman exhaled and fell back into the soft leather. “I’ll talk to her. I’m sure it can’t be serious. She knows better than that.”

  Hope’s laugh was shaky, and she pressed her palms to her eyes. “Are we going to have to move?” Her eyes pled with her aunt to understand what she wasn’t saying.

  She was happy here.

  One hundred seventy-five days since last move

  “HEPHAESTUS FORGED WEAPONS for each of the gods, two daggers each. Most of the gods gave the daggers to their demigod children as a means of defense. The knives were eternal, could not be destroyed, and they gave the demigods power to slay other immortal beings. Like the monsters.” Ms. Chandler glanced over her class. “Yes, Teresa?”

  “Why would the demigods kill all the monsters? I mean, it’s not like they were all scary, right? I mean, nymphs?”

  “The nymphs, like other monsters, were mixed breeds—part divine, part mortal—and their power certainly made them a force to reckon with,” Ms. Chandler replied. “If you had done your homework, you would know that they could cause dumbness, blindness, and even madness.”

  The class fell silent with the reprimand.

  “Not all monsters were what you would consider scary looking. Many looked human, or partially so.” Ms. Chandler continued. “In fact, the sirens were beautiful. Their beauty was the lure that made them so deadly. And think about the Minotaur. King Minos put him in an underground maze to try to protect his people. Even then humans had no defense over the divine. The immortal weapons gave the demigods an advantage.”

  “But that was forever ago. Some say it didn’t even happen,” Teresa said.

  “I can understand some disbelief. How many of you have met a monster or a demigod?”

  No one raised their hand.

  “Really?” Ms. Chandler frowned. “Well, there is some suspicion about possible dwindling numbers of demigods, but others believe their psachno group is doing a better job of getting demigods to conservatories at a younger age.”

  Hope sat up.

  “What’s a psachno?”

  Hope was saved from asking by another student.

  “Excellent question. Psachno is Greek for seeker, or one that seeks. It is believed that within their conservatory communities, each demigod has an appointed role. Psachno find other demigods and bring them to the safety of conservatories which are divinely protected from Skia and monsters,” said Ms. Chandler. “At one time there was a group of demigods dedicated to the eradication of monsters. Fonias, I believe they were called.” Ms. Chandler thumped her desk drawing the class’s drifting attention. “What would cause an entire race to be killed?”

  “They’re a threat. To humans and demigods. Monsters have killed millions,” said a girl named Jessica.

  “So what happened?” Ms. Chandler asked the rhetorical question, effectively drawing the attention back to the subject.

  “The demigods slaughtered them.” Jessica announced the annihilation of the mixed breeds in a tone that spoke volumes.

  Ms. Chandler nodded. “About a hundred years ago, an enthusiastic son of Ares led the charge. And for the last century it is believed he has been responsible for the annihilation of the monsters. Some may have escaped, like Scylla, but these exceptions are likely protected by the gods who created them.”

  The door opened.

  “Excuse me?” A portly woman with bleached-blond hair put her head through the doorway. She looked from the classroom of teens up to Ms. Chandler. “I need Hope Nicholas to come with me.”

  Ms. Chandler looked at her with raised brows. “Go ahead. You can get the assignment when you come back.”

  “She won’t be back this period, Ms. Chandler.” There was a tightness around the woman’s eyes.

  Ms. Chandler waved. “Then she can get it tomorrow.”

  Hope put her binder and her copy of Myths and Legends away, and then slung her dark backpack over her shoulder.

  What on earth could she be needed for at the office? She and her mom had returned only two days ago from their time as Sphinxes, so it couldn’t have to do with the curse. Maybe they were going away with Paul and Sarra for the weekend. They’d been talking last night about a trip to the San Juans.

  She walked into the office and looked around for Sarra, but besides the squat woman who’d called her down, she was alone.

  “Excuse me?” She leaned over the counter. “Um, why am I here?”

  The watery-blue eyes that met hers were drawn, and the bright-pink lips pulled down into a sympathetic smile. “Oh, baby. Ms. Tessie will be with you in just a second.” She looked around the empty space. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

  Sorry? What was she sorry about? An empty feeling began to crawl up from the depths of her soul.

  “Hope Nicholas?” Ms. Tessie poked her head out from her office.

  Dread exploded in her chest, its flames licking at her heart.

  Ms. Tessie wasn’t the principal. She was the school counselor.

  “Come on into my office, please.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Ms. Tessie said nothing until the door was closed.

  In the seconds before she spoke, Hope noticed how Ms. Tessie’s hazel eyes had more gold flecks than Priska’s.

  “I think you’d better sit down.” She pointed to a plush leather chair opposite the dark mahogany desk that took up most of the room.

  She swallowed. “No, thank you.” She swallowed again. “What happened? Where’s my mom?”

  The young counselor’s lips pulled down into the same sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you. There’s been an accident, and . . . your . . . Your mother’s passed, Hope.”

  She blinked as if to clear her vision. Over and over again. This had to be a dream.

  “There was a fire . . . at the apartment. Your Aunt Priska is on her way . . .”

  Her backpack slid to the floor. Someone was pounding on her chest, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She felt her heart beat, beat, beat, and then it ripped in two. She couldn’t feel her hands, and something wet was dripping onto her shirt.

  “Oh, sweet girl.”

  Foreign arms wrapped her in a smothering embrace, squeezing out the light in
her eyes, in her life.

  Gone. She was gone.

  “No! No! No!” She wrenched from the oppressive vise and backed away. “No. There has to be a mistake. No. You’re wrong.” She glared daggers at the counselor. She turned, grabbed the handle of the door, and ran.

  The tears streaming down her face obscured her vision, and she ran blindly until she couldn’t run anymore, and then she walked.

  She could smell acrid smoke even before she arrived at the complex, and the flashing lights of police and fire trucks lit the hazy air. The school bus momentarily blocked her view, and then a crowd of kids stood gaping at the scene

  “Hope?” Sarra approached, her violet eyes puffy and rimmed in red.

  She looked up at her best friend. “My mom . . .” She couldn’t say it. A sob broke, and she put her head in her hands.

  A warm hand on her shoulder was followed by an arm, and then Sarra’s small frame scooted close. “I’m so sorry.”

  Hope couldn’t speak. She buried her head in her arms and let the tears fall.

  “Do you know what happened?”

  Hope waved at the evidence above. It was all she knew for sure. A fire? They couldn’t be killed by fire, could they? Skia? Demigods? A god? Was something after her?

  The shrill blare of a horn blew, and Paul’s white car slowed in front of the two girls.

  “Sarra, get in.” His voice was tinged with panic. He circled the front of the car and opened the passenger door. “Right now.” His eyes stayed focused on his daughter, as if the world might collapse if he let her out of his sight.

  Sarra stood slowly. “In the car?” Her eyes blinked once, twice. “Now?”

  “Now.” He stepped forward, grabbed her arm, and pulled.

  Sarra stumbled and looked back at Hope.

  Paul pushed Sarra, forcing her into the car, avoiding her questions and her pleas. He didn’t even look at Hope.

  The door closed, and Paul leaned against it, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.” The apology was just barely audible. “You’re a . . . monster. A beast. You’re not safe, and I need to keep my daughter safe.” Without ever looking at her, Paul got in the car and drove away.