Curse of the Sphinx Page 8

  She’d look for them in the morning before school.

  “Be careful.” Something about the plan made Hope uneasy.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine,” Priska said.

  But even after they’d hung up, Hope lay awake. What would she do if something happened to Priska?

  THE NEXT FEW days at school were much the same as the first few. Mrs. Biggers lectured on symbolism used by the gods. In chemistry they learned about ionic charge. At lunch, she sat in the library. In Spanish, she memorized irregular verbs. When the school bell released her, she did not linger.

  She began to settle into her life in Goldendale. Gradually, interest in the new girl waned. A few more courageous boys tried to “befriend” her, but curt replies put them off. Most girls, either intimidated or offended, didn’t reach out at all.

  Overall, she should have been happy with her success. But as the days passed, a cold weight settled in her chest. She was hollow, empty, and very, very alone.

  She held out a sliver of hope that Priska would come back soon, because the last thing she wanted was to be on her own. But deep down, she wasn’t fooling herself. She was on her own.

  Some people counted sheep to help fall asleep. Others drank warm milk with honey. As Hope lay in bed night after night fighting the sleep that would force her to relive her losses in dreams, she constructed a brick wall. Carefully, she placed brick after brick on wet gray mortar, building an impenetrable fortress around her heart.

  Curse day one

  SHE’D SPENT A restless night at a hotel in Toppenish and climbed out of bed an hour before dawn. It would be her first flight without her mom, and she hoped the time outside would be liberating. She drove till she found an abandoned barn far outside the small town, a perfect hiding spot for her car.

  The sky was hovering between black and gray when she began to undress. As the first rays pierced the sky, her body tingled, and a surge of energy pulsed through her. The morphing took only seconds, and then soft, golden fur covered her breasts, torso, and haunches. The amber feathers of her wings stretched out several feet, and she pulled them close to her body while pulling her long blond hair up into a messy knot. Grabbing her messenger bag, she made her way out of the barn.

  She pulled herself into the air, climbing high enough that anyone looking from the ground would be perplexed by the large bird, but not be able to distinguish its features. She would be up in the peaks before the sun rose, high enough to be safe.

  She spent the day reading, allowing the words of a well-written fantasy novel to distract from her own bleak reality. If she crammed her quiet moments with something, anything, she wouldn’t feel the pain.

  Not nearly soon enough, the stars lit up the night sky with only a sliver of silver from the new moon.

  “Finally!” She exhaled and released her wings. She allowed the wind to tickle and tease at her feathers before she beat them up and down. Once airborne, she left the seclusion of the mountains and swept into the valley below.

  A sense of freedom played in her heart, and she felt a stirring of hope. She danced in the air and looked to her side, where her mom should be. Unbidden memories overwhelmed her. Their flights together. Her rich laugh. Golden eyes. Her constant worry for Hope. Her love.

  It wasn’t fair. Gods, it was so unfair!

  Tears blurred her vision, and she tumbled from the sky. Branches scratched and clawed, as her paws flailed to the ground. She slipped on something hard and round, and, with a thump, she slid into the trunk of a squat apple tree.

  Physically bruised and emotionally broken, she roared her frustration and yanked up the offending tree as if pulling up a weed. The cool air was sticky sweet. Angry with the apples on the ground, the trees that scratched her skin, and incensed with the injustice of her life, Hope’s pent-up emotion exploded. Screaming and out of control, she marched down row after row of the orchard, wrenching trees up by their trunks, leaving a wake of destruction behind.

  As the sky lightened, she was pulled from her rage. She surveyed her surroundings and the ruin she’d caused. Guilt and shame filled her. Unsure of what to do, she took off for the protection of the mountaintops. It would be sundown before her body would change back to human form, hours before she could do anything.

  Icy patches of snow still stuck to the moss-covered ground, and rays from the morning light reflected diamonds. The evergreens swayed in the wind, and Hope lay on the ground shivering, her breath like steam from a teapot. The fur that covered her body shielded her from the biting air, but nothing was protecting her heart, and she sobbed.

  Hours later, when the catharsis of tears was over, her mind cleared. She could get through this. She would get back into routine, just like Priska said. And she would run. She wouldn’t go flying again; not until she was sure she could control herself, control her emotions. She would still change, there was no way around that, but she would stay in the solitude of her house. No more destruction. No more risks.

  The brightness of the sky faded from azure into pinks and lavender on its way to indigo. She stood, and with two powerful beats of her crimson-tipped wings, she lifted into the air.

  Remorse pushed her to fly past the farmhouse adjacent to the orchard she’d uprooted. She’d send money. A lot of it. How many years would it take to grow an orchard that size? She shook her head. In the back of her mind, she could hear her mom’s voice cautioning against flying low. She considered the risk that someone might see her, but quickly dismissed it. No human could see this high.

  She landed outside the dilapidated building and slipped inside just before the sun dipped below the horizon. She stood up on her haunches, stretching toward the sky, her wings spread wide. As the sun disappeared, she pulled her wings in. They collapsed, folding into her back, and instantly she could feel the pressure of their containment. She felt cramping in her lower extremities, and then a searing pain as the muscles of her haunches extended into human legs. The fur sloughed from her body, dropping like a discarded blanket. Hope thoughtfully brushed her hand over her skin, and dressed.

  Twenty-six days until the change

  “YOU DID WHAT?” Priska huffed. “Skata, how could you be so careless?”

  Sitting on her bed, Hope spilled her guilt out over the phone. “It just happened. I . . . I don’t even know what started it . . . But I want to make it right. Can I send money? I got the address.”

  “Call Charlie in the morning. He’ll tell you what needs to happen. You’ll probably need to sign some paperwork, but he can take care of it.” She sighed. “How are you holding up? Besides, the whole—”

  Hope wanted to cry. There was a constant ache of loneliness that threatened to swallow her whole. “Fine.” She cleared the emotion from her throat.

  “Obviously not, or you wouldn’t have torn up an orchard.” Priska laughed. “An apple orchard—that’s a new one.”

  “I’m glad you find it amusing.” Hope bit her tongue. Too late.

  “Don’t get all twitted out. It’s not the end of the world. Have Charlie send some coins from your grandmother’s treasure chest and the owner won’t ever have to work again.”

  Hope’s grandmother, the first Sphinx, had worked for a pharaoh in ancient Egypt. Her payment in coin and jewels had increased in value over the centuries, not to mention her income as a physician for hundreds of years.

  At least they had something to talk about. So many of their calls were just a short check in. Hope missed her aunt. Fiercely.

  “Did you locate the conservatory? Have you found any demigods?” What she really wanted to ask was how soon Priska was coming home.

  “Yes, actually. I’m hoping they’ll invite me in soon. Gods, I can’t wait to be done.”

  “But . . .” More than just the ache of loneliness hit her. Was she a burden? “You want to know, too, right?”

  “You know I do. That’s why we’re doing this. I’ll call you tomorrow. Stay safe.”

  “You, too.” Hope tapped the End button, and dropp
ed her phone on the down comforter. If Priska turned up nothing in the conservatory, then what?

  MR. BURGESS’S TEDIOUS baritone was droning on about the applicability of balancing chemical equations, and Hope was struggling to stay awake. It wasn’t just that she was tired. She was exhausted, like she’d run a marathon instead of her usual three-mile loop. To top it off, it felt as if someone had thrown sand in her eyes. She shouldn’t have gone running so late last night, but it was beautiful and cool, and she hadn’t been sleeping anyway. She was paying for it now.

  In addition to the fatigue, the ever-present pressure in her back throbbed. It was always worse a few days before and after changing, but the ache of sore muscles, like she’d worked out too hard, was always present.

  Fighting sleep, she sat up straight and let her focus drift to the conversation behind her.

  “Where did he move from?”

  Krista. Hope inwardly groaned. She was about to pull her focus back to Mr. Burgess, but caught the response.

  “Seattle area. His mom died last week in a car accident, I think,” Angela whispered, but the excitement in her voice was palpable.

  Hope’s focus became earnest. The pain of losing her mother was suddenly raw and fresh. An ache swelled for this new student and his loss.

  “Oh, that’s awful.” Krista actually sounded sincere. “What about his dad?”

  Hope gritted her teeth; she doubted Krista could even be sincere.

  “I guess he’s not around. Mrs. Stephens is his great aunt. Or something like that.”

  “Mrs. Stephens?” Krista moved abruptly and dropped her pencil. There was a moment of silence from the two girls. “I don’t know which is worse, losing your mom, or having to live with that kind of crazy.”

  On this point, Krista was probably right. Mrs. Stephens was definitely not all there. Hope had seen the older woman once at the grocery store and watched in pity as the she chanted a rhyme about animals seeking night and battling fear. All while staring at the meat case. It didn’t seem to bother Mr. Stanley, but the woman was cracked.

  “I’ve never seen him here before, you know, visiting or whatever. I’m sure we would have noticed him.”

  “No. His mom wasn’t close to Mrs. Stephens. It’s some weird relationship, like his dad’s mother’s sister’s daughter, or something like that.”

  That would be his second cousin. She rolled her eyes. She remembered that Angela’s mother was the school counselor. In listening to how much Angela knew about the newcomer, she was grateful she’d declined the school’s services. She again felt a pang of sympathy for the boy.

  “Athan Michael.”

  “Ethan?”

  “No, Athan, with an A,” Angela explained. “It’s Greek. My mom said—”

  “Have you seen him yet?” Krista interrupted.

  “No. He just got here yesterday. I guess it will be a couple of days before he—”

  Krista cut Angela off with a sharp intake of breath. “He’s crazy hot!”

  Angela giggled, and Hope lost interest. They rarely said anything of value, and if they did, they didn’t mean to. Now, she really did feel sorry for the new boy. Not that she would do anything about it.

  The bell rang.

  She stood and collected her books. The other students, gathered in groups, ignored her as she walked to her locker. She pulled out her books for math and Spanish, and then turned toward the library. That’s when he caught her eye.

  The only reason she could see him was because of his height. His skin was tanned, with olive undertones, and his tawny hair disheveled in a way that told of too much time in front of the mirror, or no time at all. His features were intense, but his body language said he couldn’t have cared less. A large group surrounded him, and rich laughter drifted from that side of the hall.

  She stood, momentarily transfixed by the ruckus, and he must have felt the weight of her gaze.

  His jade eyes met her gold ones, drifted over her body, and then came back to her face.

  She couldn’t help the heat that rushed to her cheeks.

  He winked.

  She was so startled she actually jumped. Flushing heat blossomed, and she averted her gaze. Without another thought, she walked as fast as she could, but when she got to the end of the hall she realized she’d gone the wrong way. With a huff of disgust, she doubled back to the library.

  She settled into her favorite corner, her mind spinning. How could someone be so . . . She couldn’t even think of a word to describe it. He winked at her! He was flirting right after . . . right after his mother died? Shouldn’t he be mourning or something? What a loser. It was the only word she could come up with. All sympathy for the boy disappeared. She was angry and felt somehow betrayed.

  The bell rang, and she grabbed her books and headed off to Algebra II. She was usually the first to enter the classroom, so she was surprised to see a small group of students in the back corner talking. She sat down, ignoring the noise, and pulled out her homework.

  “So, are you a math prodigy, or an all-around nerd?” The voice was soft and deep, his speech highly inflected and full of liquid consonants. English was definitely not his first language.

  She glanced up from her paper, and followed the hand on her desk up to the face of Athan Michael.

  “Uh, excuse me?” She stumbled over the words.

  “I was wondering. You have your homework out, and it’s done.” He pointed at her paper. “Are you always on top of things, or is this your favorite subject?” His gaze was direct, and he was clearly waiting for an answer.

  “I’m not even sure how to answer that.”

  “I might need a tutor. Are you game?”

  He smiled, and she could see what Krista was talking about earlier. He was good-looking, and he knew it. Her opinion continued to drop, even as her heart rate picked up.

  “It’s Athan, right?”

  Still smiling, he nodded.

  Her eyes tightened. “I don’t think you’ll have any problem finding a tutor, but I don’t think we’d get along.” She turned back to her homework, but the tension made it difficult to focus.

  There was no immediate response. After what seemed like an eternity, she glanced up.

  He laughed softly. “I think I understand what you’re saying.”

  Moments later, she heard him in the back of the room, relating the story, greatly exaggerated to his own disparagement. She didn’t trust herself to turn around.

  As soon as the bell rang, she bolted.

  She was halfway down the hall when she heard someone call her name. Reflexively, she stopped and looked back. Athan walked toward her, his gaze trained on her.

  She turned away.

  “Hope.” He caught up with her. With his long stride, he easily kept her pace. “Hey, I wanted to apologize about earlier.”

  She stopped walking and regarded him warily.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.” He rushed through his words, making his lilting accent more pronounced. “I was just hoping—”

  “Look,” she cut him off, “I’m not trying to be rude, but could you just leave me alone?” Her face pinched, a furrow lining her forehead.

  He took a step back but said nothing.

  “I’m not sure what you’ve heard,” she continued, “so let me help you out. I’m not interested.” Her emotions ballooned as she spoke. “I’m not looking for friends. I don’t want a boyfriend. I don’t tutor. I don’t need to be tutored. Got it?”

  His eyebrows drew together in a scowl, but then, almost imperceptibly fast, he quickly rearranged his features into something more amiable.

  “Ouai. You’re very . . . direct. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” With that, he walked back to a group of boys.

  She stood and watched. She saw him shrug when Lee asked what happened. With a shake of her head, she went to collect her homework.

  She made a point when she was feeling out of sorts to stop by the Red Apple and share a riddle with Mr. Stanley, so it was
no surprise that as she drove down Roosevelt her car, almost on its own, pulled into the parking lot. She went to the back of the store and saw the butcher helping a young mother at the counter. He winked when he saw her, but the smile she returned was only halfhearted. While she waited, she leaned against the meat case and tried to clear her head. But the interaction with Athan gnawed at her. She was grateful when Mr. Stanley’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  “Have you found a good riddle for me?” His deep voice was warm and friendly.

  “Actually, Mr. Stanley, I was hoping that you would have one.” The furrow that remained on her brow spoke of her troubled spirits.

  He nodded, and his features pinched in concentration.

  “In a marble hall as white as milk,” he began, “Lined with skin as soft as silk, within a fountain crystal clear, a golden apple doth appear. No doors there are to this stronghold, yet thieves break in to steal its gold.” Mr. Stanley finished the riddle and regarded her expectantly.

  Most of his riddles were food related, usually livestock. She leaned back against the display case and thought of a farm.

  Mr. Stanley said nothing as he went back to cleaning up the scale and counter.

  “It’s an egg, isn’t it?” she asked.

  Mr. Stanley chuckled and nodded.

  “You really should branch out, Mr. Stanley.” She was smiling. Her spirits lifted, she remembered an old riddle she memorized years ago. “I do have one for you . . . nonfood.”

  “All right.” He stopped cleaning, and stood waiting, rag in hand.

  “I can be cracked, I can be made. I can be told, I can be played. What am I?” Her breath came out in a brief laugh. “Remember, it’s not food. Speaking of which, can I get something good?” She waited while Mr. Stanley wrapped a flank steak for her.

  “Cats and bats, and lots of boys.” A singsong chant from an old oddly dressed woman interrupted the momentary silence.

  Hope turned and took a step back. The incongruous form of Mrs. Stephens approached. Her white hair was pulled up into a high bun, little wisps framing her unlined face. Her small body was lithe and graceful, and moved with the energy of youth. She stepped into Hope’s personal space, and her eyes narrowed.