A Beautiful Evil

Page 12

Sebastian thought for a little while. “Good way for her to have kept tabs all these years. The ruins would be the perfect cover.”
The question was, why did Athena have so much interest in New 2? Could it be just because of me, my mother, and my father? Or was there more to it than that?
“I also found out that Athena was able to kill most of the gods in her own pantheon, the Olympians, because they trusted her, they were family. And it was easy for her to kill them because once she’d offed Zeus and had his shield, the Aegis, it protected her from the other gods. It made her indestructible. Apparently, after the war there were only a few gods left from random families. . . .”
“No reason why, though? Why she started her killing spree to begin with?”
I shook my head. “No, nothing. Maybe she just lost it, you know? After thousands of years, she could’ve cracked.”
Our sandwiches came and we ate in thoughtful silence. The more I considered it, the more I believed the doorway was somewhere in the ruins.
“We should become the hunters,” I said.
“What? Like hunt down one of her minions?”
I washed my bite down with a drink. “Yeah, and make it tell us how it gets here, where Athena keeps her prisoners.”
“Remind me not to get on your bad side. You’re not serious, are you?”
Was I? Could I torture information out of another living thing? I groaned, slid my hands over the tabletop, and let my head fall on my hands. “I don’t know,” I muttered on the way down. I didn’t want to be like that, but at the same time, when I thought of what Violet and my father were going through, I just might do anything.
Sebastian’s hand touched my back. I lifted my head as his arm slid around my shoulders and he pulled me closer. “Just listen to the music. Take your mind off things for a minute. It’s okay to do that, you know?”
“I know.” I let my head rest against him as the music continued.
We stayed at Gabonna’s for nearly an hour before going back to Presby to finish out the day. Bran gave me another brutal workout, but this time I was faster on the “power draw” and he actually paid me a compliment—miracle of miracles. I knew he was right; the more I used my power, the more comfortable it’d become. Though I was still far from feeling comfort. Bran was so pleased that he told me to come to the Ramsey Black and Gold Masque, his family’s annual Mardi Gras party. He wasn’t surprised when I passed on the invitation. The thought of being in a crowd, having to talk and smile and act polite, sounded more exhausting than it was worth.
Sebastian and I took it easy and people-watched in the square after school and then ate dinner at one of the cafés nearby. Once darkness settled over the city, we decided to stroll up the Riverwalk before heading over to catch the streetcar for home.
The Riverwalk at night was the place to be. Streetlamps burned, couples strolled, gamblers went in and out of the newly restored Harrah’s. Laughter and conversation mixed with the sound of the street performers playing their trumpets and saxophones. Vendors lined the walk, which paralleled the river, selling flowers, jewelry, masks, and beads. I took a deep inhale of the cold air saturated with Mississippi River and the salty tang of the Gulf of Mexico beyond.
“You sure you don’t want to go to the party?” Sebastian asked, bumping me with his shoulder.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’d rather go back to the GD and crash.”
“Me too, but you still have to check it out. The Black and Gold is a pretty cool sight, see?” He nodded ahead of us.
The Creole Queen was docked in the water alongside the walk. And the paddleboat wasn’t something you could miss; her railings were strung with lights that reflected off the water and made the Queen look as though she floated on sequins.
She was packed, too, with Mardi Gras revelers all dressed in black and gold.
Several costumed guests had gathered in groups on the Riverwalk in front of the boat, talking, laughing, and clinking their champagne glasses together as lively jazz wafted from the back of the boat. Tourists snapped pictures and watched the party; the black and gold costumes drew a lot of spectators.
Eyes peered through the oval holes of gorgeous masks, making me think of Violet and how much she’d love to see this. The plain gold ones worn by the men—unadorned, smooth, and covering the forehead to the tip of the nose—gave me the creeps more than any of the others. When they looked at me . . . it was like being stared at by an old-world predator. They turned their heads like silent puppets, seeming suspended for a moment in time, their eyes glittering, black and mysterious.
Despite the eerie masks, the sight was beautiful, like being in an elegant dream of sparkling lights and aristocratic make-believe.
We found a bench in a dark spot away from the crowd. I angled my body so that I could stare at the boat, completely taken with the image. “You can go. To the party. You don’t have to stay on my account,” I said over my shoulder. “Michel’s probably there, right?”
“Probably.” He draped his arm over the back of the bench, and I found myself leaning against him. His head dipped and his breath fanned the side of my neck when he spoke. “I’m good. Right where I want to be.”
I was glad he couldn’t see my idiotic grin.
Eleven
I SAT ONCE AGAIN AT THE STUDY TABLE IN THE NOVEM’S bizarre secret library. The old record player belted out another rousing song. “What are we listening to this time?” I asked the Keeper as he deposited another stack of materials for me to read.
“Vivaldi. The Four Seasons. The one playing now is the winter concerto. Are you finished with these?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The Keeper gathered the two scrolls and the small stack of clay tablets. I watched him walk down the aisle, the light reflecting off the tiny bronze plates that made up his head and neck.
After my classes were over for the day, I’d made a quick trip across Jackson Square to Café Du Monde for some beignets, and then I met up with Michel back at Presby, where he let me into the library to do more research. It was getting late, but I wanted to finish this new stack before I headed back to the GD.
I found a reference to an ancient Egyptian witch who untangled a curse placed on a man by the goddess Sekhmet. Every night he’d turn into a lion and devour his family. Every morning he’d awake as a man, his family alive, only to relive the nightmare all over again that night.
Poor guy, caught in some ancient, psycho version of Groundhog Day. I removed the scroll from beneath the translator and set it aside.
This was the second mention I’d found of a witch who could untangle a curse made by a god. It was possible. Now I just needed to find a present-day witch who could do the same for me. Easy, right?
The last item on the table was a round stone disk with hundreds of symbols set in a spiral pattern. I slid it under the glass and my entire body stilled as I saw the words “Athena,” “temple,” and “doorway” appear.
The thing was some kind of ancient manual for Athena’s High Priestess. It explained how to move through this world and into the goddess’s temple in Olympus so the priestesses could be initiated, bring offerings, and gain insight and instruction from Athena.
Athena’s blood, kept in a small alabaster jar, was passed down from one High Priestess to the next and was used to make four symbols that if connected made the shape of a doorway.
I read the disk at least ten times, committing it to memory, finally slumping back in the chair and letting out a long breath. I stared blankly ahead of me, completely stunned as the realization set in. I’d found a way into Athena’s realm.
Chills spread like lightning beneath my skin.
I needed three things to open the doorway as the High Priestesses had done. Athena’s blood, the symbols committed to memory, and virginity—because every priestess of Athena’s was a virgin. I had two of the three in the bag; now I just needed to figure out how to get some of Athena’s blood.
By the time I left the library, it was dark outside. As soon as I cleared the double doors, I sat in the hallway and drew the symbols in my notebook exactly as they were on the disk.
Once that was done, I hurried down the steps to the first floor, but the sound of steel ringing against steel had me altering my course. Curious, I followed the noise down a hallway and into the courtyard behind the main building, where a class practiced with blades on the lawn.
I stopped next to an iron bench and watched as ten students—my age and a bit older, if I had to guess—worked. There was one girl among them, dark-haired with a fierce look of concentration.
Bran glanced over his shoulder. I lifted my hand and he walked over. “You want in? The training would do you good.”
“What class is this?”
“Advanced Blades. Mostly college students. Mostly Ramseys.”
I studied them, knowing that they all must be related in some way and wondering what it would be like to have such a huge family. “Any of them belong to you?” I asked.
“They are distant relations, all but the girl there. Kieran. My daughter,” he said proudly. “Youngest in the class.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, keeping the compliment tempered. Bran’s ego was big enough. “How old is she?”
“Thirteen. She’d have your head separated from your body in under sixty seconds, and she could do that when she was ten.”
I laughed. “I’ll make sure to remember that. You don’t have any other spawn lurking around Presby for me to avoid, do you?”
He lifted an eyebrow at my choice of words. “No, it’s just her now.”
Bran sank into silence, watching the class go through their movements. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, wondering at his meaning—if he had other children who had completed Presby and moved on or, worse, that Kieran was his only surviving child.
“Why are you here, Selkirk?”
“Just passing by. Doing some late reading.”
“In the library, I gather. I hope you think hard before doing anything stupid.”