“Seriously,” she says, giving it one last look. “I don’t see anything.”

How is that possible?

“It must be cursed,” she says, handing it back to me.

“Cursed?” I squeak, dropping the note like she’d said it was coated in the plague. I do not like the sound of that.

“Relax.” She drops back onto her bed, grabbing a black pillow and tossing it in the air. “A curse isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s just a specialized use of powers that affects only one person or a specific group of people.”

Snatching the note back off the floor, I say, “Oh, well, that’s a—”

“Of course it can be a bad thing,” she adds, ruining my moment of relief. She snorts. “A really bad thing.”

“Not helping.” I sit in her desk chair and read the note aloud again.

“What was that last bit?” she asks.

“X Sigma 597.11 FL76.” It makes no sense. It’s not even a word. “What is it? Some kind of code or something?”

“It seems familiar,” she says.

Nicole jumps up and grabs a scrap of paper and a pencil with a skull-and-crossbones eraser at the end. Handing them to me, she says, “Write it out. Exactly as it is in the note.”

When I do, she claps her hands. “I know what that is!”

“You do?”

“Yes.” She smiles triumphantly. “It’s a call number. Like from the library.”

A call number? I shake my head.

“It’s a book!”

“Oh,” I say brilliantly. A book. How is some book supposed to explain something about my dad? It’s not like just anyone can publish stuff about the secret world of the gods. Mount Olympus totally has supernatural protections against that kind of thing. Why would this crazy note have a library call num—

“What are you waiting for?” Nicole demands, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me to the door. “Let’s go to the library.”

I’ve never seen Nicole get so excited about anything—except that time she came up with the plan to help me capture and then break Griffin’s heart. That time didn’t turn out so well for me. She temporarily zapped away my ankle muscles so Griff would have to carry me home. That was before they made up, of course. And before he and I got together.

It was the thrill of strategy and espionage that excited her then. It’s a good bet that it’s the same thrill that has her hurrying me across the campus lawn. In under two minutes we’ve made it from her room to the library door.

I’d been to the library dozens of times during the school year. Researching a book-length term paper for Ms. T’s lit class. Using the computer lab to check out a supercool 3-D physics simulator program in Ms. Madrianos’ class. Looking up newspaper accounts of my dad’s death.

Still, as Nicole and I walk through the glass double doors, I can’t help staring in awe.

You know what most high-school libraries are like? Small, cramped, and with so few books that if every student checked one out at once, the shelves would be empty? Well the Academy library is so not like that.

First of all, it’s huge. When you walk in, you’re on the second story, on a balcony that overlooks the basement-level main floor. Circling the upper level is an alternating pattern of tables and chairs, individual study carrels, and comfy armchairs facing low coffee tables. Who wouldn’t want to study in here?

Second of all, it’s beautiful. There is light everywhere on the balcony and pouring into the open space below. Since it’s at the corner of the school, it has two full walls of windows that let in glorious sun all day. The shelves that line the balcony are the exact same color as the Academy exterior, so they blend right in with the walls. Everything is trimmed in gold—I have a feeling it’s real gold—and marble. All the fabrics are this gorgeous gold swirly-girly pattern. As far as lush interiors go, it could rival any of the great palaces of the world.

Third of all, it’s full of books. Oh, not so much that you feel crowded by them or anything, but if they had a card catalog—which they haven’t since computerizing everything in the nineties—it would be the size of an average high-school library. Almost all of the books are in the basement level, which spreads out under the entire school. Probably farther. This is totally the kind of place that would have secret chambers or hidden passages or something else right out of a Nancy Drew novel.

“Come on,” Nicole calls out as she heads for the sweeping staircase that leads to the lower level. “Let’s check the call number against the Map.”

Note clutched in my hand, I hurry after her. The Map is a huge-scale, Plexiglas floor plan of the library that details what’s on every shelf. Not to the book, of course—wouldn’t that be cool, though, if it was some ultrahip, interactive map where you could scan through every book on the shelf !—but by call number.

When we reach the map I unfold the note and read the call number out.

“X Sigma 597.11 FL76.” I’m sure that makes sense to somebody—librarians, probably—but to me it’s just a garble of numbers and letters.

The one bad thing about the Academy library is that nothing is in order. At least, not call-number order. Or any other order, as far as I can see. Tracing over the Map with our fingers, Nicole and I search every inch of it. I’m just about to give up, when she says, “Here it is.” Followed immediately by, “No, that’s not it.”