GranolaGrrl: I’ll be online again later

GranolaGrrl: love you

LostPhoebe: love you too

LostPhoebe: thanks

I stare at the chat screen until her smiley face disappears.

Instead of feeling better, reassured, I feel a little more empty after chatting with Nola. She didn’t exactly say what I wanted to hear. That’s Nola, though. She always says and does what’s right, not what’s convenient or comforting.

Almost automatically, needing something to keep my mind busy, I click on the icon to check my e-mail. Three new messages. One from Adara—no thank you. I click on the message and am about to drag it to the trash when I see the folder I made when I was mad at Griffin last year. “Liars.” I drop her e-mail in there. Even if she hasn’t lied to me, I bet she would if I gave her the chance.

The second e-mail is from Mrs. Philipoulos.

To: Library Employees

Cc: [email protected]

Bcc: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Secret Archives Access

Former Academy library employees,

Upon a recent inspection of the library secret archives, I have discovered two missing volumes in the Mount Olympus records. If you have any knowledge of the theft or whereabouts for these vol- umes, please contact me immediately. No punitive action will be taken if the volumes are returned within the week.

Also, please remember that your right to access the secret archives depends on your status as a library employee. If you are no longer working in the library, you should not access the secret archives for ANY reason.

Yours,

Philippa Philipoulos

At least she only blind-copied me. Damian won’t know I’m involved. I wouldn’t want him to get suspicious and rush home from his honeymoon. The last thing I need is Mom and Damian nosing around in the middle of my trying to find out what happened to Dad.

Mrs. Philipoulos said two volumes are missing. Clearly, one of them is Dad’s trial record. I wonder what else was taken.

The last e-mail is yet another blocked message.

To: [email protected]

From: [Blocked]

Subject: [No Subject]

Urian Nacus will not be able to decrypt my identity before our meeting.

Do not be late.

Just for ducks, I click print. When the blank page spits out, I slide it back into the paper tray. I’m so not surprised. If e-mails one and two wouldn’t print, it would be some kind of divine intervention if the third did.

Closing down my computer, I decide I need to get out of my room, out of this house. I need the clarity of thought that only running can bring. I grab the zip-up sweatshirt off the back of my chair. As I hurry through the living room, I try not to make eye contact. Xander is back and I’m not up for conversation. I can see him and Stella sitting on the couch—Stella flirtatiously turned to face him with one foot tucked up underneath her and Xander nonflirtatiously focused on whatever he’s writing in a spiral notebook.

Maybe I can get to the front door—

“Phoebe,” Stella calls out before I can escape, “are you okay?”

“Fine,” I say, hoping she’ll take the hint.

Of course subtlety is not her strong suit.

“Griffin looked pretty upset when he left.” She climbs off the couch and approaches me. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she asks, “Is everything all right?”

“Just peachy,” I say, and I can’t quite keep the emotion out of my voice.

But instead of pouncing on my trauma—I can just see her gloating to Adara over my continued torment—she puts her hand on my shoulder and says, “I’m sorry.” And then shocks the Hades out of me by adding, “If you ever need someone to talk to . . .”

“Sure.” I try to smile—and hide my shock at her apparently sincere offer. “Thanks.”

She smiles sympathetically.

“I’m going for a run,” I say, uncomfortable with this friendly Stella. I jerk my hand back over my shoulder, “I need some fresh air.”

Xander looks up at me, his lavender eyes wide and intent. He looks like he might say something, but I turn and head outside before he gets the chance.

I take the front steps two at a time. Those same steps where Griffin almost first kissed me. Right after I found out he was a duty-bound descendant of Hercules. Right before I found out I was part of some elaborate bet between him and Stella and Adara. I should have listened to my gut the first time. Then my heart wouldn’t be shattering right now.

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised at our rocky end. We had a pretty rocky beginning, even if the time between was smooth and wonderful.

“Phoebe,” Xander calls out. Then, when I don’t stop, he shouts, “Castro!”

I. Have. Had. Enough.

Whipping around and jogging back to the porch, I snap, “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he says—like he knows an apology is the only thing that can undermine my fury. “I shouldn’t have stormed out like that earlier. You’re going through a tough enough time without my making things worse.”

“Fine,” I say. “Apology accepted. Can I go now?”

Before he can answer, I turn and jog down the path leading to the dock—to the beach. To my left, the front lawn of the Academy stretches out into a rolling green hill that leads down to the cove. Ahead, I can see the Aegean, inky black and rippling in reflected moonlight from the starry sky. It’s so peaceful and calming and completely at odds with the emotions running through me.