Damian takes two steps toward Troy, who is practically shaking, and says, “I am,” in his best headmaster tone.

Troy looks too scared to speak.

“Yes, sir,” Urian says, grabbing Troy by the wrist and dragging him backward across the courtyard. “You were never here. We never saw you.”

Damian smiles and gives me a quick wink.

“On your way out,” he says, before they disappear through the doors, “see to it that Mr. Blake remains at a safe distance.”

Urian actually salutes and then pushes Troy through the doors.

I squint at Damian. “You enjoy inciting fear, don’t you?”

He gives me an innocent look—which is probably where Stella learned it—and says, “It does seem to help keep the peace.”

Damian definitely has hidden depths. Who would have imagined he would send me anonymous notes and e-mails and autoport himself all the way from Thailand just to . . . Wait, I’m not sure what he’s really doing here.

“Hey, so why did you—”

“I thought you would never ask,” he says with a mischievous grin.

Who is this guy, and what has he done with my stuffed-shirt stepdad?

“Follow me.”

I do follow him. All the way to the center of the courtyard. He stops on the mosaic, one oxford-clad foot on either side of Plato’s head.

“What I am about to show you,” he says, sounding more and more into the whole spy game with every word, “you can never tell another soul. None know and none can know.”

“You’re not talking about the secret archives, are you?” I ask, remembering Mrs. Philipoulos’ similar warning to me and Nicole. “Because honestly, everyone already knows about that.”

“No,” he says, squatting down and placing his hand on Plato’s nose. “I am not speaking of the archives.” He presses on one of the mosaic tiles, no bigger than a half-inch square, which slides down about an inch. “I am speaking of this.”

“Of wh—”

Before I can finish my question, the ground beneath my feet starts shaking. All the tiny tiles in the mosaic quiver back and forth. My California-bred instincts kick in and my first thought is, Earthquake! Does Greece have earthquakes? Maybe it’s a volcanic eruption, or tsunami, or—

“I suggest you take two steps back,” Damian says, calm as can be. “Unless you wish to end up at the base of a very long staircase.”

For half a second, I’m frozen in confusion. What is going on? Isn’t this a natural disaster? What staircase?

Then, as Damian’s smug look turns to concern, I heed his warning and take a giant leap back. Just as the mosaic beneath my feet drops. It falls in a series of thunks, leaving a steplike ledge with each crash. I feel like I’m in one of those Hollywood secret passages, where the movie hero pulls the gargoyle’s head and a stone staircase appears in the floor.

“What the—”

“We must hurry,” Damian says, stepping onto the first ledge and waving at me to follow. “The stairway will only remain open for a short time. And I need to return to your mother before she discovers I am gone.”

As he moves down the stairs, I hesitate. This is so weird. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been in this courtyard and never thought twice about this mosaic. And all the time it was a secret entrance to—

“Phoebe,” Damian shouts up from the bowels of the Academy. “We do not wish to be caught below when the stairway closes. I assure you it is not a pleasant experience.”

Throwing my worries and wonders to the wind, I hurry down after him.

CHAPTER 11

PHOTOMORPHOSIS

SOURCE: APOLLO

The ability to control light and fire. Most common expression consists of bringing light into an area of darkness (i.e. a cave or basement). May also manifest as fireworks, flames, and, in remarkably rare cases, fire-breathing. Do not attempt fire-breathing as it does irreparable damage to the esophagus!

DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE © Stella Petrolas

TRAILING DAMIAN DOWN A DARK, dank corridor beneath the Academy courtyard was not where I expected to be right now. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I still thought it was going to be Stella or Adara pulling my chain. Maybe even Xander—his name was on the library employees list and he has taken somewhat of a personal interest in my problems. But Damian?

“I never would have guessed it was you,” I say. “Stella or Adara, maybe. Xander even. But not you.” Then again, it is just like him to make me work for my information.

“Keeping you guessing was part of the plan.” Damian laughs, then his voice turns more serious. “Xander has explained his situation?”

“Yeah,” I say. “He won’t tell me what happened the year he was gone, though.”

“That is at his discretion.” Damian sounds a little sad. “The gods tend to make their punishments deeply personal.”

I can understand that.

“Well, I feel better about the whole test thing, just knowing he went through it already and—aaack!” I squeal as I stumble over an uneven stone and pitch into the wall.

“Are you all right?” he asks from somewhere up ahead.

The faint moonlight that had illuminated the staircase and a few feet beyond faded into black about twenty steps ago. I can’t see an inch in front of my face and have been following the sound of Damian’s footsteps.

“I’m fine,” I say, wiping my damp palm against my jeans. “I can’t see anything.”