Midnight Frost

library.
    It might be cold, dark, and gloomy outside, but the high dome that arced over the main space gave the inside of the library a bright, airy feel. Stacks of books ringed the bottom floor, while a wide aisle cut through the middle of them and led to a series of glassed-in offices in the center of the enormous room. Acres of marble made up the floor and the walls, but my gaze drifted up to the second floor and the statues there—the ones of all the gods and goddesses of all the cultures of the world.
    The statues circled the entire balcony, each facing out toward the center of the library, as if they were watching over the students studying below. Slender columns separated the statues from each other, although it sometimes seemed to me as if the gods and goddesses were leaning around the columns and whispering to each other about all the happenings below. Then again, that might have just been my psychometry playing tricks on me, like it so often did, especially where statues were concerned.
    I walked down the main aisle, but instead of going behind the checkout counter, logging on to the computer system, and getting to work, I veered off to my right, where a freestanding coffee cart was shoved in between some study tables and the stacks behind them. I got in line and breathed in, enjoying the rich, dark aroma of the hot espresso mixed with the softer scents of chocolate, vanilla, and cinnamon that flavored the air.
    Maybe it was the cold outside, but I wasn’t the only one who wanted a drink or a snack, and several kids were ahead of me in line. As I stood there, I was aware of eyes on me. Except this time, it wasn’t the statues who were watching me—it was my fellow students.
    I knew what they saw when they looked at me—a girl with violet-colored eyes and frizzy, wavy brown hair who was wearing not-so-designer jeans, sneakers, and a gray T-shirt and sweater under her purple plaid jacket. Nothing really out of the ordinary or impressive, but the students started talking all the same.
    “Look. There’s Gwen Frost.”
    “Is that a real Fenrir wolf she has with her? It’s so cute!”
    “I wonder what she’s up to now?”
    “The Gypsy girl? Probably trying to figure out how to stop the Reapers. They say she’s Nike’s Champion . . .”
    Those whispers and more swirled around me like the bits of snow had outside. I grimaced, but there was nothing I could do but pretend I didn’t hear everyone talking about me or the chimes on their phones as they texted their friends about the latest Gwen Frost sighting. Daphne had told me that someone had even come up with an app so everyone could track me around campus with their phones. As if I didn’t have enough problems already without everyone knowing exactly where I was all the freaking time.
    Oh yeah, everyone seemed to be watching every move I made, and it had only gotten worse since the Reaper attack at the winter band concert. Now, all the kids at Mythos knew that I was Nike’s Champion—and that I was supposed to save us all.
    They didn’t know the details, though. That all I had to do was find some mysterious magical artifact that would supposedly let me kill Loki, who was pretty much all-powerful and evil incarnate.
    No pressure or anything.
    Nyx cocked her head to the side, staring up at the other kids. She gave a tentative little growl, hoping that someone would drop to their knees and pet her, but the low sound only made the other students shy away from her. I couldn’t blame them for that, though. Most kids at the academy weren’t used to mythological creatures like Fenrir wolves, Nemean prowlers, and Black rocs trying to do anything but kill them.
    I was the last one in line, and, finally, it was my turn to order. I scanned the menu tacked up beside the cash register.
    “Give me a bottled water, a jumbo pretzel with nacho cheese sauce, and a dark chocolate brownie,” I said.
    Silence.
    I peered around a display of blueberry muffins. A woman sat on a stool behind the cash register, reading through a celebrity gossip magazine as if it was the most interesting thing ever. The woman was old—even older than Grandma Frost—with a shock of long, white hair that seemed to flow into the long, white gown she wore. Her eyes were as black, bright, and shiny as a bird’s, while dark wrinkles streaked across her face, almost like the thin grooves were filled with shadows instead of just sagging skin. She licked her thumb and turned another page in