Midnight Frost

“Ruined is a bit of an understatement, don’t you think?”
    I grimaced. She was right. Ruined didn’t even come close to describing the horror show the concert had turned into when Reapers had crashed the event, killed members of the ruling Protectorate, and taken others hostage, along with Mythos students. The Reapers had intended to murder everyone at the Aoide Auditorium as a blood sacrifice to the evil Norse god Loki. I’d stopped their plan, but it had cost me—more than I cared to remember.
    “Well, at least Gwen decided to look for this artifact during the day,” a voice with a cool Russian accent chimed in. “Instead of dragging me over to the Library of Antiquities in the middle of the night like she did last week.”
    I looked over to my left at Alexei Sokolov. With his dark brown hair, tan skin, and rugged features, Alexei was as handsome as any movie star, but he was also the Bogatyr warrior who served as my bodyguard.
    “You’re just grumpy Oliver couldn’t come with us today,” I said.
    Alexei smiled, and his hazel eyes softened at the thought of Oliver Hector, the Spartan he was involved with. “Maybe.”
    “And you’re just grumpy Logan’s not here,” Daphne sniped again.
    Her words surprised me, and I stumbled over my own feet, even as my heart twisted in my chest.
    Daphne caught my arm and pulled me upright with her great Valkyrie strength. She winced at the miserable expression on my face.
    “I’m sorry, Gwen. I didn’t mean that—”
    I held up my hand, cutting her off. “No, it’s fine. We all know it’s true. I am grumpy about Logan.”
    Another understatement. Spartan Logan Quinn was the best fighter at Mythos Academy. Over the last few months, he’d taught me everything I knew about weapons and how to use them.
    He was also the guy I loved—and the one who’d attacked me and then left the academy.
    “Gwen?” Alexei asked.
    I snapped out of my dark thoughts. “I’m fine. Let’s see if the net is here.”
    We hurried to the end of the hallway and the last exhibit room in this part of the coliseum. According to a sign on the wall, this area was devoted to gods and goddesses of the sea, the sky, and all the storms that raged between them. I put my messenger bag down in the corner, then went from one case to the next, staring at all of the artifacts. They included everything from splintered planks of the doomed boat that the Greek warrior Odysseus had tried to sail home in to a couple of gold tridents that had supposedly belonged to Poseidon, the Greek god of the sea. Finally, I spotted a bronze plaque that read Ran’s fishing net , and I stepped over to that case.
    A net made out of something that looked like light gray seaweed lay beneath the glass, along with a small white ID card. I’d have to remember to take that with me too. Hopefully, it would tell me what was so important about the net. I leaned even closer to the glass, studying the artifact.
    Thanks to my psychometry, I never forgot anything I saw, so I was able to pull up my memories of the drawing that featured the artifacts I was supposed to find for Nike. I compared the net before me to the one in the drawing. It was a perfect match.
    “Here it is!” I called out.
    Daphne and Alexei moved over to stand beside me. They both looked down at the net.
    “What do you think it does?” Daphne asked, her black eyes narrowed in thought.
    I shrugged. “I have no idea. But Nike showed it to me, so it must be important.”
    “Now what?” Alexei asked.
    I shrugged again. “The usual. I’ll call Metis, and she and Nickamedes can come and get the net—”
    I saw a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye, and I instinctively jumped back.
    The Reaper’s sword missed my head by an inch.
    One second, Alexei, Daphne, and I were alone in the exhibit room. The next, six Reapers had appeared, all wearing black robes and twisted rubber Loki masks and all carrying curved swords.
    “Reapers!” I screamed, even though my friends had already spotted them.
    The Reaper next to me raised his sword again, and I pivoted and lashed out with my foot, kicking him in the stomach. The Reaper stumbled back, giving me the chance to grab my own weapon—the sword in the black leather scabbard that was belted around my waist.
    I raised the blade up into an attack position, and a purplish eye on the hilt snapped open. Instead of being plain, half a man’s face was inlaid into the hilt of my sword, complete with a nose, an