Midnight Frost

grateful smile. We were all silent for a moment before Ajax spoke.
    “Well,” he said. “I have to help Covington with the arrangements. You guys can hang out in the library while we work.”
    I nodded. Hopefully, we would have a quiet day here, and I could gather my thoughts and prepare for what was to come tomorrow—another trap set by the Reapers, most likely.

Chapter 15
    We trooped back out into the main part of the library. Covington waved at Ajax, and the two men disappeared into the glass office complex behind the checkout counter. My friends and I settled ourselves in the cushioned chairs in front of the fireplace. Even though no logs were burning, everyone else seemed perfectly happy to lean back in the chairs, close their eyes, and doze, but I couldn’t sit still. Too much on my mind, too many things to worry about, and too many unanswered questions.
    So I took off my coat, pulled Vic out of my messenger bag, and belted the sword around my waist, just in case there were any more Reaper attacks today. I also spent a few minutes fiddling with my bag and making sure that Ran’s net was still safely tucked away inside, even though I doubted I’d have need of it anytime soon. After that, there wasn’t anything left for me to do but start pacing back and forth through the chairs and study tables.
    “Relax, Gwen,” Oliver finally said, cracking one eye open at me. “Try to get a little rest. We’ll have a tough enough day tomorrow.”
    “I know, I know,” I grumbled. “But I hate that we have to sit here all day. I’m going to call my grandma and see how Nickamedes is doing.”
    Oliver nodded and went back to his dozing. I pulled my cell phone out of my jeans pocket and headed for the edge of the stacks. I stopped there, making sure to keep the others in sight, then hit the number that would speed-dial Grandma Frost. She answered on the second ring.
    “Hello, pumpkin.” Her warm, familiar voice flooded the line. “I thought it was about time for you to call.”
    “Hi, Grandma. How are you? How are Metis and Nickamedes?”
    “We’re all okay,” she said. “I’m in the infirmary, sitting with Nickamedes and reading a book. He’s asleep right now.”
    “How is he?”
    “The same,” she said. “No better, no worse.”
    “And Metis?”
    “She’s in the next room, sleeping. She’s wearing herself out, coming in here and healing him every few hours, but so far, she’s keeping the poison at bay.”
    I let out a breath. Well, that was something, I supposed.
    “How are you, pumpkin?” Grandma Frost asked. “Where are you now?”
    I filled her in on everything that had happened since we’d left the academy, including the Reaper attack on the train.
    “There was something else,” I said, finishing up my story. “I met someone today. A girl. Her name is Rory Forseti.”
    Grandma didn’t say anything. For a moment, the only sound was the faint buzz of static over the line.
    “Grandma? Did you hear me?”
    After a moment, she sighed. “I heard you, pumpkin. I thought you might run into Rory out there.”
    My hand tightened around the phone. “Her last name is Forseti—just like my dad’s was. Am I—are we—related?”
    For a moment, I thought that Grandma wasn’t going to answer me, but she finally let out another soft sigh.
    “Yes,” she said. “She’s your cousin. Her father and your father were brothers.”
    My dad, Tyr, had died when I was two. My mom and grandma had always claimed that he’d passed away from cancer, but ever since I’d learned about the mythological world, I’d had a sneaking suspicion that he’d been killed, probably by Reapers, just like my mom had been murdered by Vivian. But so much had been going on that I hadn’t thought to ask my grandma about him.
    I didn’t have any real memories of my dad, and my mom had only had a few photos of him that she’d shared with me. From the pictures I’d seen, Tyr Forseti had been a tall man with sandy hair, blue eyes, and a face that always seemed to have a hint of sadness in it, even when he had his arms wrapped around my mom and was smiling for the camera.
    “Are there any others?” I asked. “Any other Forsetis?”
    “No, as far as I know, Rory is the last Forseti. Her parents are both dead, and she lives with her mother’s sister, her aunt,” Grandma said.
    “Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
    “Tyr . . . your father . . . didn’t get along with the rest of his family,” she answered.