Midnight Frost

pleasantly warmed my mouth. The lettuce and other vegetables had a nice, fresh crunch to them, while the thick layer of mayonnaise on the grilled bun provided a bit of a cool contrast. The fries were hot and crispy, with just the right amount of bacon and melted cheese on them, and the ranch dipping sauce was the perfect blend of creamy tartness. The only thing that was disappointing was the fudge, which was satisfying, but not nearly as rich and sinfully decadent as what Grandma Frost made.
    I was so busy stuffing my face that I didn’t notice the dirty looks coming our way—at least not immediately.
    I was finishing the last bite of my fudge when a surge of emotion washed over me—anger. Hot, burning, sizzling anger. At first, I thought it was directed at me, that there was some Reaper in here, so I turned around in my seat, trying to see who was glaring at me and why. I spotted a group of guys staring at our table. It took me another minute to realize they were actually glaring at Rory—and they weren’t the only ones.
    We were sitting at a table at the back of the dining hall, but everyone who walked by shot Rory a dirty look. I heard the mutters too.
    “Reaper girl . . .”
    “Can’t believe she came back for another semester . . .”
    “Why doesn’t she just drop out . . .”
    Rory also heard the angry whispers. Her shoulders tensed up, her knuckles went white around her fork, and her gaze flicked back and forth, as though she expected one of the other kids to attack her at any time.
    Once again, I had a strange, sick sense of déjà vu. The whole thing reminded me of how the kids at Mythos had treated me a few weeks ago, when I’d been falsely accused of being a Reaper, when Vivian had blamed me for all the evil things she’d done—including killing some of our classmates.
    Finally, the stares and mutters weren’t enough, and a couple of guys approached our table.
    “Well, well, well, look who’s actually eating in the dining hall for a change,” one of the guys sneered.
    “Well, well, well,” Rory sniped back. “Look who’s still failing English lit—and every other class. That would be you, Duke.”
    Duke’s face turned a mottled red with anger. He was a tall guy with a thick, beefy build, the sort who would have played linebacker at my old public high school. He wasn’t carrying a weapon, but I got the vibe that he was a Viking from the way he kept cracking his knuckles, as though he was looking forward to driving them through Rory’s face. Vikings were strong and had a rep for using their fists to solve problems instead of weapons.
    “Yeah, well,” he snarled. “I might not be as smart as you, but at least my parents aren’t Reapers. At least they didn’t go on a killing spree in the library. You can’t say the same about yours, though, can you?”
    I froze. So did all of my friends. We glanced at each other, then at Rory. Her parents had been Reapers? They’d killed people? On campus?
    Well, that would explain why the other students treated Rory like she was no better than the dirt under their boots.
    Rory’s face was completely blank and closed off as she pushed her chair back and faced Duke. “I’ve told you before not to talk about my parents.”
    Duke’s hands curled into fists. “I’ll talk about them however I want to. And you too, you Reaper bitch.”
    Reaper bitch .
    Those were the same words that had been spray-painted on my dorm room door and walls more than once. They made me see red now, just like they had then. Because I’d learned something when I’d touched Rachel—that she and Rory weren’t Reapers any more than I was.
    “Hey,” I said, pushing my chair back and getting to my feet, as well. “Leave her alone. She wasn’t doing anything to you.”
    Duke looked at me, and he sneered again. “Who’s your friend, Rory? I haven’t seen her or any of these other losers around before.”
    “This is Gwen,” Rory said in a loud voice, making sure all the kids at the nearby tables heard her. “My cousin. Her dad was a Forseti. My dad’s brother, as a matter of fact.”
    Hatred flashed in Duke’s dark eyes. “Oh,” he sneered. “Another Forseti. So your dad was a Reaper too, huh?”

Chapter 18
    For a moment, the air left my lungs, my vision went dark, and white spots swam before my eyes. The world seemed to grind to a screeching halt before abruptly sputtering back into gear.
    My dad had been—he’d been—my dad had been a Reaper ?
    It