Midnight Frost

down, but the scene didn’t change, and no Reapers erupted out of the shadows. I slowly lowered my hand. I kept looking around, peering at all of the logs, rocks, and statues, but no one was there. Still, I felt someone was watching me—a real, live someone and not just all the statues that had their heads turned in my direction.
    I scooted around so that my back was pressed up against Nike’s feet and made sure Vic was within easy reach, just in case any Reapers appeared. Then, I went back to my brooding.
    I hadn’t been sitting by the statue long, maybe five minutes, when boots scuffed on the floor again. I tensed, but this person wasn’t trying to hide her approach. She rounded the corner and stepped into view. She hesitated a moment before squaring her shoulders, walking over, and plopping down beside me.
    “I thought I might find you here,” Rory said.
    “Yay for you, Nancy Drew,” I muttered.
    “Your goddess, huh?” she said, twisting her neck so she could look up at the statue.
    “Yeah.”
    We didn’t speak for a few moments. Right now, I never wanted to speak to her again. But once more, the questions bubbled up in my mind, and I couldn’t keep myself from wanting to know the answers, from wanting to know every last part and ugly truth of this deep, dark, dirty family secret that had been shoved out into the light for everyone to see—including me.
    “You could have just told me,” I finally said, my voice cracking a little on the words.
    She grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry about that. It’s just . . . it hurts, you know? It hurts so much .”
    I did know, but it still took me a moment to gather the courage to ask my questions. “What happened?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really. One day, I’m just a girl, going through my first semester at Mythos Academy, dealing with classes and professors and stuff. The next day, my parents are dead. Then, it comes out that my parents were Reapers, had always been Reapers, and that they were trying to steal a bunch of artifacts from the library when Covington caught them. But instead of surrendering, they tried to fight their way free and killed some kids before Covington managed to take them out.”
    So that was why she didn’t like the librarian—he’d killed her parents. Yeah, they’d been Reapers, but he was still responsible for their deaths.
    Rory sucked in a breath and finished her story. “And if all that’s not bad enough, I also find out that my parents had been secret Reaper assassins for years. The rest . . . well, you saw the rest in the dining hall.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “That’s awful.”
    She shrugged again, trying to pretend she didn’t care, trying to pretend it didn’t matter, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt. “The funny thing is that my parents were always talking about how important it was for me to learn how to fight. To be a good Spartan so I could protect other people from Reapers. And then, they turn out to be Reapers themselves. And not just any Reapers—but some of the worst of the worst.”
    “I’m sorry,” I repeated. I didn’t know what else to say. No words would make it better. Not for her—and not for me either.
    Rory let out a bitter laugh. “And you know what the really twisted thing is? I still love them. They were my parents, and they were Reapers, but I still love them anyway. I still wish they were here with me instead of being dead. What kind of person does that make me ?”
    “Just a girl,” I said. “Just a girl.”
    Rory picked at a loose thread on her jeans. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. If I hadn’t thought she would run away, I would have put my hand on hers and used my psychometry to show her that she wasn’t the only one who’d been betrayed, fooled, and hurt by the Reapers.
    “And my dad?” I finally asked. “What do you know about him?”
    She hesitated. “Not much. Just what my dad, Tyson, told me about him. Apparently, they had some kind of big fight when they were younger, and your dad took off. My dad never heard from him again, but he always seemed sad that he had lost his brother.”
    I was guessing there was a lot more to the story than what she knew. I’d have to ask Grandma Frost.
    “My dad . . . a Reaper.” The words tasted cold and bitter in my mouth. “It doesn’t seem possible. It doesn’t seem real .”
    Rory laughed again, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Tell me about it.”
    “But your aunt seems nice. She’s not a Reaper.