“Um, hi,” I say, brilliantly. I’ve never been big on public speaking, even if the public in question is just a small group of ten-year-olds. But if everyone else can do it, so can I. “I’m Phoebe Castro. I just moved here last year. Actually, I just found out about this whole hematheos world last year. And then I found out that I’m a descendant of Nike—which totally makes sense, because I’m a runner and I love to win. But that’s a whole other story.”
I know I’m babbling.
I know I’m facing a whole circle of blank stares.
I know I should stop.
“Ever since I found out,” I continue, “I’ve had an awful time controlling my powers. I mean, it’s like they have a life of their own. They do things all the time without my even meaning to and now the gods are making me take some stupid test, so I really need to get my act together—”
“Your powers act independent of conscious effort?” Miss Orivas asks.
“Uh-huh.” I nod.
“Huh.” She sounds surprised. “How does it happen?”
If I knew, I would do something about it. And I wouldn’t be sitting in an icebreaker circle with a bunch of ten-year-olds, facing two weeks of torment by my least favorite person on this island, desperately hoping I can learn some measure of control when all I really want to do is train for the Pythian Games.
I must look as sarcastic as I feel, because she adds, “What are the circumstances?”
Oh, that.
“All different circumstances,” I explain. “I mean, it happens at home, at school, and in the village. Sometimes it happens when I’m trying to do something, but my mind wanders. Sometimes it happens when I’m just thinking. I don’t know why any more than I can figure out how to make it stop.”
“Fascinating,” Miss Orivas mutters, and starts scribbling on her notepad.
“Most students struggle to manifest their powers,” Stella says, as if I need explanation. I do, but I won’t tell her that. “You have the opposite problem.”
Great, glad I could be a case study or whatever.
“The fact that you are a third generation,” Adara chimes in, “means they are stronger than most. You’re lucky we only had to evacuate the school once.”
My cheeks erupt in flames.
“You’re the one?” one of the girls on the opposite side of the circle gasps. I think her name is Tessa or Teresa or something.
“The one what?” I ask nervously, though I know what she’s about to say.
She leans forward, stage-whispering across the circle. “The one who neofactured lions during the pep rally.”
I’m too mortified to respond. No one was ever supposed to know that was me. I was only trying to show school spirit (go, Nemean Lions!). My mouth just kind of drops open, like if it hangs there long enough something will come out.
All the girls in the circle stare, their eyes glowing with fear and awe.
As if I need another reason for kids at the Academy to think I’m different.
“Okay, then,” Adara says, saving me—unintentionally, I’m sure, since she’s the one who dropped the bomb—from continued embarrassment, “time for the counselor introductions. I’ll go first.” She tilts her head to the side and smiles. “My name is Adara, I’m a descendant of Aphrodite, I’m an entering Level 13, and I plan on attending the Sorbonne when I graduate.”
Wow. I am totally surprised that she isn’t going to Oxford like everyone else. Like Griffin is. From what he says, pretty much everyone at the Academy goes there, since the school has an arrangement with the administration. If you’re an Academy grad, you’re in. No formal application required. That eliminates the background research on the applicants—and on the school.
“Hi, Adara,” everyone says obediently.
She looks at Stella. “Your turn.”
Stella takes a deep breath. “As I said before,” she says, her cheerful voice wavering just a little, “I’m Stella. I’m a descendant of Hera. I graduated from the Academy last weekend—”
Everyone cheers, applauding her success. I roll my eyes. As if Stella’s graduation hasn’t been the number one topic in the Petrolas household for the last few weeks. By the time she walked across the stage, I was ready to use her mortarboard to put myself out of my misery. I’m so over it.
“Thank you,” she says, blushing. “And in the fall I will be matriculating at Oxford, where I intend to study economics.”
I zone out while everyone oohs and ahhs. This is a story I know practically by heart. Instead, I imagine what life will be like without Stella in the house. Sure, we’ve only been housemates for a few months, but it feels like a lifetime. It’s like I can’t remember a time where she wasn’t there to torment me daily. No more desperately rushing to the bathroom, only to find the door locked and the shower running. No more having her knock on my door before sunrise, her face covered in one of her rainbow array of face masks, demanding I return something I haven’t borrowed—like I would borrow anything from her prep-trendy closet. No more facing her across the dinner table, worrying that my food will turn into something still living—and knowing I can’t return the favor without it going terribly wrong. Life without Stella is going to be amazing. Like a birthday party every day.
Little tingles of happiness sparkle down my arms.
“Great Zeus,” Miss Orivas cries.
My eyes snap back into focus. Everyone in the circle is staring, wide-eyed at Stella. If their mouths dropped any farther, they’d be cartoons.
A sense of dread shivers up my spine.
Slowly—in the hopes that maybe if I take my time it won’t be as bad as I’m imagining—I turn to face Stella. Nope, it’s my worst nightmare. The first morning of boot camp and I’ve already turned Stella into a birthday cake. Okay, not an actual birthday cake. Just decorated like one.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurt.
She has her eyes clenched shut—probably to keep the frosting from dripping into them—and I’m pretty sure her jaw is clenched, too. It’s hard to tell under the swirls of blue icing. She is going to smote me faster than I can say—
“How did you do that?” Miss Orivas asks.
I shift nervously. “Um . . . I don’t know . . . I—”
“What were you thinking about?”
Yeah, like I’m going to admit what I was thinking at that moment. Stella would not only smote me, she’d make it so torturous that the six-day Marathon des Sables through the Sahara would feel like a stroll on the beach.
“I was thinking about my birthday,” I cover. “It was a couple months ago and it was so much fun.”
Miss Orivas nods in understanding. Of what exactly, I’m not sure. I know I don’t understand.
“Phoebe Diane Castro.” Stella’s voice, gritted out through tightly clenched teeth, is icy cold and barely contained. If there weren’t a dozen people here, she’d probably be screaming like a harpy. She takes a deep breath and then bursts into a bright glow.
I blink into the brightness and then, when I can see again, she’s back to her perfect preppy self. There’s a tiny blob of blue on her left shoulder, but I’m not about to point that out.
“You,” she says, an uncomfortable smile on her face, “will learn how to control your powers in the next two weeks.”
I’m ready for a threat—although I’m kinda surprised she’d incriminate herself in front of witnesses—but it never comes.
“You will be my pet project.” She eyes me up and down. “If I can’t turn you into a proper goddess, no one can.”
I’m not sure which thought terrifies me more: the idea that I am about to become the focus of Stella’s energy, or that I’m actually counting on her to succeed.
CHAPTER 4
PSYCHOSPECTION
SOURCE: HERA
The ability to read the thoughts and emotions of others. Most hematheos can only sense general feelings, rather than specific, tangible thoughts. Descendants of Hera have the greatest affinity for this power and can often hear ano
ther’s thoughts as if spoken aloud.
DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE © Stella Petrolas
GRIFFIN IS WAITING FOR ME on the Academy steps when camp lets out for the second day—which wasn’t any more exciting than the first day, unless you count Stella and Adara bickering over whether today’s handout was supposed to be green or purple.
“Hi,” I say, hurrying over to him and throwing my arms around his neck. “I didn’t know you were meeting me here. I thought we were training at six today.”
“We are,” he replies, hugging me back, but looking totally unhappy.
“Then you just stopped by to see me?” He can be so sweet, especially for a descendant of Ares. Nothing warlike about Griffin. Of course there’s the Hercules side of him, too. I lace my fingers through his. “I missed you.”
He smiles nervously.
I can’t tell what’s going on in his head. You would think that after going out for nearly nine months, I’d have a little better insight into what makes his mind tick. But no. Hematheos guys aren’t any easier to figure out than the regular ones.
Still, I can tell there’s something he’s not saying.
Damian’s ability to read minds would sure come in handy right now.
“Actually”—he squeezes my hand—“I’m here to—”
His gaze shifts. His blue eyes look over my shoulder and he smiles.
Before I turn around, I know what I’m going to see.
“Hey, Dara,” he says with a little wave.
Adara is standing at the base of the steps, just a few feet away, and looking disgustingly vulnerable. Where is the haughty lift of her brows? The disdainful smirk on her lips?
I frown. This must be her tactic—playing the victim about something so Griffin feels compelled to help her. He swears no one but me and Damian knows he’s half descended from Hercules, so I’m sure she’s not knowingly exploiting the heroic compulsion. But she’s up to something. The stench of Steal Back My Boyfriend is overwhelming, even from this distance.
I’m kinda disappointed Griffin would even fall for this.
Turning back to me, he says, “Look, Phoebes, I need to talk to her. I’ll catch up with you at six, okay?”
Then, before I can answer—by saying, “Um, excuse me?”—he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and then jogs over to Adara’s side, leaving me in the dust. What is going on here? I feel like a total jealous witch, even though I know there is nothing romantic going on between them. I know that. Right? Not on his side, anyway. But Adara . . . ?
Prepared to stake my claim, I start after them.
“Castro!” Stella’s authoritative voice calls out, stopping me in my tracks with one foot hovering mid-stalk.
“Yes?” I squeak, twisting around to see her glaring down at me from the top of the steps.
With her fists on her hips and a determined look in her cool gray eyes, she looks like a girl on a mission. And I have a sinking feeling that I am the mission.
“You and I need to chat.” Clearly sensing I’m about to make some excuse, she adds, “Now.”
With a glance at my boyfriend chatting with his ex, I sigh. “Fine.”
She stomps down the steps.
“Listen,” she snaps. “I’ve been a Goddess Boot Camp counselor for three years, and I haven’t failed a camper yet. I‘m not about to start with you.”
“So?” I ask, stealing a glance at Griffin and Adara. I nearly pounce when he puts his hand on her shoulder.
“So?” Stella repeats. “You pose a somewhat more”—she searches for the word—“challenging educational situation.”
“Why is that?” I ask absently.
How can Griffin do that, knowing I’m right here watching them? The ex-couple move down the path and ’round the corner of the building, disappearing from my sight. I can’t believe this.
“Because—and it kills me to say this,” Stella says, letting out a severely exasperated sigh, “you have the most natural power of any hematheos I have ever known.”
Griffin and Adara instantly forgotten, I turn on Stella.
“What?”
I can’t have heard her right. That sounded like . . . a compliment.
“Most kids have trouble bringing their powers to the surface. Yours live on the surface. They bubble out when you’re not even trying.”
Is that envy in her voice?
“That’s highly unusual. Rare, even. Once you learn to harness them, you’ll be at least as powerful as I am.” She purses one side of her mouth, like she can’t believe what she’s about to say. “Maybe more.”
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head. That definitely sounded like a compliment. “What?”
“You heard me,” she retorts. “I won’t say it again.”
“Wow,” I say, in utter shock. Stella actually complimented me. I didn’t think that was in her vocabulary. I’m surprised she didn’t spontaneously combust at the effort.
“Earth to Phoebe,” she says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Focus on the bigger picture here, please.”
I scowl. “How do you know what I’m focusing on?”
She just cocks her eyebrows, as if to say, How do you think?
Then it hits me. Her dad has this uncanny ability to read minds—or emotions or whatever he’s admitting to at the time. She probably inherited that talent from him.
“What, is reading minds like a Hera thing?”
“Didn’t you review the study guide?” She crosses her arms over her chest, daring me to try sarcasm again. “Psychospection, the ability to see into the minds of others, is a power derived from the queen of the gods.”
“Oh.” And I thought I was kidding.
That would be a pretty cool power to have. No more trying to guess what Griffin is thinking or what Adara’s motives are. Too bad I’m not a descendant of Hera.
“All hematheos have this power,” Stella says, answering my thoughts. “To some degree, anyway. It’s how the powers thing works. In addition to a primary ability from your specific ancestor god, we have powers derived from all twelve Olympians—which you would know if you had read the study guide. The closer you are on the tree, the stronger all the powers.”
And I assumed the powers were more of a vague, limitless thing. I never thought about there being different kinds. Or where they came from.
“So I can read minds?”
“Not likely.” She snickers. “Only descendants of Hera can literally read minds. Most hematheos just sense basic emotions or general ideas.”
Good. The last thing I need is everyone reading my mind. It’s bad enough if Stella can. Especially when I’m thinking about how much she—
“Wait,” I say, remembering what caused the whole living-birthday-cake incident. “Does that mean you—”
“Yes.”
One word. She didn’t even hear the question, but I know she knows.
“I’m sorry,” I say, meaning it. I may not like Stella all the time, but she is the closest thing to a sister that I have. Besides, I don’t like being mean to anyone—except Adara, of course. It’s bad karma or something. And I don’t need to invite more bad luck than I already have.
“The bigger picture,” she prods. “You can apologize profusely after you pass the test.”
“Oh, right.” I set aside my personal berating. “I’m superpowerful. What does that mean?”
“It means your powers are harder to control. They work with very little effort.” She flicks her highlight-heavy hair over her shoulder. “You need to learn how to control them properly so they stop unintentionally going off.”
That makes my powers sound like a burglar alarm. Like if I accidentally open the door, I have three seconds to enter the code or the police will report to the scene. At least I don’t have sirens blaring every time my powers mess up. Although that would at least let me know when it’s happened.
“How exactly do I do that?” I ask. I’ve been training for months, and they’re still out of control. “It’s not lik
e I haven’t been trying.”
“But you haven’t had my undivided attention.” She smiles smugly. “I can work miracles when I have full focus and a plan.”
I shiver at the thought of being Stella’s full focus.
“What makes you think you know the magic formula? No one else does.”
“Because I’ve done it before.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, Daddy told you there was another student who had to pass the gods’ test, right?”
I gasp. “That was you?”
“No, of course not.” She scowls, like how could I be so stupid? “Under my tutelage, that student passed the test.”
Tutelage? That sounds too much like torture.
But it’s kind of reassuring to know that other student passed the test. With Stella’s help. Plus, that means she can dish some more details on the test. Like what that test will be like and what might happen if I fail the test.
“With this other student,” I begin. “How did they—”
“I’m going to go through some of my old training lesson plans this afternoon.” She cuts off my question and checks her watch. “Why don’t we meet back home at six to discuss the plan?”
“Can’t,” I say, stifling a growl. She always acts so superior. “Griffin and I have a training run.”
Stella turns on her stern face. “I really think this is more important—”
“No.” As if anything is more important to me than running. “I’ll do whatever it takes to learn to control my powers, but I am not giving up running. The Pythian Games trials are less than two weeks away and I plan on qualifying. I can’t do that if I don’t train every day.”
She looks like she wants to argue. Or like she’s reading my thoughts.
Read this: No, no, no, no, no.
“Fine,” she says, exasperated. “How about after dinner? You will be home for dinner, won’t you?”
“Sure,” I say, even though I wonder how dinner will go when it’s just the two of us. We had plenty of dinner-table battles when our respective parents were there to intercede. Who knows what could happen when we’re alone. Hesper might have to intervene.
“And if you’re late,” she says with a wicked smile, “I might reconsider my decision to not seek vengeance for my wedding hair color.”