I shook my head in wonder. “I think if you looked up Aphrodite on the Internet, it would come up with a picture of you,” I answered. It was a no-brainer that starry-eyed Bess would choose the goddess of love for her costume.
I turned to George and grinned. “So that’s why you had all those feathers stuck to your bag!”
“Well, I sure wasn’t kidnapping pigeons, if that’s what you thought.” George chuckled, and then executed a sharp bow. “Hermes, messenger of the gods—at your service, my lady.” She was wearing a white silk camisole over a pair of gold-sequined shorts. Strappy gold sandals, with tiny white wings affixed to them, adorned her feet, and she wore a winged gold bike helmet over her short hair. An application of gold eye shadow and blush completed her look. She saw my gaze linger on her face and rolled her eyes. “Bess insisted on the makeup,” she said.
“Oh, stop whining,” Bess said. “You know it looks good.”
George shrugged, grinning, and turned her attention back to me. “Well!” she said. “At least we know no one’s going to mess with us tonight! Not with Nancy ‘Warrior Princess’ Drew at our side!”
“I had a feeling you’d go with Athena,” Bess said, studying my costume with approval. “What with her being the goddess of wisdom and all.”
“Wisdom, courage, law, justice, war strategy, mathematics,” I listed.
“All right, all right.” George held her hands up in surrender. “Athena’s awesome, okay? But come on, who do you really want to hang out at a party with? The goddess of law? Or the god of literature and poetry and sports and wit?”
I crossed my arms and gave George a hard look. “Are you saying you’re cooler than me?”
George hesitated. “Not with that spear in your hand, I’m not.”
We all laughed, and after a few last-minute makeup and costume tweaks, we left the room. The party was almost ready to begin!
We walked into the main entry hall to find Iris greeting guests as they came in the door, all of them shaking out umbrellas and peeling off raincoats. She was wearing an explosively colorful costume—a long, layered gown made up of red, yellow, green, blue, and purple satin that seemed to shine with inner light. On her back was a pair of huge, iridescent fairy wings.
“Wow!” I exclaimed when she turned to greet me. “Your costume . . . it’s absolutely breathtaking. Who are you dressed as?”
“Iris, of course!” Iris laughed. “My namesake. Goddess of the rainbow!”
While Iris and Bess oohed and aahed over each other’s outfits, George and I made our way into the ballroom, which was already humming with the sounds of conversation, laughter, and prerecorded bouzouki music. A long buffet table boasted platters of stuffed grape leaves, bite-size spinach-and-feta-cheese pies, and triangles of pita bread served with Greek caviar. But before we could reach the table, a server in a purple-belted toga glided over to us. He was carrying a tray of glasses filled to the brim with an amber-colored liquid. “What’s this?” I asked him.
“The nectar of the gods,” the young man said with a smile.
“Can you be a little more specific?” George asked.
“Local apple cider simmered with honey, cinnamon, orange peel, and butter.”
“Butter?” George exclaimed. “Oh, I’ll have one, please.” She picked up a glass and took a long swig. “Mmm,” she moaned, licking her lips. “Now that is good. Only the gods would think to put butter in a drink!”
I took a glass myself and had a taste of the sweet, cool, and velvety mixture. “Delicious,” I agreed. “Speaking of gods—look at all these people!”
George and I took a moment to really gaze around the room at the other guests. We weren’t the only ones to go all out with our costumes! I saw Medusa, half a dozen rubber snakes slithering on her head; a frightening, black-robed Hades with his hair and beard dyed a fiery orange; and Demeter, a woman with hair the color of wheat, dancing in a grass-green dress covered in silk flowers. “It’s like a dream,” I murmured, and George nodded.
“Nancy!” I turned to see Iris waving me over from across the room. She and Bess were standing with two men—one only a little older than me, and the other a handsome, thirtysomething gentleman with auburn hair. The younger man was dressed in a simple, rust-colored tunic, with two enormous white feathered wings stretching out from his back. He must be Icarus, I thought, remembering the story of the winged boy who flew too close to the sun. The gentleman next to him shone under the overhead lights, for his costume was made almost entirely of golden fabric. The headdress he wore sported wavy gold spires all around it, making his head look like the center of a tiny sun. George and I made our way over to them through the crowd. “There you are, ladies,” Iris said as we approached. “I’d like you both to meet two very special people! This is Sebastian Rivera, the classics department’s star student”—she gestured to the younger man, who blushed at the compliment—“and Dr. Fletcher Brown, one of our esteemed classics faculty.” The other man beamed and took my hand in his.
“Athena, I presume,” he said, his voice rich and sonorous. “Charmed.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “Apollo, god of sun and light?”
“Ah, I see Iris was correct,” Dr. Brown said with a smile. “Miss Nancy Drew is indeed a master of deduction!”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” I demurred. “It’s quite an impressive costume. I’m sure most of the guests could figure out who you are.”
“You give them too much credit, my dear,” Dr. Brown replied. “And who is your trickster friend here?”
“George Fayne—pleasure to meet you, sir!” George pumped the man’s hand. “I promise your wallet is safe from me tonight,” she joked.
“A likely story, coming from the patron god of thieves!” Dr. Brown said, his eyebrow raised in amusement.
“Sebastian,” Bess was saying to the younger man. “I have to say, those wings of yours are amazing! Where did you get them?”
Sebastian looked at Bess and grinned shyly, his light brown skin reddening once again. “Call me Bash,” he replied, brushing a lock of curly black hair out of his eyes. “And actually, I made them.”
George’s eyes bugged. “What?” she exclaimed. “Whew! And I thought it took a long time to make these little guys!” She gestured to the wings on each side of her helmet. “Yours must have taken an eternity!”
“Pretty much,” Bash agreed. “I think I still have superglue on my fingers. So much superglue . . .” He shook his head.
“If only the real Icarus had the luxury of superglue, he would have lived to tell the tale!” Dr. Brown said. He smiled—a dazzling, open smile—and the rest of us couldn’t help but join him.
Bess leaned over to whisper in my ear. “If he were my professor, I don’t think I’d be able to concentrate in class at all!”
I rolled my eyes. “Bess, I think you’re taking this ‘goddess of love’ thing a little too seriously. Cupid’s arrow is meant for other people—not you!”
“Oho!” A familiar voice split through the low hum of conversation, as Dr. Pappas came toward us, the crowd parting before him. He wore a flowing, off-white tunic and a laurel wreath on his head, and held a silver walking stick in the shape of a lightning bolt. “What did I tell you about having too much fun without me?”
“My lord Zeus!” Dr. Brown exclaimed, opening his arms wide. “How you honor us with your presence.”
Dr. Pappas clapped the professor on the shoulder and chuckled. “Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear man. I see you’ve met my daughter’s young friends? You all look magnificent tonight! I hope the three of you are considering Oracle College after graduation”—Dr. Pappas winked conspiratorially—“because this institution is about to be truly put on the map! Ambitious professors like Fletcher here are on the brink of making it big. Aren’t you, son?”
Dr. Brown feigned exasperation, blowing out his cheeks. “First it’s burnt offerings you want, and now this? Papa George, you are one tough customer.”
&
nbsp; Dr. Pappas laughed. “Don’t be modest, Fletcher. You make Oracle proud. Now, I must go and greet the rest of my subjects!” With that, Dr. Pappas dived back into the crowd, roaring with mirth as he caught sight of another group of costumed colleagues.
We all watched him go, Iris shaking her head with amusement.
“Your father certainly makes his expectations known,” Dr. Brown said. “After that speech, I think I need a drink! It was a pleasure meeting you, ladies.”
Once Dr. Brown went off in search of the bar, Bess and George began chatting with Bash about college life. Before I could get wrapped up in that conversation, Iris pulled me away to point out some other notable guests at the gala.
After an hour or so of chitchat with Iris’s friends and professors, the gala was in full swing. A six-piece band had replaced the prerecorded music, and the crowd of dancers was virtually impenetrable. In an attempt to reach the buffet table, we skirted the outer edges of the ballroom, and I noticed a middle-aged woman standing alone near one of the picture windows. She was gazing silently outside at the storm, her expression thoughtful. Unlike so many of the other guests, this woman’s costume was understated, elegant. She wore a long, midnight-blue gown with a scooped neck; a wooden bow and a quiver full of arrows were slung across her back. The long gray-white braids that cascaded down her back glowed ethereally in the dim light, their paleness in stark contrast with the blue of her dress and the deep brown of her skin.
I stopped and whispered to Iris, “Who is that?”
Iris turned to see the woman and whispered back, “Oh! That’s Dr. Stone. She’s a classics professor, too—like Dr. Brown. She’s been here forever. Even longer than Dad, I think. She’s brilliant, apparently, but not very popular. She’s a tough grader, and students fail her classes constantly because their work isn’t up to her standards. Honestly, most people are terrified of her.”
I grimaced. “Is she that bad?”
Iris shrugged. “I wouldn’t know for certain—I’m only repeating what I’ve heard other people say. Apparently, she also keeps this talking parrot in her office as a pet,” she confided. “Dad says it’s against regulations, but because it’s her, he doesn’t say anything. He said she loves that bird like her own kid.” We both stood for a moment, watching Dr. Stone take a small sip from her glass of nectar. “She wears that same costume every year, you know,” Iris added. “Artemis, goddess of the hunt. It’s a great dress, but why not mix it up a little?”
“Maybe Artemis means something special to her,” I guessed.
“Maybe. Hey, look!” Iris’s eyes lit up as she caught sight of half a dozen servers parading into the room with trays. “Desserts! Oh, Nancy, you simply have to try these little baklavas. It’s pastry and nuts and honey and—”
“Yeah, I’m coming,” I said, my eyes still on Dr. Stone. There was something about the woman that piqued my interest. What’s her story? I wondered. As I watched, the woman leaned forward and gripped the windowsill in front of her. She closed her eyes, her mouth pressed into a tight line as if in pain.
I darted forward, laying my hand gently on her shoulder. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I said. “Are you all right?”
Dr. Stone spun around, surprised at my touch. She blinked at me, her eyes unfocused for a moment before she regained her bearings. “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she replied, standing up straight. She glanced at the silver watch on her wrist and then back up at me. “Excuse me,” she said brusquely, and without another word, she brushed past me and toward the stairs up to the balcony level.
Maybe she ate a bad olive, I thought as I made my way toward Iris, who was busy piling a plate with Greek pastries. Or maybe she just really doesn’t like parties. I could understand that. Events like this could be overwhelming for some—the noise, the crush of the crowd, the forced small talk. Even I was starting to crave a little solitude and fresh air right about now. Maybe Dr. Stone just needed a minute to herself. I craned my head to scan the balcony level and caught a glimpse of Dr. Stone accepting a drink from a server up there and taking a seat on one of the chaise lounges. There were some other guests mingling near the railing, and I saw Bash, the boy I’d met earlier, stop and talk with Dr. Stone. I turned back to the party in front of me, trying to see what had become of Iris and her quest for pastries.
A few minutes later the dance music came to an end, and Dr. Pappas’s voice came over a speaker system. “May I have your attention, please!” he said.
The crowd quieted immediately, and every eye turned toward Dr. Pappas, who was standing on the part of the balcony that jutted out about eight feet into the ballroom, surrounded on three sides by clay-colored metal railings. The guests gathered on the dance floor beneath him and gazed up at their beaming host. “My friends!” Dr. Pappas said into a microphone. “Thank you for joining me at the fifth annual Greek Gala!” The crowd erupted in cheers, many raising half-full glasses of nectar and red wine into the air. “I am so pleased to see each of your smiling faces tonight—especially you, Dr. Hall. It wouldn’t be a party without you!” Dr. Pappas gestured to a short, older man dressed as Dionysus, his purple toga dripping with bunches of wax grapes. “Dr. Hall takes the job of ‘god of drinking and ritual madness’ very, very seriously!” Everyone laughed.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, and after a particularly loud clap of thunder, the overhead lights flickered. “Well, well,” Dr. Pappas said after a collective gasp from the guests. “It seems the gods do not approve of my jokes. So I will get to the point! As you all know, every year, a special member of the Oracle community is chosen to deliver a speech, and tonight, I am honored to introduce—”
At that moment, an event planner tapped Dr. Pappas on the shoulder. The college president stopped midsentence, covering the microphone with one hand. The event planner whispered something into Dr. Pappas’s ear, and a look of concern crossed the man’s face. As he turned back to the microphone, he cleared his throat and smiled once again. “Excuse the interruption,” he said. “As I was saying, I am honored to introduce one of Oracle’s finest students, a young man taking our renowned classics department by storm. In his three years at our institution, he has brought revolutionary ideas into the classroom and has been instrumental in revitalizing the Eta Sigma Phi Honor Society for classical studies. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr. Sebastian Rivera!”
The crowd erupted in applause as Bash, living up to his nickname, bashfully approached the microphone. His huge white wings stretched out behind him and caught the light, making him look angelic as he looked down on the assembled guests. When the room fell silent, Bash took a deep breath and spoke. “Thank you, President Pappas, for your kind words. And thank you for believing in me, and awarding me with the Delphi Scholarship. Without that funding, made possible by people like you all”—here, Bash gestured at the crowd—“I wouldn’t have been able to attend Oracle and follow my dreams as I have since I came here.”
“Oh, he’s good,” Iris muttered in my ear. “Buttering up the donors, too!”
“I have so many people to thank for all the opportunities I’ve been given in these past few years,” Bash continued. “But there is one person in particular I want to highlight tonight. Someone who has opened up my mind to new possibilities, inspired me with new ideas, and constantly challenged me to push myself toward new heights, never accepting less than my best.”
A murmur drifted through the crowd as people looked around, trying to find the person Bash was talking about. I caught sight of Dr. Brown standing nearby, looking up at Bash. The people standing nearby were pointing at Dr. Brown and whispering to one another. I suppose Bash is talking about him, I thought. After all, Iris did say he’s the most popular professor in the department.
“Without this person’s constant support,” Bash was saying, “I would never have achieved the things I have here at Oracle. Please, can everyone give a big round of applause to—” He stepped toward the front of the balcony and gripped the railing in front of him, craning his
head to scan the crowd.
Another thunderclap boomed overhead, causing the house to tremble around us. Again, the lights began to flicker, throwing the ballroom into intermittent darkness.
Because of the flickering lights, the next few moments seemed to happen in slow motion. One second, Bash was leaning forward on the balcony railing, and the next second, the railing was emitting an earsplitting whine as it fell free of the walls around it and toppled to the ballroom floor.
Right behind it, in a flurry of white wings and rippling red cloth, Bash was falling too.
The room erupted in screams and shattering glass, and then the lights went out for good.
CHAPTER THREE
The Fall of Icarus
IN THE DARKNESS, THERE WAS panic.
I struggled to keep my footing as bodies pushed past me from all sides, with some guests blindly rushing away from the place where the balcony came down, streaming toward the only illumination left in the room—a glowing exit sign. Others were using their cell phones as flashlights, panning around the room and shouting for people to stay where they were. No one quite knew what had happened—only that there was danger and that they wanted to get away from it.
I commanded my mind to be calm, pulled my own phone from my purse, and switched on the flashlight feature. Its narrow beam of white light pierced the gloom, highlighting flashes of frightened faces and reflecting off glass shards littering the floor. I slowly made my way forward, against the current of people flowing out of the room.
Finally I saw him.
Bash was lying facedown on top of the balcony railing, his great white wings splayed out around him, bent and broken. Several other guests stood by, their faces pale with shock as I shone my light across the scene. “Oh no, no, no,” a young woman in a nymph costume moaned as she stared at Bash’s still form. “Is he—?”