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Authors: Raye Wagner

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BOOK: Curse of the Sphinx
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THE WARMTH IN
the lobby was a stark contrast to the chill in the air outside. Hope stood alone, while Priska and Mr. Davenport argued in his office. She stared at the abstract art, pretending she couldn’t hear them, but every word leaked down the hall.

“But why does it have to be you? Isn’t there someone else that can . . . hunt the information down?”

“Charlie.” Priska paused. “You already know there is no one else.”

“What will you do?” The tremor in his voice was so uncharacteristic of the stalwart attorney.

“I will call the agency today, and see if we can find someone suitable to start next week.” She ignored his question. “I just need to know if you want me to find a temp, or should I find someone permanent?”

“Themis and Eunomia,” he cursed, referencing the goddesses of law. “How long will you be gone?”

“A month, maybe two or three, depending on what I find out in Ephesus.” Another pause. “You’ll be fine. Now, do you want a temp?”

A long exhale. “Yes. If you hire someone permanent, I’ll just have to let them go when you get back. You are coming back, right?”

“Of course I am.” Her laugh sounded forced.

Gods, this was so lame. While Priska hunted down her mom’s killer, she’d be
hiding
. Like a coward.

“So, will you get that filed today?” Priska asked.

“Are you sure? If you’re not here and I file for emancipation, she’ll have to go to foster care until it’s done.”

“We already talked about it. She knows.”

“Why not wait, Priska? Why the rush?”

“Eventually, the news of the Sphinx will spread, then I won’t be able to get anything without drawing suspicion my way.”

Wait. He
knew
? Priska had told him . . . how much? Hope inched closer to the hall.

“Fine. I’ll file today, but it will be close to a month before we can get a hearing. And we have to show that her father is really out of the picture.”

“That won’t be hard. He left before she was even born.”

“She really doesn’t have anyone?”

The pity in his voice made her eyes fill, and she blinked away the tears.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Priska.”

Hope heard the door handle turn, and she jumped back in front of the geometric canvases.

“All ready to go, Hope?” Priska raised her eyebrows.

Hope nodded.

“I’ll be in touch young lady. We’ll need to go to court for the hearing. If your petition is granted, and I suspect it will be, you’ll be free in the next month.” He held out his hand, then wrapped hers in both of his. “Keep your chin up. It’ll be okay.”

How could he say that? He didn’t know.

He had no idea.

 

Twenty-three days until the change

 

HOPE GRIPPED HER
jacket, pulling the thin material tight. It was the end of February, but in Western Washington it didn’t matter the month. The cold rain started in September and continued through the end of June. But it wasn’t the temperature, or the rain, that bothered her. The wind in North Bend was fierce, and as she hugged her clothes to her body, she wished for her winter coat.

She should’ve driven to school. She usually did, but she walked out the door of the Smiths’ home that morning without her keys, and the constant yelling deterred her from going back in to get them. So she trudged her way back to the house in the cold, wet afternoon, dreading the noise and commotion that would assail her when she entered the door.

Out of habit, she stopped at the mailbox as she did every day since her hearing. They had appeared in court less than a week ago. Less than a week ago a judge had declared her emancipated, and she was just waiting for the proof in writing. How long could it take to mail a piece of paper? Hope thought it would be a quick process. She’d been wrong.

And while Priska called every night, her time at the temple of Artemis had yet to expose who was behind her mom’s death.

She pulled the tab down, put her hand into the metal box, and grabbed the stack of mail. After adjusting the strap of her backpack, she thumbed through the envelopes.

There! The crisp white paper had her name, Hope N. Treadwell, typed in the middle, the return address King County District Court. Her thumb wiped at her mother’s maiden name. Priska had recommended using it. Just as a precaution. Unconsciously, she dropped the rest of the mail and tore open her envelope. She was so happy she could sing. There it was in black and white, no longer a ward of the state, she was free.

This would be better. Life would be better. At the very least she wouldn’t have to barricade herself when she changed. She’d hid in her room the last month during the change, yelling at anyone and everyone to leave her alone. She’d pushed every piece of furniture against the door to ensure that they did. The counselor explained her anger was part of the grief process. But it wasn’t grief, it was fear. Fear that someone would discover she was a monster.

The morphing only lasted two days and one night. The night of a new moon, when Artemis’s power was weakest, and Apollo’s the strongest.

Now was the time to enact the rest of the plan. She would need to disappear, go into hiding, like she and her mom had done in the past. She needed a place in the middle of nowhere, somewhere the gods, demigods, and Skia would never visit. Somewhere even the humans would leave if they could. There were countless small towns in Eastern Washington. Certainly she could disappear in one.

She walked through the front door, and the crying from Jameson was coupled with Sammi’s screaming for her doll. She ignored both, going straight to her room and locking the door.

She pulled up a list and began skimming through the names of towns on the eastern side of the state. Easton, Tullahoma. She scrolled down until . . . Goldendale. Goldendale. She liked the sound of that. A no-rain name. She tapped her phone a few more times and saw an abundance of homes for sale or rent. This could be perfect. Maybe today was her lucky day.

The listing agent bubbled her enthusiasm through the phone. “I’m so, so excited. This is the first home I’ve rented in years. I’m not sure why no one is moving to Goldendale. It is so, so quaint. I’m sure you will just love it.”

“Do you live there?”

“What? Oh gods, no. I’m in Redmond, honey. You couldn’t pay me to live in a small town. But I hear it is really lovely.”

“How big is it?”

“Well, let me see.” The clicking of a keyboard kept the silence at bay. “The nearest big city is Portland, but you could get almost anything you need in the Dalles, and that’s just a thirty minute drive. But they have their own school, and two grocery stores.”

“Do they get many tourists?”

The agent’s laugh was more derision than humor. “Um, no. With the exception of the observatory there really isn’t anything to do in Goldendale. Do you want me to look for something else?”

“No, this sounds perfect.”

It took more time to settle into a small community, but maybe she would be able to stay longer without risking discovery by another immortal.

She called a moving company and arranged to have them pick up her things from storage in the morning and deliver them to the house on Main Street in Goldendale in the afternoon. She coordinated for an agent to meet them, and then, finished with the necessities of moving, she grabbed her bags from the closet. She wrapped the statue of Hecate in soft cotton, then surrounded it with her clothes. It took only a few more minutes to pack the rest.

“Hope Treadwell!” Mrs. Smith’s abrasive voice was followed by a pounding on her door. “Get out here right this minute, young lady. I need some help.”

This
was the only reason Mrs. Smith had taken her in. At sixteen, she was perfect for babysitting. It also helped that the Smiths received a healthy stipend for fostering.

She opened the door and glanced down at the mousy woman. She waved the envelope at her, and then stepped around her into the hall.

“Oh.” Mrs. Smith’s shoulders slumped in defeat. She must have already gotten a call from Children’s Services.

Hope wondered briefly how long she’d known and didn’t tell her. Without a word, she brushed past the older woman, loaded her car, and drove away.

 

 

 

 

HOPE ENTERED GOLDENDALE
High School, and the residual scent of pine disinfectant wafted through the abandoned halls. She’d intentionally arrived early, anxious to get things in order, eager to be settled.

As she walked into the front office, a bell chimed at her arrival. A well-nourished middle-aged woman glanced up from the computer, her flat brown eyes widening as she noted the new face. Hope glanced down at the nameplate on the desk: Ms. Slate. The silence became increasingly awkward.

“Hi.” Hope’s voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “I assume this is where I’m to register?”

Ms. Slate didn’t even so much as say good morning, but turned and began gathering papers.

Hope waited, noting the older woman’s overprocessed burgundy hair and clothes that were too tight to be called “fitted.”

Ms. Slate whipped back around and handed a packet of papers to her. “You’ll need to fill that top one out now, and wait while I get your classes together.”

Hope took the proffered pen and began writing. She stuttered over the last name, crossing out an
N
before writing
Treadwell
.

Feeling the hairs on her neck prickle, Hope looked up to see the plump woman staring at her.

“Here’s your schedule and your locker assignment,” she said. “Class starts in fifteen minutes. You can bring the rest of the papers back to me at the end of the day.” Ms. Slate grabbed the paper marked
Registration
, put it in a wire basket on the counter, and sat back in front of her computer.

“But you don’t even have my name.”

“Hope Treadwell.” She didn’t even look away from her screen as she spoke. “Your attorney called Friday and told us you’d be coming.”

She nodded. “Of course. Thank you.”

The woman continued her furious typing.

Nice and friendly here
. With a shrug, she left to find her locker.

In the few minutes since she’d been in the office, the hallways filled with students. It was no surprise to feel the shift of scrutiny turn on her. The real estate agent said she was the first person in years to move into the small town of Goldendale, and as an emancipated student, she was an anomaly. She tried to ignore the whispers, but with her supernatural hearing the voices were undeniable.

“Yeah, I heard her parents are dead and she lives by herself.”

“Doesn’t she have any family?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to live with them.”

“But she can’t live by herself, can she?”

“Maybe she’s on the run.” Coarse laughter.

From a group of cookie-cutter girls: “I don’t understand why she would come to Goldendale?”

“Who would want to live here?”

“Look at her clothes. If she has money, why does she dress like that?”

“Well, I don’t think Burberry is out with their line of school clothes, yet.”

“Maybe she forgot her tiara at home,” someone suggested. There was a round of giggles.

And the inevitable group of jocks, who thought they were the gods’ gifts to women.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about. A girl with her own place.”

“Yeah, then your mom won’t be walking in with Rice Krispy treats again.”

“Shut up. She’s smoking hot. I’ll bet she’s really lonely. I’d better, ya know, go cheer her up.”

“Uh, no one is
that
lonely.”

She’d heard it all before, and even worse. As she spun the dial on her locker, someone approached her.

“Hey there, beautiful. Can I help you find your first class?”

She rolled her eyes before glancing at the chunk of testosterone standing next to her. She almost gagged on his cologne. “No, thanks, I’m sure in a town this small, the school can’t be so big I’ll get lost.” She grabbed her book, and then met the young man’s bulging eyes. “Oh. And I don’t like Rice Krispy treats.”

She snapped her locker shut and turned away, leaving the young man with his mouth unhinged, his pack of friends howling with laughter.

She walked into her first class, mythology, and found an empty seat on the front row. After setting her bag on a desk, she went to have her paperwork signed by the instructor, Mrs. Biggers.

“Good morning. I’m Hope Treadwell.” She spoke the practiced words and stood at the desk waiting for acknowledgement from the drab, middle-aged woman.

Mrs. Biggers looked up. “Good morning.”

As the teacher came around to the front of her desk, Hope noticed her bright-red leather clogs, a stark contrast to her sedate appearance.

“I’m Nancy Biggers. I’m excited you’ll be joining us. It’s always refreshing to have a new perspective.” Without waiting for a response, Mrs. Biggers continued. “Well, here’s a copy of
Mythology and Men
, and the reading list for the remainder of the year.”

Hope glanced down as she grasped the book. But Mrs. Biggers did not let go.

“What amazing eyes you have. Gold? Is that your natural—”

Taken off guard, there was a moment of hesitation before Hope cut her off. “Contacts.”

Mrs. Biggers nodded and released the book.

Hope turned to go back to her desk. Her seat, however, was now occupied by a short girl with long, dark hair and dark eyes. Hope’s bag and papers now sat on the desk to the left.

“Hi.” The girl leaned forward. “I’m Krista. I hope you don’t mind that I moved your stuff.”

Hope nodded. “No problem.”

“I’m nearsighted,” Krista added.

Krista wasn’t wearing glasses, but it wasn’t worth pointing it out. Hope slid into her seat and focused her attention on Mrs. Biggers’s lesson.

“All right class, let’s get started. Today we’ll be talking about Aphrodite. Does anyone know the myth behind Aphrodite’s birth?”

There was laughter from the back.

Mrs. Biggers addressed the cause of the disturbance. “Boys. Something you would like to share? Do you find a lot of humor in mythology or just Aphrodite? Perhaps you would like to do an analysis on the comedy found in Aphrodite’s interactions with men?” She left the last question hanging like she meant it.

“No ma’am. Er, no thank you. I’m sorry we disrupted.” It was the dark-haired boy who’d offered to help Hope to class.

Mrs. Biggers continued, “So you’ll have the next four days to write a five-page paper on whether you believe Aphrodite to be a benevolent goddess or not, and you need to cite at least six interactions with mankind supporting your claim. Be sure to address the conflicting view. Remember, this assignment is meant to persuade.”

Relief. There were lots of myths about Aphrodite, and this assignment was new to her. Now there would be something to consume her evenings. With a mental sigh, she opened up to the index to find the pages dedicated to the goddess of love and desire.

“Hey.” Krista was leaning toward her, her whisper too loud for just the two of them. “It was Hope, right?”

She met the gawking girl’s stare, nodded once, but said nothing.

“So, uh.” The girl paused. “How do you like Goldendale?”

With a cursory glance, Hope noticed more than one interested face looking at her.

“Fine,” she replied. With an arch of her eyebrows, she tried to convey her disapproval of the interruption.

But Krista was not easily put off. “I heard that your parents died and you actually
chose
to live here.”

When she merely nodded in response, Krista continued pressing. “Why?”

At one time she might have been offended, but she’d experienced the barrage of curiosity that came with being a new face in a small community. She knew she was hot gossip.

Taking a deep breath, she voiced the practiced lie, “I like small towns. My mom and I moved a lot, and I’ve always preferred them. When my mom found out she was ill, she helped me pick out a place where I’d be safe. We have no other family, so she helped me do the paperwork to be emancipated. That’s all. Look, Krista.” She continued before the girl could come up with anything else. “I know you are just trying to be nice, but I’d really like to do my work now. Maybe we can talk later.”

She made the suggestion merely as a courtesy. Over the last couple of years, and the many moves, she’d met too many girls like Krista. She knew they weren’t fishing for friends but gossip. And it wasn’t as though Hope was looking for friends. Because, who would want to be friends with a monster?

“Oh, right. Sure,” Krista replied, her lips pulling into a saccharine smile.

Hope tried to match the fake smile, but her eyes dropped. She picked up her book, flipped through the pages, and read in silence until the bell rang.

By lunch, she realized her story had already spread. She was glad the school was small, and that people talked. Perhaps this time would be easier.

The bell rang, and, as the students herded toward the cafeteria, Hope made her way to the double doors of the library. As she stepped through, she saw at least two dozen computers, several desks tucked around the edges, and, off by a corner window, a wise librarian had placed a few overstuffed chairs.

She dropped her bag by the worn chairs and sank into the soft seat, her body sagging as tension released.

When the bell rang, her muscles stiffened as if anticipating an attack. Pushing down her anxiety, she trudged off to class. Both her diffidence and the gossip helped deter significant interaction with the students, and when the last bell rang, she allowed herself to feel the exhaustion from the day.

Despite her anxiousness to be gone from school, when Hope got into her car, she remembered her empty house, and her heart sank into her stomach. She was suddenly in no hurry to get home. She abruptly took a left turn into a small shopping plaza where a gas station, a mechanic garage, and a Red Apple grocery store were clustered together. She parked in front of the Red Apple.

The store was old; its white tile floor grayed with time, and the fluorescent lights cast unnaturally bright light, emphasizing the worn appearance of the store. But it was clean, she noted, as she walked past the prepackaged foods and headed to the meat counter.

The butcher was busy adding chicken to the display case, but stopped when he saw her approach.

“Can I help you?” He greeted her from across the counter.

The man was lost somewhere in his fifties. He wore a long blue plastic apron tied around a plump midsection, and his hair—where he still had it—was gray, circling just around the back of his head from ear to ear.

“I would like sixteen ounces of filet mignon.” She scanned the case looking at the beef as a way to celebrate her independence.

The butcher’s eyes widened. “Excuse me,” he said with suppressed laughter, “I don’t often get requests for that kind of steak.” He was smiling, and the smile changed his face, made it less commonplace. It was a smile of great buoyancy. “Let me see what I have in the back,” he said, and disappeared through the double doors behind him. He came back a few minutes later carrying two slabs of meat. “I have twelve ounces of top loin, or sixteen ounces of sirloin. Both are fresh today.”

She didn’t even think about it. “I’ll take both.”

He chuckled again and began to wrap the meat.

She looked around the store, reading the signs hanging from the ceiling. Baking supplies, soups, canned vegetables, cereal—

“You like riddles, young lady?”

Taken off guard, she turned to the butcher and nodded.

“Listen to this.” He took a deep breath. “You throw away the outside and cook the inside. Then you eat the outside and throw away the inside. What did you eat?” He finished wrapping the second piece and handed her both packages.

She stood silent, staring at him while she contemplated the puzzle. It took only a minute before she broke into a smile and replied, “An ear of corn!”

“Hmm. I guess that could work.” His head nodded. “But I’m a butcher. You’ve got to think meat.” He pointed at the packages in her hand. “My answer would be a chicken.”

He was still smiling, and Hope felt a portion of her gloom lift.

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