Goddess in Time (11 page)

I cut her a hard glare, but she can’t stop laughing. Only Phoebe could get away with that—anyone else and I’d turn their tongue into snakes.

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe says, clearly not actually apologizing, “but that’s just . . .” She finally looks at me and must see the steam shooting from my ears. “Not who I expected,” she finishes quietly.

“No one ever does,” I reply.

As Phoebe bites her lips to keep from laughing, I hold out the objects in my palm. I open my mouth, ready to call the god of time and get this time-travel ball rolling, but Stella
autoports
to my side and slaps her hand over my mouth before I can say a word.

“Not here,” she admonishes.

I shove her away, wiping the feel of her hand off my lips.

Ignoring my glare—does no one respect my anger anymore?—she says, “If you’re going to call an ancient one, you need to be in the pantheon temple.”

“She’s right,” Troy says, exchanging a grateful look with the queen
B.

“Fine,” I say, shoving the objects into my pocket as I
autoport
to the temple.

Shutting the temple doors behind me, I leave my friends standing on the steps outside and I tighten my grip on the three objects in my fist. I have worked so hard to get them, and now it’s time to put them to use.

This is, without a doubt, the scariest—and possibly the dumbest—thing I have ever done.

What I’m about to do makes all my past infractions look like little rebellions. Not that I thought Headmaster Petrolas would dismiss the incident with the baby oil in the boys’ bathroom very lightly. But time travel? That’s a whole other level of trouble.

“Stop stalling,” I whisper to myself.

When have I ever been afraid of trouble? Even when it comes in the form of a primordial deity? With every last drop of courage I possess, I close my eyes and shout, “Chronos. God of time, I call you to my presence.”

I open my eyes, expecting to see him standing before me.

Nothing. Empty space.

“You cannot be serious,” I grumble. “Stupid, selfish,
obstinate
gods. Chronos!” I shout again. “I call you, Chronos. I need you.”

“No need to yell, child of gods,” a deep, rumbling voice says. “I am here.”

I spin around.

Standing ten feet away, just inside the temple doors, is the god of time. When I first look, he appears to be a gray-bearded old man who resembles the god-kings. Then, right before my eyes, his image wavers into that of a three-headed serpent. One head is that of a young man, one is a lion, and the third is a bull.

As I stare, the image continues to flicker back and forth between the two.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make the images settle on just one appearance, but when I look again it’s still the flickering cycle.

Guess I’ll have to deal with it.

Focusing my gaze on his eyes—first those of the old man, then the human head on the serpent—I hold
out my hand.

“I want to travel back in time,” I say, weaker than intended.

The image freezes on the old man for a minute as he laughs, the rough sound echoing off the stone walls of the temple. “It has been too long since any
hematheos
sought the power of
chronoportation.”

I shift my weight to my other foot. “It’s not strictly legal.”

“No,” he says, the image going back to the flickering cycle, “it is not.”

The primordials and the Olympians have never been the best of friends. They have disagreed about how to run the world since, oh, before the world was around. Unfortunately for the primordials, the Olympians are currently in charge. Which means their rules
rule.
They say no time travel, so no time travel.

Hardly seems fair to the god of time.

“But it is possible,” I argue, shoving my hand out farther. “And I brought the offering.”

“Yes,” he says, slithering forward as the image locks on the serpent. The lion’s head leans close over my palm, inspecting the objects held there.

In a flash, the image of the old man snatches the objects from my palm, shoves them into his mouth, and swallows them.

I feel my eyes widen as the image flickers twice more and then settles on a new one—the young man from the three-headed serpent, but with a man’s body to match. He smiles, his sky-blue eyes sparkling with energy.

“Thank you,” he says, rolling his shoulders like he’s been sitting in a cramped airplane seat for twelve hours. “I needed that.”

This third image, the young man with a gleaming smile, curly blond hair, and a body to rival Adonis himself, is a surprise. I always pictured the god of time more like the first image—a frail old man, stooped with age. Who’d have thought Chronos could be such a hottie?

“Few see my true image,” he explains. “Many choose to view time as an hourglass, with youth and vitality draining away as the sands fall.” He gestures at his body. “But time and age are merely constructs of perception.”

“Um, okay . . .”

This guy sounds like he’s lost his marbles.

But the sharp glare he throws my way is completely clear.

“Forgive me,” he says, stepping close. “I have been alone too long. You summoned me for a reason.”

“Yes,” I say, trying not to stammer. “I need to travel back in time.”

His blue eyes narrow. “Need to?”

“I—” Darn it. “I want to.”

It’s a struggle to hold my emotions in check as memories invade. Memories of Mom and Dad. Griffin’s parents. The happy times on Mount Olympus. The nights I cried myself to sleep in my dorm room. It all swirls around in my mind.

Chronos studies me. I hope he can’t read my thoughts, because they’re a total mess. I try to get them under control, to keep my reasons for wanting to time travel a secret.

“For what purpose?” he asks.

“To observe.” I have to give him a believable answer that is
not
the truth. “It’s research.”

He steps so close I can smell the mothball scent that surrounds him. “Do you intend to alter the past?”

“No,” I lie without hesitation.

Traveling back in time, breaking one of the unbreakable rules, is bad enough. According to the book, even though changing something in the past doesn’t mess with the present, even Chronos disapproves of messing with godly decree. If he thinks I’m going back to circumvent an Olympic punishment, then he will deny my request.

I hold my breath and focus my thoughts as he scrutinizes me.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity but is probably more like ten seconds, he snaps his fingers. A shiny gold coin appears in his hand.

“This,” he says, holding the coin in front of my eyes, “is your key back to the present. It will return you to your time of departure.”

He grabs my wrist and carefully places the coin in the center of my palm. It’s heads up and I instantly recognize the face as that of Chronos as an old man.

As he closes my fingers around the cool metal disc, he says, “The other coin, your key to the past, must be given by your godly ancestor.”

Yay. Quality time with the bimbo queen.

“Know this,” he says. “With the other coin you can choose only the date. You will arrive at whatever hour of day you leave this point in time, and so you must wait until the hour you wish to visit before initiating your journey.”

I squeeze my hand into a fist, my heart racing.

“When your ancestor grants the coin,” he whispers, leaning forward to speak next to my ear, “picture the date in your mind and you will be transported.”

I can’t move. I’m stunned frozen by the realization that I’m
this
close. That I have in my hand the ability to fix everything. I’m only one chat with Persephone away from making things right.

As Chronos steps back to a normal distance, I stare straight ahead.

“Good luck,” he says with a cryptic twist to his lips, “and timespeed.”

I nod, unable to speak.

Then, in a soft flash of blue light, Chronos is gone and I am alone in the temple, alone with my thoughts, with the chance to undo the past literally within my grasp.

W
hen I walk out of the temple, everyone starts talking at once.

“Did it work?”

“What did he look like?”

“Did you get the coin?”

“What happened?”

“Are you okay?”

The last question is from Troy. I give him disapproving look—of course I’m okay—and then pull the coin from my pocket. I hold it up, the golden metal shining in the setting sun.

“I got it,” I say, and everyone falls quiet.

This quest just got more real than anyone ever imagined. With this little piece of gold—okay, not so little: it has to weigh at least a few ounces—the idea of time travel has gone from a distant dream to near reality.

Trust me, I feel the weight of it settle on my shoulders.

“Now what?” Phoebe finally asks.

“Now,” I say with a shrug, “I wait. Chronos said I have to call Persephone at the same time of day I want to go back to.”

Griffin rolls one shoulder. “I don’t remember the exact time,” he says. “Just that it was early afternoon.”

“I do.” I’ve read the official transcripts enough times that I have the entire thing memorized. All three hundred and forty-eight pages. “Two seventeen.”

“It’s almost seven now,” Stella offers.

I nod. “I have to wait until tomorrow.”

We stand in a nervous circle, silent on the steps of the pantheon temple. My mind races. When it gets to be too much, I break the silence.

“No point hanging out here,” I say. “There’s nothing to do until tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we have an early run,” Phoebe says, wrapping her hand around Griffin’s arm.

“I have a reading list a mile long,” Stella says. “Oxford has high expectations for incoming students.”

“So we’ll meet back here tomorrow at . . . ?” Phoebe asks. “Two?”

I shake my head. “Quarter ’til. I want to be sure to have enough time.”

Everyone agrees to reassemble tomorrow and then disperses, leaving me and Troy standing on the steps. He moves to face me on the next step down.

He repeats his earlier question. “Are you okay?”

“Stop asking me that,” I answer immediately. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He tilts his head down and looks up at me from under a scowl. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” I say, ignoring his chiding look. “I’m fine.”

He watches me, like he’s deciding whether to argue with me or not. In the end, he asks, “Want to grab something to eat? I hear the dining hall has lasagna today.”

But I’m already shaking my head before he finishes. “I have a couple errands to run.”

“I could go with you,” he offers.

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” I ask, though even the
thought
of Troy with Adara makes me nauseous.

“For the last time,” he says, practically growling, “I do
not
have a girlfriend. Adara and I are
not
dating. Let it go already.”

“No,” I say. “If you’re not dating, then what are you doing? Because it certainly isn’t
nothing.”

“You really want to know?” he asks.

I stare him down. “I really want to know.”

His cheeks flame up like he’s standing too close to a bonfire.

“I’m helping her,” he says. He ducks his head. “I’m helping the squad.”

“The squad?” I echo. “The
cheerleading
squad?”

He rubs his hands over his short hair. “I’m writing them a song, okay?”

“You’re writing a—?” I slap my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “Troy Travatas,” I say, struggling to keep a serious look on my face. “Are you writing a
cheer?”

My laughter dies as he looks up at me, those gentle hazel eyes so full of embarrassment. That look cuts right through my humor. I don’t want to be responsible for making him feel bad. About anything.

“That’s pretty cool.” I soft-punch him in the shoulder. “Your first professional gig.”

He gives me a half smile. “I’m not getting paid or anything.”

“You don’t have to wear a uniform, do you?”

“No,” he says with a laugh.

I scan down to his feet. “Too bad. Your legs would look great in one of those pleated skirts.”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head and I know I have my Troy back.

“Ha-ha,” he says, “very funny. Now if you’re done teasing me, we can grab dinner—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off as I force myself to refocus on the quest at hand. “I need some time alone.”

The thing about Adara provided some much-needed comic relief, but the big picture still looms. I have a huge day tomorrow. The stress and pressure are almost overwhelming.

Troy winces just enough to show that I hurt him. I know he’s sensitive and I know I’m pushing him away. But I can’t feel bad about that right now. There isn’t room in my brain.

“I’ll see you later,” I say, brushing past him as I walk down the steps.

I don’t turn back to see how long he stands there.

As I head away from the temple, I force thoughts of Troy out of my mind. I have enough to think about. I’m about to go back in time to stop my younger self from feeding ambrosia to Hera’s baby son. There is a whole world of pressure in that single act.

Just traveling through time is a crazy feat. As far as I know, no one has done it in centuries. Maybe even millennia.

There are reasons time travel is illegal. Altering the course of time is tricky. What if I do it wrong? What if I can’t stop myself or I make the situation worse? Having my parents banished and Griffin’s smoted was bad enough. What if I screw up and the punishments are worse?

I walk through the village, blindly wandering wherever my feet take me.

The what-ifs racing through my mind are overwhelming. I don’t usually waste time thinking about consequences. I’m more of an act-now, worry-about-detention-later girl.

But this? This is too big. Too important.

I’m not sure how long I walk. When I finally find myself standing in front of the boys’ dorm, it’s pitch dark and I’m shivering in the night air.

I enter the building, climb the stairs, and stop in front of Troy’s door.

He opens it before my third knock.