“Still worried about the candle?” Logan asked, cutting into my thoughts.
I dragged my gaze away from the statues. Last night, I had filled Logan in on Sol’s candle and his dad’s plans to leave it on display as bait for the Reapers. “Why do you think that?”
He gestured with his fork at my plate. “Because you’ve barely touched your peach waffles.”
“Are they peach?” I groused. “I couldn’t really tell with all of the whipped cream flowers on top of them.” That was the other way in which the dining hall had little resemblance to a regular cafeteria—the food was far fancier than the usual boxes of cereal and bottles of milk you’d find at breakfast time at any normal school. Instead, the Mythos chefs were standing behind a series of cooking stations along one of the walls, whipping up made-to-order, gourmet waffles, omelets, and other delicacies that featured everything from creamy feta cheese to buttery lobster to crispy pancetta. I wasn’t particularly hungry this morning, so I’d grabbed the first thing I’d come to on the breakfast line that looked like regular food—peach Belgian waffles. Although the chefs had still managed to add their own froufrou twist to the waffles by decorating the tops of them with mounds of whipped cream swirled into the shape of fancy flowers and curlicued leaves, all dusted with bits of orange, lemon, and lime zest. In fact, there were so many flowers and leaves on the top of the waffles that I almost thought I was eating a frosted birthday cake, minus the candles.
Thinking about birthday cake and candles made me focus on Sol’s candle, sitting in the library, waiting for some Reaper to come along and steal it right out from under our noses—
“My dad knows what he’s doing,” Logan said, interrupting my thoughts again. “He won’t let the Reapers get the candle.”
“I know he’ll do his best,” I replied. “And so will all of the other Protectorate guards. But Vivian and Agrona take scheming to a whole new level of evil. They always have a plan within a plan within a plan. You should know that better than anyone.”
Logan grimaced, then reached up and rubbed his throat with his hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said, regretting my snarky words. “I
didn’t mean to remind you—”
“That I tried to kill you?” he said. “It’s okay, Gwen. Trust me. I don’t need you to remind me of that. It’s not like it’s something I could forget—ever.”
Oh no. He only called me Gwen when he was being dead serious—or when I’d struck a nerve. Logan’s attack was like an invisible live wire sparking in the space between us, one that brought sharp, stinging jolts of pain and misery whenever we got too close to it. That distant, haunted look filled his icy eyes again, the one that had been there on and off ever since Agrona had snapped that gold collar full of Apate jewels around his neck at the Aoide Auditorium. The one that always seemed to come back just when I thought it was finally gone for good. The one that always seemed to come between us no matter how much we tried to pretend that everything was fine.
I let out a breath, leaned over, and gripped his hand. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just worried right now about everything. Vivian, Agrona, the Reapers, the candle, Loki. It’s like your dad said. Everything seems to be coming to a turning point. But I don’t know what that turning point is or if things will even go the way we want them to.”
Logan looked at me, his gaze sharpening. “I know there’s a lot going on, but are you sure that nothing else is bothering you? You’ve been really distracted these last few days. Ever since we came back from Colorado, actually.”
I thought of all the things I hadn’t told him, all the secrets I’d been keeping from him, all the pressure I felt to find some way to save us all from the unending horror that was Loki.
I let go of his hand, not wanting to accidentally let him feel any of my turbulent emotions since my skin had been touching his. “Nothing’s wrong.” I tried to smile. “At least, nothing more so than usual.”
Perhaps the biggest secret I was keeping was the fact that I hadn’t told Logan that I was the one who was supposed to kill Loki. I’d especially kept quiet about that because I knew exactly what he would say. That it was impossible. That no one could do it. That it was a suicide mission. But even worse was my fear that Logan might try to do the job for me, in order to try to protect me. Because that was one fight I knew he wouldn’t win, much less survive.
I didn’t think I would survive it, either, but I was determined not to take the Spartan or any of my other friends down with me.
“Everything will work out,” Logan insisted, still trying to reassure me. “You’ll see.”
I wished I could have shared in his confidence, but I didn’t—I just didn’t. I’d already lost too many battles to Vivian and Agrona to think that they wouldn’t win this one too. But I knew Logan and his dad were trying to work things out, trying to fix their relationship, so I kept my mouth shut. Arguing with him and undermining his new fragile trust in Linus wouldn’t solve anything, and it certainly wouldn’t stop the Reapers from striking.
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” I said, forcing myself to smile at him.
Logan grinned back at me. “Of course, I’m right. I’m
always right.”
I rolled my eyes, leaned over, and lightly punched him in the shoulder. “And now you sound like Vic.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Vic piped up from his spot in the chair I’d propped him up in. “I am much more confident than the Spartan is.” He sniffed. “And with good reason.”
Logan and I both laughed, and the tension between us eased.
We ate our food in silence for the next several minutes. Despite all of the whipped cream, I had to admit that the peach Belgian waffles were surprisingly good. The batter was light and airy, with thick chunks of fresh, ripe peaches sprinkled throughout it, and the peach syrup drizzled over everything added even more sweetness to the dish. I’d also gotten a stack of bacon, which was perfectly crispy, while the hash browns were oozing with sharp cheddar cheese, just the way I liked them. I washed everything down with a glass of fresh-squeezed apple juice, enjoying the cool fruity concoction.
I had finished eating and had pushed my plate away when Logan reached over and grabbed my hand again, threading his fingers through mine. A soft, lighthearted sensation surged through me at the contact, and I sighed, enjoying this rare moment of peaceful happiness.
“So,” he said. “Do you think we can talk about the
Valentine’s Day dance now?” “What’s there to talk about?”
“What time you want me to pick you up, what color dress you’re wearing so I can get the right kind of corsage, where you want to go to make out after the dance is over with.” Logan gave me a wink. “You know. All the usual stuff.”
I laughed. “You must be feeling pretty confident to say something like that.”
His grin widened. “Always.”
I arched my eyebrow, then leaned forward and crooked my finger at him. Logan leaned in as well, as though we were conspiring about something terribly important.
“Well,” I said in a husky voice, staring into his blue, blue eyes. “The answers to your questions are seven o’clock, silver, and anywhere you want to take me. How do you like that?”
Logan’s grin widened. “I like those answers just fine.” He kissed me, his lips just barely brushing mine, although the soft, feathery touch still sent a wave of heat scorching through my veins. With everything that had been going on, we hadn’t had a lot of time to focus on us, and I knew Logan was trying to take my mind off things by asking me about the dance, by trying to pretend, at least for a few minutes, that we were a normal couple, eagerly planning our big night out. But instead, he only made me think about how far I’d come from that naïve, clueless girl who’d fallen in love with him at the homecoming dance last year—and how far I still had to go before things were settled.