Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25521 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
"I actually don't want to talk about it."
"Then you should've just said that from the start," Hugh admonishes.
"Can we just skip to the part where you give me advice about his childhood friend?"
"Is she really just a childhood friend?" Leslie wants to know.
"He told me they were never lovers, and I believe him."
"But you're still jealous."
"Actually, what I said is that I don't like how she's special—-"
"That's what jealous means, pumpkin."
Hmph.
Why do people keep thinking that I'm jealous?
Leslie clears his throat. "This is slightly off-topic, but what about Professor Jacob and Edward the mysterious millionaire? Does this mean you're no longer in a love triangle?"
"I still am—-"
"Oh."
My parents look rather impressed, and I quickly shake my head when I realize what they're thinking. "You got it all wrong—-"
Hugh pats my hand. "It's fine. We're not judging you."
"But it's really not—-"
"Our baby's all grown up, Hugh." Leslie mops his eyes. "All I used to pray for to the Almighty was that our little girl would find herself a good man, but will you look at her now? She found not one, not two, but three!"
"For the nth time—-"
"Yaaas, queen," Hugh crows.
"Daaaad."
Leslie suddenly sits up. "Oh wait. Which god is it, by the way? Do we know him?"
"Does it matter who he is?"
"Is it a minor god? Or an Olympian—-"
"I'd rather not say—-"
Leslie gasps. "Is it Hades?"
"He's the only Olympian god who's sworn by the River Styx to stay monogamous," I say dryly. "So no, not Hades."
"Is it Zeus?"
Wait a minute.
A scowl creases over my forehead. "Why are you guys only bringing up names of married gods?"
It's my parents' turn to squirm in their seats, and I let out a gasp.
"Are you guys thinking I'm just good enough to be a divine mistress?"
Hugh suddenly remembers he has a business call to make while Leslie doesn't even bother making up an excuse as he grabs his plate of pancakes before hurrying away.
Unbelievable!
I'm still fuming when I leave for class, but consternation turns into trepidation when I see that I have a text waiting from Eros' youngest brother.
Erma: Big brother asked me to let you know that Himeros has heard back from his contacts. All horses directly spawned by the Mares of Thrace are accounted for, but their blood samples may apparently be purchased for a steep price in the Underworld.
Shit.
One of the few things that gave me comfort is the fact that we're supposedly dealing with Old World creatures, and it's Creaturae 101 that they can't survive for long in this world. But if we're dealing with mutated New World horses?
Me: Will they be able to enter Rosethorne?
Erma: No. You and your parents are safe as long as you remain within property lines.
Me: I'll let my parents know. Thank you, Erma.
Erma: Always just a call away, little sister.
My fingers hover uncertainly over my phone. Should I ask him about the trial Isabella was so worried about?
Eeny, meeny, miney, moe.
My mental roulette lands on a 'no', and I reluctantly drop my phone back into my pocket. I'm sure they'll tell me if the photos are something to worry about. Right?
A familiar melody distracts me from my thoughts, and that's when I notice the change in my surroundings.
Whip-poor-wills are typically nocturnal creatures, but the reason they're still singing now is probably because the Season of Misrule has officially begun, and the skies above us are this strange but mesmerizing ombré of shades ranging from morning aquamarine to evening sapphires.
Nyx also appears to have given the sun and the clouds a day off, and her magic seems to have extended towards all the flowers in the vicinity, with their petals now ocean-blue and glittering with silver specks.
Another seasonal surprise awaits me when I reach Rosemary Square, and I see students busy doing their morning shopping as they hop from one pop-up booth to another.
"Over here!"
It only takes a moment before I spot my roommate with her bright pink hair, and while most of us are bundled up in wool and plaid to ward off the chilly bite of autumn, Nia is her usual eye-catching self with her rebellious fondness for leather miniskirts and (as of this month at least) skull-patterned sneakers.
October in Vermont typically hits the low forties only when it's dark, but today feels a lot colder than usual. I'm already briskly rubbing my arms to keep myself from turning into an icicle when Nia finally reaches me, but the other girl doesn't look the slightest bit bothered by the weather.
My roommate thrusts a paper bag into my hands. "Here you go."
I eye its contents suspiciously. "What's this?"
"Your admission price for the festival, duh."
"Huh?" I specifically recall the words 'free entrance' popping all over the app like virtual rashes.
"You don't need to pay to get in," Nia explains patiently as if I were a child, "but you do need to follow their dress code to the letter."