Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Izzy
That night, I slip away from the guys, leaving them in our bed. I go into the bathroom and change myself into Thea, transforming my clothes to the dark leather-and-tank-top outfit she wore when we fought, making my hair look like hers.
It hurts to see her face staring back at mine in the mirror. I wish things were different.
But they aren’t, so I head up the stairs. We need to know if we can trust Oliver.
Loki knows how to get past pretty much any lock. I think about how hard I worked to get into the library when we went to see the Veritas Painting, and think that it could have been so much easier if the trickster god had decided to be helpful.
I can practically feel him smirk at me in response. I also could’ve pointed out that you were walking into a trap, you sweet, innocent thing.
It’s hard having a rude god taking up space in your brain.
But I can feel how thrilled Loki is with this bit of mischief.
I let myself into Oliver’s apartments. I go down the line of rooms until I find where he’s sleeping.
Feeling a bit bad, I sneak across the floor and open the windows.
The moonlight shines down on the campus outside, which is so beautiful, and the cool fall breeze flutters the curtains at the window.
I straddle the window ledge and reach down to pull a knife I’ve just imagined off my belt, picking my fingernails with it absently. I’ve got Thea’s face and her hair, but the most important thing is to channel her wicked sense of confidence.
Life’s probably a lot easier when you aren’t afraid of hurting people. Not better, but easier.
I kick my heel against the wall. He finally starts in bed, then sits up quickly as he sees me. He scrambles up, his eyes wide.
“Thea,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking up on you,” I say, flashing him a cool smile. “How’s it going with these idiots?”
He looks genuinely scared as he stares at me. What the hell has she done to him? If these kids had all been trapped together and abused, they should have looked out for each other.
“Look, I’m not a traitor,” he says.
Oh, so “Thea” wasn’t aware that he was supposed to be here. But he had some kind of permission, possibly? I need to confirm that.
“Okay, sure,” I say. I wave my hand. “What do you call running away to the academy then? Promising to help these gods so they’ll give you whatever you want?” I flash him a cold smile. “What is it that you do want?”
“I want to spend the rest of my life away from you and Viggo,” he says.
“Too bad,” I say. I don’t want to say too much and tip my hand. “What did we ever do to you that was so terrible?”
“Come on, Thea,” he says, his voice dropping. “We used to be friends. Tell him that you never saw me. Just let me go.”
“What’s supposed to convince me that you aren’t a traitor?”
“I’m here getting information from them, aren’t I? I’ll send everything I get to you, and then I’ll disappear.”
I snort. “You hope we’ll all kill each other and you can walk off into the sunset.”
He doesn’t argue with me.
My gaze falls on the dresser top, and I realize he’s stolen a bunch of stuff out of our rooms-jewelry, weapons, money. I shake my head.
“You know it’ll cost me if I come home without you,” I say.
“It won’t be your first whipping and it won’t be your last,” he says, and my stomach curdles. He said Viggo. Is It Viggo that whips my sister? He goes on, his voice blase, “Tell him I’m being useful. He knows how much I want my freedom.”
“I could do that, or I could gut you where you stand.”
He stares down at the bed, the expression on his face sullen.
It’s only when I see the flicker of color that I realize he’s about to attack.
When he blasts magic my way, I’m already dropping to the floor. I transform into a tiger and pin him against the wall, then transform back--except for the enormous clawed and striped arm that holds him against the wall.
“You’re not Thea,” he gasps.
“And you’re not very genuine,” I answer.
“I’ll do anything to stay alive,” Oliver says. “I’ll side with you. I just don’t want to go back there ever again…”
“What happened that’s so terrible?” I demand. “Help me stop them.”
He shakes his head. “You’ll never stop them. You’re a sweet bunch of kids.” His voice takes on a sneering edge when he says sweet. I don’t think he even hears it. “They’re a bunch of highly trained psychopaths.”
“What’s it really like in that house?” I ask.
His lips twist in a rueful smile. “You feel sorry for her, don’t you? You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“I can’t trust you,” I say. “We can’t take you with us.”
“I know all their defenses,” he promises me. “I’m the only way you’ll make it into the castle. Believe me, I want you to get in there. You’re right--I do want you all to kill each other.”
Our eyes lock, and I realize that he’s probably telling the truth. But is that a good thing?