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The train was an old, vintage model that had been lovingly restored, and everything looked like it had just been cleaned, waxed, and polished, from the wide picture windows, to the glossy wooden benches topped with thick red cushions, to the brass rails that served as handholds and cordoned off the groups of seats from the main aisle. Even the air smelled faintly of some fresh, lemony cleaner.
I glanced down at my phone and quickly found my seat assignment, right in the middle of one of the cars. I grimaced, knowing that I was far too exposed here, in everyone’s line of sight, but I was trapped until all the other passengers sat down. Maybe then I could find a more out-of-the-way seat, perhaps by one of the doors, with my back to the corner, where I could see any potential Reapers who might be on board and creeping up on me.
“Is this seat taken?” a soft feminine voice asked.
Startled, I looked up. The woman in the black fleece jacket, the one who’d been watching me earlier inside the station, stood in the aisle, a pleasant smile fixed on her face. Up close, she was quite pretty, with dark brown hair and pale skin, but the thing that caught my attention was her eyes. At first, I thought they were a weak, watery blue, but on a closer look, I realized they were actually a deep, wintry gray. The color reminded me of the sly, wicked gleam of Vic’s blade.
“Is this seat taken?” the woman repeated, giving me another pleasant smile. “I know the seats are assigned, but my friends didn’t make it, and I don’t want to sit by myself. Besides, you look like you could use some company too.”
Company was the very last thing I wanted, but I just shrugged in return. Making a fuss about the seat would draw unwelcome attention, which I wanted even less than I wanted her dubious company.
The woman took my shrug as an invitation to sit down on the bench facing mine. I tensed, and my hand drifted over to my messenger bag, which was resting on the seat beside me.
In addition to her black fleece jacket, the woman was wearing a royal-blue T-shirt with some sort of pink pig logo on it, along with dark jeans and black boots. Somehow she made the casual clothes look cool, even though she was a bit underdressed, considering that most of the other passengers were wearing either suit jackets and ties or pretty sweaters and dresses. Then again, I was no fashionista myself, since I was sporting a worn purple hoodie over a long-sleeve gray T-shirt, gray jeans, and my favorite and most comfortable purple-and-gray plaid sneakers.
The woman tugged down the sleeves of her jacket, then leaned forward and stuck her hand out to me. “My name is Gin Blanco. You can call me Gin, like the liquor.”
I flinched and had to stop myself from visibly recoiling at the polite gesture. Thanks to my psychometry magic, I never shook hands with strangers, and I rarely did more than bump fists with my friends.
Touch magic, some people called it. Basically, I got flickers of memories and flashes of feelings off just about any object I touched with my bare skin. Oh, I was safe enough drumming my fingers on the red seat cushion or clutching the brass railing, since those were common, ordinary, everyday objects that hundreds of people had used over the years. Besides, no one had any special feelings for or big attachments to things like seats and rails.
But touching someone else, especially this mysterious, suspicious woman . . . well, that was almost guaranteed to open a window into her memories and give me a front-row view of everything that had ever happened to her and all the things she had done in return—good, bad, and ugly.
I usually didn’t get flickers or flashes off people unless I was physically touching them, but sometimes my psychometry magic gave me other small hints about folks. And right now, a little voice in the back of my mind was whispering a warning that I very much did not want to touch this woman and see what was lurking in her heart.
“My name is Gwen,” I said, finally answering her question. “Gwen Frost.”
I studied her closely, but no recognition flared in her eyes, indicating that she wasn’t part of the mythological world. Pretty much everyone, from the youngest Mythos student to the oldest Protectorate member to the cruelest Reaper, knew exactly who I was. Gwen Frost, Nike’s Champion, the girl who had defeated and imprisoned the powerful god Loki. I was rather famous for saving the world—or infamous, depending on your point of view.
The woman, Gin, kept staring at me. When it became apparent that I wasn’t going to shake her hand, she slowly dropped it to her lap and gave me a puzzled look, which made me feel a little guilty.
“Sorry,” I said, trying to explain. “But I don’t want to shake your hand. I, uh, just got over a cold. I might still be . . . germy.”
Gin’s forehead crinkled like she didn’t believe my lame excuse. Yeah, I wouldn’t have believed me either. But after a few seconds, she nodded.
“I don’t particularly like shaking hands either,” she drawled. “Especially when the other person’s hand is warm and wet, like a limp fish. Or when they try to crush your bones to show you how strong and superior they are.”
Despite my best intentions, a laugh escaped from my lips, and I found myself smiling at her.
Gin grinned back at me, then relaxed back in her seat. “Well, we might as well get comfortable, Gwen Frost. We have a long ride ahead of us.”
Her tone wasn’t the least bit dark and sinister, but something about her words made a shiver skitter down my spine. I didn’t mind the ride being long. I just hoped that the Reapers wouldn’t find me and that this wouldn’t be the last trip I ever took.
Chapter Three
Gin
I was pretty sure the girl was in trouble.
Finn would have claimed that I was being paranoid yet again, but something about the girl seemed slightly . . . off.
Oh, there was nothing wrong with Gwen Frost herself, and she seemed smart, strong, and capable. But the way she eyed everyone in the train car, especially me, as if she was just waiting for someone to leap up out of their seat, brandish a weapon, and reveal their true evil intentions, reminded me of . . . well, myself.
I was always waiting for new and old enemies alike to appear and try to kill me and my loved ones. Story of my life.
So when I’d seen Gwen board the train through one of the windows, I’d left my assigned seat in another car, entered this one, and plopped down across from her. Gwen’s trouble wasn’t any of my business, but I just couldn’t sit by and let someone get hurt. Especially not a girl who seemed as weary and wary, and as haunted and hunted, as I always felt, even now, when I was on vacation.
But perhaps the most curious thing was that Gwen didn’t seem particularly afraid of whatever trouble she was in, just resigned to the fact that something bad was going to happen sooner or later. Her resolute resignation made me even more curious about what might be going on. Besides, I had to do something to occupy my time until the train stopped for lunch.
