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about how the gods were real.
    Despite my confusion, I focused on her words. “Strong? Quick? What do you mean? Strong like they can bench press a hundred pounds strong? Or strong like Hulk strong?” I gestured at a stack of comic books on the counter.
    Metis stared at me. “Hulk strong. Supernaturally strong. Magically strong.”
    â€œOh.”
    That was all I could say. The dull ache that had fogged my brain had burned away, but it had been replaced by a throbbing knot of worry—and more than a little curiosity, too. Even now, even after my mom’s death and my guilt over it, some small part of me wondered about these kids who could do things like me—and what kind of magic and secrets they might have.
    I noticed that Metis hadn’t really answered my question about whether there were other Gypsy students at Mythos Academy, but a dozen other questions had already popped into my head.
    â€œBut how and why—”
    â€œI’m sorry, Gwen, but it’s already been decided.” Grandma Frost cut me off. “I’ve enrolled you, and Professor Metis has set up your class schedule already.”
    Metis reached under the table and pulled out a leather briefcase. She set it on her lap, popped open the lid, and rustled around inside. Then she closed the case and passed me a sheet of paper. I looked at it a second before taking it from her.
    I held my breath, but I didn’t get any unwanted vibes or flashes off the paper. Just the sense of its having rolled through a laser printer somewhere before Metis put it in her briefcase. No surprise there. Most of the time, I was pretty safe when it came to touching ordinary things that had a specific function, like pens, dishes, or doorknobs. People just didn’t think much about those kinds of things or leave many vibes on them. The same was true of stuff that lots of people used every day, like the computers in the library at my school. My old school now, I thought.
    Once I was sure that I wasn’t going to get any nasty, unexpected vibes off the paper, I started reading. English lit, calculus, chemistry, gym . . . My eyes scanned down the list, stopping on the final class.
    â€œMyth-history?” I asked. “What kind of class is that?”
    Metis just smiled. “You’ll see, Gwen. You’ll see. But right now, I’m afraid I have to get back to the academy. I’ve got some papers to grade, among other things. I just wanted to come by and introduce myself.”
    The professor rose to her feet. “Geraldine, it was lovely to see you again. I just wish the circumstances could have been different.”
    â€œMe too, Professor. Me too,” my grandma murmured.
    The two of them shared a sad, almost wistful look before Grandma Frost stood up and shook the professor’s hand. Then my grandma turned to me.
    â€œPumpkin, why don’t you show Professor Metis out? I’ve got to get ready for my next client.”
    â€œSure,” I muttered, wondering what was going on between them and why they’d decided to exclude me from it. “This way, Professor.”
    Metis followed me down the hallway and back to the front door. I opened it, and she stepped outside. Sometime while we’d been talking, the sun had come out and burned away the silvery frost, until only a trace of it remained in the shadows on the porch.
    I started to shut the door behind her, but Metis turned to face me, a kind look in her green eyes.
    â€œI was very sorry to hear about your mother,” she said in a soft voice.
    Dozens of people had said the same thing to me over the past few weeks, everyone from my friends at school to the other cops who had worked with my mom. But for some reason, I felt that Metis really meant what she said—that she really was sad to hear about my mom. Almost like . . . she’d known my mom or something. But that just wasn’t possible. I’d known all of my mom’s friends, and