Nicole’s Midnight Walk

One

There are precisely two hundred and eighteen cracks in the ceiling above my bed. I know this because I’ve counted them precisely two hundred and eighteen times.

Okay, maybe not precisely that many times. It has to be getting pretty close, though.

Maybe I should put in a maintenance request to have them repaired. Surely Headmaster Petrolas doesn’t want the plaster crashing down on his star pupil in the middle of the night.

I don’t have to have the second sight in order to know he would laugh himself into stomach cramps at the thought of calling me—aka perpetual-thorn-in-his-side Nicole Matios—his star pupil. Heck, if I weren’t so sleep deprived right now I’d be yucking it up, too.

But the sad truth is that I’ve been lying awake counting ceiling cracks every single night since my mothers gave me the gift. I can’t close my eyes without being bombarded with nonstop visions that I have no clue how to control.

I can’t even make sense of them because they get so jumbled up with each other. It’s like they all crash into me at the same time, mixing and merging in ways that not even the Fates could imagine. The results are ridiculous. As much as I would pay good money to see Petrolas get crowned Princess of Hearts at the Aphrodisia festival next month, I think he’s a longshot. My wires are definitely getting crossed.

How am I supposed to predict the future if I see it all at once?

I roll my head to the side.

2:54 am

I want to scream. But when I did that last night, someone called campus security and I had to answer way too many questions.

Instead, I turn up the volume on my headphones and try to drown it all out. Troy’s demo album is great. Amazing, even. When he finally gets the courage to release it—or I decide to leak it on his behalf—he’s going to have label execs and tween fangirls beating down his door.

It’s not helping me, though. Even his catchy, soulful songs aren’t enough to hold back the visions.

When I can’t stand the thought of counting cracks anymore, I swing out of bed and step into my boots. Maybe going for a walk will clear my head. If it doesn’t, I’ll just walk myself somewhere far enough away so that no one will be able to hear me scream.

---

Two

The Academy campus is so quiet I can hear my own breathing as I walk across the quad. Between it being summer and the middle of the night, it’s no surprise that I have it to myself.

Maybe I should become nocturnal. Fewer annoying people. Fewer annoying questions. Except for during the school year, when I have to actually function during the day, that would totally work for me.

I shove my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and head for the middle of the lawn.

No one except maybe Headmaster Petrolas knows the campus like I do. I’ve been trapped on this island for more years than I want to remember and—out of a combination of sheer boredom and a quest for mischief—I’ve explored every single inch. I’ve even been in the library’s secret archives.

One of my favorite spots is the tiny marker at the center of the quad. A small, gold-colored medallion that marks the spot where Athena stood to dedicate the new campus when the school had to close in Athens in the sixth century. It’s like sitting on a moment frozen in time.

When I reach the marker, I twist down into a seat and then flop back onto the grass.

The night is cool and the sky is clear. Above me, a ceiling of stars. I’m not usually the poetic type, but staring up into the cosmos kinda does it for me.

Maybe, if I stare up at the night for long enough, I might actually fall asleep.

“Is this a private party, or can anyone join?”

I scroll my eyes to the left and spot Kassandra Karanasos standing a few feet away.

So much for having the quad to myself.

Instead of answering, I just sigh and shrug. The goth-loving descendant of Hades takes that as an invitation to sit down. Her black platform boots have more buckles than my entire wardrobe, and they jingle as she settles into the grass.

“I thought I was the only one up at this hour,” I say, not really annoyed but kind of wanting to seem that way.

“I’m a night owl,” she replies. “Comes from spending so many summers in the underworld. The great-great-grand-god doesn’t understand circadian rhythms.”

“Shouldn’t you be there now?” I ask. “It being summer and all.”

She plucks at a clump of grass. “I haven’t seen you out this late before. Is something bugging you?”

I don’t miss how she’s avoiding my question, but I’m too tired to argue.

If she’s avoiding questions, though, so am I. I shrug and go back to my stargazing. Even though I love looking at the stars, I’m garbage at identifying constellations. Still, I can’t help trying. That one to the left looks like a squirrel holding an acorn. I don’t remember that in my astronomy textbook.

Kassandra’s buckles jingle as she stretches out her legs.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks.

“No,” I say, too quickly for it not to be obvious how desperate I am.

The instant the word is out of my mouth, my brain explodes with a vision. I wince in pain as the uninvited images bombard my mind. Images of me, sitting up, and spilling my metaphorical guts to Kassandra.

Well, great.

I may not want to confide in her about it. But, if that vision is right, I’m going to anyway. Too exhausted to fight, I swing myself upright and start talking.

---

Three

“Wait, what?” Kassandra actually gawks, which I didn’t think was even possible for someone so jaded. “So you, like, actually have the sight?”

I groan and fall back onto the grass. I shouldn’t have told her. Just because I had some stupid vision of telling her didn’t mean I had to actually tell her. A vision isn’t reality… until it is. And I just made that vision come true.

I’m an idiot.

I press my palms to my eyes as if I can block out the magical vision along with the normal kind.

“I’m so jealous,” she says.

That shocks me enough to lift one hand and give Kass a sideways glance.

She twists her mouth into a smirk. “I’d love to be able to know the future.”

“I could tell you,” I mutter. Even though I’m not sure I can.

“No, don’t,” she says, waving me off with a ghostly pale hand. “I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

I sigh and go back to my blocking things out. If I’m being totally honest, it feels kind of good to tell someone about my gift. Troy is the only other person who knows, and it’s been hard on both of us to keep it a secret. Okay, it’s been harder on Troy. I have a much more comfortable relationship with secrets than he ever will.

But telling Kass makes the secret feel a little… less dark. Which is ironic, considering who I told it to.

“I didn’t ask for it,” I tell her.

What? Now that I’ve told her one secret I’m feeling compelled to share even more? Who am I?

“I tried to refuse,” I explain. “But they….”

“Made an offer you couldn’t?”

Literally.

“When I first got my powers, I fought them,” she says. “I was nine. Late for a hematheos, and I’d started to think that maybe I wouldn’t ever get them. I came to terms with that.”

I glance at her. She’s staring at her boots, like she’s lost in memory.

“And then one day, I’m in the middle of a multiplication tables quiz and, BLAM,” she says with a clap of her hands, “my desk turns into a pool of lava.”

“That sucks.”

“Are you kidding?” She laughs. “It was awesome.”

Only a descendant of Hades would be not horrified by that.

“The thing was, I didn’t want them. I desperately wanted to be different from my family. I wanted to be… ordinary.” She sighs. “So I fought them. Whenever I felt powers tingling in my fingertips, I clenched them into fists.”

“How’d that work out?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” she replies with a wince. “Out of control. Every which way. But….”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I don’t have to have the sight to know I’m not going to like what she’s about to say.

“It wasn’t until I accepted them that I finally got them under control.”

I knew it. I may have accepted my gift, but that doesn’t mean I have to accept the visions that come with it. Knowing the future can be a dangerous thing. If mythological history is any proof, it can also drive the seer mad.

I’m not about to go crazy just so my mothers can send me cryptic messages. I’ll pass.

“Yeah, well, maybe that worked for you.” With a groan, I roll up and quickly get to my feet. “But I’m not interested in accepting them.”

Kass shrugs and shakes her head.

I’m not sticking around for further discussion. As I turn and start back for the dorm, I mutter, “Thanks for nothing.”

---

Four

Iresist the urge to stomp my boots on the stairs up to my room. I may be peeved, but I’m not mad enough to want to get detention over it. Maybe, after another sleepless night or two, that might change.

As soon as I’m in my room with the door shut behind me, the visions—barely held back by my attention to the outside world—return. Nonstop. I lean back against the door. Flashes of light and color and people and places.

Hera.

The village bookshop.

A fire-breathing dragon.

Troy standing on stage in a stadium full of fans.

A dog peeing on Petrolas’s rug.

No matter how much that last one makes me smile, I can’t make sense of anything. I squeeze my eyes shut and cover them with my palms. I know the visions aren’t coming through my eyeballs, but I have to do something to try to make them stop.

“It wasn’t until I accepted them that I finally got them under control.”

Kassandra’s words echo in my already overflowing mind.

With a silent scream, I fling my arms apart and give in. 

“Fine!” I shout into my empty room.

Wherever or whenever my mothers are, I’m sure they can hear me. And I’m sure they’re all smiles about it. If fighting the visions isn’t working, then I might as well try giving in. It can’t make them worse. I hope.

I cross to my bed and flop down on the comforter. Eyes open and staring, unseeing, at the ceiling. Not even counting cracks. I take a deep breath.

“Okay,” I mutter. “Let’s do this.”

As I release my breath, I also release the mental hold I’ve—been trying to—have on the visions.

The jumble of images starts to move. Shifts. Melts. Flows into a steady, more consistent stream.

I sigh. Well, at least I don’t feel like I’m under assault anymore.

As I relax even more into the sensation, a few specific images float out of the stream. They merge together until, finally, I see what looks like a cohesive vision. Like the trailer for a movie.

Phoebe and Griffin hugging in the Academy library. The day after tomorrow. Then they’re standing on the Serfopoula dock. She’s worried about him. He’s sailing somewhere far away. She pulls a pair of earplugs out of her shorts pocket and hands them to him.

The vision fades away and I’m back to staring at the cracked ceiling.

If I thought having a cohesive vision would give me any kind of clarity, I was so very wrong.

I have no idea what any of that means. Why on earth would Phoebe need to give Griffin earplugs? Why on earth would I need to know that? How on earth am I going to explain to her why she needs to go to the library with a pair of earplugs in her pocket the day after tomorrow?

This is why seers and prophets always go insane.

Well, at least the other visions have all faded away. For now. I’m sure they won’t stay away for long, but I’ll take whatever reprieve I can get. Kassandra’s advice worked. As much as I hate ever saying sorry to anyone for anything, I’m going to have to break my own rule. Tomorrow. After a long, deep sleep.

I drift off as a vision of Kass shrugging off my apology floats out of the stream. Maybe I’ll rest easier knowing I don’t have to worry about how she’ll take it….