He’s so intense that it actually makes me nervous. The situation between the headmaster and me has always been just short of serious. Even when I was in big trouble for some stunt or another, I could always sense his almost-laughter right beneath the surface.

Which is why his foreboding warning is so disconcerting.

“Right,” I say, trying to diffuse the tension. “You know, I already saw my future.”

“Oh yes?” he asks, cocking one brow up.

“Yeah.” I flash him a sly smile. “I saw a future where I don’t get in trouble for my actions anymore.”

He laughs, and that makes me feel so much better. Even after so many things have changed in such a short period of time, our little cat-and-mouse game is still intact.

“The yacht will bring your parents from Serifos at two o’clock,” he says, completely changing the subject. “When we meet at the dock to greet them . . .”

He doesn’t have to complete the sentence.

“I’ll bring the book,” I reply with a smile.

He nods, as if pleased that his nonverbal communication skills are still in working order. “And bring the second volume as well,” he says. “The one Miss Spencer secured for you from the archives.”

I don’t even bother being shocked at how he knew that Adara got me the book on the offerings for the gods. He just knows.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” I say, then start back for the door.

“And Miss Matios,” he calls out before I can grab the handle.

“Yes?” I ask, wait for another shoe—knowing Petrolas, probably an expensive Italian loafer—to drop.

“Please tell Mr. Blake that the gods are likely inclined to grant a special favor,” he says, “to the last descendant of Zeus’s favorite son.”

Hercules has always been Zeus’s favorite, and Griffin is the last in the Herculean line. If Petrolas thinks that fact will get Griffin special treatment, that bodes well for his quest to get his parents back.

When I turn back around to ask him to explain, he’s already gone. That man is quick and quiet as a ninja when he wants to be. Someday I’ll get the jump on him.

As I yank open the door and return to my friends, my steps are lighter knowing that hope for Griffin is even closer than we thought.

14

When I get back to the booth, Stella is making googly eyes at Xander—and he’s making them right back at her—in one corner. Phoebe and Griffin are snuggling together in the other corner. I take my seat across from Troy and grab my ice cream back.

“Hey, you ate some,” I accuse, inspecting the decidedly smaller scoop on top.

His eyes widen. “It was melting.”

“I thought your taste buds were still cursed.”

“They’re . . .” He half smirks even as his cheeks flame bright pink. “Not anymore.”