"What the-"

"We must hurry," Damian says, stepping onto the first ledge and waving at me to follow. "The stairway will only remain open for a short time. And I need to return to your mother before she discovers I am gone."

As he moves down the stairs, I hesitate. This is so weird. I can't count the number of times I've been in this courtyard and never thought twice about this mosaic. And all the time it was a secret entrance to-

"Phoebe," Damian shouts up from the bowels of the Academy. "We do not wish to be caught below when the stairway closes. I assure you it is not a pleasant experience."

Throwing my worries and wonders to the wind, I hurry down after him.

Chapter 11

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


PHOTOMORPHOSIS


SOURCE: APOLLO


The ability to control light and fire. Most common expression consists of

bringing light into an area of darkness (ie: a case or basement). May

also manifest as fireworks, flames, and, in remarkably rare cases, fire-

breathing. Do not attempt fire-breathing as it does irreparable damage

to the esophagus!


DYNAMOTHEOS STUDY GUIDE * Stella Petrolas

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________


TRAILING DAMIAN DOWN A DARK, dank, corridor beneath the Academy courtyard was not where I expected to be right now. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I still thought it was going to be Stella or Adara pulling my chain. Maybe even Xander- his name was on the library employees list and he has taken somewhat of a personal interest in my problems. But Damian?

"I never would have guessed it was you," I say. "Stella or Adara, maybe. Xander even. But not you." Then again, it is just like him to make me work for my information.

"Keeping you guessing was part of the plan," Damian laughs, then his voice turns more serious. "Xander has explained his situation?"

"Yeah," I say. "He won't tell me what happened the year he was gone, though."

"That is at his discretion," Damian sounds a little sad. The gods tend to make their punishments deeply personal."

I can understand that.

"Well, I feel better about the whole test thing, just knowing he went through it already and-aaack!" I squeal as I stumble over an uneven stone and pitch into the wall.

"Are you all right?" he asks from somewhere up ahead.

The faint moonlight that had illuminated the staircase and a few feet beyond faded into black about twenty steps ago. I can't see an inch in front of my face and have been following the sound of Damian's footsteps.

"I'm fine," I say, wiping my damp palm against my jeans. "I can't see anything."

"Of course," Damian says.

I hear footsteps and a soft click. Suddenly the hall is bathed in flickering torchlight-very medieval.

"My apologies. I was so focused on getting to the vault that I did not take into account that you have never been here before."

"No problem. I've taken worse tumbles in my life." Really I'm just thankful to see that the dampness on the walls is just condensation and not something more disgusting like slime or mold. "We're going to a vault?"

"Yes," Damian says, turning and continuing down the corridor. "I removed the record from the archives last fall."

"Why did you send me the call number if you knew it wasn't there?"

"Because I-"

"Wait. The distraction. I get it." I may not like it, but I get it. "Soyou moved it?"

"Yes. Several inquiries into Mount Olympus documents came across my desk and I grew concerned that someone might stumble upon your father's record. I moved it to the vault to protect you."

To protect me?" I ask, practically jogging to keep up now that we can actually see where we're going.

"I didn't want you to discover the contents of the record carelessly. I wanted to present them to you myself." He pulls up his hurried pace as we reach the end of the corridor. "You were not ready to learn the truth. I now believe you are ready to make that determination for yourself."

Before I can get offended that he thought I couldn't handle the truth before-we went through all that last year with the Greek-gods-are-morc-than-myth thing-I notice where we've stopped. The corridor dead-ends at a small chamber with twelve doors radiating out in a semicircle. It looks like some sort of medieval labyrinth, with walls of massive dark stone blocks and giant-size doors that look like they're made of high-rise-grade steel. Above each door, carved into a giant slab of stone that spans the entire doorway, is a very ancient-looking symbol. The symbol above each door is different.

"What are these?" I ask nervously.

"Dodecathuron,"he replies. The twelve doors of Olympus."

"Of Olympus?" I repeat. "As in Mount Olympus? Do these doors lead there?"

Damian shakes his head. "When the Academy was built, the gods fought over the right to patronize the school. After many weeks of violent battles, Themis finally proposed a compromise. Each Olympian would be the school's patron for one month of the year. None of them was entirely happy, of course, so each demanded a separate access portal."

"But you said they don't lead to Olympus?"

"They don't," he explains. They lead fromOlympus. If we were to open one of the doors, we would find an empty room on the other side."

"If they're empty," I point out, "then where is the vault?"

Damian turns back toward the corridor we just left and points. "There."

"Where?" I ask, spinning back around and expecting an empty hallway. Instead, there's a giant steel door filling the entire space that we just walked through. "H-how?"

Whirling in a three-sixty, I confirm that I'm not crazy. There are the twelve doors of Olympus, the vault door, and solid stone walls. What happened to the corridor we just came down? And how are we supposed to get out?

"There is a safeguard on this room," Damian explains, stepping to the steel door and deftly spinning the combination lock above the handle. "Once someone enters the room, it shifts, turning on a smooth and silent revolve to reveal the vault."

"How is that a safeguard?" I ask.

"If someone enters who does not know the combination…" He sounds a little smug as he grasps the handle and twists. A loud click echoes in the chamber just before the door creaks open. "… they will not be able to get out."

"So what?" I ask, glancing around the room to make sure I hadn't missed spotting the skeletons of unwitting students who had been trapped here. "They would be stuck here and die of starvation-" I suddenly realize there are no air vents or anything. "Or suffocate when their oxygen runs out?"

"You should consider a career as a writer of fiction," Damian says, stepping into the massive vault and scanning over the shelves of books that line one side. "You have a very vivid imagination."

"No," I explain, stepping closer and peeking in at the vault's contents. "I've just read enough myth to know better."

Damian laughs.

The vault itself is the size of Cesca's walk-in closet-in other words: huge. As tall as the corridor ceiling, it's at least six feet wide and so deep I can't see the back wall. I am not about to step inside-I've seen enough after-school specials about kids getting accidentally locked in a safe-or maybe that was a refrigerator-to know better. But even from my position of safety, I see tons of stuff.

The entire left wall is lined with deep bookshelves, full of leather-bound books that look even older-if possible-than those in the secret archives. On the right, there are even deeper shelves, like the ones you use in your garage to organize junk. They're jam-packed with boxes and baskets and see-through storage containers. Eachone seems to be carefully labeled in Greek letters, but I bet it's a nightmare to keep track of everything.

"What is all of this?" I ask absently, not really expecting Damian to answer. He's not generally the forthcoming type.

"The vault is designed to safeguard the most dangerous items of the Academy collection," he explains.

"Dangerous stuff from the library?" I ask.

"From all of our collections." He pulls a book from the stack and dusts off the cover. "Here it is."

I've been trying to translate one of the Greek labels, but when he says that my eyes instantly snap to the dust-covered leather-bound book. My heart goes crazy in my chest. Right there, inDamian's hands, is the record of my father's trial. The proceedings that led to the smoting decree-a virtual death sentence.

Damian holds it out for me.

My hands shake as I reach for the record. I'm not sure what I expect, but nothing earth-shattering happens when my fingers close over the leather. The ceiling doesn't crumble. I don't get zapped to Hades by some unforeseen curse. I don't wake up and find that it's all a dream.

I glance up at Damian, suddenly very afraid and very nervous. What if there are things in here that I don't want to know, things I can't handle?

"You do not have to read it now," Damian says, his voice soft and reassuring. "In fact, you do not have to read it at all. It is rightfully yours. You may keep it as long as you need. I know you will guard it well."

At this exact moment he's not being smug or parental or head master-like or anything but understanding.

Clutching the record to my chest, I say, "Thank you, Damian."

Then, before I can stop myself, I rush forward and throw one arm around him in a big hug. He doesn't even hesitate before wrapping his arms around my shoulders and hugging me back. For the first time since being uprooted and thrown into his world, I feel like we just might-might-become family.

Our stepdad-stepdaughter moment is cut short by a deep rumbling sound coming from the depths of the vault.

"We need to go," Damian says, abruptly releasing me and stepping back. "Now."

I barely jump out of the way before he grabs the open vault door and slams it shut. He fingers the combination lock and spins it back and forth quickly. I'm trying to figure out why he's opening the vault again when he twists the handle, and instead of the vault opening, the vault disappears. The corridor is back.

"Hurry," he says, grabbing my arm and propelling me into the hall.

With my dad's record clutched under one arm, I jog toward the distant staircase-the distant moonlight. I hear Damian's oxfords echoing on the stone floor behind me. When I reach the stairs, the ground starts to tremble again.

"Up," Damian shouts over the growing roar.

I take them two at a time, my quads screaming that they still haven't fully recovered from running the stadium steps, I burst into the courtyard and turn around in time to see Damian leap from theopening to land on Athena's feet, just as the staircase closes up behind him.

He rolls onto his back, eyes closed, and panting. With a nervous giggle, I decide not to point out that he's getting his suit dirty.