I look at him, realizing that I don’t really know him at all. Underneath his sweetness and friendly tone lies the heart of a fullblown conspiracy theorist.
“I got all these names from my mother’s files. I was trying to show you the master list when she walked in last night.”
“Have you asked her about this?”
“Yeah, right. And tell my mom I went through her private government files? You have no idea the grounding I would get.” Tobin smirks. “My mom is kind of a scary lady.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, thinking of the icy reception I got from her after we were caught snooping. “I guess it makes sense, though, that, as mayor, she would probably be aware of people who’ve gone missing in her town. And it makes even more sense that a ritzy place like this would want to keep this sort of thing covered up. Bad PR, you know.”
Tobin nods.
“But this still doesn’t prove that any of these missing people are connected,” I say, putting my hands on my hips. “How does this prove anything about the Lord family?”
“Look at the dates,” Tobin says, pointing at the phone. “There’s a pattern. One girl has gone missing every three years. There’s only one deviation. It’s been six years since Abbie disappeared and no others since then.”
“Okay, that’s definitely eerie.” I rub my arms, suddenly feeling cold.
“I thought maybe the pattern had stopped … that maybe whatever was going on had stopped. Until I saw Haden Lord. Which made me remember my sister’s friend. Which got me thinking … I’ve only lived here for six and a half years, so I don’t really know, but what if there were people from the Lord family in Olympus Hills all those other times people went missing?”
“Bridgette said that the Lord family sends kids here from time to time.”
“She did?” Tobin almost sounds giddy at the prospect.
“Yeah, her dad’s on the school board. She said they come every few years.”
“Like, every three years?”
“I don’t know.” There’s a look in his eye that makes me worry he’s drawing way too many conclusions. “Tobin, none of this is proof. This is still just a theory. And it doesn’t mean Haden knows anything about it.”
“That’s why I’m going to get some proof. There has to be a way to figure out if any more Lords were here the same years these girls disappeared.”
“What are you going to do, hack the school server?”
Tobin doesn’t answer.
“Tobin?”
“I bet records aren’t even computerized before the nineties,” he mumbles to himself.
“Tobin! You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”
“I need your help,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m going to look into this records theory for the rest of the day. Which means I need you to follow Haden. Find out where he goes. Who he talks to. What he’s doing here.”
“Seriously?”
“You’ve already got an in with him after this Lexie thing. Let’s use it to find out as much about him as we can.”
I’m about to tell Tobin he’s a couple of tubas short of an orchestra, but I notice the swirling, lifting notes in his voice as he asks, “Please, Daphne, help me.” It’s the sound of hope.
Hope that he’ll find his sister.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll help.”
chapter thirty-three
HADEN
Kopros.
This Tobin boy is getting too close to the truth.
Champions use Persephone’s Gate, which always leads to the grove, to enter the mortal realm, but in order not to draw too much attention to any one town, they spread out and alternate quest locations around the world—usually going three years before revisiting a city. Except for Olympus Hills. It has been six years since a Champion had been assigned here.
Dax.
I hear Tobin and Daphne leave the alcove and start up the hall, so I take off before the two round the corner. I head straight for the counselor’s office and ask for Mr. Drol.
“He’s on his break,” the woman with the cat’s-eye glasses says. “You’re not scheduled to meet with him until tomorrow afternoon.”
“This is urgent.”
“You can see Mrs. Dunfree instead if you’d like.”
“No, thank you,” I say, and open the door to Dax’s office anyway.
“You can’t do that!”
“It’s okay,” Dax says. “Let him in.”
Dax turns off the screen of his computer and swivels in his chair to greet me. He’s wearing one of his ridiculous elbow-patched sweaters. “Now, son. What’s all this bother?” he says in an exaggerated Yorkshire accent. I shut the door firmly behind me before ripping into him.
“Why did you send me into that party blind?” I say. “You’re supposed to be my guide. So why didn’t you tell me your Boon was the mayor’s daughter, that I’m attending school with her brother? Don’t you think these are important things for me to know?”
“Haden,” he says, dropping the accent. “I told you. I cannot speak of this to you.”
“But this affects me, Dax. It’s jeopardizing my quest. This Tobin kid is on to us. He’s determined to find out what happened to his sister, and he’s not going to stop until he does. How am I supposed to get Daphne to trust me if Tobin is filling her head with vitriol, all because of the mistakes you made?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Dax says.
“How?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“How?”
He slams his open palm on his desk. “I don’t know! I just will.”
I take a step back. “Why won’t you just tell me what happened?”
Dax stands. “I cannot.” His nostrils flare and he takes a deep breath, as if fighting from saying more. His meaning sinks in. He’s made an unbreakable oath. When he says he cannot, he means it would be physically impossible.
But who could compel him to do such a thing?
“If you value our friendship,” he says. “If I mean anything to you, you will stop being selfish for once in your life and listen to me when I ask you not to speak of this again. The consequences for me would be far greater than anything you can imagine.”
I nod and pull open the door. I leave the office more confused than ever. But I have to go. Because the one thing I need to ask him I can’t:
If Dax had returned alone to the Underrealm six years ago, but this Abbie girl still went missing, then what in the name of Hades had happened to her that he had sworn to never speak of again?
If it hadn’t been for the conversation I’d overheard between Daphne and Tobin in the hallway, I might think she is starting to like me, because she keeps glancing back at me during humanities class. Instead, she’s probably just trying to figure out whether or not I can be related to a kidnapper. Or worse.
I keep my face blank and pretend to be absorbed in the text of my book. When the bell rings, she stays in her seat instead of hurrying off to her next class. Is she waiting for me to leave? I pick up my book and head out the door. She follows a few seconds later.
I keep my pace slow so she won’t lose me in the crowded hallway. When I get to my next class, I duck behind the door. She stands there for a few minutes, satisfied that I’m where I’m supposed to be. I watch her turn and walk back in the opposite direction.
So she’s stalking me now?
I almost smile at the thought.
“You like her,” someone says.
I turn and find Lexie standing behind me, her arms crossed in front of her chest. Two of her friends flank her on each side. They remind me of miniature versions of Rowan and his cronies—but with matching shoes and coordinated skirts.