Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

The gems splintered into dozens of pieces. One down, one to go.

Agrona started to lash out at me with her sword, but Nickamedes slapped the weapon away from her.

"Hold her arm down!" I yelled at him.

The librarian nodded, realizing what I had in mind. He latched on to the Reaper, pinning her right arm to the stage.

Morgan had snapped out of her zombie-like state when I'd destroyed the Bowl of Tears, and I was hoping the same thing would happen with Logan. That's why I'd yanked off and destroyed the jewels Agrona was wearing. Now, all I had to do was get rid of the last one.

I raised Vic up again and brought the sword down as hard as I could.

CRACK!

Agrona screamed as I crushed the ring and her hand along with it. The Apate ruby might have a lot of power, but so did Vic, since he was a Champion's weapon, my weapon, given to me by Nike herself.

The sword's hilt shattered the heart-shaped ruby like it was made of glass.

An angry red light filled the entire concert hall the second Vic's hilt touched the gem, searing my eyes and making several students and even some of the Reapers scream. After a few seconds, the harsh glare faded, and I looked over at Logan, expecting to see him shaking off his confusion.

Instead, the Spartan's gaze landed on me, and he headed in my direction once more-his eyes still that eerie, eerie Reaper red.

"Fool!" Agrona snarled. "He's too far gone into the ritual, and he's still wearing a collar full of Apate jewels. You won't be able to get that off him with your stupid sword. Nothing will bring him back now. Nothing. He'll keep coming at you until one of you is dead."

I scrambled to my feet and raised Vic just in time to keep Logan from killing me. Deja vu. Back and forth, we fought across the stage, while I begged and pleaded with him to fight, to come back to himself, to remember who I was, how we felt about each other, and everything we'd been through.

But nothing I said worked.

I couldn't get through to the Spartan, and he just kept coming and coming and coming at me, always on the attack. My strength was almost gone, and it was all I could do to lift Vic to fight him off. In another minute, Logan's sword would slip through my defenses, and he'd kill me. Once that happened, he'd be lost for good-if he wasn't already.

I couldn't let that happen, but I didn't know how to stop it either. Even as I battled Logan, I tried to think of a way to get through to him. But smashing the jewels hadn't worked, and I was all out of ideas.

"You're going to have to use your magic on him, Gwen!" Vic shouted above the roar of the battle. "You're going to have to use your touch magic on him. You're going to have to kill him with it the way that you did Preston!"

The thought was so horrible I froze, right there in the middle of the stage. That was all the opening Logan needed to punch me in the stomach. I staggered back, and once again the Spartan gave chase. He wouldn't stop until I was dead. His killer instinct wouldn't accept anything else.

I redoubled my efforts, fighting better than I ever had in my entire life, hoping that I could at least disarm the Spartan, but Logan matched me move for move for move. Of course he did. He was the one who'd taught me how to fight in the first place.

"Use your magic, Gwen!" Vic yelled at me again. "Now! Before it's too late!"

I didn't want to use my touch magic on Logan. I didn't want to pull the life out of his body the way I had with Preston. I'd barely been able to do it to the Reaper, and only because it had been the only way to heal the mortal wound Preston had given me.

No, I couldn't kill Logan with my magic-I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did.

But I had to do something. Because once he was done with me, Logan would attack the adults and even the other kids until either everyone else was dead-or he was.

I managed to force Logan into some of the band chairs at the back of the stage. The Spartan cursed, his voice deeper and harsher than normal, and he struggled to untangle himself from the metal. But instead of going in for the kill, I stood there, my desperate gaze zooming around, trying to think of some way I could save him-and myself too.

In the chaos of the fight, the stage had been destroyed. Chairs had been overturned, instruments dropped, and other debris littered the wooden floor, but I didn't see anything useful. Nothing that gave me any idea how to get through to Logan-

Something winked on the floor a few feet away from me, and I realized it was a bracelet that one of the girls had been wearing. Maybe it was the sapphires gleaming in the design or the way the chain had curled into a perfect circle on the floor, but the bracelet reminded me of the Maat asp that had been wrapped around my wrist during my trial. Vivian had managed to fool the snake with the ruby Apate chips in her ring, but I'd used my magic to show the asp what had really happened.

My psychometry, I thought. Of course.

I couldn't get through to Logan with words, but maybe there was still a way to save the Spartan after all-

Logan finally got free of the chairs and ran at me, curses spewing out of his lips like acid. His eyes were even redder than before, and I knew I only had one chance at this-one chance to get him to remember who he really was before he was lost to me-forever.

All I had to do was touch the Spartan.

Easier said than done. I hadn't even managed to nick Logan with my sword the whole time we'd been fighting, much less get close enough to touch him with my bare hand. But that's what I needed-time to touch the Spartan, time to let my magic work, time to let my power wash over him. But Logan wasn't just going to stand still and let that happen. No, there was only one way this was going to work. I had to let the Spartan get close to me.

I had to let him hurt me.

I didn't know if my crazy plan would work, but it was the only chance Logan had left. So I drew in a breath and slowly sheathed Vic in the scabbard on my waist. Then, I held my arms out wide, an open invitation to the Spartan to do his worst. Logan stopped short, obviously thinking it was some kind of trick.

"Gwen, what are you doing?" Vic yelled. "He'll kill you where you stand!"

"I know," I said in a grim voice. "But it has to be this way, Vic. You'll see."

After a few seconds, when I made no move to attack him or defend myself, Logan let out a loud, wild, angry cry and charged at me. I waited until he was in range and then held out my right hand and jerked to the side, trying to sidestep him as much as I could, even as my fingers reached out for his. I felt his sword slice across my right palm and keep on going.

Then, with a final, fierce battle cry, Logan slammed his blade into my chest.

Chapter 28

The pain of the sword skewering me was-it was-devastating. Just wave after wave of red-hot agony surging through my body one right after another. For a moment, my vision went completely black. I had to struggle to focus on what I was trying to do, but I slowly reached up and wrapped my bloody fingers around Logan's hand, which was clenched around the hilt of his sword-the sword that was still in my chest.

The Spartan frowned and tried to pull his hand away, but I tightened my grip, even though it jostled the sword in my chest and made everything hurt that much more. Through my growing haze of pain, I called up all the memories I had of Logan.

All the times he'd smiled at me. All the times he'd teased me. All the times he'd looked at me, his icy eyes glowing. All the times he'd kissed me, held me close, and whispered that everything was going to be all right, even if we both knew it wasn't true.

I focused on those images and all the feelings that went with them. All the longing I'd felt for Logan when I'd first been crushing on him, all the times he'd made me laugh, and finally that warm, soft, fizzy feeling that flooded my heart whenever he grinned at me.

Then, I showed the images to him.

It was hard-so freaking hard. So much harder than it had been with Nott and even the Maat asp. I didn't know if it was because Logan's mind was more complex than theirs or if it was because of the ritual Agrona had performed on him, the jeweled collar on his neck, and all the magic mumbo jumbo that was pumping through his veins right now. But I could almost see this wall in his mind-a Reaper-red wall that kept me from getting through to him.

But I wasn't giving up, even though I could feel the blood pouring out of the wound in my chest and my strength and magic fading with every passing second. Instead, I focused on all my memories of Logan, shaping them into a giant fist in my mind, and then I started hammering at that damn Reaper-red wall that separated us.

Let me in, let me in, let me in . . .

I started chanting the words in my mind, timing them to the blows of my fistful of memories, even as my heart slowed and sputtered.

Let me in, let me in, let me in . . .

I didn't know how long we stood there, locked together, Logan's sword in my chest, and my fingers digging into his hand, but slowly, tiny, tiny cracks started to form in the wall in his mind. My strength was almost gone, I was almost gone, so I pounded at the wall that much harder before it was too late-for both of us.

Let me in . . . Let Me In . . . LET ME IN . . .

More and more cracks appeared, zigzagging through the entire wall. I gathered up the remaining scraps of my strength and magic and hit the wall one final time, putting everything I had into the blow.

The wall shattered, dissolving into nothingness, and suddenly I was in Logan's head, deeper inside him than I'd ever been before, so deep that I could see that icy blue spark at the center of his being.

Remember, I whispered in my mind to him, even as I imagined cupping that beautiful blue spark in my hand. See. Feel. Remember who you really are.

And then I shoved my memories at him-every last one.

Logan gasped and staggered back, jostling the sword in my chest. I screamed with pain, but somehow I managed to keep my bloody fingertips on his hand. Once again, I poured all my memories of him into his mind, just the way he'd stabbed me-quickly, brutally, effectively.

Remember . . . Remember . . . REMEMBER!

I chanted the words in my head again and again, hammering them into Logan's mind the same way I'd attacked the Reaper-red wall.

Just when I thought I couldn't hang on to his fingers another second, I felt something crack open inside his head, like a glass that had been dropped on the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces. Everything just . . . splintered.

Suddenly, Logan was himself again, and I could feel his growing confusion and horror at what he'd done-to me.

The last of my strength left me, and I blinked, realizing that I'd lost my grip on Logan and that I was standing on the stage in the middle of the battle. He'd pulled the sword out of my chest, and more and more blood poured out of the wound. I looked at the Spartan, almost dreading what I'd see when I peered into his face.

"Gypsy girl?" Logan asked.

His voice was uncertain and confused, but it was his voice again. His face still looked vaguely blank, as if he wasn't sure where he was or what had happened, but I could tell it was Logan in there and not someone else. Just Logan-only Logan. And then, there was the most important thing-the fact that his eyes were blue once more instead of that awful Reaper red.

I smiled, thinking it was one of the most beautiful sights I'd ever seen-and that it would be the last thing I ever saw.

The pain exploded in my chest, even greater than before. I tried to open my mouth to say his name, but nothing came out, not even a whimper of hurt. My legs buckled, and I had one last thought before everything went dark.

Logan Quinn had killed me.

Chapter 29

I woke with a start. My eyes snapped open, and I found myself staring up at one of the most amazing images I'd ever seen-an elaborate fresco that gleamed with gold, silver, and sparkling jewels. It was hundreds of feet overhead, stretching all the way across the domed ceiling, but somehow I could see it as clearly as if it was right above me. It showed the image of a great mythological battle. No surprise there. This was Mythos Academy, after all. But the strange thing was that I was in the fresco-and so were all of my friends.

Logan, Daphne, Carson, Oliver, even Alexei, all holding weapons and fighting just like I was. And there were other people pictured as well, folks I didn't know, creatures I'd seen only in the pages of my myth-history book, but I got the sense that they were all somehow important. That this was important. My gaze zoomed right, then left, up, then down, until I'd seen the entire fresco-

I blinked, and the image was gone, cloaked by shadows once more. I sat up and realized that I was lying on the marble floor in the middle of the Library of Antiquities, right in front of the checkout counter. I looked down. I was wearing the same clothes I'd had on in the auditorium, but my T-shirt and hoodie were smooth and not torn and bloody like they should have been since Logan had stabbed me-

"Hello, Gwendolyn," a soft, familiar voice called out.

I raised my head, and there she was-Nike, the Greek goddess of victory.

The goddess looked as beautiful as ever. A white, toga-like gown wrapped around her lean, strong body, while soft, feathery wings arched up over her back. A crown of silver laurels rested on top of her bronze hair, but it was her eyes that always fascinated me the most-eyes that were a swirling mix of violet and gray, silver and lavender, and all the other soft shades of twilight.

I got to my feet, only mildly surprised when I didn't feel any pain. I pressed my hand to my chest, but all I felt was a thin line slashing over my heart, instead of the deep, mortal wound Logan had given me. I looked at the goddess and sighed.

"So am I dead this time?" I asked. "Is that why I can't really feel the stab wound in my chest? Are you here to take me to the Elysian Fields or Valhalla or someplace where warriors go when they die in battle?"