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a low voice.
    “I don’t know, but we need to go see what’s happening in the rest of the museum with the other kids.” He drew in a breath. “And Nickamedes, too.”
    Nickamedes and Logan were so different it was easy for me to forget that the librarian was Logan’s uncle and that the Spartan cared about him just as much as I did my Grandma Frost.
    “That’s all well and good,” Vic piped up from his spot against the stuffed horse. “But first, don’t you think you need to check the Reapers in here? Never turn your back on an enemy unless he or she is no longer a threat. You should know that, Spartan.”
    “He’s right,” Logan said, picking up his sword again. “We need to make sure this room is secure before we go see about the others.”
    The Spartan went one way, and I went the other, both of us moving through the room, swords in hand, checking on the Reapers lying on the floor.
    They were all dead. I could tell by the weird angles of their arms and legs, the absolute stillness of their bodies, and the way their sightless eyes dully glinted through the slits in their rubber masks.
    I looked around the room a final time to make sure I hadn’t overlooked any of the bodies, and my gaze caught on something small and white lying in the middle of the glass and blood. I walked over and crouched down to get a better look at it.
    A piece of paper folded into a thick square rested on the floor. So that was what had fallen out of the Reaper girl’s robe while we’d been fighting. Weird. I would have expected her to have a dagger or two tucked into her pockets instead.
    Since I wasn’t sure what vibes were attached to the paper and what I might see if I touched it with my bare hand, I pulled my hoodie sleeve down and used the edge of the fabric to pick up the square. I couldn’t open it, not without touching it with my fingers, so I settled for sliding the paper into my jeans pocket.
    “What’s that?” Vic asked.
    “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I’m guessing it’s important since I almost took the Reaper girl’s head off while she was reaching for it.”
    Vic sniffed. “And more’s the pity you didn’t.”
    Once the bodies were checked, I met Logan in the middle of the room. Daphne and Carson were still lying on the dais, but since there wasn’t another door that led in here, they’d be safe enough while we figured out what was going on in the rest of the museum.
    “You ready for this, Gypsy girl?” Logan asked in a soft voice. “Because it’s not going to be pretty out there.”
    It wasn’t pretty in here, but I didn’t have to tell him that. He could see the blood and bodies as well as I could.
    “I don’t know that I’ll ever be ready, but if there are people out there we can help, we have to try.”
    Logan stared at me, his eyes locking with mine. He put his arm around me and held me close. I closed my eyes and listened to the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart under my fingers. I could have stood there and listened to that sound forever.
    “We’re fine,” he whispered. “We survived.”
    A sob rose in my throat at the thought of the horrible things that had happened, the horrible things that we’d all done, but I swallowed it down.
    “I know,” I whispered back. “I know.”
    Logan held me for another second. Then, he let me go, raised his sword, and eased over to the doorway. I tightened my grip on Vic and followed him. Together, we peered out into the main part of the coliseum.
    Bodies sprawled across the floor, looking like larger pieces of debris next to the smashed artifacts. Glass, pottery, metal, and wood covered the marble like a ragged carpet. Everything that could have been broken was, and even the paintings had been torn off the walls and trampled. It looked like a tornado had ripped through the museum—it was just utter, bloody chaos.
    But there were some survivors. A few students had pushed themselves up into sitting positions, holding their hands over their