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paperwork. That would definitely get great-grandpa’s attention.
    I can’t quite reach, so I wait until the chalice is full before stepping back and making the grab.
    Right before I can pluck a single feather from the eagle’s tail, Zeus clears his throat.
    â€œThank you.”
    I jerk back. The king of the gods deigning to thank a lowly serving girl? That must be a first. Hopefully he’s not feeling magnanimous enough to make eye contact. I need to stop wasting time and get the Hades out of here.
    Without another pause, I clamp my fingers over a feather and yank. The eagle squawks so loud I think it damaged my eardrum. Clutching the feather to my chest, I shrink back, waiting for Zeus to turn around and discover why exactly his bird is freaking out.
    But the god king barely notices.
    â€œFeed the creature,” he says absently.
    He pulls open a drawer, reaches inside, and then holds up his hand. There, held loose in his grip, is what looks like a dog treat.
    I glance nervously at the eagle, who is still scowling at me.
    This can’t be happening. It’s not like I have another choice. If I don’t feed the stupid thing, Zeus is going to wonder why his serving girl is disobeying him. Which means he’s going to look up and realize that I’m not his serving girl, and next thing you know it’s a one-way ticket to the dungeons of Olympus.
    So, as much as I want to do nothing more than run as fast as I can, I reach out and take the treat.
    As I do, my fingertips brush against his hand. My heart thumps in my chest as I realize this is the first time I have touched my great-grandfather since the Incident.
    Clearly he doesn’t feel equally affected, because he just drops his hand and goes back to work. Typical.
    I hurry around him, shove the treat in the eagle’s beak, and head back toward the door. My spine is stiff and my boot steps soft as I try not to draw any extra attention to my retreat.
    I swear, every last god on the mountain must be able to hear my heartbeat.
    By some miracle of luck—something I don’t usually have in great supply—I make it out of the office without notice. The moment I step foot in the hall I’m ready to break into a sprint—yes, an actual sprint. But before I can take a single step I collide into another person.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” a girl’s voice says. “I did not watch where I was going well enough.”
    Finding myself face-to-face with the serving girl I had just been impersonating is a little bit of a surreal moment. Of course, face-to-face doesn’t quite apply because she doesn’t lift her eyes to look at me.
    â€œNo worries,” I insist.
    I step aside so she can continue on her path. The moment the tail of her flowy white robe disappears through the door, I’m in a full-out race for the front door.
    My luck holds, and I make it back through the back chambers, to the entrance hall, and out the front gates without being seen. The moment I’m clear of the protection, I autoport myself the heck out of there.
    Step one: success!
    â€œI got it,” I shout the moment I reappear in my room. “Troy, I—”
    â€œGot what?” Phoebe asks.
    Mother of Zeus. I knew I hadn’t sold the nothing-is-going-on act in the library. She knows me too well. And she knows Troy is a pushover.
    I scowl at Troy, who shrugs and gives me an I-couldn’t-stop-her look, and then turn to face Phoebe. She isn’t cowed by my scowl.
    â€œWant to tell me what’s going on?” she asks.
    â€œNot really,” I say.
    â€œToo bad.” She crosses to my desk, pulls out the chair, and drops into the seat. “Tell me anyway.”

5
    â€œN othing’s going on,” I insist.
    â€œRight,” Phoebe says with a laugh. “You’re always hanging out in the library and autoporting into your room like the hounds of Hades are at your heels.”
    Crap.
    She doesn’t