homework just to have a triple chocolate milkshake from the Pork Pit restaurant.
Given the slim pickings and lack of normal food on the lunch line, I usually opted for some sort of grilled chicken salad. It was kind of hard to mess up raw vegetables, but the chefs at Mythos did their very best, cutting the carrots, lettuce, and tomatoes into froufrou shapes and marinating them in weird sauces. Today, I’d wanted something warm, given the January cold outside, so I’d opted for the pasta. Now, I was regretting my decision.
I pushed the bowl away and reached for the dessert I’d grabbed—chocolate mousse, one of my favorites. At least, I thought it was chocolate mousse. The parfait glass was so small there was only about a spoonful of dessert actually inside it. The Powers That Were totally skimped on portion size when it came to the sweet stuff.
I supposed I should be grateful that a chef hadn’t come over and tried to flambé the mousse. For some reason, the chefs at Mythos liked to play with fire, and there was always at least one dessert on the menu that needed to be blowtorched before you were allowed to eat it. The chefs here so could have learned a thing or two from Grandma Frost when it came to baking.
A series of high-pitched giggles caught my ear, and I looked for the source of the sound. Like everything else at Mythos, the dining hall was totally pretentious, and there were more suits of armor in here than there had been in the entire Crius Coliseum. The metal knights clutched their gleaming swords and battle-axes, standing guard against the walls, right under the oil paintings that showed all sorts of mythological feasts.
Round tables covered with fine white linens, dainty dishes, platinum silverware, and crystal vases full of fresh narcissus flowers filled the dining hall, which looked more like a five-star restaurant than a school cafeteria. Adding to the atmosphere was the open-air indoor garden that took up the center of the room. Olive, almond, and orange trees towered up out of the black soil, while a series of grape vines twisted over and through them all. Here and there, statues of wine, food, and harvest gods like Dionysus and Demeter peeped out from behind the trees, their stone eyes fixed on the students scarfing down their expensive entrees.
The giggles sounded again, and this time, I was able to pinpoint the origin—the table where Logan was sitting. A girl, one of the first-year students who’d been in the gym this morning, hovered by the table the Spartan was sharing with Kenzie and Oliver. The girl said something to Logan, then handed him a pen and a piece of paper. The Spartan shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable, but Kenzie and Oliver had their hands over their mouths, like they were about three seconds away from laughing.
“Did Logan just give that girl an autograph?” Daphne asked, drumming her fingers on top of the table and making pink sparks of magic shoot out everywhere.
Carson hesitated. “That’s what it looks like.”
The girl gave Logan another smile before giggling again and rushing off. She hurried over to the table where her own friends were sitting and showed them the piece of paper. This time, they all erupted in a fit of giggles.
“Geez,” I muttered. “It’s a wonder they all don’t just go over there, take off their shirts, and ask him to sign their bras.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Jealous, much?”
I sank a little lower in my chair. “Not jealous. Well, not exactly. It’s not like I have any claim on Logan. We haven’t talked, you know, about anything.”
I’d wanted to talk to the Spartan this morning during weapons training, but Kenzie and Oliver had shown up before I’d had the chance. Afterward, Logan had rushed out of the gym, saying he needed to go back to his dorm room before classes started. I got the feeling Logan was trying to avoid me as much as possible. I wondered if it had anything to do with what Grandma Frost had said
Given the slim pickings and lack of normal food on the lunch line, I usually opted for some sort of grilled chicken salad. It was kind of hard to mess up raw vegetables, but the chefs at Mythos did their very best, cutting the carrots, lettuce, and tomatoes into froufrou shapes and marinating them in weird sauces. Today, I’d wanted something warm, given the January cold outside, so I’d opted for the pasta. Now, I was regretting my decision.
I pushed the bowl away and reached for the dessert I’d grabbed—chocolate mousse, one of my favorites. At least, I thought it was chocolate mousse. The parfait glass was so small there was only about a spoonful of dessert actually inside it. The Powers That Were totally skimped on portion size when it came to the sweet stuff.
I supposed I should be grateful that a chef hadn’t come over and tried to flambé the mousse. For some reason, the chefs at Mythos liked to play with fire, and there was always at least one dessert on the menu that needed to be blowtorched before you were allowed to eat it. The chefs here so could have learned a thing or two from Grandma Frost when it came to baking.
A series of high-pitched giggles caught my ear, and I looked for the source of the sound. Like everything else at Mythos, the dining hall was totally pretentious, and there were more suits of armor in here than there had been in the entire Crius Coliseum. The metal knights clutched their gleaming swords and battle-axes, standing guard against the walls, right under the oil paintings that showed all sorts of mythological feasts.
Round tables covered with fine white linens, dainty dishes, platinum silverware, and crystal vases full of fresh narcissus flowers filled the dining hall, which looked more like a five-star restaurant than a school cafeteria. Adding to the atmosphere was the open-air indoor garden that took up the center of the room. Olive, almond, and orange trees towered up out of the black soil, while a series of grape vines twisted over and through them all. Here and there, statues of wine, food, and harvest gods like Dionysus and Demeter peeped out from behind the trees, their stone eyes fixed on the students scarfing down their expensive entrees.
The giggles sounded again, and this time, I was able to pinpoint the origin—the table where Logan was sitting. A girl, one of the first-year students who’d been in the gym this morning, hovered by the table the Spartan was sharing with Kenzie and Oliver. The girl said something to Logan, then handed him a pen and a piece of paper. The Spartan shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable, but Kenzie and Oliver had their hands over their mouths, like they were about three seconds away from laughing.
“Did Logan just give that girl an autograph?” Daphne asked, drumming her fingers on top of the table and making pink sparks of magic shoot out everywhere.
Carson hesitated. “That’s what it looks like.”
The girl gave Logan another smile before giggling again and rushing off. She hurried over to the table where her own friends were sitting and showed them the piece of paper. This time, they all erupted in a fit of giggles.
“Geez,” I muttered. “It’s a wonder they all don’t just go over there, take off their shirts, and ask him to sign their bras.”
Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Jealous, much?”
I sank a little lower in my chair. “Not jealous. Well, not exactly. It’s not like I have any claim on Logan. We haven’t talked, you know, about anything.”
I’d wanted to talk to the Spartan this morning during weapons training, but Kenzie and Oliver had shown up before I’d had the chance. Afterward, Logan had rushed out of the gym, saying he needed to go back to his dorm room before classes started. I got the feeling Logan was trying to avoid me as much as possible. I wondered if it had anything to do with what Grandma Frost had said
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