Sample Chapters

Goddess In Time

#2.1 in the Oh. My. Gods. series

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DISCLAIMER

When it comes to using dynamotheos powers, there are three unbreakable rules.

1. Don't use them against other students at the Academy, the ridiculously cliquish private school for hematheos—descendants of the gods—where I am currently entombed.

2. Don't use them to succeed in the nothos—nondescendant—human—world.

3. And, under absolutely no circumstances can you use them to travel through time.

Most people are frightened off by the consequences. The prospect of spending an eternity in the Olympic dungeons—or, if the gods are feeling particularly softhearted (insert eye-rolling sarcasm here), a flat-out smoting—is enough to keep the average hematheos from stepping over the line.

If you'd met me a week ago, I would have told you I'd never break those rules. Okay, I might have severely bent the first one on occasion because, seriously, some of the theobrats at my school deserve a little thunderbolt to the backside every once in a while. But I definitely don't need to use my powers to get by in the real world. And the power of time travel . . . that's just a fairy tale.

There are twelve powers, ranging from the ability to control the wind (aerokinesis) to the ability to change the appearance of something (visiomutation). Twelve powers. That's it.

Well, at least I thought so. But that was before. Before the trip to the secret archives. Before I found out the mysterious thirteenth power of time travel was full-blown reality. Before I realized what might be possible—what might be undone. Before.

Nothing's been the same since.

And right now, I'm about to shatter rule number three.

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CHAPTER ONE

I probably shouldn't have taken the book. Burn that—I know I shouldn't have taken the book. Mrs. Philipoulos is pretty cool for a descendant of revenge goddess Nemesis, as long as you don't mess with her library books. If she had seen me stuff one in my bag she'd be in serious fits. Instant detention for at least a year.

But when you're in the top secret archives of Olympus in the top secret second basement of the top secret school for the descendants of the Greek gods, on a tiny island in the Aegean that the rest of the world believes to be uninhabited, and a book starts glowing as you walk by, you kind of have to pay attention. It would have been practically negligent of me to ignore it.

I almost passed right by. I was only in the archives to help my friend Phoebe find the transcript of her dad's trial, but she was several steps ahead of me. The dusty burgundy cover didn't exactly stand out among shelf after shelf of musty, old, leather-bound books. Except for the Olympic records, which include files from forever right up until the present, nothing in the archive is less than a hundred years old. In other words, it blended like ice in the Arctic.

As I got close, though, the faded lettering on the spine glowed. Commanded my attention. I couldn't help but read the words formed by the light-etched script.

The Art and Science of Chronoportation

No author's name. No publisher's mark or call number or any writing beyond the title on the spine. Nothing to indicate it might even be listed in the admin-only section of the digital catalog.