Another Love ─── L. Castellan

xxviii. apparently, murder is illegal. who knew?

Whatever you wanted.

The other cabins filed in close behind. Naiads came up from the canoe lake. Dryads melted out of the trees. From the meadow came a dozen satyrs, who reminded me painfully of Grover.

After the satyrs filed in to dinner, Eleven brought up the rear. They were always the biggest cabin. 

"I've got to go, Andi," Luke murmured, shooting me a soft look. "I'll see you after dinner."

"Yeah, see you," He hurried off to the front of Eleven's line, shoving a couple of his siblings in a good natured way, as they attempted to prank him.

Finally, I led Tyson into the middle of the pavilion. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. "Who invited that?" somebody at Apollo's table murmured.

I glared in their direction, but I couldn't figure out who'd spoken.

From the head table a familiar voice drawled, "Well, well, if it isn't Alice Johnson. My millennium is complete."

How was that anywhere near my name?

I gritted my teeth. "Andromeda Jackson...sir."

Mr. D sipped his Diet Coke. "Yes. Well, as you young people say these days: Whatever."

He was wearing his usual leopard-pattern Hawaiian shirt, walking shorts, and tennis shoes with black socks. Behind him, a nervous-looking satyr was peeling the skins off grapes and handing them to Mr. D one at a time.

Next to him, where Chiron usually sat (or stood, in centaur form), was someone I'd never seen before—a pale, horribly thin man in a threadbare orange prisoner's jumpsuit. The number over his pocket read 0001. He had blue shadows under his eyes, dirty fingernails, and badly cut grey hair, like his last haircut had been done with a weed whacker. He stared at me; his eyes made me nervous. He looked...fractured. Angry and frustrated and hungry all at the same time.

"This girl," Dionysus told him, "you need to watch. Poseidon's child, you know."

"Ah!" the prisoner said. "That one."

His tone made it obvious that he and Dionysus had already discussed me at length. I cracked my knuckles behind my back, shooting him a smile.

"I am Tantalus," the prisoner said, smiling coldly. "On special assignment here until, well, until my Lord Dionysus decides otherwise. And you, Andromeda Jackson, I do expect you to refrain from causing any more trouble."

"Of course, Sir," I replied, taking another deep breath.

I can't kill a teacher. I can't kill a teacher. I can't kill a teacher.

"Yes, trouble," Tantalus said with satisfaction. "You caused plenty of it last summer, I understand."

Murder is bad. Murder equals prison. Murder would mean my mom would kill me.

A satyr inched forward nervously and set a plate of barbecue in front of Tantalus. The new activities director licked his lips. He looked at his empty goblet and said, "Root beer. Barq's special stock. 1967."

The glass filled itself with foamy soda. Tantalus stretched out his hand hesitantly, as if he were afraid the goblet was hot.

"Go on, then, old fellow," Dionysus said, a strange sparkle in his eyes. "Perhaps now it will work."

Tantalus grabbed for the glass, but it scooted away before he could touch it. A few drops of root beer spilled, and Tantalus tried to dab them up with his fingers, but the drops rolled away like quicksilver before he could touch them. He growled and turned toward the plate of barbecue. He picked up a fork and tried to stab a piece of brisket, but the plate skittered down the table and flew off the end, straight into the coals of the brazier.