“Enola?”

  “Not in the mood, George.”

  Even though he must have heard what I said , he still opened the door.

  “Are you alright?”

  George walked carefully to my bedside and sat down on the other side of the bed.

  “Not at all.”

  My hopeless voice came from beneath a trembling quilt.

  We stayed silent for a long time. The only sounds in the still air were George’s breathing and my uneven gasps as I tried to calm down after sobbing.

  I don’t even know why I’m crying. Is it anger toward my father? Fear over his disappearance? Grief?

  Maybe it’s all of it.

  George is angry with me. I know that.

  Because I hid the fact that I can change my appearance from him, and there shouldn’t be secrets between us.

  A sudden brush of cold air grazed my cheek. I looked up blankly and saw George sitting beside me, pulling the blanket aside.

  “Do you need a tissue?” he asked softly.

  I stubbornly shook my head and wiped my tears with my sleeve.

  “I’m sorry…”

  “You really should apologize,” George sighed. “You know I’m angry.”

  “Ugh… I’m sorry…” I rubbed my cheek. “You know I didn’t mean to hide this from you. I just…”

  “Is it hard to accept the fact that you have this ability?” George said.

  I paused, stared at him for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh.

  “You really do know me.”

  “I’m your friend,” George said, almost rolling his eyes.

  I ran a hand through my hair, then slumped back onto the bed, completely drained.

  “Didn’t I tell you? About when my mom died?”

  George swallowed, his fingers tightening around the sheets.

  “Yes… you said your dad left without looking back.”

  “Yeah…” I watched as George lay down beside me. “Anyway, I have a feeling this ability comes from my father…”

  “You mean Loki?”

  I glanced at him, then sighed.

  “I don’t want to admit it, but…” I sat up slightly. “He’s my dad.”

  “It’s not hard to tell,” George snorted. “You two look ridiculously alike, and you both have that same sarcastic expression on your faces.”

  The air fell silent again, but this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was simply the familiar stillness between us.

  “Can I ask you for something?” George raised an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  For some reason, I had a bad feeling about whatever he was about to say.

  “Could you transform for me once?” he asked. “Like… a wolf or something?”

  I froze for a long moment, then turned my head and stared at my feet. My heart was pounding in my chest.

  What was I afraid of?

  I had the ability to transform into any animal, I knew that very well. I had done it more than once. But every time I transformed, it felt like I drifted farther and farther away from the image of my mother in my mind, while the presence of my father in my heart grew clearer and clearer.

  I don’t want that.

  I hate that bastard’s blood flowing through my veins, the man who abandoned my mother and only ever spoke in empty words. I’ve always known who he is, but I didn’t want to admit it. I really didn’t.

  But now it was George asking.

  He’s my friend… maybe I should,

  “Alright.” I lowered my head and slowly stood up. “Don’t be too surprised.”

  I closed my eyes and could clearly feel George holding his breath. My arms hung stiffly at my sides, my hands clenched into fists.

  “Become a wolf…” I murmured to myself, picturing fluffy wolf ears growing from my head, soft, beautiful gray fur spreading over my arms, and sharp claws capable of tearing anything apart.

  Then… I opened my eyes.

  “Holy shit…”

  George stared at me, eyes wide in pure amazement.

  “A real wolf…” He reached out and gently patted my head, though now I was a wolf curled up on the bed.

  “Don’t treat me like a damn dog,” I rolled my eyes.

  “Wait, can you talk?!”

  “Of course I can.” I stood up, fully shifting into my wolf form, which was actually larger than an average wolf. “I only changed my appearance, not my brain.”

  As I spoke, I shifted back into my human form.

  My heart skipped a beat as a vivid image flashed through my mind, so real it felt like it had happened just yesterday. I shook my head, forcing that mocking smile out of my thoughts.

  George blinked, his face lighting up with excitement. “Oh my god…”

  He threw his arms around me. “You’re the best, and coolest, friend in the world!”

  My eyes widened, then I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re the best friend too.” I hugged him back. “Not angry anymore?”

  “A little bit…” George pouted playfully. “But hey, it’s nice to know I don’t have to go to a pet store to pet dogs anymore.”

  “Hey!” I protested. “I know I broke the ‘no secrets between friends’ rule, but my abilities aren’t for this kind of thing.”

  “Oh, don’t be so stingy, Enola.” George dramatically collapsed onto my lap. “You have to consider my feelings too, you’re my only friend.”

  I pulled a face, pretending to be helpless. “Fine. I can buy you ice cream…”

  “For a month?”

  “Alright, you glutton!”

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  So, a week passed.

  Nothing happened. Loki and Hermes never returned. We didn’t receive any requests. Everything was fine, just like usual. George also kept the fact that he had met his grandfather hidden from his mother during their phone calls.

  So, almost tacitly, George and I decided that since nothing had happened, we would pretend nothing had happened.

  “What do you want for dinner?”

  George lay upside down on the sofa, scrolling through nearby restaurants on his phone before turning to look at me.

  “I don’t know… pizza?”

  I was focused on my Mario Kart race.

  “Oh, come on, we just ate that two days ago!” George rolled over and snatched the controller from my hands. “And your skills are terrible.”

  “Oh, come on, George, pizza can be delivered right to your door!”

  I tried to grab the controller back, but George dodged every attempt, steering my kart straight from third place into last.

  “You just don’t want to go out, you homebody!” George crossed the finish line and lifted the controller triumphantly. “See? First place! Now you have to call me a pro racer!”

  “Bullshit.”

  I finally managed to get the controller back. “Or we could go eat pasta near the school.”

  “Hooray!” George jumped up and rushed toward the door. “Pasta!”

  “Why do you always act like a five-year-old?” I sighed and followed after him.

  We drove George’s vintage car to an Italian restaurant not far from our school. Unfortunately, there were no parking spaces.

  “Oh, damn it!” George slapped the steering wheel. “The other parking lot is at least a ten-minute walk away!”

  Our luck wasn’t great. It took us about ten minutes to find a space, but we didn’t really care. After parking, we walked toward the restaurant, singing Two Player Game at the top of our lungs.

  But we didn’t expect our luck to be this bad.

  When we turned into an alley to take a shortcut, misfortune struck.

  “Hey!”

  I turned around sharply and saw a group of tall, muscular men approaching us. They looked menacing, carrying various weapons, guns, clubs, and things I didn’t even want to identify.

  “Have you seen this boy?”

  One of them held up a photo of a rather handsome blond boy.

  George and I exchanged a glance, then shook our heads.

  “Really?”

  The man straightened, crossing his thick arms over his chest. He narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced.

  “Of course,” George shrugged. “We’re just trying to eat pasta.”

  His eyes flicked back to the photo for a split second.

  “Who is that?” George asked.

  “Arthur Lovegood,” the man replied. “We’re looking for him.”

  “For what?”

  I took a small step forward, my instincts screaming that their intentions were anything but innocent.

  “Just to talk about certain things…” the man said impatiently. “Kid, don’t meddle in adults’ business.”

  Then, without warning, he leaned in close, too close, his nose almost touching ours.

  “Unless,” he said slowly, “you know where he is.”

  This wasn’t a question.

  Behind him, his men cracked their knuckles and rolled their shoulders, clearly trying to intimidate us into talking.

  But two things didn’t go the way he expected.

  First, we had absolutely no idea who his so-called Arthur Lovegood was.

  And second,

  I’d seen this kind of bluff far too many times before.

  And it was very easy for me to get annoyed.

  “I’m sorry. We really don’t know the person you’re looking for. May we leave now?”

  “Oh, you little rascals!”

  The man raised his fist, clearly losing his patience, then,

  “Ahem.”

  An elegant yet intimidating voice echoed from the entrance of the alley, sharp enough to make the man freeze.

  A boy stood there, his blond hair as pale as silk. Light blue eyes, cherry-red lips, rosy cheeks, and a nearly perfect oval face. He wore a denim shirt that exposed his midriff and tight black leather pants. His figure was so slender and graceful that he barely looked like a boy at all, more like an androgynous creature sculpted by God Himself.

  “Holy shit… it’s Arthur…”

  George stared at the boy, jaw practically dropping to the ground.

  Only then did I realize, the boy standing before us was the same one from the photograph. It was the first time in my life I’d seen someone who looked a hundred times better in person than in a picture.

  “I’m sorry,” the boy said lazily, tilting his head, “but didn’t I tell you not to bother my fans again?”

  That boy, no, Arthur, narrowed his beautiful blue eyes and casually slung a woman’s shoulder bag over his shoulder.

  “What?” I blurted out. “I’m not your fan! I don’t even know who you are!”

  “Oh, but you do now, baby.”

  Arthur brushed his slightly wavy blond hair aside with a delicate hand.

  “I’m his fan right now…”

  George stared at him so hard his eyes almost popped out of their sockets.

  I covered my face in pure exasperation.

  “Ah… we’ve finally found you, pretty boy…”

  The man sneered, leading his men slowly toward Arthur.

  Arthur lifted his chin, calmly watching the group approach. He looked almost bored, as if he had expected this all along. He sighed softly.

  “Well, that’s what you’re asking for. Don’t blame me if you end up meeting Anubis.”

  The moment the man reached out, Arthur flung the woman’s handbag with astonishing force. It smashed straight into the man’s temple, sending him crashing to the ground. Without even turning his head, Arthur raised his leg and delivered a precise kick to the attacker on his right.

  Using the momentum, he leapt into a light backflip, simultaneously knocking down the burly man who had tried to ambush him from behind.

  “Oh my God…”

  George and I gasped in unison.

  Arthur spun gracefully and struck another thug across the head with his handbag. That’s when I noticed it, the chain connecting the handle to the bag extended and retracted at his will.

  Something stirred inside me.

  He wasn’t mortal.

  Arthur took down more than half of them alone, but his stamina soon began to falter. His movements slowed, still elegant, still deadly, but it was enough.

  One man seized the opening, pulling a dagger from his waist and raising it toward Arthur’s exposed back. Arthur was focused on fighting an unarmed brute in front of him.

  “Watch out!”

  My instincts kicked in.

  Before I could even think, I grabbed a broken bottle from the ground and hurled it with perfect precision at the man’s knife hand.

  Glass shards tore into his arm.

  The man screamed, eyes wide, then charged straight at me.

  I ducked his punch, slid forward, snatched the fallen dagger, and with a sharp flick of my wrist, drove it cleanly into his forehead.

  He groaned and collapsed.

  My sudden violence drew attention.

  Several attackers turned away from Arthur and focused on George and me instead.

  “Uh… really?” George sighed, rolling his eyes. “We’re killing people now?”

  Despite the complaint, he didn’t hesitate.

  He pulled out two modified pistols, each bullet three times more powerful than a civilian handgun.

  “But hey, take my bullets, baby!”

  “Wait! You don’t have to, ”

  Arthur shouted, worry flashing across his face as he knocked another man unconscious.

  “Relax,” George replied casually, firing four shots in quick succession. Each bullet struck a thug in the leg. “Target practice. They won’t die.”

  But then,

  A man stood back up.

  His posture was wrong. His knees bent at impossible angles as he staggered forward. He didn’t look human anymore.

  He looked like a monster.

  “Arthur!”

  George shouted, frantically reloading and firing again, but the thing didn’t stop.

  Arthur turned.

  With a swift, fluid motion, he traced a snake-like sigil in the air and whispered:

  “Wadjet.”

  In an instant, a small green serpent materialized out of thin air. It slithered onto Arthur’s fingertip, leapt forward,

  , and sank its fangs into the creature.

  The man dropped lifelessly to the ground.

  “My God! That was so cool!”

  George exclaimed excitedly, pointing at Arthur, who was standing there, dumbfounded, staring at the pile of bodies on the ground. The blond boy clearly hadn’t expected so many deaths and injuries.

  “George, calm down.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I know!” he squeaked, his brown eyes lighting up so brightly they could rival the sun. “But did you see it? Elegant, fluid, beautiful… and his blond hair, oh! And those blue eyes…” George grinned sheepishly. “He’s so cute.”

  “Dude,” I frowned. “You don’t even know if he likes boys.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  I was pretty sure George wasn’t listening to me at all, because he was still staring at Arthur with pure adoration. “He’s perfect.”

  “George!” I shouted as he strode toward Arthur. “George, have you forgotten how upset you were the last time you tried to flirt with a handsome guy like that and he told you he didn’t like boys?”

  My friend completely ignored me.

  “Your fight just now was absolutely perfect!”

  George slipped his hands into his coat pockets, the exact gesture he always made when he started flirting.

  “Oh… thank you…”

  Arthur tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and gave a shy smile.

  “Uh… George. George Winslow.”

  George held out his hand with a wide grin.

  “Arthur. Arthur Lovegood… you can call me Art.”

  Arthur, no, Art, reached out and shook George’s hand, making George tense slightly in surprise.

  “Art…”

  George slowly savored the name. “Hmm. That makes sense, because you’re practically a work of art.”

  Then he added, “Do you live in an art museum?”

  Art laughed, a genuine laugh, not sarcastic or mocking.

  “Well, if you were an art connoisseur working in a museum, I’d live there.”

  “Oh, then I’ll help you build an art museum.”

  George dramatically adopted the posture of a medieval gentleman and gently kissed Art’s hand, making him giggle.

  “Jesus, can you please stop flirting?”

  I stood beside them with my arms crossed.

  “We weren’t flirting!” George protested.

  “This is normal socializing,” Art chimed in.

  “I don’t think normal socializing involves telling someone you just met less than an hour ago that they’re a perfect piece of art.”

  George and Art exchanged a glance, then shrugged.

  “I’m just telling the truth,” George said with a smile.

  “It’s okay,” Art chuckled. “I’m pansexual.”

  George gasped, grabbed my shoulders, and shook me violently.

  “See? I told you I had a chance!”

  “He’s standing right in front of you, man. You’re being way too loud.”

  “Oh… he’s quite cute.”

  Art smiled.

  George nearly fainted on the spot.

  “Enola Jackson, right?”

  Art gave George a sweet smile, then turned to me.

  “Yes… don’t tell me it was some damn Loki who told you.”

  I tightened my grip on George’s shoulder to keep him from collapsing.

  “No.”

  Art shook his head. “Thoth told me. He said, ‘If you want to untangle your confusion and troubles, go east and find the girl with emerald eyes…’”

  He glanced at George, lowered his voice, and continued,

  “‘And the boy destined for you. The girl’s name is Enola Jackson. You’ll know when you see her.’”

  “Thoth?”

  I squinted. If I remembered correctly, Thoth was,

  “The god of wisdom and communication in Egyptian mythology,” Art said softly. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes as he glanced at the bodies scattered around us, then nervously scanned our surroundings.

  He suddenly grabbed both my and George’s wrists and pulled us away before we could react.

  “Let’s find somewhere to sit down. I need to ask you for a favor.”

  “What? I don’t even know who the hell you are.”

  “I am the son of love.”

  I almost laughed, until Art stopped, turned to face me, and looked completely serious.

  “I am a descendant of Cleopatra.”