as light and delicate as spun sugar. The museum staff even wore long, flowing white togas, adding to the effect.
But it wasn't just ancient Rome that was on display. Every room had a specific theme and displayed a different culture, from Norse to Greek to Russian to Japanese and all the lands and peoples in between. That's because the coliseum was devoted to members of the Pantheon. Gods, goddesses, ancient warriors, mythological creatures-the Pantheon was a group of good magic guys who'd originally joined forces to save the world.
Way back in the day, the evil Norse trickster god Loki had tried to enslave everyone and had plunged the world into the long, bloody Chaos War. But the members of the Pantheon had risen up to stop Loki and his followers, the Reapers of Chaos. Eventually, the other gods and goddesses had locked Loki away in a mythological prison, far removed from the mortal realm. Now, the coliseum showcased the artifacts-jewelry, clothing, armor, weapons, and more-that both sides had used during the Chaos War and other battles. Despite Loki's imprisonment, the fight between the Pantheon and the Reapers had continued over the years with new generations of warriors and creatures battling one another.
Of course, what most people didn't realize was that Loki was thisfreakingclose to breaking free of his prison and starting another Chaos War. It was something I thought about all the time, though-especially since I was somehow supposed to stop the evil god from escaping.
"This is cool," Daphne said.
She pointed to a curved bow inside a glass case. The bow was made out of a single piece of onyx, inlaid with bits of gold scrollwork, and strung with several thin golden threads. A matching onyx quiver sat next to the bow, although only a single golden arrow lay inside the slender tube.
Daphne leaned down and read the bronze plaque mounted on the pedestal below the weapon. "This says that the bow once belonged to Sigyn, the Norse goddess of devotion, and that every time you pull the arrow out of the quiver, another one appears to take its place. Okay, now that's wicked cool."
"I like this better," Carson said, pointing to a curled ivory horn that resembled a small, handheld tuba. Bits of onyx glimmered on the smooth surface. "It says it's the Horn of Roland. Not sure what it does, though."
I blinked. I'd been so lost in my thoughts about Loki, Reapers, and the Pantheon that I'd just been wandering around, instead of actually looking at the artifacts like we were supposed to.
We stood in an enormous circular room filled with weapons. Swords, staffs, spears, daggers, bows, and throwing stars glinted from within glass cases and in spots on the walls, next to oil paintings of mythological battles. The entire back wall was made out of the same white marble as the rest of the museum, although a variety of mythological creatures had been carved into the surface. Gryphons, gargoyles, dragons, chimeras, Gorgons with snakelike hair and cruel smiles.
An ancient knight dressed in full battle armor perched on a stuffed horse on a raised dais in the center of the room. The knight had a lance in his hand and looked like he was about to charge forward and skewer the wax figure of a Roman centurion that also stood on the dais, his sword raised to fend off the charging knight. Other figures were scattered throughout the area, including a Viking wearing a horned helmet who was poised to bring his massive battle-axe down onto the shield of the Spartan standing next to him. A few feet away, two female figures representing a Valkyrie and an Amazon held swords and dispassionately watched the Viking and the Spartan in their eternal epic battle.
I stared at the Viking and the Spartan, and, for a moment, their features flickered and seemed to move. Their wax lips drew up into angry snarls; their fingers tightened around the hilts of their weapons; their whole bodies tensed up in anticipation of the battle that was to come. I shivered and looked away. My Gypsy gift, my psychometry magic, had been acting up ever since we'd entered the museum.
"Hmph. Well, I don't think that bow is so bloody special," a voice with a snooty English accent muttered. "I think it's rather boring. Ordinary, even."
I looked down at the source of the voice: Vic, the sword sheathed in the black leather scabbard hanging off my waist. Vic wasn't your typical sword. For starters, instead of