Zeus (The God Chronicles #1)

Chapter One

Karly

I was nervous, even though I told myself a million times I wasn't.

It seemed silly. Here I was, twenty-one years old and barely moving out of my parent's house. I should've been on cloud nine, especially since I was moving to the party capital of the country, if not the world. Who didn't want to live in Las Vegas, Nevada, celebrating it up during their college years? Me, that's who.

I could still remember every word of my refusal letter from the Academy in San Francisco. Dear Karly, we are sorry to inform you . . . The rest didn't really matter after that. Sure it had been upsetting, but there were other schools with art programs. I could still do what I wanted.

The denial stung, though.

I watched the yellow paint strips blur into one as I drove down the highway. There wasn't actually anything exciting to see, a lot of dirt and rocks—the same thing I saw every time I drove anywhere outside my tiny hometown. My car was probably the most interesting thing on the road. A car suddenly came from nowhere, speeding like the devil was on its heels. It shot around me so fast that dust clouded around the front of the car, my foot automatically slamming on the brakes and my hand shooting out to steady the laundry basket buckled into the passenger seat, multicolored bags stuffed around it and on the floor for further stability. The dirt finally settled, the crazy driver nowhere in sight, and I was on my way again. Every now and then I would glance out the rearview mirror, but the backseat was full of trash bags and boxes, which held the rest of my belongings. I kept forgetting, however, and would become disoriented when there was nothing to see. I felt like I had the tiniest bit of room available to myself, squished into the driver's seat with my purse on my lap. Someone once told me it was illegal to drive with all of your windows blocked like that. I agonized I'd get pulled over—something I'd never experienced— but there weren't even any cops around. I really was in the middle of nowhere.

My parents didn't want me to move. They were most likely sitting in the living room right now, plotting ways to get me to come back. I'm sure they wanted the best for me, but they were actually suffocating me.

They were the reason I'd put off applying to the Academy right out of high school. Somehow, I'd been convinced I needed to stay home and get my associates degree at our local community college. I tried not to blame them for the rejection, but sometimes I couldn't help it. Maybe if I'd applied earlier, I would have made it. I had a hard time not dwelling on the past.

When I wasn't accepted into the Academy after graduating with my general education degree, they tried to get me into nursing. Our small college had a program—they wanted me to stay home longer—but I finally found a streak of confidence and told them no. I was tired of feeling like I was missing everything. All my friends had already left town, and I was there all by myself. Like before, I was sure they only desired the best for me. They had a hard time understanding art was best for me.

So I started searching for a new college. There were several possibilities, but I wanted someplace with a good art community, as well as a great program, and close to my home in northern Nevada. When I'd finally settled on the university in Las Vegas, I was afraid to tell my parents. They'd been there once, and my father's words still echoed in my mind—things like "den of iniquity," and "Satan's lair." My parents were kind of religious.

The night I told them I was going to move, we had a huge fight. They accused me of wanting to party instead of focusing on school. It was repeatedly hammered into me that Vegas was "Hell on Earth" and I would become a prostitute by association. They tried to scare me with stories and videos about the Mob as well. I probably watched one hundred episodes of CSI with them. In the end I told them I didn't want to stay at home any more, and I was going no matter what they said. I was relieved when they finally agreed. True, I might be a legal adult, but I still liked to have my parents' support.