“Zeus knew he’d open the urns,” Tyler said. “It was revenge, right?”
Pandora nodded. “Zeus had inflicted another punishment upon the brothers—Epimetheus would live a life without hope, love, or faith. Zeus was finally satisfied. His revenge ended and he allowed Hercules to free Prometheus. But my husband could not be freed. He was forever changed. His heart was broken.”
It was a sad story. To think that the man we’d been afraid of, the man who was back home terrifying people, had himself been the victim of a vengeful god.
“That’s a terrible thing to do to someone,” I said. “Zeus is cruel.”
“That he is,” a voice bellowed.
Startled, we all turned in our seats. A large man stood beneath the archway. He glistened with sweat, as if he’d walked a long distance. He was bare-chested, wearing a sort of kilt and a leather apron. He carried a giant hammer.
“Why did you summon me?” he snarled at Pandora. “You know I have work to do.”
“I summoned you because I need you,” she replied with a patient smile. Then she rose to her feet and motioned in Tyler’s and my direction. “Tyler Hoche and Ethan Hoche, I am pleased to introduce you to Hephaestus, son of Zeus.”
A clunking sound filled the air. I whipped around.
Tyler was lying on the floor.
13
Jax
Clutching the map, I stepped cautiously out of the cell. I half expected to hear the ghosts of prisoners past, clanging their metal cups against the bars or dragging chains as they paced their cells. But it was quiet in the hallway. No signs of anyone walking around. No ghosts or brainwashed followers.
If I was going to pull this off, I needed to look like a member of the cult, dedicated to the one purpose. So I hurried to hallway five. The suits were hung neatly, in order of size. I grabbed the smallest pants, suit coat, and shirt I could find, then slipped into a room. I dressed quickly. The suit didn’t fit perfectly but it would work. I rolled up the pant hems so they wouldn’t drag, and tucked in the shirt. Once the suit coat was buttoned, I felt like a bank teller. Hello, how may I help you today? Would you like to make a deposit? Perhaps you’d like to deposit your brain for the one purpose?
There was a bin in the center of the room filled with discarded clothes—jeans, sweatshirts, tennis shoes—regular stuff that Ricardo’s followers had worn before being brainwashed. There was more evidence of their past lives: umbrellas, purses, and hats. One of the umbrellas had a name written on its handle—Dagmar Watson. How had Dagmar gotten stuck in this mess? Did her family wonder where she was? Did she have children? I felt so sad looking at the pile of clothing. Each item represented freedom taken away. I didn’t add my clothes to the bin because no one was going to take my freedom. I hated leaving my purple jacket behind because it had always been my good-luck jacket, and if there was one thing I could use, it was good luck. I slid my wallet into the back pocket of the blue pantsuit, along with my house key. Then I folded my jeans, shirt, and jacket and tucked them behind a radiator.
One of the walls was lined with shoe boxes, each containing a pair of black dress shoes. I decided to keep my sneakers, since I might need to run. Besides, those dress shoes made loud clicking sounds, and I needed to be as quiet as possible.
I read the brochure map again. Then I stepped into the hallway, and nearly bumped into a woman with short black hair. “The one purpose,” she said with a bow.
“The one purpose,” I said in my best robot voice. I also bowed.
She walked away. No questions about what I was doing, or who I was. She didn’t seem to notice my shoes, or the nervous sweat on my forehead. I sighed with relief. As long as I looked and acted like one of the cult, no one would question me. I had to stay confident. Had to act like I belonged.
I hurried to the hall with the offices. They were still filled with people, sitting at computers. But one office had a single desk, and the man sitting at it was old and bald. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been up all night working. I tiptoed and stood behind him. There was a basket of wallets on the left side of the desk. He’d opened one of the wallets and had spread the contents on the right side. The driver’s license photo was of an elderly woman with the name Dagmar Watson. The umbrella owner. The man was reading an email.
FROM: AAA Mortgage Company
TO: The New Mount Olympus Corporation
SUBJECT: Dagmar Watson Property
We have received the notarized documents. Ownership of the property listed at 822 Village Circle Drive has been transferred to the New Mount Olympus Corporation.
I glanced at the pile. The address on Dagmar’s driver’s license was 822 Village Circle Drive.
That’s what Ricardo was doing! After brainwashing his victims, he made them turn over all their possessions. Other than robbing banks, he was robbing individuals. Pure evil genius! But why was he calling his corporation the New Mount Olympus? Did this have something to do with Mount Olympus, the home of the gods? Of course. He wanted to erase Zeus and become the new god, and this world would become the new Olympus.
I gasped, and when I did, the man turned around. I bowed. “The one purpose,” I said.
“The one purpose,” he said.
“Uh . . .” How could I get rid of him? I needed that computer. I thought about it for a moment. “Ricardo said it’s my turn to sit here. For the one purpose.”
He stood immediately. “I live to serve his command.” He bowed again, then walked down the hall.
Wow, talk about easy peasy. Luckily I didn’t have to type in a password because the man had left the screen open. I plopped onto the chair. The wood was warm. I didn’t know how long it would be before the man returned so I had to act quickly. I selected compose and a new email screen appeared. Ethan and Tyler knew that I was at Eastern State Penitentiary. They knew that the exchange would take place by eight a.m. But if they were unsuccessful, if Ricardo turned the urn of Faith on them, then no one would know what had happened to us. I had to tell someone. My mom knew nothing about the urns, so she wasn’t a good choice. And Great-Aunt Juniper had suffered a stroke, so she didn’t need the extra stress. But there was one person who knew all about Great-Aunt Juniper’s secrets. About the magical urns. And what we’d been up to.
My father.
When I’d visited him at the Brookville Federal Prison Camp, he’d given me his email address, and I’d tucked it into my wallet for safekeeping.
FROM: Jax Malone
TO: Isaac Romero
SUBJECT: Ricardo
I paused. Were Brookville prison emails private or did they get read by the warden? Maybe it didn’t matter either way. If the warden read this email, he’d probably think the sender was crazy and he’d probably ignore the whole thing. I typed as fast as I could, not worried about typos.
Ricardo kidnaped me. I’m at East State Penn museum. He has Faith. He wnts Ethan and Tyler to bring Love and Hope 8am tomorrow. I will try to escap but he might use Faith against me. If that hapens, tell Mom the truth. I don’t want her to think that I joined Ricardo. Tell her I love her.
Should I have told Isaac that I loved him too? He was my father, but I didn’t know him. I hadn’t even known that he was alive until last month.
I looked around for a phone. There was a landline sitting on the corner of the desk. That meant I couldn’t send a text to Tyler, but I could call him. I picked up the receiver. Then I dialed Tyler’s number. It didn’t ring. Instead, a recorded voice said, “Unauthorized call. Please enter your security code followed by the pound sign.” I quickly hung up.
Footsteps echoed down the hall. Drat! I’d been caught. I returned to the previous screen showing the email from AAA Mortgage Company. Then I scooted out of the chair and was ready to bow and act innocent.
“Jax?” Pyrrha stopped in the doorway. She was still wearing her blue tunic and sandals. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing in here?” She glanced at my clothes and her face turned pale. “Oh no. D
id he . . . ?” She put a hand to her mouth. “Jax? Did he . . . ?”
“It’s still me,” I said.
Her hand dropped to her side. “Oh, thank the gods. I am so very sorry about all this, Jax. But how did you . . . ? Never mind.” She looked up and down the hallway. “My father is distracted. His mind is infected with hubris.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I said with a frown.
“Hubris is excessive self-confidence. It infects the mind like an illness. It is a terrible curse. He believes himself unstoppable. However . . .” She glanced over her shoulder, then whispered at me. “This hubris makes him vulnerable, and that is our advantage.”
“So, are you telling me that you’re still trying to stop him?” I asked. “You’re still on our side?”
“Yes, of course. My quest has not changed. The urns must be destroyed. But I am determined to save my father at the same time.” She grabbed my arm. “Come with me.” She pulled me into the hall.
“Where are we going?” We weren’t walking toward the front gate. I’d imagined myself busting through that red door. Or calmly telling the guards to let me out because Ricardo had ordered me to get him a latte at the nearest Starbucks, for the one purpose.
“Father sent me to get you. We’re supposed to wait in the auditorium for the ceremony.”
“What ceremony?”
“He has invited dignitaries from all over the city to take part in a grand reopening ceremony for the museum.”
“What?” I yanked my arm from her grip. “No way,” I said. “I’m not going to some super boring ceremony. I’m getting out of here.”
“But you don’t understand—”
“Oh, I understand. I understand everything. Your father isn’t just taking control of people’s minds, Pyrrha. He’s taking all their belongings. Their bank accounts, their houses. He’s using the urn to make himself super rich. He wants to be the most powerful man in the world.”
“In my realm, magic brings power,” she said.
“Well here, money is power. And he’s getting a lot of it. I have to find my cousins. If they do show up, I have to get to them before Ricardo does.”
“I have a better plan,” she said.
14
Ethan
FACT: Fainting is a sudden loss of consciousness. There are a lot of reasons why a person might faint—a sudden drop in blood pressure, physical trauma, or the emotional shock caused by coming face-to face-with a real, living god.
As far as I knew, Tyler had never fainted. He’d lost consciousness when he was exposed to the urn of Hope, but that was totally different from fainting. If we’d been in our world, I probably would have called 911, or insisted he go see a doctor. But under the circumstances, I wasn’t worried. The only reason I hadn’t fainted too was because Tyler’s fall onto the stone floor had distracted me.
He was only out for a second. “You okay?” I asked, helping him sit up. Pandora also rushed to his side. She held a cup of cool water to his lips. He drank a few sips.
“What happened?” he murmured as he rubbed his shoulder, which had taken most of the impact.
“Forgive us,” Pandora said in her lilting voice. “We forget that you humans are delicate creatures. We did not mean to frighten you.”
“Huh?” Tyler looked very confused. Then a large, oil-stained hand reached out. Tyler looked up and when he saw Hephaestus staring down at him, all the color drained from his face. I thought he might pass out again!
“Go on, boy, get up,” the god said brusquely.
Tyler just sat there, frozen in place. Hephaestus grabbed Tyler’s hand and yanked him to his feet. “Uh . . . th . . . th . . . thanks,” Tyler mumbled.
Hephaestus grunted some sort of response. Then he limped to the far end of the table. He didn’t wince as he limped, so it wasn’t a twisted ankle. I vaguely remembered that he’d been born deformed, but I couldn’t quite recall the whole story. Tyler would know, and I was really curious. But I’d learned in social skills class that if someone is physically different, it’s best to let that person bring up the subject.
The god set his hammer onto the table, then sat in a chair. Pandora took her seat and, once again, motioned for us to sit. Tyler was a bit wobbly on his feet so I pushed him onto his chair. Then I also sat. We turned and stared down the table at the new guest.
It might sound mean to say this, but it’s the truth—Hephaestus was ugly. His nose was crooked and swollen. One of his eyes only opened halfway because of a thick scar that covered the eyelid. His black hair was long and greasy, and his beard was matted. His posture was hunched and there was a hump on his back. It didn’t make sense that a god would suffer from osteoporosis and a limp. If he had magic, why didn’t he cure himself?
“I can’t believe I’m meeting you,” Tyler said, finding his voice again. “You’re the god of blacksmiths, sculptors, artists, fire, metals, and volcanoes. You make all the weapons for the gods, and you also made Hermes’s helmet and sandals, Achilles’s armor, Helios’s chariot, and Eros’s bow and arrows.” I wasn’t sure why Tyler was giving Hephaestus a description of his own deeds. I guess he was nervous. Tyler suddenly stiffened. “Hey, is it true you use Cyclopses in your forge? As your assistants?”
Hephaestus cast an annoyed glance at Tyler. He mumbled some comment about Cyclopses being lazy. Then he grabbed a platter of fish. They were small, but cooked whole, with skin and eyeballs still attached. He held one of the fish by its tail and bit off its head. I did my best not to gag as I thought about what it would be like to bite into eyeballs. We sat in silence, watching him eat. Well, it wasn’t exactly silent, because he chewed with his mouth open, and he smacked his lips. Fish scales got stuck in his black beard. There were so many things I wanted to ask, but I had enough trouble talking to strangers, let alone talking to a god. Any conversations I’d had with a god had been those few times I’d gone to church and we’d knelt to pray. Even though I’d never seen any physical proof that God exists, I still went through the motions, just in case. But in those situations, no God ever replied. Or appeared.
Pandora smiled at me. She’d noticed that I was squirming nervously. She gently nodded and I knew that I needed to be patient. He would speak when he was ready. And when Tyler opened his mouth, she put a finger to her lips.
So we waited. I was excited and terrified. The most amazing thing was happening to me at that very moment. On the other hand, this god, who was the son of Zeus, had overheard me say that I thought Zeus was cruel. I’d said that out loud! I didn’t know he was standing behind me. But as he’d stepped into the dining room, he’d said that he agreed with me. At least, I think that’s what he’d said. I couldn’t be certain. My heart was pounding so hard I started to worry that it might burst. I really wanted to google “bursting hearts,” to see if that was possible.
Hephaestus finished all the fish and two more platters of food. He tossed bones over his shoulder and didn’t bother to wipe crumbs off his leather apron. He took a long drink of ambrosia. His belch echoed off the stone walls. Then he sat back in his chair, stretched out his legs, and began picking at his teeth with one of Pandora’s knives.
“Why are two humans in our realm?” he asked. His voice was not smooth or lilting like Pandora’s. It was gruff and sounded as if he’d swallowed gravel. “This is a direct violation of Zeus’s laws.”
I cringed. Every minute Tyler and I sat at that table was another minute when Zeus might discover us.
“They are here,” Pandora told him, “because Pyrrha sent them here. She needs our help.”
At the mention of Pyrrha’s name, Hephaestus stopped picking his teeth. His eyes widened. “Pyrrha? She is still in the mortal world?”
“Yes,” Pandora said.
Outside the window, a rumbling sound arose. “What’s that?” I asked, nearly jumping out of my chair.
“My father is holding the council meeting on Mount Olympus,” Hephaestus said. He grumbled something under his breath. Then he scratch
ed his beard with his blackened fingers. “They spend their idle lives arguing about trivial issues, while the rest of us toil to keep them happy.” His tone was clearly resentful. “Why did Pyrrha send mortals?”
I looked at Tyler. He was the leader of this quest, so he should be the one to answer. “Out of curiosity,” Tyler said, “how can you tell we are mortals?”
Hephaestus narrowed his good eye. “How do you tell a blade of grass from an oak tree?” I guessed that this was a rhetorical question. He was letting us know that we were insignificant beings. He smacked his hand on the table and the platters vibrated. “I do not like to be kept waiting. Why did Pyrrha send mortals? If she needs help, she should come to me herself.” He got to his feet. “Enough of this. I have a helmet to repair.”
“Sit down,” Pandora urged. “Listen to their story.”
With a frustrated grunt, he sat. I didn’t want to keep a god waiting so I elbowed Tyler. He cleared his throat and started to explain. “Epimetheus has the urn of Faith and he has some sort of plan to take over our world. He’s willing to hurt anyone who gets in his way. He kidnapped our cousin, Jax, and unless we bring him the urns of Love and Hope, we will never see her again. But we know that the urns must be destroyed. So we came here, to give the urn of Love to Zeus so that he can destroy it, just like he destroyed the urn of Hope when Pyrrha brought it back.”
“You say Zeus destroyed Hope?” Hephaestus asked. “That is not possible.”
“We saw her carry it through the portal.” I finally found the courage to meet his gaze. “She took it to Zeus.”
Hephaestus looked down the table at Pandora. I got the feeling that they knew something we didn’t.
“What’s going on?” Tyler asked. “Please tell us.”
Pandora frowned. “I am sorry to say, my daughter lied to you.”
The Secret Fire Page 7