The Eye of Zeus

by Alane Adams

  Mr. Arnold steepled his fingers, resting his chin on the tips. “So you didn’t destroy them deliberately?” He leaned forward, raising one beetle brow. “A little payback?”

  I shook my head. “I would never.” Not unless a two-headed dog was about to take a bite out of me.

  “I’m concerned, Miss Katz.” He slapped his hand on a thick folder. “I’ve read your file. You’ve had quite your share of escapades. Shoplifting. Skipping class. I hope you don’t think that sort of behavior will be tolerated here.”

  My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might break. The shoplifting had been a stupid package of Twinkies. Foster family number eight had kept padlocks on the refrigerator and pantry. A girl got hungry.

  “No, sir. I was hoping for a fresh start.”

  He wavered, drumming his fingers on the file. “I will give you one last chance, Miss Katz, to prove you belong here. Detention, rest of the week.”

  I sagged with relief. Not expelled.

  Out in the hallway, Carl ran a hand over his bald pate. “You promised you would make this work, Phoebe.”

  “It really wasn’t my fault,” I protested, but his face remained set.

  “Course not, it never is,” he said wearily. “You know, you got something big inside you, kid. It’s called potential. But if you don’t start using it, it just might dry up.”

  And then Carl, my Carl, walked away, not looking back even once.

  CHAPTER 4

  Most days after school, the three of us hung out at Vito’s, the pizzeria owned by Angie’s dad. Free slices and unlimited refills on soda while we did homework—not bad. Usually we walked over together, but thanks to my stupid detention, I was late. I hurried along Fifth Avenue, worried that Carl was never going to speak to me again, all because of a two-headed dog that I had probably imagined.

  I’d be lost without Carl.

  Maybe it was because he was the one who’d found me at that bus stop. He was the only link to the mystery of who I really was. We met for pancakes most Sundays, and I always ask him about that day.

  “But I told you this story a hunnerd times, kid,” he starts with a sigh.

  “Just tell me again,” I plead.

  Carl sighs. “I was walking home, not my usual route, but something made me want to walk by Katz’s Deli and pick up a sandwich.”

  “You named me after a deli,” I say with an eye roll. “Not very original.”

  “Hey, they got the best pastrami in town. So I come out with my sandwich, and it starts to pour buckets. Like I never seen it rain that hard before. I run to the bus stop cuz it’s the only place that’s dry, and there you are, bundled in a blanket, screaming your head off. I look around, but I don’t see a soul. When I picked you up, you smiled at me, and the rain stopped.”

  “That’s when you found the note,” I prompt.

  “Yup, tucked inside your blanket with a little mirror.”

  “What did it say?”

  He recites, “Her name is Phoebe. See that she is taken care of until it is time.”

  “Until it’s time for what?”

  He shrugs. “Beats me.”

  “But you think it means they’re coming back, right?” I stare into his brown eyes.

  “Sure, kid, whatever you say.”

  Every foster kid has the same stupid dream. That one day those parents who dumped them on the steps of a church or a fire station or, in my case, a bus stop on Second Avenue will come back for them, saying it had all been some kind of tragic mistake.

  Stupid, right?

  It’d been twelve years. It was probably time to forget them and get on with my life.

  A strange voice brought me to a halt.

  Phooooeeeebeee.

  I turned around, scanning the afternoon crowds, wondering if Angie and Damian had waited for me. A man on his cell phone bumped into me.

  “Watch it, kid.”

  I hurried on, determined to forget everything about this day, but two steps later, the voice came again, louder this time.

  Be careful, Phoebe of Argos. Winds of trouble are blowing your way.

  I spun in a circle, searching for the source of the voice.

  The Rockefeller Center soared eighty stories above me. At its base sat the bronze statue of Atlas holding up the world. I took a step closer.

  Was it … moving?

  As I gawked, the giant bronze Greek Titan jumped down from his pedestal and marched over to where I stood frozen in place.

  Atlas plonked the round globe onto the sidewalk, then stretched his arms wide and groaned.

  “Ahhh—you’ve no idea how heavy the universe is.”

  I took a step back, looking around to see if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing, but it was like the world had been emptied of people. Where had the afternoon crowds gone? The taxis screaming by on Fifth Avenue?

  “Princess of Argos, I bring a warning,” he continued. “The doorway between our worlds has been opened. You are in danger.”

  “Nope. This can’t be happening.” I pinched myself on the arm. “You’re not real.”

  “Don’t I look real?” He leaned down, metallic eyes glaring at me from under thick brows.

  I glared right back. “That’s not the point. Statues can’t talk. And dogs can’t grow two heads, so I’m obviously dreaming this whole day.”

  Atlas blinked, his eyelids clinking together. “A two-headed dog? Hmm. It seems the magic of Olympus has leaked into your world.” His bronze eyes narrowed. “There can be only one reason the doorway reopened. The prophecy has begun.”

  “Prophecy? What prophecy?”

  “It is not for me to say.” Atlas straightened, lifted the globe back onto his shoulder, and climbed onto his platform. “Speak to Athena. She will explain everything.” A ripple passed over him and he grew still.

  A taxi blared its horn and I jumped. Crowds filled the sidewalk again, jostling me in the side.

  I did the only logical thing.

  I ran.

  CHAPTER 5

  I didn’t stop running until I reached Vito’s. Angie and Damian were in the back, a plate of gnawed crusts all that remained of a cheese pizza.

  “Katzy, you look like you saw a ghost.” Angie took a slurp from her soda.

  Damian stood, taking my arm. “Everything all right, Phoebes?”

  My legs gave way and I sank into a chair. “No. We need to talk.”

  I told them what really happened in the auditorium, including Weezer growing an extra head.

  “Seriously, a two-headed dog?” Angie shook her head in disbelief. “You know I don’t care you ruined my project along with practically everyone else’s.”

  “I swear on my life, Weezer shook his head from side to side and bam, another head came out. Then he chased me through the auditorium.” I pulled my sweater over my head and showed them the holes. “See? He tried to bite me.”

  Damian rubbed his chin. “There are many stories of two-headed dogs in Greek mythology. Hades had a three-headed dog named Cerberus that guarded the entrance to the underworld.”

  “See, they exist,” I said, relieved.

  “No, Phoebe—mythology isn’t real,” Damian said with a laugh. “They’re ancient stories people made up to explain how the world was created. Fascinating, but not real.”

  “Well, Weezer and his two heads were real. And there’s more. You know that statue of Atlas? The one at the Rockefeller Center?”

  They both nodded.

  “It came to life today. Jumped down from its stand and talked to me.”

  Angie’s lips twitched. “Did he ask you out on a date?”

  I wanted to scream. “This isn’t a joke. He called me the princess of Argos and said something about winds of trouble and destroying Olympus.”

  “You’re serious right now?”

  “Cross my heart.” I made an X across my chest.

  “I can think of no logical explanation for a bronze statue to suddenly animate itself,” Damian pronounced.


  I folded my arms. “Well, it did. And it said I had to talk to Athena, whoever that is.”

  Angie put her hand on my arm. “Katzy, if something’s wrong, you can tell us. You don’t have to make up stories.”

  “I’m not making this up. Why would I?”

  “Some people make up stories when they’re experiencing trauma,” Damian recited. “Scientific studies show—”

  “I’m not a piece of stupid science! I’m your friend. Either you believe me, or we’re done.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Angie snorted.

  “Oh, puh-lease.” She twirled the pink ends of her pigtails. “You say that once a week. Look, Pops owns a pizza joint out in Queens. I go with him to pick up the money on weekends. When I was little, I used to play in this park nearby.”

  “Athens Square Park,” Damian said, eyes lighting up. “I know it! It’s filled with Greek statues.”

  “Exactly.” Angie smiled smugly. “And if I’m not mistaken, one of them is Athena.”

  I blinked in shock. “So you believe me?”

  “No. But it’s better than doing homework. I’ll get one of Pops’s guys to give us a ride. We’ll have a look-see and be home before dark.”

  “Thanks, Angie.” Shame made me flush. “I don’t deserve you guys. Sorry I threatened … you know … not to be friends.”

  She winked. “Can’t get rid of us that easily, right, Big D?”

  Damian launched into a long list of statistics on friendships until we both yelled at him to shut it. Angie led us around back, and we piled into a white van that smelled of flour and pepperoni. Thirty minutes later, we were dropped at the park.

  I pushed open the wrought-iron gate. Some old men played chess at tables lined up along the fence. A playground and basketball courts took up one end. A few moms pushed their kids on the swings. At the other end, an octagonal plaza was paved with gray and white tiles. Three fluted columns held up a semicircular arch of stone. Bronzed statues were arranged along the edges of the plaza.

  We walked up to the first figure. A balding man dressed in a toga rested his chin on his hand.

  “Socrates,” Angie read from the nameplate.

  Damian opened his mouth but didn’t speak.

  “Oh, go ahead.” I elbowed him in the side. “I can see you’re dying to tell us everything you know.”

  His eyes lit up. “Socrates was a famous Greek philosopher who never wrote anything himself.”

  “Then how come he was so famous?” Angie asked.

  “He had a student named Plato who wrote all his sayings down. My favorite is ‘only the wise know they know nothing.’”

  “Check out this one,” Angie called. She stood by a tall statue of a man holding a grinning mask in one hand and a crying mask in the other. She jumped up on the pedestal and stuck her head under his arm.

  “How do I look?”

  “Like a giant dork. Who was Sophocles?” I asked, reading his name.

  “Playwright,” Damian answered. “He wrote about Greek tragedies like the Trojan War, but he also wrote comedies.”

  A gust of wind scattered leaves across the tiles. The sun was starting to go down. “Where’s Athena?” I asked, and then my breath caught. A tall figure stood at the end of the plaza, facing toward the setting sun. It was her. Somehow I just knew it.

  We walked in front of the statue, looking up in awe. Athena wore a plumed helmet and a long gown with a sash carved with snakes. Her face was serene and kind, one graceful arm extended in a greeting.

  “She’s beautiful,” I whispered.

  “Athena was the goddess of wisdom,” Damian explained. “Favorite daughter of Zeus. She was very brave and fought in many battles.”

  Angie rapped on the bronze. “Seems pretty solid to me. How do we get her to speak?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know. Atlas started talking to me on his own.”

  “Try asking her a question,” Damian said.

  I couldn’t think of anything clever, so I just said, “Hello, Athena, it’s me, Phoebe.”

  A pigeon landed on her outstretched hand, eyeing us curiously before taking flight.

  “This is dumb. We should just go,” I muttered.

  “Try saying it louder,” Angie urged.

  I sighed, then took a breath and shouted, “ATHENA, HELLO, ARE YOU THERE?”

  The old men looked up from their chess game.

  “It’s not working.” I turned to go, but Damian and Angie each grabbed an arm and spun me back around.

  “Try again,” Angie said.

  “This time close your eyes and concentrate,” Damian suggested.

  Sometimes my friends really annoyed me. But they had come all this way just to help me, so I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

  At first I didn’t feel anything. Then a faint tingling made my skin prickle. A breeze drifted across the park. It grew stronger, tumbling the air around us, growing louder and louder until my hair snapped in my face.

  “What’s happening?” Angie asked over the noise of the wind.

  “Phoebe’s happening,” Damian answered in an awed voice.

  CHAPTER 6

  The winds swirled in a frenzy around us, but it was eerily quiet inside the vortex. Athena’s bronzed hand slowly opened and closed, and then her face softened into a smile as she tilted her head toward us.

  “Hello, younglings. Who asks to speak to Athena?”

  Angie nudged me.

  “Uh, hi,” I said. “I’m Phoebe.”

  Athena’s eyes widened. “Phoebe, at last we meet. I know your brother well.”

  I laughed. “You must have the wrong Phoebe. I don’t have a brother.”

  Athena stepped down from her pedestal and crossed to my side. “Yes, you do. You feel him here when you’re alone.” She put a hand over my heart.

  Pain rippled through me. A faint memory of another heartbeat echoed in my head, like a distant drumbeat. “I … I remember feeling like there was someone else before. Like there’s this part of me that’s always missing.” I squirmed a little. I had never told anyone that.

  Athena smiled gently. “It is only natural. Perseus is your twin. You spent nine months together.”

  “Uh, excuse me, but Perseus didn’t have a twin,” Damian said with that know-it-all voice of his. “According to mythology, Perseus was born to Danae, daughter of Acrisius, the king of Argos. The Oracle of Delphi gave the king a prophecy that Danae would one day give birth to a son that would kill him. He banished his daughter to an underground prison so she would never marry, but Zeus found her and fell in love with her.”

  “Yes, Father is ever the romantic,” Athena said with a smile.

  “But there was only Perseus,” Damian said confidently.

  “No. There was a twin,” she corrected. “None knew there were two babes besides Danae and the oracle that attended the birth. The oracle hid the female child from sight when Acrisius stormed into the nursery, demanding to see the child of the prophecy. He drew his sword, prepared to kill the infant, but Danae begged him for mercy. He refused to listen until she reminded him who the father was. Fearing Zeus’s wrath, he let the child live, but he banished Danae and Perseus that very night, setting them adrift in a boat, intending never to see them again.”

  Damian jumped in. “But years later, Perseus returned and by accident—”

  Athena held a hand up in warning. “Say no more. The stories you have read about our world have not yet unfolded. It is dangerous for me to know the future.”

  “What do you mean, future?” I asked. “Didn’t those things all happen thousands of years ago?”

  “Yes and no. The immortal gods are not bound by the wheels of time. Our world turns on its own axis, separate from your own in a never-ending cycle. Right now, Perseus is still a boy, the same age as you.”

  Angie stepped forward. “Whoa, back the truck up. Are you saying Olympus is real?”

  Athena gave her a curious loo
k. “Of course the city of the gods exists. Why wouldn’t it?”

  “Because they were stories,” Damian said, looking confused.

  “True stories,” Athena corrected. “The gods live on.”

  “Then how come we don’t see you dropping by?” Angie asked.

  “Mankind evolved,” Athena explained. “Like children that grew up, they didn’t need the gods interfering in their lives anymore. An agreement was made among the immortals to seal the passage between earth and Olympus and its ancient isles. Only once before has it been broken.”

  “When was that?” I asked.

  “When the oracle brought you here.”

  “Hold on—why is all this happening now?” Angie asked. “It’s been twelve years.”

  Athena turned to her. “Ares has broken the seal between our worlds.”

  “Ares, god of war, Ares?” Damian croaked, sounding utterly flabbergasted.

  “Yes. Phoebe, listen carefully—Ares can be after only one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” I squeaked. “Why me?”

  “Because you hold the fate of Olympus in your hands.”

  There was silence. I wanted to laugh in her face, but she looked so serious, I let her down gently. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m a big nobody. My parents abandoned me at a bus stop.”

  Athena put one bronzed hand on my shoulder. “Phoebe, you were never abandoned. Our father sent you away to protect you from a terrible prophecy, one even worse than that of Perseus.”

  My mind was spinning so fast I could hardly take in her words. “Our father?”

  “Zeus. Why else do you think you can change the weather?” She looked up at the swirl of wind that cocooned us. “He gifted the power to you before he sent you here. Have you never noticed when you are upset or angry, strange things happen?”

  I nodded slowly. “Like causing a sudden hailstorm?” Maybe I did owe my former foster dad an apology for denting his car.