Heaven Sent Read online

  I opened my mouth, but no words would come out.

  “In all our years as friends, I have never once lied to you. Never.” He shuddered and shook his head. The look on his face sent stabbing pains of sorrow and shame through my heart.

  “I—I…” I stammered, but he didn’t let me finish. His expression turned from one of shock and pain into one of pure hatred, and he strode out of the hall.

  “Daddy, please listen,” Polly pleaded with him. “It wasn’t our plan to hurt Hera. We—”

  “Do you mean to tell me that you took part in this?” he bellowed. Polly looked down at the floor as if she wanted to sink right into it. And Era just started to cry silently. “I’m so utterly disappointed in you, Polly. I expect better from you. And you, Era…” He paused, shaking his head. “To your rooms, all three of you. Be gone. I cannot bear to look at your faces. Especially yours, Thalia—how could you do this to yourself? What in heavens were you thinking? Be gone!”

  And with that the three of us sheepishly began our long walk out of the hall. The straggling guests were whispering and staring. I wanted to get out of that room as fast as I could. But I was especially slow. I had to drag around the thirty or forty serpents in my hair and an uncontrollable third arm that unfortunately kept pinching people’s behinds as I walked by.

  And the rest, as you know, is history. Ancient history, literally, but all too fresh in my mind. We went to bed that night, but none of us slept a wink before we were summoned to the throne room the next morning for our punishment.

  NINETEEN

  The Monday after the Tim disaster, it took a lot of convincing, but I got Polly and Era to come to the Grit for open-mike night. Yeah, we were the laughingstock of the school and yeah, everyone we despised on this earth would be there, but I’d decided we needed to face our fears. We were stuck in this place for Zeus only knew how long, and I figured we needed to make the most of it.

  Polly, of course, resisted. “Thalia, you must be out of your mind. There is no way I am ever setting foot anywhere near the Grit or high school or Tim Rhys ever again.”

  “Okay, I hear you. But look. Number one, there is no way we are going to do what Daddy wants us to do if we lock ourselves up in this house and cry about all the bad things that have happened. And number two, and more important, I think it’s pretty darn important that we show people like the Backroom Betties and Tim that they can’t keep us down. I refuse to stand for that. And I don’t think you should, either.” Polly shrugged halfheartedly.

  “Look,” I continued. “We are stuck here, and that is that. And I am not going to let this time on earth be a complete disaster. Until we get to go home, I’m going to have a life here, no matter what I have to do to get it. Come on, let’s go….” I pulled Polly up by the wrists. “That’s all the inspirational speech I have in me today.”

  Era, who was easier to persuade, helped me drag Polly on the long walk down to the Grit.

  As we walked in, most every eye was turned our way. Immediately we saw Tim, who was surrounded by the Backroom Betties, each one hanging on his every word. He looked our way with this annoying mixture of contempt and amusement. The Backroom Betties looked toward us, too, but they looked a little surprised to see us. Almost as if they’d thought we’d disappear off the face of the earth or something.

  Polly hadn’t regained one ounce of her confidence from my numerous pep talks. She stood there, on the verge of tears, unable to make eye contact with anyone. She shivered a little, shook a bit, and stared at the floor.

  We took a small table off to the left of the stage. Pocky came over and grabbed a chair, climbing on it backward. “Dude, I’m so sorry about what happened Friday; that, like, busts some nuts. That’s, like, so raw. So uncool. That guy’s an ape.”

  “That’s very sweet; thank you, Pocky,” said Polly. “You’ve been a good friend.” I cocked an eyebrow Polly’s way.

  “Hey, no problem. If you want, I could sing you a little number up there, ’specially for you,” Pocky offered.

  “No!” said the three of us in unison. Visions of tigers of Bengali danced in my head. Polly said, “But thank you. You’re awesome.”

  Pocky blushed.

  Tim was up next, and the Backroom Betties all sat at a table right next to ours as he took the stage.

  Tim walked up to the mike and thanked people, even though no one was clapping. He then said, “This is a little number I wrote a couple of months ago when I was going through some seriously messed-up stuff.” He took a deep, dramatic breath and then counted off, “One and a two and a…”

  He had a nice enough voice. I was kind of shocked. And the song, what I’d heard so far, was actually pretty good. It started out with stuff about leaving home, leaving your whole world behind. I was surprised at how thoughtful it was.

  Polly clutched my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. “Oh my God! That’s the song I wrote. Oh, oh, oh,” she cried. She was so stunned, she was virtually speechless. Her knees rattled, her shoulders shivered and hunched, she looked powerless and pitiful, and it angered me to my core.

  I couldn’t stand it—I had to do something. Who did this guy think he was?

  If I used just a little bit of magic, Daddy and Hera probably wouldn’t even find out. And even if they did, I was only using the teeniest bit. I only felt a moment’s indecision. With a tiny twinkle of my nose I simply removed all traces of Polly from Tim’s memory. This, of course, obliterated any memory of the song Polly wrote.

  Tim’s voice cracked. He grasped for the words; he coughed and strained and searched his brain.

  Polly looked my way, one eyebrow cocked. Era giggled. People started to murmur.

  But then all of a sudden, Tim’s voice started ringing out loud and clear again. His face broke into a wide grin. He began to remember certain words and a partial tune. I must have screwed up. Hmpf.

  But something was weird. I knew I’d used my powers correctly. And it wasn’t just that. There was this weird feeling in the air. I couldn’t really figure out what it was, but it made my stomach turn and my heart flip-flop. It was this feeling of something bad all around me. A feeling I had only felt a rare few times, back on Olympus when…

  I shook my head to clear it. I was obviously just rusty, following in my father’s footsteps, no doubt. I twinkled my nose again, exasperated. And Tim went blank again. He stood up there like a lost child. His mouth just making gibberish noises. There.

  But then he bounced back. A little. He sang a few more words, strummed a few more chords. I wrinkled my nose, and again he stopped singing.

  Stray bits of laughter issued from the crowd. For a moment I couldn’t help smiling—it would serve Tim right to be laughed at by everyone he knew. But then something, some kind of intuition, made me look to my left.

  That’s when I noticed that three people were definitely not laughing. Three girls who obviously did not think this was funny at all. Three girls who were staring directly at me.

  I locked eyes with Teri, the queen of the Backroom Betties, and tried to hold her stare. She returned my gaze—with eyes as dark and depthless as Hades itself. And then her bloodred lips parted into the whitest, evilest of all evil smiles. I knew that smile. And I knew that feeling of evil that surrounded this entire room. It was the feeling of someone using their powers for no good. In a blinding flash everything clicked into place: the Backroom Betties’ rude notes, their arrival at school just a few weeks ago, their sudden friendship with Tim….

  And suddenly I knew. Those girls might not look the same, but it was clear—I was playing tug-of-war for Tim’s memory with the indomitable, the merciless, the incomparably evil…Furies!

  The three girls all turned their attention back toward the stage. Did they know that I knew? And why were they here? I grabbed Polly’s arm, but she was mesmerized by what was going on onstage. She looked like she actually felt bad for Tim. I tugged at both of my sisters’ arms until they turned to look at me.

  “Watch this,” I
whispered. I twinkled my nose, and Tim’s memory was gone. Moments later the black-haired Betty to our right wiggled her right eyebrow, and Tim’s memory returned, albeit crudely. I twinkled, they wiggled, I twinkled, they wiggled until Tim sounded like a warbling lorikeet. People gasped and laughed and pointed.

  “I don’t get it,” said Era.

  “What’s going on?” asked Polly, extremely suspiciously.

  “Look over there,” I said, nodding toward the table next to us, and twinkled again. And so did the Betty. And Tim choked and crackled.

  Era’s eyes became huge, round saucers. She sucked in her bottom lip and bit it with her teeth. Polly just turned white. “It can’t be. No, no, really?” she said. Her face was a mask of shock. “How? Why?” But then she glanced toward the stage, and that fear turned to anger in two seconds flat. “What are they doing to Tim?!” she cried, jumping out of her chair. Well, that wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

  “Giggle butt, do dew hut, la,” sang Tim. His friend who had been spinning behind him just stood staring, his mouth hanging wide open.

  My sister looked flushed and excitable as she jumped up onto the stage and grabbed Tim. She held on to his shoulder and whispered soothingly in his ear. I, meanwhile, had stopped my twinkling to watch this bizarre spectacle unfold. Polly stood beside the babbling Tim and began to sing. Slowly, sweetly, calmly. It had been ages since I’d heard Polly’s sweet and mesmerizing voice solo.

  I glanced over at the Furies, who sat stock-still, watching Polly.

  With my sister singing, the song Tim had been singing was much moodier. Haunting, almost. The DJ, snapping out of his daze, spun a jazz beat behind her, and she let out a coo that seemed to melt the heart of every boy and girl in the place. The crowd, after whispering and tittering for the first minute or two, fell silent. They were as enchanted with Polly as Era and I were. And this was no spell. Tim, who had just been standing there looking dumbfounded, started to come to.

  Polly closed her eyes and put everything she had into that song. It was fantastic, no, beyond fantastic, explosive. And I’m not just saying that because she’s my sister. It left me covered in goosebumps.

  As the song ended, the crowd actually jumped to their feet and started cheering. Guys were hooting in the back. Tim turned to Polly, now fully recovered, and just let out a guttural, “Whoa.”

  She smiled, patted him on the back, and walked off the stage confidently. People ran up to her and told her how beautiful her voice was and how awesome she sounded. They were clamoring to talk to her. The only people who weren’t cheering were the Furies, of course. They were just sitting there, scowling.

  Then Teri got up and walked over to our table. She stood above us, glowering.

  I stood up to face her. “We know who you are. I don’t know how you got here or what you’re doing here, but whatever it is, let me tell you, we are not the least bit scared of you. Not the least.” I looked down at Era for backup, and she nodded loyally.

  Teri just smiled, but I could tell underneath it all, she was boiling with anger. “My dear Thalia, if you aren’t scared of us yet, you should be.” Her grin widened.

  With that, Teri walked back to the other two girls, and the three of them made their way through the crowd and out of the café. And even though they kept their noses in the air as they walked out, I could tell they felt defeated.

  I watched the Furies go, feeling relief wash over me. They were gone, at least for now. And Polly was standing in the middle of a crowd of admirers, beaming, despite what were obviously the Furies’ best efforts to crush her spirit.

  My superstar sister walked back to our table, with Pocky following behind her like a puppy. When she stopped, he dropped to his knees in front of her and said, “You are a true goddess. I worship at your tiny feet of love.”

  Polly looked down at him, looked over at me, flashed me her very biggest grin, and said, “Get up, Pocky.”

  TWENTY

  “Do you girls need a lift?”

  It was Pocky, outside the club.

  “No thanks,” said Polly. “Although that’s very sweet. I think I could just float home, I am so blissfully happy. I think we’ll walk. Is that all right, girls?”

  “Fine by me,” said Era.

  “Me too,” I said.

  The last hour or so had been simply fabulous. Era and I had sat back and watched the crowds swarm our sister with praise and adulation. She had her confidence back; she was feeling independent and beautiful.

  “You know that guy named Guy?” she asked. “He asked me to be in his band. Isn’t that a hoot?”

  “That’s more than a hoot—that’s a holler. You’re too good for him!” I said.

  “Oh, stop, Thalia. I said I would think about it. He likes all that feedback stuff, which really isn’t my thing, but maybe I will give it a try. Jo-Jo, the DJ, he said he’d play with me again in a heartbeat.”

  “Of course he would. You killed ’em.”

  “It really was so much fun,” she gushed.

  “Yeah, except for the part where we discovered the Furies are here on earth and plan to make our lives miserable,” I replied.

  Polly’s face fell. “Oh. You know, it’s funny. I kind of forgot about that.”

  “You know they’re going to hurt our chances of getting home. They’re going to do everything in their immense power to stop us from succeeding,” I said soberly.

  “They almost already did. I mean, I was so ready to give up on everything just a few hours ago,” Polly said.

  “Yeah, but now that we know who they are, we know what we’re fighting, right?” Era said hopefully. “And besides, did you see how they slunk out of the club after you were done singing? Ha! You so showed them,” added Era.

  “But don’t think for a second that they aren’t going to enact a little revenge our way. They’re all about the tit for a tat—they can match us, step for step,” said Polly.

  “You know what?” I said. “Good.”

  “Good?” my sisters asked in unison.

  “Yeah, good! They might make this place a little more exciting.”

  “I think it’s plenty exciting,” said Polly, the hint of a smile playing at her lips.

  “No, we need a little fiery competition thrown in the mix. We need a little adventure. And face it, the Furies can supply that, tenfold.”

  “It might mean not getting home as quickly, though,” said Era.

  I looked at Polly, who looked at Era, who then looked back at me. Then we looked back toward the Grit, where people were still laughing and talking and buzzing. And each of our faces broke out into a giant, goofy grin.

  So they think they beat us, well, maybe this once,

  But we’ve got some plots and even more stunts

  That will send the Muses’ heads a-spinning.

  Oh, take our word, this is just the beginning.

  They’re happy now, but the Muses will see

  That earth life is not all it’s cracked up to be.

  Polly will fall, and Era will fail—

  We’ll make sure they’re sent to a fiery jail.

  Most sadly of all, once they get to that den,

  Dear Thalia will never see Apollo again.

  But to find out the rest, why, that is the hook:

  The next tale unfolds in a whole ’nother book!

  And until then, good night.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Without the fabulous Jodi Anderson, this book would simply not exist. She rocks hard and I thank her from the bottom of my heart and my tippy toes.

  And a most special thanks to the one and only Miss Keva Marie who helped shape these characters, listened lots, and is an all-around true-true friend.

  About the Author

  Clea Hantman has written for and about teens since she was one herself. She’s worked on teen marketing campaigns for companies such as Ticketmaster, Wet Seal, Contempo, Skinmarket, and Dawls. She’s written for Sweetie and Phoebe (retailer Wet Seal’s magazines)
and Transworld publications like Skateboarding and Warp…and she’s been written about in Seventeen, YM, and Wired. In addition, Clea is a Cancer who collects lunch boxes and likes to boogie.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Credits

  Cover illustration © 2002 by Lizzy Bromley

  Cover photograph © 2002 by Barry Marcus

  Cover design by Marci Senders

  Cover © 2002 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

  Copyright

  GODDESSES #1: HEAVEN SENT. Copyright © 2002 by 17th Street Productions, an Alloy, Inc. company, and Clea Hantman. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Adobe Digital Edition May 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-195409-2

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