Muses on the Move Read online

  “No, they didn’t use it freely, Hera, honey bunny, they used it in bits, and my God, they went from living with magic daily to cold turkey, no magic! I love you, my sweet, but what do you expect?”

  “I expect respect. I expect grace and dignity, and I expect that I don’t have to worry about my own step-daughters turning me green! I expect you to let me handle this situation, and I expect you to continue helping me with this harp—my music recital starts in just three hours!”

  “Look, dear, sweetums, I will give you respect, but I will not let you send my girls to Hades. No, they haven’t been that bad, well, outside of that horrible little Apollo debacle.”

  Apollo’s ears went red as he thought of the horrible night that Thalia’s sisters had helped her turn herself green to avoid marrying him…and accidentally turned Hera green in the process. His heart burned so fiercely, his arms just dropped to his sides, lifeless.

  “Yes, well, I wasn’t too keen, Zeus, about your decision to send Apollo down there in disguise to help them, but it all worked out in the end, now, didn’t it? Thalia proved herself to be simply wretched yet again.” And then she added, “Apollo got what he deserved!” It stung his ears like a hundred and one bees. He could hear the smile on Hera’s face.

  “Yes, my little chickadee, well, I was very disappointed in her for that, yes.”

  “Then let’s get her and get her good. To Hades!” And at that moment the hallway went black, and a wicked wind whipped though the space where Apollo was sitting, and he felt cold, wet, and chilly.

  “NO!” Zeus bellowed.

  And the wind stopped.

  “Zeus, listen to me and listen well. I set the rules for this game; therefore, I get to punish the girls when they break them. It’s out of your hands, it’s God’s laws…but I tell you what. I’m so convinced that they will break my rules again, that they will use their magic freely and they will never fulfill your silly challenges without it, that I’m willing to give them one more chance before I send them to Hades. One more. But I tell you, dear, as I stand before you, they are going down. Straight down to the darkest depths of eternal damnation—they are going to Hades.” And then her infamous cackle rang out through the whole castle, throughout all of Olympus, probably throughout all of Greece below.

  Zeus was quiet. Apollo couldn’t move. He knew he could be found out for listening in and would probably be punished severely, but he couldn’t pick himself up. He pictured Thalia in Hades, cleaning up after the dreaded Furies, doing their laundry and their wicked deeds, and he slowly stood up, clenching his fists.

  “I can’t…I can’t…I can’t get involved,” he said aloud to no one but himself. “Thalia’s pushed me away for the very last time.”

  THREE

  Wednesday, 12:30 P.M., the front curb outside

  the Muses’ home, Athens, Georgia

  “We’ll wait out here,” Pocky said, revving the engine of his bright yellow convertible as Polly, Era, and I scrambled out of the car and into the house to get our bags. Finally! The half a day of school had been as torturous as a ferry ride through Hades. All I could think about all morning was getting on the road and getting to Denver, pronto.

  Not that I had broached the Denver topic to my sisters yet. Believe me, I wanted to, but this was our first real trip on earth. Convincing them to spend it on finding some random boy I had shaky feelings for, even while having shaky feelings for Apollo to boot, wasn’t going to be easy. It wasn’t like I could blurt it out and expect them to go along. Especially since I was supposed to be on my best selfless behavior.

  No, getting to Denver was going to take cleverness, panache, maybe even major flattery. But I wasn’t worried. In fact, as I ran around the house, getting the last of my things together, I was thrilled. I was beyond ecstatic. I was…falling flat on my face. Era and I ended up on the living-room carpet in a heap of limbs and black plastic bags.

  “Girls, get ahold of yourselves,” Polly demanded, her own cheeks flushed in a mixture of anger and anticipation. “Okay,” she said, softening. “Let’s just calm down for a second and make sure we have everything we need.”

  Era and I nodded silently from our spot on the ground.

  “Clothes? Check. Underwear? Check. Canned veggie cutlets? Check…” Polly continued on down the list, which she had pulled out of her skirt pocket.

  We hadn’t really known what to pack. In the past, when we wanted to go on a small trip, we just coerced Pegasus into sneaking away with a song or some fudgy-coated carrot sticks. If we needed anything along the way—a cleaner velvet robe, more delicious food, a harp—we just blinked it so. But that wasn’t going to happen here, so we’d stayed up all night, packing everything we could think of.

  Finally we finished going over our items, I yanked my favorite backpack onto my shoulders and snatched up a few bags, and Era and I started half running, half hobbling toward the front door (those bags were heavy). But before we got there, I felt a hand grab the back of my shirt. Era and I turned at the same instant to face a very solemn-looking Polly.

  “I’m going to try to stop giving you these lectures, but before we go, I must say this.” I let out a sigh of impatience, my left hand clasping the doorknob behind me. I hoped this wouldn’t take too long. “Whether you believe it or not,” Polly continued, “I’m just as excited about this trip as you are. I do have some reservations, but I think we’re going to see amazing things and learn about places we never knew existed.” Not if we stand here all day gabbing, I thought impatiently.

  “But we are going to have to be extra careful not to reveal ourselves to Pocky. And please, please, let’s remember why we’re here. We need to grow up. That’s what our challenges are all about. We need to change what’s worst about ourselves. I think this is the perfect opportunity for us to focus on that. Era? Thalia? Can we please try?”

  Then Polly gave me the most earnest, most thoughtful look and waited for my answer.

  Sheesh. All I could do was nod.

  “You brought your trash?” asked Pocky as we loaded our stuff into the back of his mom’s car.

  “No,” I said, trying to think of a good solid mortal reason why we had our stuff in trash bags. What kind of bags were we supposed to pack? These were the biggest ones I could find.

  “It’s called packing, Pocky,” said Era, saving the day with attitude. Pocky laughed.

  “Okay, girls. You came all the way from Europe and you don’t have, like, real suitcases?”

  “Give ’em a break, Pocky,” said Claire, who’d come along to see us off. “Like they’re gonna drag huge heavy suitcases on a little weekend trip. I like their fine plastic luggage. It’s très chic.”

  Man, I wished she was coming. Claire is like my mortal mentor. She teaches me all the cool words. She gives me all the good gossip. And she always lets it slide when I act like a freak from another planet. Polly just looked mortified.

  “We brought snacks,” said Era, holding up bags of gummi bears and chips and pretzels and more.

  “Excellent! I knew traveling with you ladies was going to be divine.”

  “Oh, I wish I could come with you,” said Claire. “So hey, where did you guys decide to go?”

  We all stood there just looking at one another in an awkward moment of silence. This might be our one and only earth trip. None of us had been bold enough to take the lead. Not that I didn’t want to.

  Why, oh, why did Polly have to make that speech? Why couldn’t my personal challenge be something besides being less selfish? Like learning to control my temper. Or learning to have more patience. Or learning to pay more attention. Really, I had more than enough bad traits to choose from.

  Polly quietly asked Pocky if there was anyplace he wanted to go. After all, he was driving.

  “Girls, I feel free. I love the road. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll drive till I can’t drive anymore. As long as I’m home in time to pick up my parents from the airport on Sunday, I am but your handsome driver. So, shall we g
o north? South? East or west?”

  I’d looked on a map (a funky, modern version of the kinds of maps they have in ancient Greece), and I knew Denver was west, but now I felt guilty and suspicious even picking that direction. So I said nothing.

  Polly rustled through her purse and pulled out her own map. I was impressed. “Well, I was thinking we could go someplace historical.” She spread the map across the hood of the car. We all gathered around it.

  “If you want historical, Polly, it’s a trek, but we should really check out Colonial Williamsburg,” suggested Pocky. “It will probably be awesome this time of year, too. Everyone dresses up in colonial clothes, and they reenact life in colonial times, like cooking and shopping and just about everything. It’s all about re-creating the birth of the United States. And there are old gardens and even animals that they had in olden times. And they talk funny. It’s a hoot.”

  “That sounds perfect, just perfect,” cried Polly. I didn’t have half an idea of what he was talking about, but I felt queasy. What if that was nowhere near Denver?

  I quickly scanned the map, looking for Colonial Williamsburg. I couldn’t find it, and I panicked. “Where is it on the map?” I asked.

  “It’s in Virginia, just due north,” explained Pocky.

  I searched the map. Virginia was superclose to Georgia. But it was a whole map away from Denver.

  “No!” I cried. “I mean, um, do we really want to sit around and watch people walk around in silly old clothes? Ptooey, that doesn’t sound like much fun. It sounds boring.”

  “It’s not bad, Thalia,” said Claire. “I’ve been with my folks. It’s kind of interesting, and the clothes are amazing.” I looked at her with my best please-don’t help look.

  “C’mon, more interesting, Pocky, name someplace else historical but more interesting,” I pleaded, hoping he would psychically read “more interesting” as “closer to Denver.”

  “I think Colonial Williamsburg sounds great, Thalia. It’s exactly what I had in mind,” said Polly sternly.

  “Hey, we’re just looking for options. Now, Pocky, where else?”

  “Um, okay, there’s the Alamo. It’s an old mission where just a handful of men defended Texas against the Mexican army for like thirteen days. The best part is you get to go inside and scream at the top of your lungs, ‘Remember the Alamoooooo!’”

  “Yes, but where is it?” I was growing impatient.

  “In Texas, silly. San Antonio.”

  I scanned the map. Texas was huge! And not too far from Denver. I mean, it was only about an inch and a half!

  “The Alamo sounds great. C’mon, Pol, what do you say?”

  “Well, what else does the Alamo have besides a place to yell?” Polly asked unhappily.

  “Uh, not much,” said Pocky.

  I was losing this battle.

  He then said, “There’s a cool gift shop that has stuff like sheriff badges and cowboy hats.”

  “C’mon, cowboy hats, Polly—you’d look great in a cowboy hat,” I said.

  I sounded pitiful.

  “And,” Pocky continued, “there’s a Ripley’s Believe It or Not wax museum across the street. It’s kinda cool.”

  “Ohhh, Polly, you love museums!”

  “Well, it’s not like a real museumy-museum,” said Pocky. “I mean, it’s sort of a museum of freaks.”

  “But it’s a museum, and she loves ’em, don’t you?”

  Polly sounded so hesitant. “Um, well, I guess, but Colonial Will—”

  “Alamo! Alamo! Alamo!” I just started chanting it, trying to get her worked up.

  “Well…” She was coming over to my side. I could feel it.

  “Remember the Alamo!!!” I screamed.

  “Remember the Alamo!!!” Pocky screamed.

  Era sorta mumbled it. “Yeah, um, remember the Alamo?”

  “Fine. Remember the Alamo,” said Polly.

  Mind you, the Alamo didn’t sound like a great adventure. It seemed tame next to anything Apollo and I would’ve done. But at least it wasn’t Colonial Williamsburg. Really, I was doing Polly and Era a favor by steering them toward the Alamo because Williamsburg did sound seriously boring. And the fact that the Alamo was closer to Denver—it was a bonus, not really selfish.

  We hugged Claire good-bye, climbed in the car (I took the front seat, of course), and were off with a sputter and a vroom.

  FOUR

  Back in Olympus, Apollo’s sister was so worried about her heartbroken twin that she booked him a day at the internationally renowned therapeutic day spa at the Beautorium. Mineral baths, seaweed wraps, saunas and massages, the works. After a refreshing but long day, Apollo headed to his last appointment to get his hair coiffed by the premier hairdresser to the gods, Aristophanes.

  “Apollo, your mouth may not be talking, but your scalp is telling me you are a seriously stressed-out god. C’mon, relax, unload, tell me your troubles.” Aristophanes was massaging Apollo’s scalp so vigorously that Apollo’s mouth opened involuntarily and quietly uttered the word he hadn’t spoken in days. “Thalia.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still upset over that little wedding fiasco? It’s been months now. You are a god, Apollo, and a handsome one at that. Most of my female clients, they would give up their powers to be with you. They tell me these things.”

  “That’s very nice of you to say, Aristophanes, but there’s more to the story than just the engagement party.”

  “Yes, I know all about Hera’s turn as a green monster. Oh, she was so mad at those girls. It took me three rinses and two strong dye jobs to get that green hue out of her hair.”

  “There’s more to the story than even that. But I don’t want to talk about it—it just depresses me.” And with that, Apollo sank lower and deeper into the gold lamé barber chair.

  “Sit up, Apollo. Now, really, I think it will help you to discuss your woes with me. It seems to help most of my clients. They come in here and tell me their secrets all the time. And I never tell. I just absorb. Really, try me.”

  “No, I don’t think so. But thank you.”

  “Suit yourself,” sulked Aristophanes.

  They sat in silence for a short while—Apollo slinking farther down in the chair, Aristophanes commanding him to sit straight without a word, just a short tug on his hair here and there.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” said Apollo, the silence getting to him. “I knew she had feelings for me, and I really loved her, so after Hera and Zeus banished her and her sisters to earth, I begged Zeus to allow me to go, too, to help out, but he said I could only go in disguise, and I agreed, but then it turned out they weren’t just banished to earth but by accident to someplace totally foreign and halfway around the world, and get this, into the future, and so I went as this silly football player—it’s a weird sport they have in the future where people chase a funny-shaped ball and bash into each other, like the raging wild satyrs from the Balkans, only in matching outfits—anyway, she liked me, or liked Dylan, which was my name there, and I thought she didn’t know that he was me, but then the last time I saw her, she said she did know it was me and she kept trying to kiss me and she promised to marry me and she said she would meet me back here but she didn’t come and I was tricked. Again.”

  “Oh, brother, you got troubles.”

  Apollo was still gasping for air when he said, “I don’t feel any better.”

  “I should say not. That’s a horrible story. Simply horrible. I always liked Thalia—she’s a little precocious but not mean. That doesn’t sound like her.”

  “I know, I know, that’s what I said. I tried to tell Zeus that something was wrong, something was odd, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Yeah, well, there is no telling that man anything.”

  Just then the salon filled up with lightning, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

  “I don’t know what to do now, Aristophanes, I just don’t know what to do.”

  “What do you mean, do? You move on. You let
it go. You wash her out of your hair. Here, I’ll help. This nettle leaf shampoo is great for that.”

  “No, that’s the thing—I don’t want to. Or I can’t. I don’t know. I’m scared for her.”

  “Why scared? She’s Zeus’s daughter, and she’ll be fine. You need to worry about yourself.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I went to the castle day before yesterday. I heard yelling, so I followed it, and it was coming from Thalia’s old room. It was Hera and Zeus, arguing. Hera wants to banish the girls to Hades now.”

  “No, not Hades—she wouldn’t!” Aristophanes’s voice was full of fear.

  “Yes, yes, she would.”

  “No, Zeus will never allow it. I’m sure.”

  “He might not have a choice. Hera is the one who sets the rules. And now they’ve broken those rules. Or so the Furies say.”

  “Wait a minute, you didn’t tell me the Blessed Ones were involved!” Now Aristophanes stopped cutting. He put down his scissors.

  “You don’t have to call them the Blessed Ones around me. They’re the Furies, plain and evil. And they’re on earth, too, in the same town, at the same school.”

  “No!”

  “Yes, and they’re watching the girls’ every move. Apparently they reported to Hera their use of magic. And now Hera, Hera has the power to send them to Hades forever and eternity!”

  “Oh, this is tragic. So sad. Oh.” Aristophanes took a seat next to Apollo.

  “Now do you see? I’m scared, and I don’t know what to do. But she tricked me. How can I stick my neck out for her again? How?”

  “Wait a second—she only confessed that she knew you were Dylan the last time you saw her?” Aristophanes stood up again and circled Apollo’s chair.

  “Yes.”

  “And she was very forward, very amorous, you say?”

  “Yes.”

  Aristophanes spun the barber chair around to face him. “And she was never that way before?”