Muses on the Move Page 4

  “Really, we’re here?” asked Polly.

  “We’re here. You guys slept the whole way, practically.”

  We all climbed out of the car and stretched our legs. I couldn’t believe all the cars everywhere. It was like the parking lot at the J-Mart, only a hundred times bigger.

  “So what’s first, Pocky, any suggestions?” asked Polly, who was now not only awake but brimming with energy. We trailed Pocky out of the parking lot up to a ticket booth, where he said, “Four, please.” Polly insisted on paying for the tickets, which were these little slips of paper we had to show to get into the town. Then we walked into what I could only assume was Colonial Williamsburg.

  Right away I noticed the clothes. There were tons of women running around with long dresses and these weird little hats. The men all had ponytails with ribbons in them. It was kind of cool. People were riding in chariots much nicer than any I’d seen in ancient Greece, but still not nearly as nice or as shiny as the cars people drove now (and these ones were still being pulled by horses).

  “Well, let’s see, we could go tour the gardens while it’s still daylight. Or we could get tickets for a show this evening.”

  “So wait, this is supposed to be America, like, a couple hundred years ago?” Era asked.

  “Isn’t it wonderful?” Polly said. “It helps to explain how things came to be the way they are today. That’s what I love about history.”

  I shrugged, watching a pair of teenage boys, ponytails and all, walk by. They were gazing at Era, and when she looked up and noticed them, one of them actually blushed.

  History shmistory. Besides the hair and the clothes and the chariots, the people of Colonial Williamsburg seemed pretty much the same to me. All the more reason why we should just pop in, see the dumb gardens, check out a few old-fashioned exhibits, and skedaddle.

  Just then three girls in full colonial garb crossed our path, nearly bumping into us. They stopped just a few feet away, leaning up against a fence. They looked very upset.

  Pocky tried to continue. “Right on, Polly. Anyway, we could, um, go have an early colonial supper, or, uh, do those girls look like they need help?”

  We all stared. The girls noticed our attention, and one of them gave us a shaky smile.

  Pocky smoothed out his eyebrows and touched his hair. Yep, it was still standing straight up. Then we headed over to the fence.

  “We noticed you over there. You look upset—can we be of any service?” said Pocky in his most well-behaved manner.

  “Well, yes, actually we are in dire straits, young sir,” said the shortest of the three, her hair in perfect blond pin curls. “We have the evening show to put on, and three of our primary young women have dropped out with a nasty bout of the influenza.”

  “Oh, bummer. I mean, what a shame, what a horrible shame,” said Pocky.

  “You know”—cough, cough—“Henrietta, don’t you think,” said the tallest one, dressed all in forest green, “that these three girls would fit in the costumes just perfectly?”

  “Oh, yes,” squealed the one I could only suppose was named Henrietta. She had the rosiest cheeks and curls of red hair.

  “Oh, no,” I cried. “No, we couldn’t possibly.”

  “Oh, but please,” they all started whining.

  “Of course we’ll help you,” said Polly, my sometimes annoyingly kind sister.

  “Sure, can I wear a dress like yours?” Era asked Henrietta.

  “Why, yes, indeed, it’s quite like mine.”

  “What about me?” asked Pocky. “What will I do?”

  “Oh, kind sir, we can use your help as well—you know we always depend on the kindness of strangers.”

  Pocky started to blush.

  The taller one turned to me. “Please, milady, we entreat you to come to our aid in this time of trouble. We assure you of a rousing good time.”

  “How long will this take?” I asked.

  “Don’t be rude, Thalia,” chastised Polly.

  “I’m just saying, how long are we in for?”

  “Oh, just a few hours of your precious time. Please?”

  “Fine.” What was I supposed to do? Scream, “No! I want to get the heck out of Dodge as fast as possible and make our way straight to Denver”? Oh, yeah, that would appear really selfless.

  “Fantastic!” cried the girls.

  “So what do we do?” asked Era, as excited as Polly.

  “Well, you, dear girl, what is your name?”

  “Oh, forgive us. I’m Polly, these are my sisters Era and Thalia, and this is our friend Pocky.”

  “Wonderful. Now, Polly, why don’t you work in the foundry? It is a tad dirty work, a touch physical, but very rewarding.”

  “Um, okay, I guess.” Polly didn’t look as excited as before. I’m sure the thought of being inside a dark, dingy metal factory wasn’t her idea of colonial fun.

  “Era, why don’t you try—” but she was interrupted by Polly.

  “You know, I need to learn to speak up for myself, and, well, the foundry really isn’t my cup of tea. Would there be anywhere else I could possibly go that might be better suited to my interests?”

  “What about the printing press?”

  “That sounds perfect! Yes, books, I would love that, thank you.” Polly was perky once again.

  “Era, now you, you shall go to the foundry in place of Polly.”

  “Oh, well, hmph.” Era had now lost her enthusiasm. That is, until Henrietta leaned over and told her she’d be the only girl in a sea of cute foundry boys. Era was all aflutter in the blink of an eye.

  “Pocky, dear sir, how would you like to try your hand in the apothecary? I’m sure they could use an extra-strong arm over there.”

  “That sounds great—can I mix up potions?”

  “Sure, just don’t tell anyone.” And the girls giggled together. Pocky just blushed again.

  “And Thalia, since we know, or rather, we can tell that this isn’t your idea of a good time, we saved the very best job for you. You’ll work in the jail.”

  “The jail? The jail? And how is that fun, exactly?”

  “Oh, trust us, it’s one of the most popular places to work in all of Williamsburg.”

  “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

  “Now head on over to that building and tell the woman at the front desk with the tightly wound bun that you are the replacement actors and you are in need of your costumes. We can’t thank you enough, really, you are lifesavers, truly, and we are honored to have met you in such a fortuitous manner.”

  They bid us adieu, and my sisters practically danced to the front desk. I sulked behind. I tried to reimagine this as some sort of adventure, but I just couldn’t take my mind off Dylan and getting to Denver.

  Moments later we were each dressed in our uncomfortable and ill-fitting outfits. The girl who had previously worn mine must have been tiny since everything about the costume was short. Era’s ensemble wasn’t too flattering, either. She whined about her outfit being nothing like that of the cute curly-haired girl. But Polly and Pocky didn’t seem to care. They each were in their own worlds, happy to be a part of this ridiculous extravaganza.

  The woman with the bun pointed out where we should each go. We were spread out all over the park. The jail was housed in the farthest building of all. I walked there alone, thinking how odd it was that we hadn’t even been in Colonial Williamsburg for five minutes when we were accosted and practically forced into acting ridiculous in front of strangers.

  In fact, I had this nagging feeling that this whole situation was a little off. Whenever I have that feeling, I immediately think of the Furies. But I knew I was just being paranoid. Meg, Tizzie, and Alek were powerful, but they weren’t psychic. They had no idea where we were. No, I was just feeling paranoid about my recent power usage. Plus I was in a bad mood. This colonial world was dirty, and frankly, it was missing all the best conveniences of modern life. No TVs, no sneakers, no phones.

  Then I spotted one. An actual
phone. Sure, it was disguised as some sort of colonial contraption, but it was indeed a phone. I looked around to make sure no one was looking. I pulled out the calling card Claire had given me and followed the directions on the back.

  Ring. Ring. Ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Claire?”

  “Thalia?”

  “Yeeeee!” We both squealed in delight.

  I just couldn’t believe I could actually call Claire from anywhere. Anywhere!

  “Thalia, where are you guys?”

  “We’re in Colonial Williamsburg.”

  “What? What happened to the Alamo?”

  “Oh, Polly changed her mind.”

  “But wait, how are you in Williamsburg already? It should’ve taken you all night.”

  “Oh, that Pocky is a crazy driver.”

  “Uh-huh, really,” said Claire, sounding more than a little confused.

  “Anyway, you are not going to believe how horrible this is. Somehow we got roped into being in one of the shows, and now I’m dressed in this outfit that is two sizes too small on my way to do goddess knows what and I’m just miserable.”

  “You’re actually in on the act? That’s fabulous! Anyway, you got it better than me—at least you’re out and about in the world. I’m stuck at home with my parents, who are on a crazy Thanksgiving crusade. They say they’re going to force me to eat turkey, and they want me to wear a big Pilgrim hat.”

  “As we speak, I’m wearing a bizarre little thing called a bonnet that is so tight, I may just pass out.”

  “Relax, go with it. It’s a fun place, Thalia.”

  “Fine. Sure. Whatever.” I was looking for a little support.

  “Oh, crud, here comes my mother. She’s been looking for me, something about a reenactment of the Pilgrims’ landing with my uncle Carl. I’ve got to go pretend I’m engrossed in homework. Gotta run, call again. Ciao.”

  And she hung up. There was nothing left for me to do but go directly to jail.

  EIGHT

  Wednesday, 4:40 P.M., Nova High, Athens, Georgia

  Apollo landed on earth with a hard thud and immediately realized traveling in the future without powers was going to be harder than he had originally thought. How was he going to find Thalia? How was he going to get from one place to another? Then he reminded himself that Thalia needed him. He’d just have to figure it out.

  Apollo felt something in his pocket. He pulled it out and recognized it as modern American money. He looked up to the skies for a second and silently thanked Zeus. He knew the guy had a heart.

  Once again he was decked from head to toe in his football uniform. He had landed in the woods behind the football field of Nova High School. He crept onto the field and immediately noticed there was no one around. No one on any of the athletic fields. No one coming in or out of the school. He walked up to the side hall door slowly, only to find it locked. Apollo pressed his nose against the windows and looked in. The halls were oddly calm.

  And then he saw a kid from Nova, someone he recognized from his and Thalia’s media class, skateboard by. He called after the guy, but he didn’t remember his name, so he just stood there, shouting, “Hey, kid, you, you media kid, stop.” But to no avail. The boy just rolled on by and out of sight.

  “Arrgggh,” screamed Dylan. But no one heard. What was going on? Then it clicked. Of course. School was closed. He shifted direction and ran as quickly as he could to the Muses’ house on Castalia Way.

  He wasn’t even out of breath when he ran up to the door in anticipation. He pounded and then gently knocked, fearing he might scare the girls with his mega-exuberance. But nothing. So he pounded again. Nothing. He ran around back and peered up into the huge oak tree where Polly liked to sit, but nothing. He pressed his face to their windows, but everything was dark. Nothing. He circled the house as fast as he could and then once again, slower, but nothing.

  He feared the worst. He feared he was too late. The Furies had struck. Hera had succeeded. They were in Hades, and he was stuck on earth. It was the only explanation. But then after a moment or two of meditation to clear his mind, he realized they could be eating out or shopping or any number of mortal things they did on earth. He thought of hitting every one of their hangouts—there was no time to spare. Knowing Thalia, every minute was another minute they might be getting themselves into trouble. And then he thought of Claire. Yes, he’d try Claire’s house and see if she was home first. And if she wasn’t, surely her parents would know where she was. And perhaps she’d be with the girls.

  He ran again, this time straight to Claire’s, taking shortcuts through unknown backyards and an alley or two. He pounded on the door and then regretted it as he heard loud noises from inside. But at least there were people, live people, here. Maybe one of them would know where Thalia was.

  A sour-faced woman answered the door. “Yes, what do you want?” she asked.

  “Please, I must speak to Claire—is she here?” cried Apollo, out of breath.

  “And who shall I say is asking?” She wasn’t eager to get Claire.

  “Dylan, Dylan from Denver.”

  The woman turned around and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Claaairre, there is someonnnne to see YOUU.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Sarah, who is—Dylan! Oh my God, what are you doing here?”

  Thankfully it was Claire.

  “Thalia, where’s Thalia?” he managed to mutter.

  “Nice to see you, too. What in heaven are you doing in town, D.? Are you here for Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes.” He nodded, although he had no clue what she was talking about. “So, Thalia, where is she? I have looked everywhere.”

  “You have, have you? Well, isn’t that interesting—considering you seemed so eager to leave her without saying good-bye.” Apollo wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything. “Anyway,” Claire continued, “you’re out of luck. Thalia ain’t in Athens. She and the girls went on a road trip with Pocky.”

  “With Pocky? Pocky? Why?”

  “For some fun. They wanted to see the U.S. sights, I guess.”

  “But why Pocky?”

  “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “But she’s not interested in Pocky, is she?”

  “Well, you never know. That Pocky is quite the charmer, and after a few days on the road, and, well, where were you? Just some measly weird note and you’re gone?”

  Apollo swallowed the lump in his throat. Claire was just defending her friend. Did that mean Thalia had been sad when he’d left?

  “Anyhow, she just called,” Claire said, softening a little. “They’re in Colonial Williamsburg. She was miserable because she had to be part of a show or something.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s all I know. I gave her a calling card and told her she had to check in with me often, you know, so I could live vicariously through them. I mean, I’m stuck here, and they’re off having a grand ol’ time.”

  “Yeah, okay, so that’s all you know?”

  “Yeah, Dylan. So why are you here? I can give her a message if you like. C’mon, tell me, why are you here?”

  But Apollo didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell Claire to tell Thalia, “Don’t use magic!” He just stood there looking nervous, trying to think quickly.

  “Okay, um, well, I know they have to be back by Sunday,” said Claire, “so Pocky can pick up his parents at the airport.”

  “That might be too late,” cried Apollo.

  “For what?” asked Claire.

  But Apollo said nothing.

  “I’ll happily tell her you’re in town, looking for her. You sure there isn’t a message?”

  “No.” He shook his head. He had to find her before then. “Thanks. You’ve been a great help, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Hey, have a great Thanksgiving.”

  “Uh, sure. Okay, thanks. Good-bye.”

  And Apollo walked away, defeated and crushed.

  Did the Furi
es know the girls had left town? Had Thalia used any magic yet? Would Sunday be too late? And where was Colonial Williamsburg? All these questions ran circles around his mind, and he felt dizzy.

  No, he couldn’t wait, it couldn’t wait. He had to get to Colonial Williamsburg and fast. But without powers, how? He needed a chariot. (He meant a car.)

  He knocked on Claire’s door again. This time, fortunately, her aunt Sarah didn’t answer. Claire did.

  “I need a car,” he said rather abruptly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “How can I get a car?” he asked, like it was a perfectly normal question to ask in modern mortal times.

  “Um, you can buy one. Or rent one, I suppose.” Claire was looking at him terribly suspiciously, and he felt it.

  “How much are they?”

  “To rent? Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “What do I need to rent a car?”

  “A credit card and a license, I guess.”

  “Huh,” he said. “Claire, I need your help. Trust me, Thalia is in danger. I can’t explain, but she is.”

  “This isn’t some freaky jealousy thing over Pocky, is it?”

  “No, this is serious. She is in trouble, and I need a car—I must help her.”

  “You look freaked, D. What’s going on? Just tell me.” Now she, too, looked frightened.

  “She’d be in even more trouble if I did. Just trust me,” he said, thinking of Hera’s threats to punish the girls if any humans ever found out their true identities. “How can I get a car quick?”

  “Well.” Claire thought about it hard but quicklike. “Maybe, um…” She told Dylan to go hide behind the shed and that she’d meet him there in five.

  A few minutes later Claire was handing Dylan the keys to her grandfather’s 1987 Buick Le Sabre, which got driven about every once in a blue moon. “It ain’t fancy, but it will get you there. Just please get it back as soon as you can, okay? My parents never go in the shed, but you never know.”

  “You’re a lifesaver. Honest, I can’t thank you enough, Claire.”

  “Yeah, yeah, well, you and Thalia have got a lot of explaining to do when you get back.”