Muses on the Move Page 5

  “I know, Claire, thank you again.” And with that, Claire went back inside.

  Apollo opened the car door and sat inside. But he had no idea what to do next.

  NINE

  Wednesday, 8 P.M., Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia

  Finally this fiasco was coming to an end. My shift in the jail was over. I was going to grab the girls and Pocky and firmly suggest we hit the road. We could still make it to Denver tonight if—if—if…I used magic. Just a twinkle. Just a twitch. I felt bad, but c’mon.

  NO! Wait! What were THEY doing here?

  It was those ridiculously happy colonial girls who got us into this mess, and they were laughing it up with my sisters. I ran as fast as I could toward them.

  “Hey, Thalia,” said Polly. “So, was your day as great as mine?” she asked, beaming from ear to ear.

  “Highly doubtful,” I said. “I was in jail. As in, a prisoner. They said I was a ‘witch’ and threw me in the stockade. I got booed. One little kid threw his colonial mush at me while his parents rooted him on. Now I just want to get out of these wretched clothes and get a move on. Where’s Pocky?”

  “Oh, you’re gonna love the clothes we get next. They’re not wretched at all—they’re beautiful,” cooed Era.

  “What ‘next clothes’? I want my jeans. I want my sneakers. I want to get the heck out of here.”

  “No, not yet,” said the brunette colonial girl. What was her name? Oh, who cared. She was annoying. “The best part is yet to come,” she continued. “We reenact the great Thanksgiving Ball.”

  “The what? No. No, no, no, no, no. We’ve got America to see. We’ve got country to cover. We can’t possibly stay, but thanks so much, oh, so much for the offer. C’mon, girls.”

  “It’s mandatory—all employees must attend,” said the red-haired colonial girl. Jeez, she was more annoying than the other one.

  “But we’re not even real employees and—”

  “We want to go, Thalia,” said Polly firmly.

  “You should see the clothes, beautiful ball gowns almost like the ones back home, er, I mean, the ones in the magazines back home. I mean, those really old magazines.” Era was grasping. Polly was shooting her the death look.

  “I’m sure Pocky doesn’t want to stay for a big ball. I mean, c’mon, this is the guy’s Thanksgiving vacation. Where is he? Let’s ask.”

  “Oh, he’s still at the apothecary,” explained the last colonial girl. “He was having fun mixing up his herbal potions. The head chemist has been showing him the ropes. He doesn’t want to leave.”

  Okay, all three were truly annoying. Maybe it was something in the colonial water.

  “We’re staying, Thalia. Get over it—you’re outvoted.” Polly was in full confidence mode. She was sticking by her own desires instead of letting me bulldoze her into what I wanted. I was proud of her. Really proud. But her timing stunk.

  “Fine. Where’s my gown?”

  Just then the red-haired colonial girl whipped out a truly stunning dress. It didn’t look like the others, either—it was bright and vibrant and orange! It was awesome. It was going to look smashing on me. Well, I thought, I’m miserable, but at least I’ll look fantastic. Dylan could wait an hour or three.

  Moments later we were in the big hall with classical music blaring in the midst of a sea of fluffy ball gowns. The music wasn’t quite as grand as the sweet sounds of the harps and lyres back home, and there certainly was less gold and glitter everywhere, but it wasn’t bad. I joined my sisters on the dance floor and took a few twirls round and round with a boy or two. It was fun to let loose—it seemed like it had been too long.

  But an hour later the fun had worn off. I guess I had forgotten just how boring these sorts of soirees could be. There was nothing to do but dance. And you can’t dance all night. Or rather, I can’t. Era probably could.

  Plus without Apollo around to make a little mischief—you know, slipping magic jumping beetles into the petticoats of stuffy old ladies and such—dances are generally downright dull. This was no exception. My sisters were off dancing with young colonial men, Pocky was nowhere to be found, and I was sitting in a corner by myself, wishing the evening would just go away. But I did have to admit, I looked good.

  I thought about our day. What a day. I hadn’t really had time to think in jail, with all the snotty little tourist kids taunting me. But now, with my sisters off and Pocky still gone, I couldn’t help thinking about home. Not Olympus home. But Athens. What were the Furies doing? Had they noticed we weren’t in town?

  More boring music, more dancing. There wasn’t even good food. I couldn’t take it. My sisters had gotten over an hour of fun. Pocky had gotten yet another hour of potion mixing. Wasn’t it my turn yet? I had to do something. I mean, we weren’t even supposed to be here in the first place. It was all because those girls got sick and someone needed to fill their work shoes. This just wasn’t fair. Fate had taken a left turn when it should have made a speedy right.

  The girls. The sick girls. Surely these were their beautiful ball gowns. We were just replacements. If they came back, we’d have to give them their dresses back, right? And then we could be on our way. Sure, they were under the weather, but the best thing for that was getting out and putting mind over matter, right?

  It seemed simple. It could work. Of course it would. It would just be a touch of magic. I’d blink them back here, to the ball, in search of their gorgeous gowns.

  So I did it. I blinked. And then there they were, at the front door of the large wooden hall, dressed in normal clothes, their eyes scanning the crowd in confusion. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed Era out of the dancing arms of some foundry boy and with my other hand I nabbed Polly, who was chatting it up with an admittedly very handsome colonial guy. I pulled and pushed them toward the door and stopped in front of the three girls whom we had replaced.

  “They’re back, they need their dresses, we must return them, it’s only fair, c’mon.” I started unzipping Era’s gown right there in the ballroom.

  “No! I don’t wanna give up this dress. No, I’m not leaving!”

  “Era, it’s their dress, not yours—you only borrowed it. Now let’s go.”

  “No!” said Era. Polly just looked on, confused.

  “I don’t want to leave, either, but Thalia is right—these girls deserve their dresses back.”

  “Fine.” Era was pouting.

  Meanwhile the girls hadn’t said a word. In fact, they looked a little, um, green.

  “Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s go get Pocky and blow this cherry pop stand.”

  My sisters looked at me.

  “It’s an expression,” I said.

  We were almost out the door. So close.

  “Thank…thank…thank.” It was a meek, quiet voice. It was one of the girls. We turned to look at her squeak out the last word. But it never came. Instead a shower of vomit hurled from her lips. The crowd noticed immediately. How could they not? It was accompanied by a guttural shriek that resembled that of a horse giving birth to triplets.

  It was all the girl next to her could take. She, too, looked a not-so-lovely shade of lime. She answered the first girl’s vomit with vomit of her own. We gasped. I turned away for fear of vomiting in response. Which is exactly what three young women in the crowd did. Maybe it was the smell. It was enough to send me over, but I jumped outside for fresh air. I yelled for Polly, who stood there in the middle of the crisis, wanting to help but not knowing how. Era quickly came outside, too, totally grossed out.

  I stuck in my head and argued with Polly. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Thalia, these people need us, they need help. There must be twenty people vomiting! Look at this place—it’s turning into a Vomitorium!”*

  “Polly, if we get this heinous sickness, how will we get home in time for Pocky to pick up his parents? And how can we help? Magic? No!”

  “Oh, but I feel horrible,” cried Polly.

  “I know, but I don’t
feel we have any other choice. We must leave—c’mon.”

  She slowly crept out of the hall.

  “To Pocky!” I yelled.

  We ran as fast as we could to the apothecary. Or rather, Era and I did. Polly sulked behind at a slow trot.

  I threw open the door to the apothecary and screamed, “NO!”

  The fates were not cutting me any breaks today. Pocky was there. But he was practically asleep. He looked a little ill, even.

  “What’s wrong with you, Pocky?” I demanded to know.

  “It’s this herbal potion the master chemist mixed up. It’s made me very light-headed. Very woozy. Very silly. Hi, Polly, you’re pretty. Hi, Era. Smile, Era. Hi, Thalia. Out of jail?” But he didn’t wait for an answer. His head hit the counter with a violent thud.

  “Well, I guess we are stuck here overnight, Thalia. He obviously can’t drive,” said Polly.

  “We can’t stay here overnight. I mean, we could get sick, influenza. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “But how?” whined Era, who had plopped herself down in one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs in the apothecary waiting area.

  “We can’t drive. We’ll have to use magic—we have no other choice.”

  “Of course we have another choice. To not use magic. Thalia, we can’t. I suspect any day now we’re going to feel the wrath of using our magic that time at the Grind. I don’t think we can take another chance. No, I forbid it,” said Polly.

  “Look, we have to be back by Sunday. This is a modern mortal illness—who knows what it could do to us? And besides, it’s only fair that we each get to choose a destination, and so far you’re the only one who has gotten to make a choice.”

  “Yeah,” Era added suddenly, jumping on my band-wagon. “What about me? There’s lots of stuff I’d love to see. Like the chocolate factory.” Now was my chance.

  “Era’s right. I think the only alternative here is to use magic. Just a little. Besides, what harm has come to us thus far? The Furies aren’t here—they don’t have to know! The only reason we got here so fast is beca—”

  “Wait, what does that mean? Have you used your powers?” Polly demanded.

  “Well, sort of, um, yes. And see, nothing bad has happened to us.”

  They both yelled at me simultaneously so loud that I couldn’t understand either one of them. Surprisingly, they didn’t wake Pocky from the dead.

  When they finally stopped to take a breath, I said, “Face it, Hera is probably not even paying attention to what we are doing down here. I mean, she’s probably so consumed with redecorating our rooms, not to mention the sheer joy of having three less Muses around the castle, that she doesn’t miss us at all. We’re fine.”

  “She does get awful preoccupied with that decorating stuff,” said Era.

  “You know what? I don’t care. Do what you want. I’m not getting involved. But I will not use magic,” said Polly defiantly.

  “Fine, we don’t need your powers, anyway. Now help me carry Pocky to the car.”

  TEN

  Wednesday, 11:29 P.M., parking lot of Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia

  “On to the chocolate factory,” Era said as soon as we’d arrived at the car and leaned Pocky up against the passenger-side door.

  “But Era, I don’t think the chocolate factory exists.” Era was still having trouble with the concept that lots of movies they showed on TV were make-believe. Or maybe she was just in denial about the chocolate factory. “Don’t you wanna go somewhere else? Like maybe out west?” I suggested. I mean, I could’ve just point-blank said, “Era—pick Denver,” but I didn’t. It wasn’t the time. We stood there, shivering in the parking lot.

  “Hmmm, okay.” Era looked thoughtful. “I pick…I pick…here in Colonial Williamsburg—let’s just stay.”

  “Hear ye, hear ye, I agree. Now let’s go help those poor people,” said Polly.

  “No, no, no, Era, you can’t pick someplace we’ve already been—it’s part of the rules,” I said.

  “What rules? I don’t remember any rules,” questioned Polly.

  “Um, they’re Pocky’s Road Trip Rules, didn’t he tell you?” Hey, how was it going to hurt him, blaming him while he was asleep?

  “Oh,” said Era sheepishly, looking at the sleeping Pocky. “Well, okay, but I dunno where.” She furiously began twirling her blond curls.

  “Blech, hurl, ptoot!”

  “What was that?” asked Era, twirling faster.

  “A bird, I think,” I said, even though I didn’t. “It sounds like a bird regurgitating food for its little infant birds. Now, where to, sis?”

  “Blech, hurl, ptoot!”

  “That isn’t a bird, Thalia,” explained my sister Polly, her normally pale face paling more. “That’s some poor soul vomiting in the bushes. We should help!”

  “How can you help? We may not be immune to a disease of the future. We can’t risk getting sick—who knows how it may endanger us,” and this last part I said in a whisper, “I mean, we’re not exactly human.”

  “But…” Polly looked torn. She called out to the bushes, “Are you okay?” But nothing.

  “What can you do for her, anyway? You can’t make her better, you won’t use magic. You’re smart for sure, but face it, Pol, you’re no doctor.”

  “Maybe she’s right, Polly,” said Era rationally, finally. “There isn’t much we can do for these people. Maybe we should move on.”

  “Now we’re talking. So, Era, how about heading out west, someplace like Kansas or Wyoming or…Colorado?”

  “Well, I guess, I mean, where do you think, exactly?” said Era, looking way confused.

  “Colora—”

  “No! Don’t let Thalia pick; it’s not her turn,” said my nosy sister Polly. “You pick a place you want to go, not one that Thalia wants you to pick.”

  “Now who is telling her where to go?” I said, and I could hear my voice—it sounded seriously snotty.

  “I’m not telling her where to go! Era, I just want to remind you to make your own decisions. That’s all, Thalia.”

  “You’re not the boss of us, Polly.”

  “And you’re not the boss, either, Thalia. I simply can’t—”

  “Enough!” Polly and I both fell silent. Amazingly, that angry, firm, booming voice was coming from my always sweet, always impressionable sister Era. “I know where I want to go. New York City. Now, let’s go.”

  New York City? The only way we could get any farther from Denver was to hit the ocean and start swimming. I opened my mouth to speak, but Era shushed me with a wave of her hand.

  “There’s this hotel. I saw it on Access Entertainment just the other day. Movie stars were staying there and going to this spa, which sounded a lot like the Beautorium back home. And they had water beds and huge golden swimming pools, and that’s where I want to go, to the Hotel Royale…in New York City.” And with that, she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Well, you know, they have, um, crime there, Era. Bad crime, haven’t you seen Cops?” I said, grasping at straws.

  “That’s where I want to go, Thalia.”

  “But it’s dirty!” I yelled.

  “A Beautorium, Thalia, we need to get to a Beautorium. Look at my hair!” Now Era was screaming. It was no use.

  “What’s a Beautorium?” It was Pocky, leaning up against the car, groggy and half asleep. He was stirring.

  “Oh, Pocky, good to see you’re all right. Okay, we’re off. Why don’t you get in the car? Here, I’ll help.” I gave him a hand up and opened the backseat car door. He slid in and slumped back. I shut the door, and he slid down the window, stopping with his chin on the door lock. He started to drool.

  I whispered, “Okay, okay, okay. Now that Pocky is up again, someone needs to drive till he falls back asleep so we can, you know, do our thing. I think that person should be me.”

  “Um, no,” said Polly. “Why should it be you? You think you’re better than us at everything earthly, but you’re not. I think
I should drive.”

  “Have you ever driven before?”

  “No, have you?”

  “No, but I watch very closely.”

  “Well, so do I!”

  “Well, I think it takes some athletic prowess, and face it, I’m just more adept at these things than you.”

  “I don’t think it takes athleticism; I think it takes a level head and smarts, two things you’ve proven tonight—and, dare I say, previous nights—you severely lack.”

  “W-well…” I stuttered.

  “Plus I’m older, right, Era? Era, you choose.”

  “I don’t wanna,” she said, all quiet.

  “That settles it,” said Polly. “I will drive. Now get into the car. If we’re going to go, let’s go.”

  Polly got in the front seat, pulled on the seat belt, and clicked it into place. She put the key in the hole and turned it, and the car started right up. She looked so pleased with herself. For a moment. But then she panicked ever so slightly. She shook a little. And looked around furiously. She began to breathe heavily, and then she turned to me with an expression of extreme confusion and said, “How do you get it to go forward?”

  ELEVEN

  Wednesday, 11:46 P.M., parking lot of Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia

  Apollo pulled into the Colonial Williamsburg parking lot with the same wild abandon that he drove those 528 miles from Athens. He stopped the car randomly, covering no less than three actual parking spots, and jumped out of the car before it had even stopped chugging. He was a man on a mission, a man with a one-track mind, a man who’d left the keys in the car. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was finally within reach of Thalia, he was finally going to tell her the whole story—how he was actually Apollo in disguise, how Hera intended to send them to Hades if they messed up just one more time, how he still loved her after all the vomit and greenness and snakes. He loved her.

  He ran for the nearest building, a small structure with a sign out front that said Tickets. But he quickly realized that the lights were out. He could see no one inside. He hadn’t thought about the fact that it was late, after hours, and that most people were probably already at home, asleep. He pounded on the glass of the little kiosk—not to get anyone’s attention, but just out of sheer frustration. Now where to? He scanned the parking lot and saw cars but no people. He let out a groan, a groan of anger and pain.