Muses on the Move Page 9

  And then the alligator that had been chomping at the bit to have a bite of Pocky’s ankle actually, maybe, barked. And then it panted, its tongue just hanging out of its mouth, off to the side. It looked like it was smiling.

  “We did it!” cried Era, proud of herself.

  “Yes, we did it,” Polly agreed. But she did notice the odd behavior of the alligators. “Hey, Era, did I hear you say skylos in your chant?”

  “I don’t think so. But maybe. I might’ve.”

  “’Cause you know, the chant is, ‘Alligatorus prosopikotita apodosi,’” said Polly.

  “Yeah, I know. Um, that’s what I said.” But Era didn’t seem too sure.

  “’Cause you know, skylos is ‘dog,’ right, not ‘alligator’?”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m pretty sure I said alligatorus. I think.”

  “Hmmm, well, it can’t hurt to leave them the way they are, right?” said Polly. “I mean, we should do as little magic as possible. And they seem so much more interesting this way. Before, all you got to do was see an eye or two—now you can really interact with the gators.” Polly picked up a stick and tossed it into a bush. A pack of alligators leapt clumsily after it.

  “Exactly. See, we did good!” cried Era with pride.

  “Pocky, get down—that alligator won’t hurt you,” hollered Polly. “I think we should get back to the hotel, pick up Thalia, and get on our way.”

  “But it wants my leg,” said Pocky, still terribly scared and probably emotionally scarred for life.

  “No, it just wants to smell your pants and lick your face, so get down from there. Now!”

  And Pocky, none the wiser, slowly climbed down from the tree.

  NINETEEN

  Saturday, 6:18 P.M., 120 Old Chartres Street, Ye Olde Po’ Boy Shop, New Orleans

  Apollo had gotten stuck in Winchester, Virginia, on his way to New Orleans when the car broke down. Apparently he’d been driving with the emergency brake on the whole way, and now the mechanic had to wait for a particular nut and a specific bolt to be delivered on Saturday morning in order to get the car running again.

  So when Apollo finally arrived in New Orleans, at the address on the card, and saw not a hex removal service but an Olde Po’ Boy sandwich stand, he almost threw in the towel. He went up to the counter and asked the man in the white paper hat if there was a hex removal service on this street or if he’d heard of Madame La Rue or if he’d seen three beautiful girls and a geeky spiky-haired boy, but the man in the white paper hat answered no to all three. Apollo ordered an oyster po’ boy with extra-hot sauce (it was a long drive, with no stops) and sat on the curb in frustration, food in hand.

  Just as he was taking his first bite of the steaming fried oysters drenched in sauce, a pack of dogs came running up the street toward him. They looked innocent enough, one even had a pink bow in its white poofy hair, but as they got closer, Apollo noticed they were crazed, snapping at everything in sight. He’d seen lots of dogs in his time, even had a pet dog as a young god when he’d brought one back from Athens. But he’d never seen a more ill-tempered-looking pack of canines in his life.

  People nearby started running for their lives as the dogs approached, biting and barking, but Apollo stayed on the curb and chewed that first bite. He might not have his magic, but he was a powerful god. He just waited for the dogs to spot him—a seemingly easy target with a yummy sandwich in his hands—and then he stared them—all five of them—down. He looked them straight in the eye, and they stopped dead in their tracks. Then they sort of slunk away, slowly and deliberately.

  He watched another man try to approach the same dogs. He was smiling and kneeling and whistling for them to come closer. He even called one of them by name. Apollo just watched with curiosity. The dogs were walking fast but low to the ground, and when they got close to the man, they started snapping their jaws and thrashing their tails. The man turned and started running, and the dogs, led by the one with the pink bow, followed him with wild abandon.

  Apollo was beginning to get a strong sense of déjà vu. Those weren’t naturally wild dogs. The man had even called one of them by name. Could this possibly be the work of his beloved again? With that thought, he found his appetite had vanished.

  Apollo stood up, brushed himself off, and threw out the rest of his sandwich. He ran down a quick mental list of possibilities and came up blank. He had no leads, no clues, no nothing. And he felt he had no choice. He hoped the girls were on their way home by now. He would just have to head back, too, and get there before they did. Something told him it was his last chance to warn them about Hera’s plans, their questionable future, and the consequences of their actions.

  TWENTY

  Sunday, 10:13 A.M., outside the Muses’ home, Athens, Georgia

  Everyone except Pocky slept in the car on the way home. Sitting in the backseat, I thought about Dylan and I had a good cry. It just made me feel better. And feeling better gave me a new perspective. I saw the bigger issue. My home. My real home, in Olympus. Where, sure, it can be a little boring (especially compared to this trip!), but the rest of my sisters are there and the birds sing the sweetest songs and the food is really delicious. And I had a lot of opportunity waiting for me there. I could bring back all that I’d learned here on this trip and maybe travel throughout Greece or join Athena in a battle or two and maybe even make up with Apollo.

  Don’t get me wrong—I was still rather upset that we’d never made it to Denver. But my grief was offset by the knowledge that I’d learned a thing or two about being selfless. And anyway, I’d figure out how to get in touch with Dylan. Somehow. Without magic.

  Pocky’s car pulled up to our house in Athens late Sunday morning. There was plenty of time for him to get to the airport to pick up his parents, plenty of time for us to kick back and contemplate what we’d accomplished on this crazy trip.

  We all climbed out of the car with our bags (although I still had one less) and waved good-bye to Pocky. “Hey, girls, thanks for the awesome time!” he yelled.

  “Awesome time?” we all said in unison. I found it hard to believe that poor Pocky—what with thinking he’d missed turkey day, getting hexed, and then being chased by alligators—had had an awesome time.

  “I love an adventure!” he yelled as he pulled away.

  We stood there in the driveway for a moment, staring at the house. It just seemed like ages since we’d been here last, but it was really only four days ago.

  “So we made it back to Athens in time for school,” said Polly.

  “And have I mentioned, dear sister, how much less bossy you seemed on this trip? And how well you stuck up for yourself and your convictions?” said Era to Polly.

  “Well, you weren’t so bad yourself. You should have seen her at the park, Thalia—she took command, she turned those alligators into docile dogs, she did!”

  “So I heard,” I said. “And really you seem every day to be more strong and independent, Era.”

  “I do, don’t I?” said Era, totally delighted.

  “And me,” I said, “I was wholly unselfish.”

  “Well, not wholly,” said Polly. Era kinda shrugged.

  “C’mon, I was pretty good, right, in the end. I mean, hello? We never did make it to Denver.”

  “Well, you did everything you could to try and get there,” said Polly.

  “Not really. I could’ve continued to use magic, I could’ve blinked Pocky into submission and hijacked the car to Denver, but I did no such thing. I think that was incredibly and unfathomably unselfish.”

  “Yes, yes, that was,” said Polly in her most patronizing tone.

  I knew I wasn’t totally selfish. And I knew Daddy would know it soon, too. I just felt it. Era must’ve felt it, too, because as we walked up the steps to our Athens home, she said, “We’ll be home soon.”

  Polly opened the creaky screen door and then the front door, and then suddenly she dropped her bags and gasped. Loudly. We took one step inside and followed suit. Even
Era screamed.

  The room was filled with an eerie green smoke that smelled of rotten bananas. The lights were glowing with an unearthly, sickening green glow. And in the middle of it all, seated on our overstuffed floral comfy chair like a green-bellied osisiphys waiting to pounce on her prey, was the abominable, the dastardly, the unthinkable…Hera the evil.

  Her face was the color of ripe, peeled beets, an extreme shade of red, and her nails, we could all see, were digging into our big floral comfy chair at least two inches deep. Her ears were twitching ever so slightly due to the immense amount of steam that was pouring out of them. And her forest green velvet dress just oozed over the sides of the chair, hiding any notion of a real goddess body under there. It gave the illusion that she was just a giant floating angry evil head.

  “Hera, how lovely to see you. To what do we owe this honor?” choked Polly in her sweetest tones, as if she were actually singing the words instead of saying them.

  “Yes, it’s rather lovely to see you again—it’s been so long, so very long,” added Era. She was now on half-bended knee and shaking.

  I wasn’t interested in playing nice. I knew it wasn’t to our benefit, but I couldn’t understand why the heck Hera was here, so I had to ask (as rudely as possible), “So, Hera, what brings you?”

  The steam continued. The smoke grew even thicker. She cleared her throat like a monster getting ready to dive into dinner and said, “I’m not interested in your niceties, girls, nor, Thalia, your rudeness, any longer. You see, you have disobeyed my rules for the very last time.”

  “Excuse me, Your Highness, but I don’t believe we have,” said Era, portraying some of her newfound strength. “For we’ve in fact accomplished our three goals. I have been far more assertive and independent, Polly has not gotten into anyone’s business or been roped into any schemes against her better judgment, and Thalia has been selfless to a fault.”

  Well, maybe not to a fault, I thought.

  “Silence.” Hera spoke slowly, deliberately, evilly. “I don’t care about such frivolities—those were your father’s rules. I’m talking about my rules.”

  You know that feeling, that ill feeling like there is a giant weight in your stomach? The one you get when you’ve been caught doing something bad and you know you are about to get in a whole lot of trouble for it, but you don’t know what kind yet? Take that and multiply it times a hundred and you’ll get how I felt at that exact moment.

  Hera continued. “I said no magic! And there has been episode upon episode where you have used your magic and wreaked havoc on the mortal world.”

  Polly cleared her throat. “We really didn’t use much at all, and I don’t think, with all due respect, Your Highness, that we caused any mortal any real distress,” she argued, her voice cracking on the last word.

  “Silence!” Hera yelled. “You don’t think?” Then she started to laugh her horrible laugh. She pointed her finger, her most powerful finger, her fourth one on her right hand, into the air, and with that the Furies appeared in midcackle. And before our very eyes, before we had time to say anything at all, Alek shape-shifted into the fortune-teller and Tizzie became Madame La Rue. We stood there in horror. Then all three of them morphed into the band the Beautiful Omen, and then in an instant they became those wretched colonial girls. All the while they laughed their torturous laugh. I could hear my own fast-paced breathing; it sounded like a pained echo. The Furies then turned back into themselves, their nasty, wretched selves.

  I looked at Polly, who looked at Era, who looked back at me. There was no place to run, not that that would do any good. The Furies grinned from ear to ear as the television buzzed on. I felt my kidneys around my knees. We all turned to watch.

  The news was on. Certainly not my favorite show. They were giving a report on New York City, on how the whole darn city was up in arms over the disappearance, into thin air, of their beloved Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons.

  Hera laughed some more. The Furies cackled, too.

  The Furies swung their heads back in perfect unison as the channel popped to another news program. This one was about New Orleans. “The National Guard has been brought into this affair, and the governor of Louisiana has declared a state of emergency. No one can explain the mystery surrounding the dog problem in the city of New Orleans. It appears that the dogs are destroying this three-hundred-year-old city one bite at a time. Meanwhile, adding to the chaos, the alligators of the surrounding swamps have taken to the streets in search of owners, the comfort of cushy beds, and a nice bowl of dog food.”

  I looked at Polly and Era. They were both shaking their heads. Their bodies had lost all life—they seemed to be just skin and bones.

  “And I should let you know,” said Hera, “that the ballroom at Colonial Williamsburg is still undergoing extensive sanitization. Ewww, what a mess.” She shivered, and the whole house shook from the foundation up, tossing us three into one another while the Furies just stood there steadfast, their hands on their hips, sick smiles on their faces.

  “Zeus, of course, has been defending you, but I’m afraid, well, no, I’m delighted (and with these words she giggled, actually giggled) to tell you that in this matter, ultimately I, the supreme mistress of the god world, have control. There is nothing your daddy can do for you any longer.”

  The Furies joined hands and began to surround us. I looked over at Era, who looked petrified. I looked over at Polly, who looked devastated. In the face of all that emotion, I was just consumed with guilt. It was most certainly I who had used magic first and, well, the most. All because I wanted to see Dylan, and in the end what had it gotten me? Certainly not Dylan. It had only gotten me fear and guilt and now my horrible, hideous stepmother sitting in my temporary living room, delighted to do…what, exactly? I didn’t know.

  “Hera, you obviously know all about our road trip from Alek, Tizzie, and Meg,” I said, “so you must know that it was I who did most, no, all of the magic meddling. I stand here before you and plead with you to spare my sisters the same punishment you have in store for me.” I swallowed, afraid of what I was about to do. “Do what you will—banish me to earth forever. But they have been no part of this—”

  “Silence!” She laughed again, and this time it made my very own knees shake uncontrollably. “That was very sweet, Thalia, but it will do you no good. And as for this eternal banishment to earth you think you have coming, well, don’t you know me by now? I wouldn’t be so kind.”

  The three of us looked at one another with terror in our eyes. Polly and Era both managed to send a small sisterly smile my way underneath all the fright. The Furies closed in on us tighter and tighter.

  Hera rose out of the chair and bellowed, “You, dear girls, are hereby banished, all right. You are hereby banished to spend the rest of eternity as servants and slaves to the honorable Blessed Ones, yes, the lovely, fair Furies, in the craggiest pits of the fiery hot, deeply dark, eternally evil…”

  And then she said the word we were all thinking. The last word we wanted to hear her say. The only word that could take away all hope of ever seeing home or Apollo ever again.

  “…HADES!”

  And with that, everything went black.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Sunday, 12:17 P.M., Athens, Georgia

  Apollo dropped off Claire’s grandpa’s car in silence and slipped the keys into her mailbox without a word. He decided he’d walk from Claire’s to Thalia’s on foot.

  Just a block from Claire’s he spotted Pocky driving home, his giant mohawk blowing in the wind. That meant the girls were already back. The nervousness, the fear, the sheer pleasure and joy that were rising up in him from his toes to his head was enough to make him dizzy.

  Apollo reminded himself he had to stay on track. He had so much to tell the Muses, but especially Thalia. He needed to tell them about the Furies and warn them against using their powers and tell them about the very real threat of Hera and Hades that was truly looming over their heads.

  He
couldn’t wait to tell Thalia that he was in fact Dylan and he was sorry he’d deceived her but he was not allowed to reveal himself and how he loved her with all his true heart and knew that she loved him but needed more time and how he just wanted to continue to be her best friend and see where it took them. He longed to talk to her at length about his most recent adventures, and he was dying to hear about hers, for he knew they were extreme. He had seen the trail that Thalia had left behind.

  And most important, he thought he’d figured out a way to get the Muses back home, safe and sound in Olympus, before Hera had a chance to strike.

  Apollo walked up to the house and took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn’t stop the smile, the huge bright smile, from creeping across his face. He could almost taste the moment when Thalia would find out who he really was and take him in her arms. Apollo knocked firmly but coolly.

  Nothing.

  He knocked a little harder and still nothing.

  The door wasn’t locked.

  Apollo decided to go inside. Strangely, the girls’ bags were the first things he saw. They were lying right in the middle of the doorway. Stepping farther in, he noticed that all the lights were on. Everything else looked rather untouched. He called out, “Thalia.” Nothing. Then the others. “Era, Polly!” Still nothing. He ran through all the rooms and even peeked outside, up into the old oak tree. Nothing. He went back inside, the smile now gone from his face.

  And then he saw it. The huge sunken dent in the big floral chair in the living room. And the burn marks that completely encircled the chair. How could he have missed that when he came in? Apollo began to shake and shiver.

  He knew what this meant. It could mean only one thing.

  Hera had been here.

  He was too late.

  The girls were gone…for good.

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