The Immortal Fire

  The man blinked at Zee in utter astonishment, and Charlotte took the opportunity to grab her cousin and steer him into the museum door.

  “You know you said that in English, right?”

  “Yeah, I know,” muttered Zee.

  On the inside the museum was cavernous and white, with large, open rooms holding artifacts and Greek statues. Groups of tourists walked from one station to another, and in one corner a security guard surveyed everything. And, right in front of the entrance, in a roped-off square, was the omphalos stone, the navel of the world.

  It turned out the world had a very big navel.

  The stone was a three-foot-tall dome covered in a net-like pattern with a small square opening at the bottom. It looked like nothing more than a very old stone beehive.

  The picture in the guidebook hadn’t shown the stone next to anything, so Charlotte thought it was small, something she could stick under her shirt and run off with. She was going to need a bigger shirt.

  A German family appeared next to them and studied the stone. The school group was off in a corner, listening to Rosina. One boy was looking around aimlessly when his eyes fell on Charlotte and Zee. He poked his friend and whispered something.

  “Do you think you can lift the stone?” Charlotte whispered to Zee as the family moved off.

  “Um, I think so, but—”

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte said. “I’ll…create a diversion and you can, you know, slip out the door—”

  “Char,” Zee said under his breath, “I don’t know much about Greece, but where I come from, they really frown on people nicking artifacts from museums.”

  “I know, but—”

  “What are we supposed to do with it when we get it, anyway?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t know. The tour guide said it used to be in the Temple. Maybe we bring it back…?”

  “I’m sure no one will stop us before we get there.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Zee sighed. “No.”

  “Okay,” Charlotte said, taking a step toward the security guard, unsure exactly what she would say when she got there.

  It didn’t matter. Because before she got very far, Mr. West’s voice came booming across the room. “You!” he yelled. “I told you to get on the bus!”

  “I—” Zee looked around wildly. The security guard was staring at Mr. West.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with you kids,” the chaperone said, grabbing Zee by the arm. His voice reverberated through the museum, and everyone stared.

  “Sir,” said the security guard, stepping toward the group, “I must ask you to keep your voice down.”

  Charlotte looked around. The group had moved a few feet away, and everyone was staring at them. There was her diversion, but it didn’t work out exactly as planned.

  Trying to be as invisible as possible, she moved next to the velvet cordons. She heard Mr. West say, “I will control my students in my own way,” and, with a glance toward the group, she ducked underneath the cords and stood next to the stone.

  Quickly Charlotte put her arms around the stone. Biting her lip, she began to lift up, realizing to her relief that it was hollow.

  Everything happened at once. The security guard hollered something in surprise and exploded toward Charlotte just as an alarm shrieked through the museum. Terror coursed through her. Zee looked at her wildly as Mr. West, still clutching Zee, shook his head and covered his eyes with his hand. Not knowing what else to do, she began to back away as tourists from all over the world looked at her in astonishment.

  She had had better plans in her life.

  A threat—yes, a threat would be good. She had to use the only leverage she could: this sacred, three-millennia-old stone, more valuable than many small countries, and probably some big ones, too.

  “Don’t come any closer or I’ll drop it,” she said. Or at least she meant to say it, but before she could get the words out she kicked over a stanchion. It fell with a mighty clank just behind Charlotte’s heel. She stepped down and her feet flew out from under her.

  Time can behave so strangely sometimes. It will move so slowly at just the moments when you would like it to speed up. Charlotte fell backward, slowly, slowly, like a feather falling its way to the ground—while the omphalos stone hovered in the air for a while, as if bidding the world an extended adieu, a silent soliloquy to bring down the house, and then plummeted to the ground, shattering into dusty pieces.

  Silence. Even the alarm seemed to stop in shock, or else Charlotte had lost her power of hearing. Then the security guard went entirely white, tottered, and passed out. That seemed to awaken everyone. Someone screamed, Mr. West hollered, and Zee wrenched himself from his grasp and gave him his best soccer kick in the ankle. As the bull-faced man howled in pain, Zee took off for Charlotte, who had unconsciously begun scampering on the floor for pieces of the stone, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her out of the museum door.

  Out of the museum they ran, Charlotte clutching a shard of stone so tightly her hand was cutting into it, expecting at any moment to be chased, caught, thrown into Greek prison. From behind them they heard shouts, and they burst onto the clearing as yelling exploded behind them.

  They were going to keep running, down the path, past the Sanctuary, to the awaiting car, but when they got outside everything had changed. At the edge of the clearing, which previously had looked out onto the valley below, was now a tremendous marble staircase lined with columns that rose up, up, up into the clouds. None of the tourists milling around seemed to notice the enormous structure that had suddenly appeared in their midst, but it was not for them. There was no time to discuss, no time to even be nervous. Without a look back, Charlotte and Zee dove across the clearing and toward the stairs that could only lead one place.

  Olympus.

  CHAPTER 23

  Heart-to-Heart

  IN A SMALL CAFÉ IN AN OUT-OF-THE-WAY STREET IN London sat a teenage boy who looked as if he was having an intense conversation with an imaginary friend. As he spoke to the empty chair across from him, stopping at times to listen and nod emphatically, the few other people in the café stared and giggled to themselves. One even got up and left.

  But the boy did not even notice, so focused was he on the conversation with his imaginary friend. Who was not, of course, imaginary at all, as much as it would be better for the world if he were.

  *******

  Steve was drinking hot chocolate and describing his ordeal to the not-quite-a-man named Phil Onacron who had helped him in his time of need. With Mr. Onacron’s help, he’d left a message for his mother—at least, he was pretty sure he had. There was something about the hot chocolate, something comforting, something wonderful, a special taste that warmed him, soothed him, made him want to spill his secrets.

  Phil was appropriately appalled by his story, gasping at all the right times, sometimes shaking his head with the horror of it all. And when it was all done, he leaned in, red eyes full of compassion, and said, “That must have been so awful for you. You were so brave.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, yes…Say,” he added quickly, “the children who rescued you, do you know what became of them?”

  “No. I left them on the Tube.”

  “Oh,” said Phil. “Pity…” Steve looked up at him questioningly. “It would be nice to thank them.”

  “Yeah. My mom will be mad that I didn’t.”

  “Oh, your mother,” said Phil, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands. “Tell me about her.”

  Steve took another sip of hot chocolate. He felt so warm. “She raised me all by herself. Without any help from anyone. She wanted to be a singer, but she gave it all up for me.”

  “Oh, she sounds like a marvelous woman! She must be so proud of you.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I do. Why, if I had a son, I would want him to be brave like you.”

  Steve blinked. “Re
ally?”

  “Oh, really. I almost had a son once, but he…well, he got away. And”—Phil looked at him cautiously—“your father?”

  Steve’s eyes traveled to the ground. “I don’t have a father.”

  “My boy,” said Phil, “everyone has a father. My father was a demon.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

  “No, no, I mean he really was a demon. You don’t know anything about your father?”

  “My mom never talks about him. My aunt told me once that he said he would marry her. And then she got pregnant and he just left her.”

  “My goodness! How appalling!”

  “She was just twenty-two, she didn’t have anything. Her parents left her to deal with it on her own.” Steve did not know what was happening, but he felt so emotional all of a sudden, like he might cry at any moment. Steve did not cry. He punched things. He did not want to cry in front of this man, this man who thought he was brave.

  But Phil only leaned in to him. “It’s all right, my boy. It’s all right. You must let out all your emotions, do not keep them pent up inside. It’s not healthy.”

  Steve wiped a tear from his eye and nodded. All this therapy and finally he’d found someone he could talk to.

  Phil let out a long sigh. “Stephen, I must tell you—I have not been entirely honest with you.”

  Steve sat up. “What?”

  Phil put his hand to his heart. “I am sorry. But it is no accident that I found you today.”

  “What do you mean?” Steve asked, looking suspicious.

  “No, I am afraid it was Fate that brought us together. For, you see—and I have been hesitant to tell you this—I know who your father is.”

  Steve stared at Phil.

  “I do. And I can say for certain that he is as vile as you think, and that he used your mother most ill indeed. I must tell you, when he met your mother, he was already married.”

  “What?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid your father likes to play around. It’s…sport for him. Your mother is not the only woman to have suffered in his hands.”

  There it was, the anger, rising up inside of him. “I knew it,” he hissed, slamming his fists down on the table.

  “He had no intention of staying with her,” Phil continued. “He left her, young, broke, and—bereft.”

  “Bereft? What do you mean?”

  Phil just shook his head. “She recovered, didn’t she? She had you, such a fine boy, a boy who would protect her, who would avenge her! Your father, you see, that is what he does. That’s what he’s still doing today.”

  “You mean…?”

  “Oh, yes. Your father has not changed a bit since your birth. While your mother was struggling to raise you, he has been having fun, breaking other women’s hearts.” Phil paused a moment, as if to collect himself. “And they are not all as strong as your sainted mother.”

  Steve gasped. “Someone has to stop him!”

  “Oh, yes, I couldn’t agree more!” said Phil, looking extremely earnest. “I have always thought so. But…your father is a very powerful man, and it would take someone very brave indeed.” Phil shook his head. “Well, my boy, we should get you to the police.” He stood up and walked out the door.

  “No,” said Steve, following. “Wait!” He ran out of the café and found Phil standing on the street corner. “I want you to take me to my father,” he said firmly.

  Phil looked shocked. “You do? But don’t you want to go home?”

  “Yes. But after. I want to go see my father now. I have to!” He stomped his foot on the floor. “I have to stop him!”

  “My goodness,” said Phil. “I could tell what a brave boy you were. So honorable. This is a great thing you are doing. But—whatever will you do when you see him?”

  Steve’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll think of something,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now, where are we going?”

  “Well,” said Phil, clapping his hands together, “that is a bit of a long story….”

  CHAPTER 24

  Old School

  AS SOON AS CHARLOTTE’S FOOT LANDED ON THE smooth white staircase, everything changed. The clearing, the crowd, the museum, the whole mountain disappeared behind her, and all there was in the world was the staircase and deep blue sky. Above them hung a thin, shimmery layer of clouds.

  The cousins stopped and stared up at the blanket of clouds. They had done this before, hovered on the threshold of a realm, lingering in the moment before they crossed it. There was always the choice, every time—they did not have to go, they could turn back. But of course they would not, could not, did not.

  “I guess we should go in,” Charlotte said, nodding to the clouds.

  “Let’s go,” Zee said.

  And they grabbed hands and climbed the stairs.

  It happened very quickly. One moment Charlotte was just below the clouds, the next she was completely surrounded by them. Long, wispy tendrils that were nothing like what she learned about in science class wrapped around her, and she saw, smelled, tasted only this strange whiteness. And something was missing, something important, something that was right there with her, something she needed very much—

  Zee?

  Her hand was empty. She whirled around, fighting against the sticky tendrils. She tried to call out for her cousin, but as soon as she opened her mouth, the cloud invaded her lungs. Her chest felt as if it had filled with cotton candy, and she struggled to breathe. Her sense of direction was gone; she could not feel the stairs below her feet, and all she could do was struggle ahead. The cloud resisted, pulling her back, and it took every bit of her strength to push ahead. She shut her eyes tight and thrust herself forward. She was a fly caught in a web, and she had no desire to meet the spider.

  And then, just like that, almost as if someone had commanded it, the cloud let her go and she burst through into the open sky, gasping. She bent over, her lungs taking in air greedily, and it took her some time to notice her surroundings.

  Nothing had changed. She was still on the staircase and another cloud blanket lay ahead. Only this time she could see something behind it, the lurking shadow of a large structure. And this time she was alone.

  She looked around frantically, as if her cousin might be right next to her and she just hadn’t noticed. He was not. She turned back to the clouds below and called:

  “Zee? Zee? ZEE!”

  But there was no response. Charlotte began to shake with panic. What had happened to him? Was he still trapped in the cotton-candy arms of the cloud? Was he struggling to get free, struggling to breathe? She’d have to go back in, have to find him, have to free him—

  She was about to dive back into the clouds, with no idea what she would do when she got there, when a voice stopped her.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Charlotte whipped around. A form had materialized a few steps above her. Actually, “materialized” was the wrong word, as the figure Charlotte saw did not seem to be entirely material. Standing before her was a diaphanous, violet-hued, vaguely woman-shaped creature that was about seven feet tall and not much more than six inches wide. Long violet hair curtained around a face that had only the barest impression of features.

  Charlotte drew back.

  “Why not?” she asked, glancing from the woman to the clouds below.

  “It won’t like it.”

  A shiver ran down Charlotte’s back. “Where’s Zee?”

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  “Don’t worry about him? Where is he? Do you know where he is?”

  “The journey to Olympus must be made alone,” the woman said. Her voice was thin and whispery, as if the air itself were talking.

  “Is he okay?”

  “That is not your concern,” said the woman impatiently. Her hue had changed slightly, and now she seemed more red than purple. “You have business at Olympus?”

  “Um…” Charlotte looked around again. She could feel a lump rising in her throat. Zee was okay
, she had to believe that. She would know if he was not okay. They had simply separated in the clouds, and he would be emerging at any moment, coughing and gasping and looking for her, and Charlotte would make some kind of comment about killer clouds and Zee would mutter something under his breath and then they would continue on their journey to Olympus, carrying the Flame, together.

  “You have business at Olympus?” the woman repeated, now bright red. Charlotte looked at her uncomprehendingly, feeling as though she were falling off the staircase into the open sky.

  The woman let out an annoyed sigh. “You will see your companion at the top. Should you both get there, that is. Now, mortal”—she cleared her throat and returned to her previous shade of purple—“you have business at Olympus?”

  “I—uh, yes…” But what? Zee had the Flame. She had nothing. What was she going to do, give Zeus a good talking-to?

  “What is the nature of your business?”

  “Uh—justice.”

  The word just popped out of her mouth, as if someone had reached inside and pulled the truth out of her. She wanted to grab it and shove it back in, but it was too late.

  But the woman only nodded. “Very well.”

  Very well? Was that it? Some sticky spiderweb cloud attack and then she announces she wants justice and the gates to Olympus pop open and she trots on in, and—

  “We’ll see how you fare.”

  Charlotte’s stomach turned. That did not sound promising. And, just like that, the woman’s color began to change from purple to blue, and then she dissolved into the sky.

  Suddenly the world shifted, and a wave of nausea passed over Charlotte. She closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, and when she opened them her knees buckled in surprise.

  Everything had changed. She was no longer on a stairway in the clouds, making her way to Olympus; rather, she was standing on the concrete stairs that led to the front door of Hartnett Middle School.

  She stood there looking frantically around at her utterly familiar, utterly strange surroundings. Surely it was a hallucination, surely the scene would dissolve soon, surely in a moment she’d be back on the stairs above the clouds, heading up to Olympus.