“If I may ask,” the satyr said as they walked, “how did it come to be that your cousin is accompanying you on your quest? It was you who inspired the usurper’s plan, right? That is the story I have heard, at least.”
Zee flushed. “Um, yes. My cousin, well, she got involved and—she’s not the sort of person you can leave behind.”
“Mmmm,” said the satyr. “That must be hard, though, knowing she is in danger. This is really your quest, isn’t it?”
“Um”—Zee looked down—“well, I suppose. But she would say it’s hers, too—Poseidon tried to kill her, and—”
The satyr’s eyes widened. “He did? Because of what happened in the Underworld?”
Zee nodded.
He shook his head. “You must be so relieved he did not. I am sure you do not want that on your conscience….”
“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t.”
Suddenly the satyr stopped and stared at Zee as if something had just struck him. “Your cousin,” he said carefully, “is there anyone else who might hurt her?”
“Why?” Zee asked, his throat catching. A chill passed through him and he was taken to Exeter, to the moment when his mother said his grandmother was not feeling well. He was standing on a precipice, about to be pushed off.
The satyr inhaled sharply. “I—I didn’t think anything of it at the time. There was a half-breed god here, not of this realm. He had the stink of demon on him. He asked if I’d seen a mortal girl.”
Zee could not move, could not breathe. Philonecron. He was back. He was after Charlotte.
“She had not come by yet,” he continued, dropping his pack, “and even if she had I would not have said anything, for I did not like the look of him at all. He was not one to help a satyr with his burdens. But, my friend, he was not alone.” The satyr looked at the ground, as if to gather himself. “He had a wolf with him. I believed it was just a companion, but now I realize—it was a tracker. Oh, my friend, oh—”
The satyr’s reaction was enough to tell Zee exactly what that meant. He was looking at Zee with some combination of pity and horror, and Zee could only stare back, mouth hanging open slightly, absolutely unable to move or speak. His stomach roiled, his blood was ice, he felt as if he were plummeting through the air.
“We…we have to find her,” he said when he could speak. “We have to save her.”
The satyr looked at him sorrowfully. “I do not think there is any hope.”
“We have to try,” Zee said. “We have to try! Philonecron hates her, he wants her dead.”
“Very well,” said the satyr. “I understand how you must feel. For what it’s worth, I will guide you.”
His words cut Zee. Of course. It was his fault. If something happened to her—
Just then the ground began to tremble again, and Zee looked around in a panic. The wolves were coming. And—a flash of white ahead of them and Zee saw the great stag, still as a statue. He was going to yell, clap, do something to startle the magnificent creature.
It happened so quickly. The satyr pushed him behind a tree, just as three moon-tipped arrows came singing through the air. The stag fell. The wolves appeared from the shadows and pounced. The forest filled with the sound of snarling and clacking of teeth and some other noises Zee did not want to think about. His stomach clenched and turned and it was only through great will that he did not lose its contents.
He did not have time. They had to go. They had to find Charlotte. One of those creatures was after her. He looked around frantically for the satyr, trying desperately to block out the noises so near to him.
It took a moment for Zee to find him. The satyr blended in with the tree next to which he stood, and it took some searching for Zee to recognize his form. The satyr stood utterly still as the wolves finished their meal and the hunting party took off again, leaving the remnants of their prey, another being Zee had failed to save.
“We have to go!”
The satyr nodded and lifted his bag with a mighty grunt, and then stumbled. His face went white and his knees buckled under him.
“My friend,” he said in a breathless voice. “I am sorry. I do not think I can go on—”
“I’ll take it! I’ll take the whole pack!”
“No, no, I—”
“Come on!” Zee said.
Reluctantly the satyr stripped himself of his pack and handed it to Zee, but he could not hide the relief on his face. Quickly Zee opened the pack, placed the three stones he had been carrying inside, and hoisted it onto his back.
He groaned and felt he might topple under the weight. It was as if he was carrying a mountain on his back. His knees began to quiver, and sweat flowed out from every pore.
“Can we leave this and come back?” he asked the satyr through gritted teeth.
The satyr was grinning at him, a grin that changed his whole face. “Now, my friend, the burden is yours. You must carry that until you find someone else to take it.”
Zee gaped at the satyr, who gave him a huge, theatrical wink, then darted off, quick and carefree.
He could not move. Charlotte, the wolves, the stag, the satyr, the pack—it was so much at once that his body threatened to collapse in on itself like a dying star.
He was alone. He had no idea how to find Charlotte—if she was indeed in trouble. But there was nothing he could do but keep looking.
He set down the pack and set off in the direction they had been heading. And then he slammed into a wall. Or felt like it anyway—there was nothing at all in front of him, but he could not go any farther. He glared at the pack and tried another direction, with the same results.
Zee half screamed, half gargled out a stream of expletives as the tree nymphs stared at him, then he darted for the pack, hoisted it on his back, put his head down, and barreled ahead.
Ah, it was heavy. His back screamed, his muscles ached, but there was no choice. With it he was slow, unsteady, hopeless, but he had to go on, so go on he did.
So much had been happening that he had not noticed that the forest had been thinning and bright light was starting to appear in between the trees. He did not really notice, in fact, until he saw a signpost in the path. He stopped, glad for the chance to rest, and stared. On it were three ebony arrows, one pointing straight ahead, the other to the right, the other to the left, with words engraved on them. The first read OLYMPUS, the second WAY OUT, and the third WAY BACK.
Zee stared at the sign, bewildered and wondering how it came to be written in English, when a goddess materialized in front of it.
She had three heads, one facing straight ahead, the others to either side. Her skin was white, and her hair and dress were as black as the ebony sign. She was wisp-thin, seemingly made more of shadow than substance. Next to her sat two large dog-shaped shadows. Hecate, goddess of the crossroads. She stared levelly at Zee.
“Look,” she said, through the face that looked at Zee. She pointed off to the right, and, as she did, the trees split to reveal Charlotte, about fifteen yards away, looking around as if she had no idea where she was or how she got there.
Zee’s heart nearly exploded. She was there, she was okay. “Char!” he called.
His cousin’s head whipped toward him, and her face melted in relief. “Zee!” she yelled.
“Char, we have to go, Philonecron, he—Wolves! Bad wolves!”
Just then Hecate pointed in the other direction. There was a low growl, and the forest around him seemed to tremble. Then a flash of white, and the mighty wolf was in front of Charlotte, crouching and growling and ready to pounce.
She screamed, and Zee tried to run to her but suddenly could not move. The goddess pointed at him, then the road sign.
“You must choose,” she said.
“Zee! Help!” Charlotte said. “I can’t move!” As she recoiled, the wolf gave a great snarl, then leaped at her. Hecate snapped her fingers and the wolf froze in the air.
“Zee! Please!” Charlotte screamed.
“You must cho
ose,” said the goddess again, her voice sounding like it was amplified by a megaphone.
“Choose?” Zee said. “Choose what?”
“That way is Olympus, the way forward. That way is the way out. And that way”—she pointed in the direction of the third arrow—“is the way back. You can change it all, go back to the beginning, make new choices, and it will be as though you and your cousin never knew about the gods. And then you—and she—will never get here.” She pointed to Charlotte again, who was trying desperately to break free of whatever held her. The wolf hung in the air, inches from her throat.
Zee stared at Hecate, then his cousin, then the road sign. He could do it—he could go back to the beginning, keep any of this from happening, keep Charlotte from danger, he could—
“Zee!” shrieked Charlotte. “Do it! Please! Do it!”
Of course, of course. He turned to the goddess and opened his mouth, ready to go back, then suddenly looked at his cousin again.
“Wait, what?” He tilted his head questioningly.
Her eyes filled with terror, with pleading. “Zee! Please! Do it!”
Zee straightened under the load of stones. He stared at the scene around him, at the goddess, at the woods, at the sign. “You’re not Charlotte,” he breathed.
“What?” she shrieked. “Of course I am!”
“No, you’re not! This isn’t real! None of this is real!” And with that, he threw down the pack and strode past the goddess toward the light ahead.
CHAPTER 26
Sacrifice
SUDDENLY CHARLOTTE FOUND HERSELF ON THE SAME wide staircase in the sky as before, in front of the same cloud, with the same dark structure looming behind it. She whirled around, but the school was gone. It was as if none of it had happened.
“Good kitty,” she whispered.
As she looked behind her, the thought occurred to her that she could head back down, pass through the cloud unharmed, go all the way down the staircase, and find herself in front of her house, where her parents would be waiting for her. She knew, somehow, that it was true, that she was being given a way out.
She had to hand it to the gods—or whatever it was that designed that vision for her—they sure knew how to mess with a girl. Charlotte had seen monsters, had faced her own death, but never had she faced anything like that.
The imaginary guilt-tripping Sphinx was right. She was cruel. The Prometheans wanted to sacrifice Steve for the greater good, and here she was sacrificing her parents. Was it worth it? Was it worth hurting the two people who loved her best in the world for this quest? For—justice?
If that’s what it was. Before, when they went to the Underworld, they were saving kids’ lives. They had no choice; they were the only ones who knew the truth, the only ones who could do anything. But what about now? What did Charlotte really want?
Charlotte carried the Underworld with her wherever she went; the Dead always lingered behind her eyes. Behind her eyes, she saw them as they parted for her and Zee after they stopped Philonecron. Charlotte and Zee were the only people in several millennia who had done anything for them, and now they were alone again—except a few Prometheans richer. Including Hector. And in danger.
She had to go on ahead. She had to go on, to find Zee, to use the Flame, and then—
And then her parents would know, wouldn’t they? And she could tell them what she’d done, tell them everything that had happened, explain why she’d left them. And they’d understand and forgive her and—
And they would all live happily ever after? Because that was how life always worked, right?
And where in the world was Zee? Don’t worry about him, the rainbow-lady had said. The journey to Olympus must be made alone. Probably wandering through the hallways of Hartnett or his old school or some bizarre, guilt-plagued Zee-verse while Olympus did its best to stop him from heading forward.
Well, it wouldn’t stop Zee, and it wasn’t going to stop her, either.
“I’m ready,” she shouted at the cloud in front of her. “Let me in!”
The clouds parted, and Charlotte was standing below a marble temple with a mammoth wall of six-foot-thick columns that stretched up into infinity. She quavered a little, feeling suddenly like a flea about to dive into the ocean. And then she crossed the threshold into Olympus.
Charlotte was standing in a vast atrium surrounded by a series of balcony-lined floors that stretched up as far as she could see—there must have been hundreds of them. Everything looked as if it was made of crystal or glass of a delicate light blue—the floor, the huge Grecian pillars that lined the room, the arches and columns of the balconies above. The building was made for giants; the room she was in was four times taller than anything on Earth. The balconies were each a shade lighter than the one below until the building disappeared into the white beyond. A soft yellow light emanated from somewhere above, giving everything a blue and gold glow.
While everything was distinctly there, present, real, somehow Charlotte felt a diffuseness and impermanence to her surroundings. And, while she was supposedly inside somewhere, the air around her was open, warm, fresh, sweet-scented, like she imagined it would feel if you stepped off an airplane into a tropical world. She didn’t feel like she was in a building at all, merely some illusion carved out of the sky.
There was also something familiar about the place—the open atrium, the arcs and columns of the balconies, the vaguely bank-like architecture—it looked like a very large sky-version of the Prometheans’ headquarters.
There was even a desk in the center of the room, shaped like half of a pillar and made of the same blue crystal as everything else, and at the desk sat a woman with smooth white skin and pinned-up white hair, with great feathered blue wings tucked primly behind her back.
She was not alone. The lobby was packed with Immortals, none of whom showed any interest in Charlotte. A god and two goddesses stood a few feet away from her, arguing loudly with one another. The god was heavily tanned and dressed in a sequined gold suit. One of the goddesses was very pale, with a long white dress that matched her skin and a small, luminescent crown on her head. The other had pink cheeks and hair and wore a neon orange toga. A bit away from them, two blue-skinned sea nymphs were rolling on the ground, scratching and pulling each other’s long hair. A few paces behind them, a tall skeletal goddess who was ink black on her right side and pure white on her left was screeching and kicking a pillar repeatedly. A short, naked, muscular god with bright yellow skin was hurling flames from his hands at a tall, naked, muscular god with bright blue skin, who shot water back at him. A female goddess with Harpy-like wings and greenish skin was running in circles around the lobby, cackling madly and hurling rotten apples at everyone. In one corner, an Olympus-size giant with a hundred arms sat slumped over, muttering to himself and weeping loudly. When the Harpy-winged goddess tossed an apple at him, he reached out one of his arms, grabbed her, and threw her so she sailed all the way through the lobby out the door.
There were Immortals everywhere, gods and monsters and combinations thereof, fighting, yelling, sulking. Charlotte stood and gaped.
Through the cacophony, she heard a pleasant female voice emerge from somewhere overhead, its tone completely incongruous with the scene before her. “The weather today is sunny and warm, thanks be to Zeus the Stormbringer. Today’s activities include Book Club at Hestia’s Hearth…” Charlotte frowned. She did not expect Olympus to have a PA system. “Wine Tasting with Dionysus, and War-Mongering with Ares. Today’s Cuckolded Wife Support Group will be led by Hera, and the all-wise Zeus will be resolving disputes for your edification and amazement in the evening.”
Groans and boos from the crowd. A harp came whizzing by Charlotte’s head, and she had to jump away.
“May I help you?” A soft voice floated in the air toward her. Charlotte turned to find the receptionist looking at her curiously. She cleared her throat and stepped forward.
“Um, hi,” she said, her voice sounding high and strained. ?
??I—”
The receptionist’s bead-like eyes widened as she approached. “Are you mortal?”
“Um,” Charlotte had heard this one before. “Yeah.”
“Heavenly Zeus on a pogo stick!” she gasped. “Huh. It’s been a while.” She reached down under the desk and grabbed a huge binder. “I just need to…,” she muttered, flipping to the end and scanning a page. Leaning into the book, she whispered, “What do I do?”
Charlotte sensed suddenly a presence behind her, and she turned her head to find that a centaur had appeared in line behind her, arms crossed over its chest. She stared up at the creature, who had a pinched, thin face, a scrawny forest green torso, and a skinny brown horse bottom. She noticed something glistening behind him and peered around to see a large silver arrow sticking out of his butt. She raised her eyebrows.
“Do you mind?” he asked pointedly.
She turned back around to the receptionist, while the centaur began tapping his hoof impatiently. A very large human-headed slug slithered in line behind him and let out a slug-like sigh. “You’ll want to take those elevators to the tenth floor,” the receptionist said, pointing to a bank of large pillars behind her. “You’ll find altars there. And, uh…” The woman glanced back down at the book. “Okay, what?” she murmured to it.
“Hurry up,” grumbled the centaur.
“Just follow the instructions!” finished the woman brightly.
“Okay, thanks. Um, bye.”
“Have a wonderful day!” said the receptionist. She started and looked back down at the book. “What, too friendly? Oh, sorry.” Her voice changed to one of haughty dismissiveness. “Thank you for visiting Olympus.”
“Sure,” said Charlotte. She left, as the centaur muttered, “Finally,” and headed toward the elevators.
And then stopped. What was she doing? Here she was at Olympus with no direction, no plan, no Flame, no Zee, nothing but a spacey receptionist, a lobby in chaos, and a centaur with an attitude problem. She needed to find Zee, put the Flame in the hearth, and get out of there.