FOURTEEN
Uproar
Standing next to the window was Eris. Though the very sight of the goddess made Juliet want to turn and flee, her legs felt as if they were frozen. Unable to move she simply gasped, “How did you get in here?”
A cold smile split Eris’s sharp features. “Have you not yet learned that I am a goddess?”
“You’re not the only goddess I’ve met,” said Juliet, startled by that fact even as she said it—and also startled that she had the nerve to say it. “But the others weren’t able to go wherever they wanted. It was hard work for Athena just to show up here in . . .”
She faltered, unsure of how to express the thought.
Here in the mortal realm, prompted Cupid, speaking in her mind. And don’t tell Eris you can talk to me! he added urgently.
“Here in the mortal realm,” said Juliet aloud.
Eris’s lip curled in a sneer. “That’s because the others are fools and weaklings. They agreed to bind themselves away from the world of men and now have to struggle to return to it. I made no such foolish vow. I have always been with you, and always will be. I am strong—and getting stronger—and will grow stronger still, as I turn the power of the awakened amulet to my designs.”
“Have you come to take it back?” asked Juliet, putting her hand to her neck. Though she longed to be rid of it, she did not want to put Cupid in Eris’s grip.
She need not have worried. The goddess’s response was immediate. “No! The amulet must stay with you. It may not be worn by a goddess. Only the human touch activates its spell.”
“If you don’t want it, then why are you here?”
“To warn you not to interfere with my plans for the amulet—or my plans for you.”
Juliet felt a cold chill. “For me?”
Again the smile. “I am going to make you a star, Juliet Dove, an international celebrity. You will be irresistible as long as you wear that amulet—and you are going to be wearing it for a very long time. Before you are grown, you will be the greatest source of discord this weary old world has seen in many, many centuries. Men will risk all they have for the merest glance from you.”
“But I don’t want—”
“What you want has nothing to do with it! You are the tool that was sent to me. I am here now just to warn you: Do not try to interfere with my plans—which start tomorrow.” Eris paused and looked at Juliet intently, as if she were studying her. “You say nothing. Even so, I sense rebellion in you. So hear this, and hear it well: If you try to thwart me, I will destroy your family. Never forget that I am the goddess of discord. Strife is my art form. I have a thousand, thousand tiny ways to drive a wedge between two humans. You think your father and mother love each other? Let’s see what happens after the hundredth argument about who misplaced the keys, or left the top off the toothpaste, or didn’t put the milk back in the refrigerator. Those are just the seeds, of course. From such moments, properly nourished, I can raise a crop of bitter, blistering anger that no love can survive.”
Her eyes glittered eagerly. “I know the ways of humans, Juliet Dove, and I know how to twist them to my ends. So do not balk me, child, but prepare to walk a thorny path at my side. You will be at that poetry jam tomorrow, or you will pay a price in discord that will wrench your family to pieces.”
Juliet stared at Eris in horror. The goddess glared back, her gaze filled with cold contempt. “Do as I say!” she hissed. “And speak of this to no one!”
Then she vanished, leaving only a slightly sour smell behind to indicate she had been there at all.
Juliet stood without moving, except for the trembling that shook her body, until Cupid whispered in her mind, Is she gone?
Yes, replied Juliet. Then, surprised, she asked, Can’t you tell?
No. Unless the amulet is open, I can’t see what’s going on around you. I can only hear it.
Juliet opened the amulet. But before she could say anything else to Cupid, Jerome poked his head out of the drawer where he and Roxanne had been hidden. “Whoa!” he said. “That is one nasty goddess!”
“What am I going to do?” wailed Juliet.
“I dunno,” said Roxanne, poking her head up beside Jerome. “Normally we’d just go get Mr. Elives. Only—”
“Only he ain’t there,” said Jerome. “So we’re on our own!”
Juliet felt another swell of panic. “What am I going to do tomorrow? I don’t want to be part of her crazy scheme!”
“We have to think,” said Cupid, speaking aloud.
Which they did.
After a while Juliet went to get Byron, figuring they could use all the help they could get.
By midnight they had their plan.
“Do you think this will really work?” asked Juliet.
“Who knows?” said Jerome. “But it’s better than nothing.”
Juliet had to agree.
Even so, she did not sleep much that night.
Valentine’s Day in Venus Harbor dawned clear and bright. Mrs. Dove had agreed to provide a special breakfast for the judges and other people who were helping at the poetry jam, so she left the house early, extracting a promise from the children to meet her at the school no later than nine o’clock. Mr. Dove had gone over even earlier.
Margaret gathered them all together. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the cardboard box that Juliet was carrying.
“It’s a surprise,” said Juliet, blushing a little. “I’m bringing it for Dad.” She felt comfortable saying this since, while she had no intention of giving what was in the box to her father, she was indeed doing this at least in part for him.
Margaret scowled at her. “Look, Juliet, do you know what’s really going on here?”
Juliet felt a surge of hope. Was it possible Margaret knew about the amulet? No, that couldn’t be. But what was her sister talking about, then? Mutely, Juliet shook her head.
“All right, listen, you three. Dad’s job is on the line today. They’ve got a money problem at the college, and they’re cutting people right and left. Three people in his department have to go, and he might be one of them. A couple of big shots are coming to evaluate the festival and it’s going to be a big part of how they decide whether to keep him or not.”
“Mr. Toe doesn’t like this!” cried Clarice.
“Like it or not, you three need to know about it. If Dad gets fired, we might have to move.”
“You mean leave Venus Harbor?” gasped Juliet.
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“I don’t get it,” said Byron. “Mom makes enough money from her comic strip to support the family. Why would we have to move?”
Margaret shook her head. “Mom and Dad may think they’re liberated, but Dad isn’t the kind of guy who can let his wife support him. Besides, he’s got to teach; it’s in his blood. So if he loses his job here, he’ll start looking for one somewhere else. Now come on, let’s go. But don’t forget what I said. And don’t do anything to screw this up!”
Juliet swallowed hard. Given the fact that she was a walking love bomb, probably the smartest thing to do would be to skip the poetry jam altogether. But if she did that, Eris would turn the full force of her wrath on the family and try to tear them apart.
She felt as if she were being torn apart herself.
It was 8:15 when the Dove children left their house.
By 8:20, approximately three dozen boys were following them down the sidewalk.
“This is ridiculous!” cried Margaret. “What is going on here?”
“Juliet’s irresistible,” said Byron, sounding very amused.
Margaret stared at her siblings suspiciously.
“And she’s got rats,” said Clarice. “Only, you can’t see them anymore because they’ve been invisible ever since they got their wings.”
Given Clarice’s long history with Mr. Toe, this comment raised no suspicion at all.
“Wow!” said Byron, as their parade—now nearly fifty strong since more boys
had joined them along the way—reached the high school parking lot. “Look at all the TV vans. Dad’s going to be in media heaven!”
Indeed, four vans from various television stations were parked in the driveway, including one from a national news network. Another van, bigger than the others, had the words SCOTT WILLIS, THE RHYMING WEATHERMAN painted on the side. Parked behind it was a black limousine that Juliet was pretty sure had been used to bring in Corey Falcon.
Ten or twelve people were parading up and down with signs protesting the celebrity guests. “Weather or not, you’re no poet!” said one. “Actors should stick to acting!” said another.
This is part of Eris’s plan, isn’t it? Juliet thought to Cupid. She wants to create an uproar and have it broadcast on national television.
That’s part of it, replied Cupid. But the bigger part is to make sure that you get seen.
WHAT?
She wants to make you a star, Juliet. This is step one.
Juliet would have turned and bolted had it not been for Eris’s threat of the night before. Fear battled fear, until her terror over the damage the goddess of discord might wreak on her family forced her to push aside her shyness.
They hurried into the school, where they found a crowd of people trying to register for the day’s events. Two coffee stations had been set up, and high school kids were acting as guides for the numerous out-of-towners. Large posters announced the schedule, which started with a major reading by the guest poets in the main auditorium.
“See you guys later,” said Margaret. “I’ve got to go help Mom. Don’t forget what I told you!”
“We won’t,” promised Byron.
Juliet said nothing, for she had just spotted Eris. The goddess had her hair pulled back in a tight bun. She was wearing the same outfit she had had on the day Juliet entered the shop, except that over it she had a flowing red cape. Oddly, she didn’t look out of place here in the gathering of poets, many of whom were flamboyantly dressed. Eris’s name tag, inscribed in bold letters that Juliet could see from twenty feet away, said “Cris DiSorde.”
Eris looked at Juliet and smiled. She reminded Juliet of a shark.
People began to file into the auditorium. “Come on,” said Byron. “Let’s go find Dad.”
Juliet was afraid Eris would follow them, but the goddess went into the auditorium with the poets and poetry fans. The three Dove children went down the long hall that led to the back of the auditorium, where they were to meet their father. They were startled to find guards at the door, but fortunately they had their special passes.
“Let’s see what’s in the box, kid,” said one of the guards.
Byron held it up to him. “T-shirts,” he said, “for some of the poets.”
The guard opened it, looked inside, and said, “Would have been nice if you could have bought some new ones. Okay, go on in.”
They found Mr. Dove standing with Scott Willis, who was even balder and chunkier than he looked on TV; and Corey Falcon, who was even more handsome than he seemed in the movies.
“Ah, here you are!” cried Mr. Dove. “I want you to meet our guests.”
“Well, well,” said Corey Falcon, flashing her a dazzling smile. “What a stunning young lady!”
“Stand aside, youngster!” said Scott Willis. “I saw her first!”
Corey Falcon doubled his hand into a fist, and for a moment Juliet feared he was going to punch Scott Willis.
“Almost ready to start!” said Mr. Dove, stepping quickly between the two men. He looked at Juliet and frowned.
As if it were my fault! she thought indignantly, stepping away from the adults.
“Looks like the amulet’s effects are getting worse and worse,” whispered Byron.
Juliet nodded gloomily.
The buzzing from the auditorium was growing louder.
“Time to get started!” said Mr. Dove, clearly happy and nervous at the same time. “Wish me luck, kids!”
“Good luck, Dad,” said Juliet and Byron. Clarice rushed over and kissed his hand seven times.
Mr. Dove walked onto the stage and took his place at the podium. There was a smattering of applause, after which he said, “Welcome, everyone, to Venus Harbor’s third annual Valentine’s Day Poetry Jam, an extravaganza of words for lovers—and love for words.” Then he read a long list—too long, Juliet thought—of people who had helped make the event possible. When that was done, he cried, “And here to kick off the festivities is America’s favorite rhyming weatherman, Scott Willis!”
The audience applauded, but not as vigorously as Juliet would have expected. She peeked out from behind the curtain. A lot of people looked very happy. But many others were scowling.
Scott Willis went to the podium and began to read in a bouncy, singsongy voice.
“Welcome, all, to Venus Harbor
And the festival of verse,
Where poems float both port and starboard
And prose is but a curse.”
“That’s not poetry!” cried a sharp voice. “It’s doggerel!”
Juliet knew the voice at once. It was Eris.
“Shame!” continued Eris. “Shame for calling that drivel poetry!”
This is not good, said Cupid, speaking into Juliet’s mind.
What do you mean? she thought back. I know it’s rude, but she’s mostly making herself look like a fool.
Do not forget who she is. In her presence hidden discontents surge to the surface. Resentments that might be kept quiet will burst forth. She sows disharmony, and harvests a crop of anger.
As if to prove Cupid’s point, someone shouted, “This garbage is an insult to true poets everywhere.”
“Sit down and shut up!” bellowed a new voice. “I want to hear Scott!”
“Then go watch him on TV!” called a third poet.
More people began to shout, some in favor of Scott Willis, others urging him to leave the stage and break his pencils forever.
Juliet peeked out around the curtain again. It took her a moment, but she finally spotted Eris near the back of the auditorium, waving her hands as if casting a spell. A harsh delight twisted her face.
“Is this jam about poetry, or is it about celebrities?” cried someone.
“If you don’t like it, get out of town,” shouted an older man, springing to his feet.
Soon dozens of people were standing, most of them shouting and shaking their fists.
Scott Willis, still at the podium, stared at the audience in disbelief. Watching him, Juliet had a flashback to the festival’s first year when she was supposed to recite a poem as part of the junior-division competition. She had walked onto the stage, looked at the audience, and completely frozen. Her mouth became dust dry; her face burned red; and she felt such a tightness in her chest, she could scarcely breathe. It was a terror unlike any she had ever known. After what seemed like years—though in truth was only a few seconds—she turned and ran into the wings, her heart pounding. She could still hear the laughter that had followed her.
What had made the experience especially galling was that everyone assumed she had forgotten her poem, which was not the case at all. She could recite it perfectly. It was terror, not failure of memory, that had driven her from the stage.
Remembering all that, Juliet wished she could help Mr. Willis, who seemed like a nice enough man, even though he was a terrible poet. Then she saw Corey Falcon bound onto the stage and felt a wave of relief. Surely the handsome young star would help calm the audience. But to her horror, she heard him shout, “The people are right, old man! This drivel of yours is an insult to true poetry.”
“You think your adolescent scribbling is any better, pretty boy?” snarled the weatherman. “You would have never published a word if you weren’t a movie star.”
“Weatherman!” shouted Corey Falcon, as if it were the worst of all possible insults.
“Movie star!” screamed Scott Willis, giving him a shove.
The audience erupted. Shouts and insult
s flew back and forth, and it looked as if fists would soon be flying as well. The cameramen from the news channels were racing up and down the aisles, thrusting their lenses at red-faced, angry people—which only made most of them angrier.
Juliet turned to look at her father. His face had gone white, and he looked as if he were about to be sick.
“Juliet, you’ve got to do something!” said Byron.
Suddenly her fury was greater than her shyness. This was all Eris’s fault, and Juliet wasn’t going to let the goddess get away with it. In a blaze of anger, she strode onto the stage, pushed herself between the movie star and the weatherman, grabbed the microphone, and roared, “For heaven’s sake, sit down and shut up! All of you!”
FIFTEEN
Downfall
To Juliet’s amazement, the audience did exactly as she had ordered. A deep hush fell over the auditorium, as if she had just cast a spell of her own.
What happened? she thought to Cupid.
I think an entire roomful of people just fell in love with you.
Juliet’s momentary relief was replaced by a surge of terror. Now what should she do? Hundreds of eager eyes that seconds ago were blind with anger now stared expectantly up at her. Hundreds of eager ears waited to hear what she would say next. She stood frozen once again, remembering her terror of two years before. Her throat was a desert, her hands a pair of leaves in a windstorm. Heat radiated from her cheeks, and she wanted nothing more than to flee back into the darkness.
Say something! urged Cupid.
What? thought Juliet, clutching the podium as if it were a life preserver in a storm-tossed sea.
It’s a poetry jam, isn’t it? Well, let’s give them some poetry!
I don’t know any poem that’s right for this, she thought, still not daring to look out at the audience.
Then we’ll make one up.
Right now? thought Juliet, her terror deeper than ever.
Didn’t you ever hear of inspiration? The breath of the gods moving through you to lift you to artistic glory? Well, look who you’ve got to provide it. I’ll be your muse. Now let’s go!