The Secret Fire (6 page)

E
than would have complained about my lack of a plan. But he wasn't here and I had only myself to rely on. All I knew was that the gate had closed, but the red door might be open. I ran under the archway, past the ticket booth and the welcome sign, and grabbed the red door's handle. Locked! I darted to the gate and grabbed the metal bars. There were no pedestrians on the street. But two of Ricardo's men were still standing on the sidewalk. “Help me,” I cried. “Please.”

They could hear me. I was only a few yards
away. But they ignored me.

“He kidnapped me,” I told them. “Help me.”

They stood with their hands at their sides and blank looks on their faces, just like those guards at Buckingham Palace who aren't allowed to talk to people, or smile, or do anything. I tried to shake the gate but it wouldn't budge either. “What's the matter with you? I've been
kidnapped
!” Clearly, they didn't care. “Kidnapping's against the law,” I said, trying to threaten them. “If you don't let me go, you'll get arrested. You'll—”

Someone grabbed my shoulder. Instinct took over. I swung around and kicked as hard as I could. It was another man, dressed just like the others. They were beginning to look like clones. He easily avoided my kick. I balled up my fists, ready to punch one of his weak spots, but suddenly, my feet left the ground. Another guy had flung me over his shoulder and was carrying me back toward the limo. “Let me go!” I yelled. I really wished I hadn't quit tae kwon do. I only got to the yellow belt, which is the second belt. What can I say? I got bored. I didn't know that I'd be kidnapped by a crazy mythological man! How could I possibly know something like that? That's not the kind of thing that shows up in a person's horoscope.

“Let me—” I landed on the ground, feetfirst, just like a cat.

The limousine driver stepped forward. “Follow me,” he said.

What could I do? Throw a temper tantrum? Sit on the concrete like a toddler and refuse to go? One of the guards would just end up carrying me. There was nowhere to run. And Pyrrha had disappeared. The driver reached out to grab my arm but I yanked it away. “Don't touch me!” I told him. “I can walk without help, thank you very much.”

I followed the driver through the double doors, into a long hallway. The place was cold, not the dry kind of cold that comes from air-conditioning, but as if no sunlight ever made it through the thick cement walls. I tried to memorize my steps, in case I needed to backtrack. I kept watch for fire escapes, or windows that might open.

Ricardo had mentioned the driver's name. “Timothy?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. “Can't you let me go? I won't tell the police, I promise. You won't get into trouble.”

“Where would you go?” he asked in a monotone voice. “You are meant to be here. We are all meant to be here.”

The way he spoke creeped me out. Like I was
listening to a robot. He was dressed just like everyone else. Ricardo must have gotten a real good deal on blue suits and sunglasses. “Why are we meant to be here?” I asked.

“To work for the one purpose.”

Okay. Creepier by the second. “What is the one purpose?” I asked.

“The one purpose is the only purpose.”

I rolled my eyes.
Oh gee thanks, that makes total sense
. Let's try this again. “Uh, Timothy, can you
define
the one purpose? I mean, I know it's the only purpose, but what is it, exactly?”

He didn't answer. I don't know how he could see with those sunglasses. The overhead lighting was pretty dim. Some of the lightbulbs were buzzing. Maybe the wiring was bad and the place would catch on fire. Then the fire department would come and I'd be rescued.

I decided to try a different question. “How come Ricardo bought this museum?”

“All property is for the one purpose,” Timothy said.

“And again, what is the one purpose?”

“The one purpose is the only purpose.”

I groaned with frustration. It was like talking to a machine.

We walked down the hallway, passing lots of offices. One of the doors had a sign that read:
Historic Site Research Department
, another:
Personnel Office
. More people, women and men in blue suits and white shirts, sat at the desks, working on computers. The lights of the computer screens glowed on their faces. No one looked up as we walked by. According to a clock it was five a.m. Why were they working so early? What were they doing? “Hey!” I called, rapping my knuckles on one of the doors. But they continued to stare at their screens, as if in a trance.

Were they all victims of Ricardo's urn?

We passed a bin filled with museum brochures. I grabbed one and stuffed it under my shirt. Hopefully there'd be a map inside.

For someone in a trance, Timothy sure walked fast. We passed a woman. She bowed her head at Timothy; he bowed back. “The one purpose,” she said to him.

“The one purpose,” he said back.

I was putting it together, like a detective. The urn of Faith was definitely at work here. Faith had been stripped from these people, leaving them with nothing or no one to believe in. Then Ricardo had filled that emptiness with himself. He'd become
their one purpose. And now they'd follow his commands, even if it meant kidnapping an innocent girl. And he would probably turn the urn on me. I wasn't sure if I was shivering because it was so cold, or because I was really scared. I wrapped my purple jacket as tight as I could. I'd become a follower, just like the other poor victims. I'd start talking about the one purpose.

Ricardo was creating his own cult, except it was powered by magic.

We were in another hallway. This one had a rounded ceiling. White paint was peeling off the walls. One of the overhead lights flickered. I kept going over the route in my mind, so I could backtrack when I escaped.

We came to a circular room. The ceiling was made of metal beams, with lots of rusty pipes running across it. More hallways jutted out of the room, like spokes on a wheel. Each of the hallways had a big number over it. I peered out a narrow window. It was still dark outside, but the first rays of dawn were just beginning to appear. Most of the corridors looked empty, but hallway five was lined with racks of blue suits and white shirts. Timothy turned and walked down hallway four.

We passed lots of doors. Then he opened one. I looked inside. It was a jail cell. No doubt about it. There was only one tiny window and it was set too high in the wall to reach. There was a cot with a blanket, a toilet in the corner, and a sink. A loaf of bread, a jug of water, and an apple sat on a little table. “You will wait here,” Timothy said.

“Why?” I could see my reflection in his glasses. I wondered if his eyes looked like robot eyes.

“It is the leader's command that you sleep here. Do you not serve the one purpose?”

If I admitted that I didn't serve the one purpose, would Timothy haul me down to the brainwashing room? It seemed best to pretend. “Yes, I serve the one purpose.” I bowed. He returned my bow. Then I stepped into the room and Timothy closed the door. His footsteps echoed as he walked away.

A terrible feeling welled in my chest and I couldn't catch my breath. I'd seen Ethan have anxiety attacks, so I knew what was happening to me. He got them in crowds. But this was the opposite of a crowd. The walls felt like they were closing in. I sat on the cot and gave myself the same advice I always gave Ethan—breathe slowly. Focus all your thoughts on your breathing. Slowly.
Slowly. The feeling will pass.

And it did pass. Fear switched to anger. Stupid Ricardo!

It occurred to me that, at that very moment, my father might be sitting on his cot, looking at the walls of his jail cell. He was there because of Ricardo. Well, the villain wasn't going to imprison me, too. I remembered his threat—
If your cousins do as I have instructed, you will be free to go at eight a.m. If not, then I have other plans for you
. He was going to kill me, a mere mortal. Or turn me into one of his brainwashed robots, working for the one purpose. No way!

Come on, Jax, you can figure this out!

I walked around the cell and checked every nook and cranny. There was shampoo, soap, and two towels. A roll of toilet paper.

And there was the bread.

I was starving. The loaf was small, but crusty and white. It could be poisoned but why would he want to kill me already? He needed me to make the trade with Ethan and Tyler. It could be drugged, to make me fall asleep so I wouldn't be any trouble. But he still needed me for the trade, which was less than ten hours away.

What was I thinking? I knew there'd be no trade. The urn of Hope had been returned to Zeus and destroyed. And even if the boys had found Love, I wouldn't let them give it to Ricardo. I needed to stay alert. I needed fuel. So I took a small nibble of bread, then waited to see what happened. Nothing. I took a larger bite, then waited again. I felt fine. So I ate the entire loaf. I couldn't help myself. I'd never felt so hungry in my life.

The room was so cold it went right through my jacket. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders, then sat on the cot and read the brochure. It said that Eastern State was the world's first true penitentiary. It said that the building was designed to inspire penitence. I wasn't totally sure what that meant. Where was Ethan when I needed him?

According to the brochure, the cells had held many of America's most notorious criminals, including bank robber “Slick Willie” Sutton and “Scarface” Al Capone. Whoever wrote the brochure described the prison as a haunting world of crumbling cellblocks and surprisingly eerie beauty.

“Beauty?” I said with a snort. The haunting part was probably true. There was even a special ghost tour you could take to visit the haunted cells.
Obviously this brochure had been written before Ricardo bought the place. That's why the sign on the sidewalk had said
Closed
for Repairs
. Ricardo didn't want tourists walking through his lair. I looked around nervously. Then I turned to the back page and found a map. I retraced my steps from the main entrance and the offices we'd passed. Then to the circular room, which was called the surveillance hub. There was a dining hall, a basketball court, and a movie theater. There was a death row and a famous escape tunnel, but it had been filled in a long time ago so it wouldn't do me any good. The entire prison was surrounded by the stone wall. The only exit appeared to be the gateway we'd driven through.

This was totally different from the prison where my dad was being held—a minimum-security facility known as a prison “camp.” The inmates hadn't committed violent crimes—mostly financial crimes—so they wore nice clothes, got hot meals, had a library, access to email . . .

Email?

I pushed the blanket aside and began to pace, trying to work my thoughts into something. Anything. The window was too high to reach. The door
was the only way out. Maybe I could break the lock like they always do in the movies. But I didn't have a bobby pin or anything sharp. I crouched in front of the door and examined the lock. It looked like the kind that a long key would fit into. I grabbed the knob. Maybe if I pushed hard enough . . . ?

The door opened.

Whoa! How was that possible? I'd assumed that Timothy had locked me in but this whole time it hadn't been locked? Then again, why would he lock the door? If I served the one purpose, there was no reason to think I'd want to escape. Timothy had treated me as if I were just another brainwashed zombie. That had been his big fat mistake.

Oh, I had
one purpose
, but it wasn't about helping Ricardo.

I was going to get back to those offices and use one of the computers.

        
FACT:
One of the first things you practice in social-skills class is eye contact. Even though it's very uncomfortable for many people, it's one of the most important forms of nonverbal communication. Too little makes the other person feel like you're not paying attention. Too much, however, can be aggressive and make the other person uncomfortable. Avoiding eye contact in a crowd maintains your individual privacy, which is what I tend to do.

My teacher likes to say that eye contact is
important because the eyes are the windows to the soul. If that is true, then Pandora's soul was beautiful.

“W
elcome to my home,” she told us, her eyes twinkling. I couldn't look away. It wasn't because I'd suddenly lost my shyness and had a surge of social confidence. It was because her eyes were mesmerizing. They were almond-shaped and they changed colors. Literally. From blue to green to violet and back to blue. It was distracting.

She opened her front door and led us into her house.

I wasn't sure what to expect, since I'd never been to a god's house before. Technically, Pandora wasn't a god, but she lived with them, which made her immortal. I expected she'd have a mansion or a castle. But the house was small and simple. Like a cottage.

The stone walls and marble floor were white and perfectly polished. The wooden furniture was sparse but elegant. One wall was covered with a dolphin mural, built from colorful mosaic tiles. Another wall had a life-size mural of an olive tree. The whole place was clean, with absolutely no clutter. No stacks of
books, or piles of junk mail. No shoes lying around, no coats draped across benches. It was a house without
stuff
. My mom always complains that we have too much stuff and that if she could get back the hours she's spent putting our stuff away, she'd be young again. She'd like this house.

As Pandora walked us through the various rooms, I got a better view of her. Her red hair hung all the way to her waist and it sparkled like her daughter's. Her white gown was sleeveless, and the belt was woven from golden thread. Her skin was very brown, which seemed unusual for a redhead. I wanted to point out that an excessive amount of tanning wasn't healthy, but then again, if you're immortal, you probably don't have to worry about skin cancer. Her feet were bare. I guess she didn't have to worry about stubbing her toes, either.

“I'm wondering about something,” I said. “Why did you tell us that we'd be safe here in your house? I mean, is this house magical or something? How can it keep Zeus from finding us?”

“There is no magic in my home,” she said. “Only the gods have magic. But Zeus knows he is not welcome here. Thus, he never visits.”

Pandora stopped walking and gestured at a wall
that was covered in smaller mosaics. “These are portraits of my daughter,” she explained. The first showed a baby with a happy grin. The others caught important moments, like first tooth, first steps. It reminded me of the upstairs hallway in our house where Mom displayed our school photos, even the ones with braces and embarrassing haircuts. I wondered if Pyrrha was embarrassed by any of these pictures. “I miss her,” Pandora said. There was so much sadness in her voice that I suddenly felt sad, too.

“She's okay,” I told her, even though I wasn't sure that was true.

“Hey, I was wondering . . .” Tyler pushed his messy hair from his eyes. “Is this guy Pyrrha's boyfriend?” He pointed to a mosaic that showed a teenage Pyrrha standing with a young man. He had his arm around her.

“That is not Pyrrha,” Pandora corrected. “That is myself and my husband when we were first married. Pyrrha does not have a boyfriend.”

A goofy smile spread across Tyler's face. He'd been acting weird ever since we'd met Pyrrha in the parking lot outside Merlin's Comics. He'd been flirting with her nonstop. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was imagining that when this was all over, he'd
ask Pyrrha on a date. I was about to point out that, from what I'd heard, long-distance relationships were very difficult to maintain, even if the two people lived in the same dimension. And even if they were both mortals. The odds seemed stacked against Tyler. But something else had caught my attention.

It was a mosaic of two young men. Both had black hair, and one was clearly older than the other, taller, with more muscles. He stood with his hands on his hips, smiling proudly, as if a spotlight were shining on him. The younger man stood quietly to the side, watching. Pandora stepped next to me. “That is my husband and his brother, Prometheus,” she said.

“Prometheus?” Tyler gasped. “Whoa! That's what he looks like?”

“This mosaic was created a very long time ago,” Pandora told us. “But he was once a handsome young man. As was my husband.” She pointed to the younger man, the one standing off to the side. “Please understand that Epimetheus was a kind soul once. Gentle. Compassionate. The man you met, named Ricardo, is not the man he used to be.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Pandora sighed. “His heart was broken.”

“By a girl?” Tyler asked.

“No.” Pandora's eyes settled to a muted gray. Then she gazed into the distance, as if she could see the story she was about to tell. “When he was young, Epimetheus spent most of his time with his brother, Prometheus. This was when we lived in your world. Prometheus was fond of humans, and he had many friends among them. One day he decided to give them a gift.”

“Fire,” Tyler said with a knowing smile.

Pandora nodded. “The gift of fire gave man creative power. It changed the balance of things, and this made Zeus angry. In retaliation, Zeus declared that Prometheus would live out eternity, chained to a rock. During the day, an eagle ate his liver. During the night, the liver healed so it could be eaten again and again.”

I'd heard this story, but that's all it had been—a gross, impossible story. But as I watched the tension on Pandora's face, I realized that the story was true.

Pandora continued. “Epimetheus grieved for his brother. He pleaded with Zeus to offer mercy. He petitioned the Mount Olympus council. But Zeus's ruling stood. Epimetheus could not free his brother, but he was determined to help him. So he visited his brother each day, bringing him water laced with
poppy to make the pain bearable. When Zeus heard of this compassion, he ordered Epimetheus to cease. But Epimetheus continued, so Zeus created a magical barricade so that no one could pass. Without the poppy water, Prometheus suffered, day after endless day. Epimetheus could do nothing. He began to hate Zeus, and that hatred grew with each sunrise until it became a ferocious, unyielding beast.”

I would hate Zeus, too, if he'd tortured my brother
, I thought.

“When I married Epimetheus, he tried to hide the fact that he hated Zeus. He tried to live within Zeus's laws and he fooled most of us into believing that he'd forgiven Zeus. But Zeus was still angry with both brothers for their disobediences, so he decided to punish them yet again.”

“Oh, that's where the wedding present comes in,” Tyler said. “Pandora's box. I mean,
your
box.”

Pandora didn't seem to mind that Tyler kept interrupting her. I didn't dare say a word. Her story filled my head with all sorts of images, and I tried to imagine Ricardo as a person who had once been caring and nice. Who'd once loved his brother.

Then I felt a flash of hope. Maybe there was still some kindness inside him. Maybe he wouldn't hurt Jax after all.

“To punish my husband for his disobedience, Zeus gave us a wedding present,” Pandora explained. “A lovely box, but we were told to never open it.”

“That's like when our parents put gifts under the Christmas tree and tell us not to open them until Christmas morning.” Tyler frowned. “I always hate that. So I always open a few. Because how can you resist?”

“Like you, Tyler, I could not resist.” Her voice had lost all of its musical qualities. It was clearly a memory that still brought pain. She touched her temple, as if a headache might be starting. “I was young and curious. I wanted to know what was inside.”

“And that's when evil was unleashed,” I said quietly.

“Yes.” She sighed. “Zeus told everyone that I had unleashed evil into the world.”

The moment turned awkward. What could you say after that? Unleashing evil was a pretty bad thing to do. It wasn't like she'd opened the box and a mouse got out. Or a plague of locusts. It was
evil
.

Tyler's stomach growled.

“Where are my manners?” she said with a graceful wave of her arm. “This way, please.”

We followed Pandora into a dining room where a long wooden table was covered with platters of food:
almonds and salty olives, loaves of crusty bread, cheese curds speckled with herbs, and roasted meat. Pandora washed her hands in a bowl of water, then dried them on a linen towel. Tyler and I did likewise. The water was warm, with flower petals floating in it. Pandora sat in one of the chairs, then she motioned for us to sit.

Tyler threw himself into a chair. “Uh, do we have time for this?” I asked. “What about Jax and Pyrrha?”

“I am just as concerned as you are about your cousin and my daughter,” Pandora said. “But there are details we still need to discuss. Besides, heroes cannot undertake quests on empty stomachs.”

“You got that right!” Tyler said.

Is that what we were? Heroes? I had more questions, but at that moment, my stomach felt as hollow as a gourd. I
needed
to eat. So I sat next to my brother. After setting the leather bag on my lap and removing my baseball cap, I looked around for a napkin but there wasn't one. And instead of a plate, there was just a small serrated knife. “Those things look good,” Tyler said, reaching out and stabbing a fig with his knife. He plucked the fig off the end of the blade and ate it. He then grabbed a whole roasted chicken, tore one of its legs, and bit into the crispy skin.

Pandora didn't cringe at Tyler's manners. It appeared that eating without a fork or plate was acceptable. I tasted one of the figs. Then the bread and cheese curds. The flavors burst in my mouth. I tried not to talk with my mouth full but I couldn't help it. “This is so good!”

Pandora sat quietly, drinking from a silver cup and watching us with curious interest. I felt self-conscious all of a sudden. She was observing me, a human, a mortal. Did we look weird to her because our hair didn't sparkle? Or because our eyes didn't change color?

“Are you thirsty?” she asked. She presented us each with a small bowl. Tyler cupped it in his hands and gulped the contents. I wasn't so sure about drinking the stuff. The liquid was metallic, like melted gold.

“What is this?” I asked.

“Ambrosia,” she said.

“Seriously?” Tyler laughed. “I'm drinking ambrosia!”

I took a small sip. It was thick, like honey diluted with water. But it tasted like nothing I'd ever known. Just incredibly delicious.

Tyler started taking pictures with his phone. Then
he leaned sideways and took a selfie with Pandora. She didn't seem interested in the technology. That's when I realized I hadn't seen any televisions or computers in the house. No machinery either. I suppose if you live in a world with magic, you don't need technology. “When we get home, this is going to be my screen saver,” Tyler said.

Home. That word brought me back to reality. It was so easy to get distracted by the beauty of this place. I set down my bowl and looked at Pandora. “You said there were more details we needed to discuss.”

“Yes.” She set aside her drink. “What conditions has my husband set for your cousin's release?”

Tyler wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Epimetheus wants all three urns. He has the urn of Faith already. But he wants us to deliver Hope and Love to him by tomorrow morning or we'll never see Jax again.”

“Those urns,” she said, her voice quieting to a hiss. “How I curse those urns.”

“What really happened?” I asked. “I mean, we know the story that we've read in books. But what made your husband leave this place? Why is he trying to take over our world?”

She scooted to the edge of her chair and folded her hands on the table. Whatever she was about
to tell us, it was important. “During our marriage, Epimetheus's hatred for Zeus continued to grow. But he had one thing that brought him joy and that was our daughter, Pyrrha. He adored her. Her hugs comforted him. Her laughter warmed our home. I thought that her love would heal him. But one day, Zeus sent the urns.” Tyler and I leaned closer, to catch every word. “Zeus told the world that the urns were a symbol of his magnificent power. They were for Pyrrha and no one else was allowed to open them or they would be ruined. The urns sat on a mantel in this house and each day, my husband would stare at them, his hatred raging. He wanted to destroy something that was important to Zeus. So he opened all three urns. And as they emptied, so too did my husband's heart empty.”

“Zeus knew he'd open the urns,” Tyler said. “It was revenge, right?”

Pandora nodded. “Zeus had inflicted another punishment upon the brothers—Epimetheus would live a life without hope, love, or faith. Zeus was finally satisfied. His revenge ended and he allowed Hercules to free Prometheus. But my husband could not be freed. He was forever changed. His heart was broken.”

It was a sad story. To think that the man we'd been afraid of, the man who was back home terrifying people, had himself been the victim of a vengeful god.

“That's a terrible thing to do to someone,” I said. “Zeus is cruel.”

“That he is,” a voice bellowed.

Startled, we all turned in our seats. A large man stood beneath the archway. He glistened with sweat, as if he'd walked a long distance. He was bare-chested, wearing a sort of kilt and a leather apron. He carried a giant hammer.