by S. L. Stacy
Harriet laughs through her nose. “Is this guy for real?”
“Oh, he’s for real!” I shout over the music now blasting throughout the ballroom. We circle up and dance in place. Harriet stands off to the side, arms crossed over her chest, bobbing her head to the music.
“Hey, Tanya!” A guy in a black, long nose mask shimmies up behind Tanya and tries to dance with her. “Wanna d—”
“What?” Tanya yells, turning around in confusion. One of her wings smacks him in the face. It throws his mask askew and knocks him off balance. He hurries away, clutching that side of his face with his hand.
Tanya considers the now empty spot behind her. “That’s weird! I thought I heard my name!”
Even though they’re all wearing suits, I’m still a bit nervous about Search and Destroy’s performance. Their sound is loud, grating and flirts with obnoxious, and I’ve seen Jimmy cut himself on stage. My worries vanish when they take the stage and launch into a lively cover of “Shout.” They play it safe, running through typical crowd-pleasers and some classics from the early 2000s. When Search and Destroy starts to slow things down, I realize how sore and tired I am from dancing. My face feels hot and sweaty under my mask.
“I’m going to get something to drink!” I tell the others and wander over to the buffet table. I ladle some of the nonalcoholic punch into a cup and chug it.
A shiver slips down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold punch. I’m suddenly hyperaware of myself standing here, alone, empty cup in hand. I feel like someone’s watching me.
Instinctively, I glance up at the balcony overlooking the ballroom. A lone figure stands just inside the shadows there. I feel his eyes boring into me from behind a plain white mask. Dark hair curls on either side of it, skimming his shoulders. I look away and throw my cup into the nearest trash can. Without quite realizing what I’m doing, I run out into the lobby, pulse racing, and up the stairs leading to the balcony.
When I get to the place where I saw the masked man, he’s gone. I look up and down the balcony, but it’s completely deserted. I sigh, shaking my head. I could slap myself.
I fell for it, again.
I step out to walk back toward the staircase.
A cold hand grabs my upper arm.
Before I have time to react, he has me pinned against one of the white marble columns. And this time, there’s no doubt in my mind that this is real. That he’s real.
The entire length of his graceful, powerful body is flush against me. I can feel the uneven rise and fall of his chest. Bursts of warm, cinnamon breath brush my cheek. He smells like honey, like a chilly night in the woods, like sea salt and his apartment and cologne and sex and man. The confusing mixture of scents pushes me over the edge, pushes out all logical thought. In one moment, Rational Siobhan is gone again—isn’t around to contemplate a means of escape. In her place is the most primitive version of herself, the version that wants this man to throw her over his shoulder and carry her triumphantly back to his cave.
But then something does manage to break up the fog clogging up my brain. Rational Siobhan reminds Cavegirl Siobhan that this is the man she unwittingly helped banish back to Olympus—the man who believes she betrayed him. So who is she to him now? His beautiful, kind, reincarnated soul mate, lover, wife? Or the ditzy, annoying, two-faced sorority girl who betrayed him? A moment ago, this felt like a sexy game. Now, it feels a little more like The Most Dangerous Game. My heart, once giddy with anticipation, knocks fearfully against my chest.
I don’t know if he’s going to kiss me or kill me.
Chapter 14
Emerald green grass stretches out for miles and miles in all directions.
Above me, the sky is cloudless and powder blue. An orange sun glows patiently as it inches toward its highest peak in the sky. The meadow is quiet except for the whistle of a warm, tender breeze ruffling the grass. The tips of the blades reach my waist and feel dewy when I skim my fingers over them. The wind carries with it the scents of earth and foliage.
I make a circle in place. There isn’t another person, a building or any sign of civilization as far as I can see. Somehow my “master” transported me from the dreary throne room to this meadow. And I have no idea what I’m supposed to do. Which way should I go? Should I go anywhere? Where the heck will I end up if I leave?
I take a tentative step forward. The ground is slightly moist but firm underneath my bare feet. I start walking.
***
I stumble up the side of a gently sloping hill.
I don’t know how long I’ve been walking, only that it feels like forever. This must be the test of the body he was talking about. My calves ache, and the once warm, welcomed kiss of the sun has turned hot and relentless. Sweat drips down my forehead and neck.
The sun has since peaked and now slides gradually down toward the horizon. So it has to have been at least a few hours. I wish I had a watch or my phone—not that either would be of any use here. Not knowing what time it is makes me shorter of breath than this endless walk has. My throat feels like sandpaper. I consider plucking one of the sticky blades of grass and sucking on it for moisture.
I reach the top of the hill and am about to crumple to the ground when I see the brown and red stone wall below. Nestled beyond it are the adobe buildings of a village.
I sprint down the hill.
In my haste, I trip over my own foot and fall sideways. My shoulder hits the ground. Pain splinters through my arm and ribcage. I roll the rest of the way down the hill, dust and dirt stinging my eyes, small pebbles grinding into my skin. I skid to a stop at the bottom and lay still for a moment, eyes closed as I catch my breath.
I open a cautious eye. A sallow, withered foot encased in a tattered leather sandal fills my field of vision. I watch helplessly as the foot swings back and then rushes forward to kick me in the shoulder I just fell on.
“Ow!” I shriek.
“Halt, stranger!” says a strident, wheezing voice.
“I am halted,” I mutter. My mouth fills with a metallic taste, and I spit dirt and blood onto the ground. Here the grassy field has tapered off, and I’m lying on a dirt path. I start to push myself up, but the end of a brown, twisted cane pins the hem of my dress to the ground.
“Name,” the old man demands. His face looks like the side of a craggy cliff covered with white whiskers. Liver spots dot the bald patch on his head. A grayish brown cloak engulfs his small, bony body. So far, most of the Olympians I’ve met have been young, relatively speaking, and beautiful. This guy must have been around to watch the universe form. I can totally take him.
“Let me up first,” I insist, relaxing for the moment into a half-sitting up position. “I mean, look at me.” I glance down at my sparkly pink dress. “I’m not much of a threat.”
“Any stranger to the city is a threat. Now, name.”
I sigh. “Carly Dragonjac.”
“Of?”
“Of…New Jersey.”
“What business brings you to our city?”
“I…I, um…well, I’m not exactly sure,” I admit.
The cane lifts. I have time for only a brief rush of relief before he swings the cane back like a baseball bat. I drop back to the ground. I feel a tiny breeze on my face as the cane passes over me, missing me by millimeters.
Okay, maybe I can’t take him.
“You are ‘not exactly sure?’” he repeats. “Then you have no business being here!” He nudges my leg with the cane. “Away with you!”
“Wait!” I plead, crawling backward a few feet before standing up. The pain from my fall and his sandal has ebbed. Dirt and blood smear my arms and legs, but the cuts have healed over, leaving behind no scabs or scars. “I was sent here—only I don’t know why. He didn’t tell me anything specific.”
“Who sent you here?”
“Um, well, he’s pretty tall. Spiky blonde hair. Green eyes. Seems a little crazy,” I add under my breath.
The old man pierces me with his bead
y dark eyes, and, even though I can’t feel anything, I know he’s probing my mind for the truth. “You are friends with the prince,” he realizes with a gasp.
“Friends is putting it a little strongly—”
“Well, why didn’t you just say so! Any friend of His Highness is a friend of mine. It is an honor to meet you, Carly of New Jersey.” He takes my hand, bows his head and plants a gentle kiss on my knuckles with dry lips. “Otto, Guardian of Dolopolis, at your service.”
Unsure of what else to do, I pinch my dress and curtsy. “The honor is mine.” Even though you tried to hit me with your stick.
I crane my neck back and follow the wall up with my eyes, hoping to catch a glimpse of a rooftop on the other side. From this angle, the wall looks like it goes up and up forever. The stones fit snugly together, betraying no trace of a way inside. “So this is what you do all day? Stand here and guard this wall?”
Otto thrusts his shoulders back, puffing out his frail chest. “The prince has tasked me with guarding his city.”
I walk up to the wall and run my fingers down the chalky stones. “The prince should just guard it himself.”
“His Majesty has much more important matters to attend to.”
Dropping my hand, I turn back to Otto, eyebrows raised. “I’m sure he does.”
“I take great pride in guarding the wall. It is an honor to serve the prince. And you’d best mind your tongue when you speak of him. He is a god.”
“He’s not a god. Super advanced, maybe. Definitely full of himself. And lazy.”
“He has unique talents. Rare magic.”
“There’s no such thing as magic,” I say. “That’s just what people call it when they don’t understand something.” I point a frustrated finger at the doorless wall. “So I’m free to head in?”
Otto frowns and gravely shakes his head. “One does not simply walk into Dolopolis, my dear. All must prove themselves worthy of entering the city—even those sent by the prince himself.”
“Okay, tell me what I need to do. I’ll do just about anything.” Anything to get home.
“As you wish.” Otto steps to the side and gestures toward the stone wall with a flourish of his cane. He taps the stone surface with the tip, and for the first time I make out the faint lines of a six-foot rectangle etched in the stone. There are three of them in a row.
“But how…” I squint at the three doors. “How did you…?”
Otto’s smile is smug. “I have a little magic of my own. One of these doors leads into the city,” he explains. “Beyond it, you may continue on your journey. Behind the other two lies instant death. Choose wisely.”
“Ch-Choose wisely?” I sputter, my eyes flitting from door to door. “I have no freaking idea which door to choose! And I have a two thirds chance of dying!”
Otto shrugs helplessly and lowers his cane. “You must choose. It’s the only way to enter the city.”
My shoulders sag, and I let myself fall to the ground. I’m too overwhelmed with panic and hopelessness to register the brief stab of pain as I land hard on my tailbone. “Master” or “His Majesty” or whatever the heck his name is set me up to fail before I even started the first test. I’m going to pick a door, and it’s going to be the wrong door. I’m going to die. I guess if he can’t have me, he’d rather see me dead.
“Door number one.” My voice is mechanical and hollow. I don’t even feel like I’m the one moving my lips to make the words.
Otto wields his cane again, but bypasses the first door to tap three times on the second. It makes grinding and scraping sounds as it slides open to reveal a black abyss.
“Well, this certainly isn’t the entrance to the city,” he says. Pity further wrinkles the corners of his eyes. “You seem like a nice young person, Carly of New Jersey. I would hate to see your journey end before it has even started. So before I open your first choice, I would like to give you a second chance—the chance to change your mind. Would you like to switch to door number three?”
God, just open the fudging door. I chew on my lower lip, holding back the exclamation. Maybe I should give this some more thought. I do have a third option.
My wings.
I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on my back, trying to summon them forth, but there’s no familiar roll under my skin—no shift of muscle and bone as they break through.
Well, of course there isn’t. I open my eyes. It must be some sort of trick, but, in any case, flying over the wall isn’t an option. The prince isn’t going to let me cheat.
I have to play.
Or give up. I look back over my shoulder at the grassy hill. I could give up and walk back the way I came—return to the palace and stay with him forever. I might never see my real sister, my sorority sisters or Alec again, but I would be alive.
But if I go through with the game and choose the right door, I’m one step closer to going home, finishing my degree at Thurston and seeing out my dreams. Seeing my family and friends again. I turn back to the wall. All I have to do is pick the right door. I look from the first door to the third door, then back to the first door again. I take a deep breath. It’s a fifty/fifty chance. I just have to dig up some courage and pick one.
“Take as long as you need,” Otto tells me. He uses his cane to hobble over to the wall and sits down, propping his back against it. I smile a “thank you” and lay down, letting my curls spread out on the ground. I’m covered with dirt, anyway—what’s a little more?
I put my hands behind my head and stare up at the sky. I see a flock of what looks like birds flying in a V formation across the sky. There’s one, two, three…seven of them, tiny and black against the blue backdrop. A few fluffy white clouds have appeared, so I count those, too. Otto starts humming a buoyant melody in his gravelly voice. I keep time in my head until my eyelids feel heavy and I drift off to sleep.
***
I open my eyes. The sky has turned a rich black speckled with flickering stars. I wonder which one of them is Earth. Then I remember that Olympus is in another universe. Two moons cast whitish light over the meadow. Both are almost full and much closer to this planet than our moon is to Earth—so close I can clearly make out the craters in their gray faces.
Maybe I don’t have to make any hard decisions. If I have to stay here forever, maybe I can just lie here and study the sky for eternity, count and name the stars I can see and make up my own constellations. The night air here is crisp and fresh, devoid of the slight stale taste of pollution that lingers in the air in Shadesburg even on the best of days. Okay, maybe at some point I would have to find something to eat and drink and do the other necessary things living beings have to do, but otherwise I could just lie here forever.
This is when, like they say, the light bulb goes off in my head.
I quickly sit up. “Door number three!”
Otto, still slumped against the wall, gives a start and a snort as his eyes fly open. “Halt, stranger!”
“Otto, I want to switch doors,” I say, going over and kneeling next to him. “I choose door number three.”
“Door number three?” he repeats, still blinking back sleep as he considers me. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.” Or at least as sure as I could ever be. I was being stupid. Really, really stupid.
Three tests, he told me. One of the body, one of the heart—and one of the mind. I don’t have a fifty/fifty chance of picking the right door. Originally, I had a two out of three chance of picking instant death—and I probably did. There was only ever a one out of three chance that I would pick the correct door in the first place. If that was the case and I switch doors now, I die.
But let’s say doors one and two do, in fact, lead to instant death. Picking either of these forces Otto to show me the other door with death behind it. And in both cases, switching doors is preferable. I’m more likely to live if I switch doors.
There’s always the chance that I picked the right door in the first place. And this is all assum
ing that Otto knows what’s behind each door. The so-called prince said it was a test of the mind, so I could also assume he’s testing my knowledge of probability and wants me to pick the door that most likely leads into the city. Which I can only do by switching my choice.
Unless he knows I’ll make this assumption, knows I’ll switch doors when I already picked the right door in the first place, thus getting back at me for not wanting to enact some sort of captor/prisoner fantasy of his. Better yet, maybe all three doors actually lead to instant death. If that’s the case, I think I would have preferred a glass of wine spiked with iocaine powder.
I can’t keep going over and over this in my head. I need to make a choice. The logical choice.
“Door number three,” I tell Otto again, positioning myself in front of it.
Otto stands and nods. “As you wish.” He taps it three times with his cane. I hold my breath.
It groans open, revealing a bustling nighttime bazaar.
“You are free to go,” Otto says, giving me a grandfatherly smile. I return it with a grin giddy with relief.
“Thanks, Otto,” I say as I cross the threshold. “Hey, you should come with…me…” The invitation falters on my lips as I look over my shoulder to find the doorway already sealed over with stone. There isn’t a crevice left to suggest there was ever a door there at all.
I turn back to the marketplace only to stagger backwards as a plume of fire shoots in front of me. The flames and smoke dissipate quickly, and a tall, lanky man standing to my right pounds his chest with a fist. “’Scuse me,” he croaks. His mouth gapes open again, and I run past him before he lets out another fiery burp.
I’m instantly swept up by the crowd of shouting merchants, aimless shoppers and flamboyant entertainers mingling in the street. The air smells sweet, spicy and smoky all at once. Booths are set up on either side of the road, draped with colorful cloths and displaying all kinds of unusual and intriguing objects. On one table, the moonlight catches the clear surface of a crystal ball mounted on an iron stand. I go up to it. The merchant’s back is turned to me as she rummages for something in a large sack.
