by Anne Ursu
“We have a few tricks up our sleeve. There are ways of…obscuring things from Immortals,” Mr. Metos said. “They cannot see this building, even if they look right at it.”
Soon they had pulled into an alleyway and up to a white garage door that led to an underground garage. Teodor punched a code into a keypad and the door opened. Charlotte strained to see the numbers he was punching—you never knew when that sort of thing might come in handy—but she could not.
“New code?” asked Mr. Metos in a low voice.
Teodor glanced back at them. “Pie. First ate,” he whispered back.
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. These people made no sense at all.
Before them was a parking garage filled with cars that looked just like the one they were in, sort of like a Promethean taxi fleet. Charlotte thought that if she were running things, she might vary their choice of automobiles a bit so as to be a tad more inconspicuous, but as so often happened, no one had asked her.
They got out of the car and walked toward a small elevator lobby. They passed a nondescript door marked with a placard that read HAZARDOUS MATERIALS, and Charlotte pointed to it. “What’s in there?”
Mr. Metos raised his eyebrows. “Hazardous materials. Come, follow me.”
The elevator looked as if it might have been established in 1832 as well. When the door opened, it became apparent that there was no way four people were going to fit inside, so Teodor murmured, “I’ll wait here,” and backed away.
They went up one flight, then the elevator opened onto a vast lobby, a two-story room with slick, polished stone floors, a brass-railed balcony, and ornate moldings on the walls. Some large ferns were spread along the floor, and Grecian statues in porticos lined the balcony. A doorman stood in front of two pairs of big golden doors, and at the back of the room an impeccably dressed receptionist sat at a desk, typing on a computer. She looked up and squinted at Charlotte.
“That is Phillipa,” Mr. Metos whispered. “She is under the impression she works for Smith and Jones Import/Export. As you can see, we try to maintain the facade of our front company as thoroughly as possible. It’s a fully functioning company.”
“Does it work?”
“Yes. No one asks too many questions around here. There are a lot of undercover organizations in this area. The bank down the street is a front for a group that thinks Norse myths are real; of course they’re just crazy.”
He led the two of them up the big stone staircase to the balcony. “The offices of the import/export business are here”—he motioned to the dark oak doors that faced the balcony, then led them onward—“and around the corner here is the entrance to the rest of headquarters, including the offices and residences.”
“And spears?” Charlotte whispered.
“And spears. The elevator leads directly up there, as well.” They were in front of another door reading PRIVATE. Mr. Metos got out a key and unlocked it.
“Do we get keys?” Charlotte asked.
Mr. Metos eyed them. “There’s really no reason for that, as you two will be staying in the building.”
Charlotte and Zee exchanged a glance. Yeah, right.
They headed up three flights of stairs and through another door to a long, dark hallway lined with rooms. “Normally,” Mr. Metos said quietly, “you would see more activity here. But we’re a pretty bare-bones operation right now, with most personnel in the Greece office.”
“Why didn’t you take us there?” asked Charlotte. Didn’t they need Mr. Metos there?
“I have no intention of taking you two so close to the belly of the beast. We aren’t able to have the same protections there either. We’ll be much safer here.”
Mr. Metos led them down to the very end of the hall and pointed to two adjacent rooms. “This will be your home for the time being. You’ll find the rooms well stocked—we’ve arranged for breakfast and some clothes and books for you both. There’s a kitchen down the hall, and across from that is the infirmary. I am right there”—he pointed to the room next to Zee—“and if you need anything at all, you can come find me. And—”
“Metos.” A man’s voice traveled down the stone-paved hallway like a shot. They all turned and saw an olive-skinned man with black hair and a sharp, bony face come striding toward them. His face was lined with two parallel long, deep scars that traveled all the way down his neck to his shirt collar. They looked newly acquired.
Something passed over Mr. Metos. He nodded briskly. “You’re back.”
“Yes, I had to check on…things here.”
“Zachary, Charlotte”—Mr. Metos turned to them—“this is Timon.”
“Nice to meet you,” said the cousins.
Timon looked from Mr. Metos to Charlotte and Zee. “Mmm,” he said, his nostrils flaring. “You children have your rooms?”
“Uh-huh,” said Charlotte, stiffening.
“I trust you’ll stay there, then.” With a twitch of his lips, he turned and left.
“Friendly chap,” said Zee.
“I’m sorry for my colleague,” said Mr. Metos, looking at Timon’s back. “He is…distracted. I have to check on something. I’ll show you around later, all right?”
When Charlotte stepped into her room, she had to admit it was a lot nicer than it would be in a secret cave lair. It was spacious, with a nice big bed, fully lined bookshelves, and an attached bathroom, complete with a big marble bath. She opened the closet and found six T-shirts, three button-down shirts, and six sweaters, all different colors of the same style, plus three pairs of jeans. On the floor were two shiny new pairs of sneakers that Charlotte had no intention of ever wearing—hers had been to the Underworld and Poseidon’s yacht with her, and she was not going to give up on them just because they’d stepped in a little Harpy poo.
There was no way Charlotte was going to be able to rest; she was too keyed up. She was just about to leave to go knock on Zee’s door when he beat her to it. Soon they were sitting on Charlotte’s bed, talking in low voices.
“So what do you think?” Charlotte asked.
“I don’t know. It’s so odd. My dad used to work a block away. We’re in a district called the City of London; it’s sort of the financial district. Lots of banker types in identical suits having lunch and buying and selling things. No one lives here.”
“Are we anywhere near your house?”
“Nah, I live in Battersea, south of the Thames. Lived, anyway.” He exhaled. “Let’s go look around.”
“Can we start by looking around the kitchen? I’m starving.”
Zee nodded. “Me too. Come on.”
They had made it halfway to the kitchen when they heard loud voices coming from behind Mr. Metos’s door—Mr. Metos and the man he had just introduced them to. Without a word to each other, they crept over to the room and listened in.
“Why did you bring them here?” Timon’s voice was saying. The cousins looked at each other. Gee, wonder who that was about.
“We’ve been through this,” said Mr. Metos. “I couldn’t protect them by myself.”
“You didn’t need to be protecting them at all. We need you. We’re all that’s standing between the Mediterranean and total chaos. Not to mention—”
“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Mr. Metos interrupted.
“We can’t afford any distractions, especially now. Metos, we can’t be babysitting.”
“They do not need babysitting,” said Mr. Metos firmly. “They have faced greater powers than either of us, Timon.”
Yeah, thought Charlotte.
“Do you know how much trouble these children have caused already? Do you see the result of their interfering?”
Charlotte flushed. She did not need to be reminded that everyone suffering in the Mediterranean had her to thank.
“A Chimera attacked them!” Mr. Metos’s voice rose. “Who do you think sent that, Santa Claus?”
“And that is precisely why they shouldn’t be here,” said Timon, his voice matching Mr. Metos’s. �
��Here, of all places! In fact, wasn’t the distraction that they provided…useful, now that we have Prometheus’s secret?”
The cousins looked at each other again. Prometheus’s secret?
“Are you suggesting that we should have left these two exposed…as bait?”
“I am suggesting, Metos, that you are forgetting your mission. We are here to protect humanity, not two humans.”
“I have never forgotten my mission,” he said coldly. “My first loyalty is to the Prometheans. You leave them to me. I will keep them out of the way.”
Charlotte bristled. For a moment it had seemed Mr. Metos was ready to trust them, was on their side. But that was wrong. He’d stopped calling them children, he’d taken them with him, but that only went so far. His first loyalty was to the Prometheans, and Charlotte and Zee would be kept out of the way.
CHAPTER 15
The Writing on the Wall
TO CHARLOTTE, IT WAS JUST LIKE SHE WAS HOME AND grounded all over again. The difference was, her parents had had no idea that she’d saved the world, whereas Mr. Metos knew perfectly well, had seen it with his own eyes, all the Prometheans knew it—and yet here she was.
They should have been glad to have them, she thought. They should have a whole Promethean retreat where they all gathered and listened wide-eyed to Charlotte and Zee’s stories of their encounters with the gods. Mr. Metos should stand in front of the group, beaming, and say, I would like to introduce someone very special, and then they would all burst into spontaneous applause, a few would even stand up and cheer, and that would move the rest of them to their feet, the whole room hooting and hollering for Charlotte and Zee and all they had experienced, all they had accomplished. Then there would be a question-and-answer period. So, Zachary, Teodor would say, what’s the best route for getting to Hades’s Palace quickly? And Timon would ask, Charlotte—may I call you Charlotte?—how can we use Poseidon’s temper to our advantage? And afterward there would be a great reception with toasts to them, and cake, really delicious thanks-for-saving-humanity cake.
Then footsteps approached from behind the door. Charlotte motioned to Zee. They scooted backward so it appeared they were coming down the hall—as opposed to being pressed against the door, listening in.
As the Prometheans left Mr. Metos’s room, Timon saw the cousins and shot them a suspicious look. “Out of the way, huh?”
“We’re allowed to eat,” Charlotte muttered under her breath.
Just then a ringing came from Timon’s pocket. He took out his cell phone and listened for a moment, then stalked off to the stairs. Mr. Metos watched him go.
Charlotte took a step toward the kitchen. “Excuse me,” she said, inching around Mr. Metos. “We don’t want to be in the way.”
Whether or not Mr. Metos got her point, she could not tell. “You must forgive Timon,” he said, looking in the direction the Promethean had gone. “He has a singularity of purpose that can be…frustrating at times. But know, he was the one who spotted the tsunami, he was the one who started the evacuation. If it hadn’t been for him…Still, it would be better if, while he is here, you stayed out of his way. I’m afraid your position with us is precarious. Timon must believe you are not a distraction.”
They nodded, Charlotte looking back at him steadily.
“He will not be here long,” Mr. Metos continued. “He is needed in Greece. The situation there—”
“We could help,” said Charlotte defiantly.
“You will stay safe,” Mr. Metos said, a note of anger in his voice. “The Prometheans have been protecting humanity for millennia. We continue to do so now. You must have faith in us. We will make everyone safe. We have a plan. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Mr. Metos took a step toward the stairs.
“Ah, Metos!” a clear voice rang out from behind a slightly ajar door. “Are those the cousins? Send ’em in!”
Looking distracted, Mr. Metos motioned them toward the room. A young man who looked no older than a college student was sitting at a desk, staring at his computer. One of them, anyway—the room had three different computers and was littered with computer books and equipment.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m Hector. I’ve heard a lot about you guys.”
That was more like it. The cousins trotted into the office, Char shooting a dirty look back into the hallway. Not that Mr. Metos saw it, but it made her feel good.
“Aw, don’t mind him,” Hector said. “He’s worried about you. You wouldn’t believe how he fought to bring you guys here. Everyone’s just stressed. There’s a lot going on.” A flash of something passed through his eyes.
“So I hear,” Charlotte muttered.
“Come on, help me out on something. How does this look? No one here’s very web savvy.” He turned his computer monitor to them. “The trick is to make it look amateurish, but convincing. You want to make something to attract the crazies.”
On the screen was a web page that looked like a newsletter, with white text on a black background. The headline blared:
REVEALED: ALIENS IN THE MEDITERRANEAN!!!
It looked amateurish, convincing, and crazy.
Scattered on the page were grainy photos, mostly things Charlotte had seen on the news—the dolphins, the flopping fish, the sharks swarming in shallow waters, an aerial view of the hole in the sea. Then another Charlotte had never seen—a fuzzy, glowing image at the bottom of the sea that, if you squinted enough, looked like a UFO.
“Photoshop,” he said proudly. “Things have gotten a lot easier since Roswell. They had a devil of a time staging that after someone unleashed an automaton in the Nevada desert. And look at this. This is the kicker.” He scrolled down to another photo. It took a moment for Charlotte to make sense of what she was seeing, but something about it made her feel sick. Then her mind began to put it together—it was a chunk of something floating in the water, and in the middle of that chunk was a massive, glassy, pig-like eye.
Charlotte gasped. “That’s from the Ketos!” Her stomach turned in revulsion.
“Yup. They found some pieces of it in the sea, near the hole.”
“Do you know what happened to it?” Zee asked.
“Nope. They’re examining some of the pieces. That’s not my department. But”—he leaned in and whispered, eyes glowing—“there’s a Hydra in a cave in Dover.”
“Dover!” Zee said.
“Sure. The monsters have been getting restless, and this one settled here. I get to go kill it tonight! My first Hydra! Wish me luck!”
They obliged. Then, after taking some crackers and cheese from the kitchen, they headed for Charlotte’s room. Zee poked his head into her closet. “Mine’s the same way,” he commented. “I’ve got the same shirt in every color of the rainbow.” He closed the closet door and sat down on the floor. “At least one of the Prometheans is nice,” he said, nodding in the direction of Hector’s door.
Charlotte grunted. “He must be adopted. Anyway, I think he just felt sorry for us.” Which made two of them.
“At least Mr. Metos defended us.”
“Yeah, but if that’s his attitude, he might as well be babysitting. After everything we’ve been through, you’d think he’d trust us.”
“Well, what did you expect, Char? Remember, he thinks he’s protecting us. That’s the only reason he brought us here. We were kidding ourselves. We can’t just expect adults to throw us at Zeus and say, ‘Have at ’em,’ can we?”
“No, but…” He had a point. How many times, exactly, was she going to let Mr. Metos disappoint her?
Zee was right. As much as she would like things to be different, no one was going to treat them like adults until they actually were (assuming they made it past their thirteenth year). It was strange; the only one who really gave them any credit at all was Philonecron, who seemed to think there was nothing strange at all about his mortal enemy being a thirteen-year-old girl.
It didn’t matter. They didn’t need Mr. Metos. They’d done everything else by themselves. Al
l they had to do was figure out what the Prometheans knew. And if they had some kind of weapon that could be used on Zeus, well, Charlotte and Zee would find it and use it themselves.
Charlotte lowered her voice. “So, Prometheus’s secret…”
Zee nodded, wide-eyed. “Yeah. It’s the weapon, don’t you think?”
“It’s got to be. But what is it? None of the myths that I know of say anything about Prometheus having a weapon.”
“I think we have to read more. I brought some of the books from the school library.”
“You did?” Charlotte was impressed. Somehow it had never occurred to her that anything that came from school could be useful.
“Yeah. They’re in my room. There’s that play about Prometheus, and a couple other books. I’ll take a look.”
“Okay. We need to lie low anyway. Maybe we can read for a while, and sneak around when it’s dark.”
Zee agreed. He went out the door and came back in a few moments with a couple of thick books, then disappeared back into his own room while Charlotte started thumbing through them, trying to find some clues.
She read everything there was on Prometheus, but she didn’t find out anything new, except more information about his power of prophecy. Prophecies played a big part in a lot of myths. Like in the story of Cronus, Zeus’s father. He was a Titan, and he ruled the universe after overthrowing his own father. Cronus heard a prophecy that his son would overthrow him in turn, so whenever his wife had a baby, he swallowed it (gross). This went on for five babies, but finally, when Zeus was born, his mother hid him away and gave Cronus a rock wrapped in swaddling clothes to swallow instead (Cronus being, apparently, not very observant). Zeus was raised in a cave, and when he had grown up, his mother gave Cronus some herbs that made him vomit up his brothers and sisters, and together they overthrew their father. Then Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades divided up the world—Zeus getting the skies, Poseidon the sea, and Hades the Underworld—and thus began all of Charlotte’s problems.
In later myths, a lot of prophecies were made through the Oracle at Delphi. The Oracle told people things like they were going to kill their father and marry their mother, which led them to do all sorts of really complicated things to avoid killing their father and marrying their mother—things that ultimately resulted in them killing their father and marrying their mother.
