by Anne Ursu
“Excuse me,” she called, heading back to the receptionist.
“Oh, great Stygian gods!” muttered the centaur, stamping his foot.
“Um, is there, like—oh, an empty hearth somewhere? And nobody knows what it’s for?”
“Huh,” said the receptionist thoughtfully, putting a long, bird-like finger to her chin. “Well, now that you mention it, there is! What?” She glanced back toward the binder on her desk. “Just a second! I’m being helpful! Floor forty-five,” she said brightly. “What?” she whispered to the book. “Oh, I’m not?” She looked up again and called to Charlotte. “Wait a second!”
But Charlotte had taken off toward the elevators.
The elevators were built into three of the pillars and dotted with small, pentagon-shaped call lights, which Charlotte had to jump up to hit. Had she not been through the Underworld and Poseidon’s yacht, she would have thought it odd that she could just waltz into Olympus and call the elevator with nothing but a snippy centaur with an arrow in his butt to stop her. Elementary schools had better security. But she knew that was the way of the gods—humans were nothing, not worth considering.
The pillar opened, and Charlotte stepped inside to find herself in a blue-silk-walled elevator. She was not alone. A four-foot-tall man with goat horns and black goat legs was sitting on a small pillar, strumming a lute. When he saw Charlotte, he sighed. “What floor?”
“Um, forty-five, please.”
“Fine. Any requests?” He nodded to his lute.
“No, thank you,” she replied as the elevator door shut.
“Okay,” trilled the little man. Then he strummed the lute a couple of times and began to sing:
Mortal girrrrrl
Without a song to hear
Mortal girlllll
Who thinks she has no fear
Plucky little redhead
With just a touch of bedhead
Has your skin ever seen the sun?
Honestly! “Do you mind?” asked Charlotte.
“Just doing my job,” said the goat-man. “Oh, hey,” he added, perking up, “watch this.”
The elevator stopped and the floor trembled. There was a sound of pounding hoofbeats, and Charlotte instinctively stepped away from the elevator door. In a flurry of motion, a tremendous black chariot pulled by two giant black horses rolled in. The elevator grew to accommodate them. Standing on the chariot was a red-skinned god wearing a large black helmet and very little else. The color of his skin flickered and changed, as if there were fire just underneath the surface. He looked as if he had once been very muscular, but his skin was loose and flabby. A black iron mace hung limply in his hand. His face was stubby and pockmarked, and he looked at Charlotte and belched.
“What are you looking at?” he growled in a slurred voice.
“Uh,” said Charlotte, willing herself to be smaller.
“Hello, Lord Ares,” said the goat-man brightly. “Any requests?”
“Shshuuddup!” drawled Ares.
“Very well, then.” He punched a button, the elevator door closed, and he began to strum and sing:
WAR! (huh, yeah)
Good gods y’all!
What is it good for?
(Absolutely nothing)
“Why, you little—” Ares jumped out of his chariot, grabbed the little man, and hurled him right through the floor, sending blue crystal shards everywhere. Charlotte gasped and recoiled, her hands flying up to protect her eyes. She was breathless with shock and revulsion—until she heard echoing through the shaft:
WAR! (huh, yeah)
Good gods y’all!
What is it good for?
The voice got more and more distant. There was a loud crash, and then a squeal of, “I’m freeeee!” and the sound of goat hooves pattering off. One of the black horses belched fire down the elevator shaft.
Charlotte stared at the hole in the elevator floor while Ares started pounding his fists on the elevator buttons.
He roared in anger, then turned to Charlotte, eyes blazing. “Do you know how to run this thing?”
“Um…,” she said, “actually, I’m getting out here.” This seemed like an excellent time to take another elevator. She pressed a button, the doors opened, and she slipped off.
So focused was she on getting out of there that she did not notice the smell emanating from the room until the doors had closed behind her and the elevator moved on.
And then she noticed. Charlotte had stepped out of the elevator into a large pile of cow manure. She was in a vast green field, surrounded by hundreds of moon-eyed, snow-white cows, who were all staring at her in surprise and what seemed very much like terror.
“What?” Charlotte asked, as the cows near her began to slowly back away. Something about their fear made her heart begin to pound. It was like they were mistaking her for some kind of bovine serial killer.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she protested, feeling slightly sickened by their fear. “My parents eat ground turkey!” She looked around wildly for some explanation. It was a field like any other—perhaps the grass was a little greener, the sky a little more blue. She could see a simple white fence penning them all in and a brown barn in the distance. The only other structures were the pillar elevator behind her stretching to the sky and, off to the right, twelve pedestals.
Keeping one eye on the cows, who looked as though they might snap at any minute, Charlotte went over to the pedestals to investigate.
On each was a word written in Greek, but as Charlotte’s eyes landed on them the letters altered into English. ZEUS, read the first one. HERA, the next. POSEIDON, then DEMETER, then ARES. Twelve pedestals, twelve Olympians. Behind each pedestal was a small fire pit, and at the top was a large knife with a bone handle and curved blade.
Charlotte picked up the knife and stared, bewildered, and then as it dawned on her she swore loudly.
She was supposed to sacrifice one of the cows.
“Hello, mortal,” said the pleasant loudspeaker voice. “Welcome to Olympus. Please select your sacrifice.”
You’ll want to take the elevators to the tenth floor, the receptionist had said. You’ll find altars there. It seemed that every mortal who came to Olympus was supposed to make a sacrifice to the god she wanted to see. A flame of rage shot up through her chest, and tears burned in her eyes. Oh, how she hated the gods, she hated their cruelty, she hated their vanity, and if she ever got back home she was totally going to become a vegetarian.
“Hey,” she said, turning to the cows, her voice softening. “I’m not going to do it. It’s okay!”
One of the cows mooed balefully.
“Seriously!” Charlotte said.
“But you have to,” said the loudspeaker voice, sounding more surprised than bossy.
“No, I don’t,” said Charlotte, looking up.
“You’re on Olympus, missy. You have to make a sacrifice. It’s the way it works.” From up above she heard an ominous cawing noise.
“You want a sacrifice?” Charlotte breathed. “Here.” As the cows looked on, she stomped over to the fire pit, grabbed a log, scooped up some manure, and plopped it on the altar marked ZEUS.
“Oh my goodness, oh my goodness,” said the voice. The sky above Charlotte darkened suddenly. She turned to the cows, who were all watching her with a rather dazed expression, looking like—well, like cows.
Charlotte set her jaw and stomped over to the elevator and pressed the call button. Lightning flashed in the sky, and some sort of rumbling passed through the cows.
The elevator door pinged open, and sitting there was a brown-legged little goat-man, who had a small electric guitar and an amp.
“Can you fit them all?” she asked, motioning to the cows.
“Er,” he said, “I think so….”
Thank goodness for expando-vator technology, Charlotte thought. “Take them to the lobby and point them to the exit, okay?” She got a mental image of several hundred white cows descending the stairs into Delphi.
That school group was in for a surprise.
The goat-man looked at Charlotte appraisingly, and then his eyes flicked over the giant herd of cows. His face broke out in a grin. “Awesome!”
“Security, please, to the tenth floor. Security.”
“Come on,” she shouted to the cows, standing aside as the great mass of them poured into the elevator. There was a rumble of thunder, and Charlotte glanced up at the sky. The goat-man followed her gaze and muttered, “I wouldn’t come this way. There’s an exit in the barn back there.” He nodded to the distance.
Then, as the cows tramped onto the elevator, he picked up his guitar and began to sing:
Go down, cow Moses
Way down in Olympus land
Go down, cow Moses
Let my Holsteins go….
“Go,” he hissed. Another bolt of lightning clapped overhead. Charlotte ducked away from the stampede and ran as fast as she could in the direction of the barn.
“A storm front has moved through the middle floors of Olympus,” said the voice on the PA. “Gee, I wonder why.”
Charlotte tightened her grip on the knife, which she still held in her hand, and kept running.
There was a cawing noise, and three giant eagles appeared in the black-clouded sky. The clouds opened up, and water poured down on Charlotte. One of the eagles saw her and began to dive, and the other two followed.
She raced for the door of the barn and pulled it open. She heard one thump on the roof, then two more.
In front of her an impossibly old man-like man in overalls was moving hay with a pitchfork. He looked at Charlotte, bewildered.
“Hi,” she said, wiping the rain off her face. “Is there, um, a way out of here?”
Still confused, the man pointed behind him. There was a wooden ladder leading to a hayloft. Up above, the eagles’ claws began to tear at the roof.
“Do you know what that racket is?” asked the man slowly, leaning on his pitchfork.
“No,” said Charlotte innocently, trying to mask her heaving chest. “Um, I gotta go!”
“I hope the cows are okay,” he murmured as Charlotte scaled the ladder to find a small door in the wall with an exit sign just above it. She lunged toward it. There was a screeching whine as a roof board was peeled away. A dripping, scaly claw about the size of Charlotte burst through the opening and starting swiping blindly. The claws were between her and the exit. Then, a blur of motion too fast to follow, and she felt a ripping pain, then hot blood streaming down her cheek. A great shudder passed through her body, and tears stung her eyes. The claw made another grab for her and she lunged toward it, nearly blind with tears and blood, flailing with the knife. She’d only intended to ward off the eagle arm for a second so that she could dive for the door, but the knife had other ideas, and before her eyes two of the long, razor-like talons were cut clean off. The eagle shrieked, the barn shook, and Charlotte reached for the small door and hurled herself through.
CHAPTER 27
Dream Come True
AND THEN ZEE WAS ON THE GREAT STAIRCASE IN THE sky again, staring at a sheet of clouds with a large structure looming behind it. He did not need anyone to tell him what that was.
Zee’s fists were clenched and his teeth seemed to be welded together. He had the distinct urge to punch someone, except there was no one to punch, and even if there were it probably wasn’t a good idea, considering. He looked behind him, as if the vision might still be there so he could shoot it some kind of nasty look. It was horrible, cruel, and even though he knew it wasn’t real, the image of Charlotte with the great wolf inches from her throat still haunted him. And that satyr—Zee wanted to devote his life to a crusade against not just that satyr, but satyrs everywhere.
Zee felt different—and it wasn’t just the clenched fists or the lockjaw, not to mention the burning in his stomach or the vaguely psychotic murmurs of his brain. He felt light, focused. Everything around him was sharp and clear, and despite being however high in the sky, he had never breathed more easily.
He reached into his back pocket and patted the lighter, then looked at the structure ahead.
“Let me in,” he called.
And the clouds parted.
He was about to step forward when a clear, strong voice rang through the sky. “Wait!”
Zee whirled around so quickly he almost toppled off the stairs.
Standing two steps down was the girl from the Flame dreams—white dress, dark hair, white ribbons—looking up at him with fire in her green eyes.
“Took you long enough! Do you have it?” she breathed.
Zee gaped at her. It was so strange to see her in the flesh that he half wondered if he had fallen asleep somewhere and this was a dream after all. But of course he knew it wasn’t. And what exactly had become of his life when he could be standing on a giant staircase in the sky and know it wasn’t a dream?
“Who are you?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her childlike voice firm. “Do you have it?”
He didn’t have to ask what it was. His hand unconsciously reached for his back pocket.
“Let me see it!”
Zee narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t really in the mood to be bossed around by someone in an overstarched white party dress. “Where’s Charlotte?”
“She went in already. She’s fine. Now let me see the Flame!”
He wasn’t going to get anywhere with her. With an annoyed, Charlotte-like sigh, he reached into his pocket and brought out the small lighter. The girl grabbed for it, and then suddenly yelped and dropped it onto the marble staircase.
“Get it!” she shrieked, clutching her hand.
Zee had already lunged for it—he’d gone through too much to get the thing to let some spastic faux primary-school student plummet it off Olympus. His hand was on it just as it bounced and skidded toward the edge.
“I can’t even touch it!” the girl said, wide-eyed, still holding her hand.
“No, I guess not,” muttered Zee, tucking the lighter back into his pocket protectively. She was making him anxious. “Do you want to tell me who you are?”
She glared at him. “There’s no time. Let’s go.”
“I think I’ll just wait here,” said Zee, folding his arms. He had the lighter. She would have to give him some answers.
Then, in an instant, the sky around them turned dark, and there was a flash of lightning. Zee glanced at the girl, who was looking around nervously. A noise shattered the air, a great cawing sound, and three enormous eagles appeared on the horizon, heading right toward them.
“Uh,” said Zee, his heart speeding up.
“I think we should go in,” she hissed, looking nervous.
“Right, then.”
The girl led the way, trudging up the stairs and through a wall of tremendous columns and into what looked like a giant glass bank lobby. Everything was the same color as the sky—this dark, stormy blue-black. Every once in a while there was a flash in a pillar or the floor or running down the balconies, like lightning within the building. Zee could feel rumbles through the floor. The lobby was filled with strange-looking Immortals who seemed completely unaware of the rumblings around them. A white-skinned woman-like creature was sitting at a reception desk arguing with a giant man-faced slug. As they passed, the receptionist glanced over at Zee and the girl, raised her eyebrows, and said, “Is it spring already?”
The girl shot her a look and walked on, Zee following her.
One foot in front of the other—Charlotte always said that was the trick to getting through the godly realms. But while his heart was pounding and he found himself looking this way and that for stray oncoming Zee-eating monsters, he was not as nervous as he might be walking through the atrium of Olympus. Perhaps because this was his third realm, or because he was following someone who was certainly some kind of god—despite her weird fashion sense—or because they had a plan that, if it worked, meant he might not confront anyone at all. Or perhaps because he was very
, very stupid. Still, there was one thing—
“Where’s my cousin?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said the girl offhandedly, glancing around. “I’m sure she’ll meet us at the hearth.”
Zee pursed his lips. He did not like this at all. How was he supposed to know whether or not she was all right?
The girl stopped in front of a bank of giant pillars and pressed a button, and Zee realized they were waiting for the lift. The gods might not think much of mortals, he’d noticed, but they sure like their stuff.
And then something very unusual happened. The lift door opened and out burst several hundred snow-white cows. The girl gaped as the herd kept pouring out, streaming through the lobby and out the front door.
The Immortals around them stopped what they were doing and stared. A couple of them screamed and ran/flew/galloped/slithered out of the room. The receptionist stood up, her vast blue wings unfolding in surprise, while the slug cowered as cows swarmed around them. She looked around the room wildly and, catching the equally bewildered eye of the girl in the white dress, exclaimed, “What’s going on?”
A smooth female voice rang out from overhead. “Will the mortal who freed the sacrificial cows please report to floor thirty? Will the mortal who freed the sacrificial cows please report to floor thirty?”
Zee looked at the ground quickly, trying to hide his smile. Charlotte, it seemed, was fine.
And then it was all over, and the cows were gone. The girl hesitantly peeked into the elevator, then wrinkled her nose and muttered, “We’ll take the next one.”
When the next one arrived, they stepped in to find glass shards all around and a great big hole in the floor. The girl examined the scene with a distinctly puzzled expression on her face and eyed a pillar-like stool in the corner. “There’s supposed to be…,” she murmured. “Ah, never mind.”
And then they were off, traveling up, up, up in the glass column. The lighter in Zee’s pocket began to feel warmer and warmer. The girl’s face was flushed, and she kept tugging at her ribbons nervously. Standing so close, Zee could feel the nervousness and excitement radiate off of her, and his own heart began to thump in his chest so hard that he had to close his eyes and try to quiet it.
