I want to say, you mean on its knees, but give him a nod instead. “You're doing an important service.”
“Yes,” Anton says, “I am.” He files his papers in the leather folder, then stands up. I stand too, and offer my hand. He shakes it, his grip firm, not letting go. “After you ran,” Anton asks, where did you go?”
“Nowhere.” I can't help but feel shifty when I say it.
The inquisitor's grip tightens. “Surely, you must have gone somewhere. To Loserville, perhaps?”
I pull my hand back, scowling. “I don't know. I knocked on doors and tried to get some people to let me in, but no one would help. I'm not proud of it, but I ended up hiding in a dumpster. I thought maybe the centaurs would find me, but they must have lost my scent because of the trash. It was pretty smelly in there.”
“That's entirely possible,” Anton says. “Would you mind showing them to me?”
“Show you what?”
“Your clothes―the ones you were wearing in the dumpster.”
“Sure, but the slaves have washed my tunic by now. It wasn't that dirty, you know. It was more the smell.”
“The cab driver didn't mention any smell.”
“Cab driver?”
“Yes, the one you hailed downtown this morning.”
“Maybe he didn't notice. I was in the back seat with the window rolled down. Why does it matter how bad I smelled?”
Anton grins, but it's cold. Menacing. “Oh, it's not how bad you smelled that concerns me. It's how bad your story smells.” He picks up his folder, then his mace, giving it a casual swing. “Do you know what this is, Andrus?”
“It's a mace.”
“That's right. But do you know what I use it for?”
“No.”
“Truth-getting. Pain can be a powerful motivator. Even just the fear of pain can work wonders! But sometimes, fear isn't enough. Some people respond better to greed, some to hate, and some…” He chuckles, hefting the weapon, then brings it down on a nearby vase. “Some are stubborn! And if they want to keep their secrets badly enough, I let them. Only I make sure they can't share them with anyone else. Not ever.”
I shudder as the zombie girl flashes through my mind. I see her shattered skull in the shattered vase, the white shards shifting between ceramic and bone.
The inquisitor loops the weapon to his belt. “I trust we understand each other. Keeping secrets always has a cost―one most are unable or unwilling to pay. That's where I come in.” He heads for the door, then turns to face me. “Cronus is watching, Andrus. I am watching. If I discover you had anything to do with that attack on the Night Patrol, or that you lied to me, all your family's wealth and privilege won't save you.”
14
THE PROBLEM
After Inquisitor Anton leaves, I thank my parents for not giving up Mark. I know they did it out of wanting to protect me and the family name, but the fact is, they still saved his life.
“Once the rematch is over,” my father says, “We want you to promise you won't hang out with that boy again. We recognize you need him now, but you have to understand no good can come from associating with a Loser in the long run. It's not just dangerous for you, it's dangerous for him. Our classes… well, they aren't meant to mix together.”
“We're not saying it's right,” my mother adds, “but it's just the way the world is. We only want what's best for you. You understand that, right?”
There's no sense arguing. Maybe it's not a question of whether I'm better off without Mark or Lucy, but that they're better off without me. I've already endangered them in more ways than I know. And just because I've been able to protect them so far, doesn't mean I can do it forever. “Fine,” I say. “I'll ditch Mark after the rematch.”
Dad offers a rare smile.
Mom hugs me. “We know it's hard, dear, but you'll see we're right someday.” She kisses me on the cheek.
“Hey, before I go, can I ask you guys something?”
“Of course,” Dad says. “What is it, son?”
“Remember how I told you about the earthquake and those ravens? How they attacked the centaurs?”
“Yes,” Dad says. “What about it?”
“Well, the inquisitor was really interested in that part. He seemed to think it was magic and that I had something to do with it. I told him it wasn't true, that I had no idea what he was talking about. That's right, isn't it? Humans can't be magic.”
“No, son. They can't.”
“So why would he think I had anything to do with it?”
Mom and Dad exchange a look. Something weird passes between them, something I can't quite place.
James appears, announcing the car is ready to take me to the gym. I look to my parents for an answer, but Dad is silent and all Mom can say is, “Have a nice time, dear. We'll send the car to pick you up at six o'clock sharp.”
“Six? But that's three hours before curfew!”
“We don't want to take any chances after last night,” Dad says. He moves to the bar to pour himself a drink, and I notice it's not just one drink he's making, but two.
Mom smiles at me so hard I think her face might break.
I walk with James toward the front door, but then an idea pops into my head. I tell James to wait, then run upstairs to my room and get my favorite book on climbing. Mark likes to learn by studying, so I should let him learn his way as much as possible. The next few days are going to be tough on him, but the book should help. I know it helped me back when I first started climbing. I mean, I was always a natural, but my technique needed work, and that's what this book teaches.
Look at me, I think to myself. I'm becoming a regular Mr. Cross. All I need now is a crewcut and a whistle.
When I come downstairs, I follow James out of the house, blinking as my eyes adjust to the noonday sun. The limo is parked nearby, the driver standing at attention, but I don't make any move to go to him. I know James wants to talk, so I pretend something in the sky fascinates me, shielding my eyes and looking up. It's bright blue. Lazy clouds, as white as my butler's hair, drift by.
“I take it everything went well with the inquisitor?” James asks. He keeps his voice low, his expression neutral. To an outside observer, he could be asking about the weather, but I hear the love in his voice.
“I'm still here, aren't I?”
James nods. “Please don't joke, sir. If anything were to happen…”
“I know,” I say. “Trust me, everything will be fine.”
“Of course, sir. Good luck with your training. I know you'll do―” James never finishes his sentence. Instead, he stares at something on the roof.
It's a raven.
I try to enjoy the limo ride downtown, try to imagine the workout routine. But I can't focus. I keep craning my neck, trying to see if the raven is following me. Between the sun's glare and limited angle, there's no way to tell. Finally, I can't stand it anymore. I have to know. I open the sun roof and stand up, ignoring the driver's urgent warnings to sit down.
Trees whiz by. Mansions behind hedges, behind stone walls and iron gates. Locking the world away.
I look up and there it is: a speck of black against the blue. The raven! “What do you want?” I yell. “Why me?”
The raven dips lower, cawing, and I can almost understand it, almost hear what it's trying to tell me. Reality seems to shift and sway, the woods replaced by rock walls and ceiling, the black road becoming a black river that winds its way deep into the earth, oozing like blood through a monster's veins.
The limo rounds a corner, jostling me. I lose sight of the bird. The world is normal again. I wait for it to reappear, but we're racing downhill, leaving it far behind.
By the time we get to the Harryhausen gym, I've got my head on straight. Ready to teach, ready to train. Mark is waiting on a bench outside. He doesn't seem happy.
“Hey, man,” I say. “What's up?”
“Bad news.”
I look around nervously, but just see ordinary people on
the street. No priests, no warriors, and definitely no raven.
“The trouble's not out here,” Mark says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “It's in there.”
I walk to the front door. It's locked. “What the hell? They're supposed to be open Saturdays!” That's when I see the sign taped to the inside of the glass. It reads, GYM CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY. WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE INCONVENIENCE AND WILL RE-OPEN MONDAY MORNING.
I press my face against the glass, using a hand to shield my eyes from the sun reflecting off the door. I expect to see a children's birthday party or some crap like that, but the gym is empty. Well, almost empty. There's the usual slaves standing by, but that's not who catches my eye.
Freaking Blake Masters is inside with Brenda Larson. She's working the rock climbing wall while he watches. She's actually made a lot of progress since the last time I saw her. That's not good.
Almost as if he knows I'm there, Blake turns his head in my direction and smiles. He swaggers to the front door, taking his time, and motions one of the slaves to unlock it. He stands in the open doorway, filling up the entrance with his stupid ego. “Andrus! Hey, buddy. Great to see you. You and your lady came to work out, huh? Get a little one-on-one time in the sauna?”
A rage builds in me. Everything I risked, everything I suffered to be here now, has all been thrown away. I take a menacing step toward Blake.
He holds up his hands in mock-defense, that same contemptuous smile plastered across his face. “OK, OK! Don't get steamed.” He chuckles at his joke. “Or maybe do, but not here. Guess you two lovebirds will have to practice climbing each other somewhere else.”
“You had no right to do this,” I begin, but Mark grabs my shoulder to hold me back.
“Andrus, don't!” Mark says. “It won't do any good.”
“Yeah, Andrus! Listen to your Loser friend. You're just mad I thought to rent out the gym before you did. You would've done the same thing to me.”
“Actually,” I snarl, “I wouldn't have. I want to beat you fair and square.”
Blake shakes his head. “Wow, you're dumber than I thought. Fair and square, huh? Seriously? You think that's how this world works? Get real!”
I twist out of Mark's grip and punch the smile off Blake's face, forcing him back into the gym.
The slave rushes to lock the door as Blake scrambles backward. He wipes the blood from his split lip. I see the hate blaze in him, but then he smirks and turns away. He thinks he's won. Maybe he has, but at least I gave him something to remember me by.
15
GETTING WARMER
Fifteen minutes later, Mark and I are drinking coffee in the Medusa Café. The usual weekend shoppers stroll by. It's a perfect day for everyone but us.
“So what are we going to do?” Mark asks. “If we can't use the gym here or at school, where are we going to train?”
“There's only one place I can think of, but you're not going to like it.”
Mark raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Where's that?”
“Bronson Canyon.”
He spits out his coffee. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, it's not like we've got another choice.”
Bronson Canyon is in Griffith Park, just outside Hollywood. They used to film old TV and movies there. It's always had a reputation for being haunted, but no one could prove anything until a bunch of caves opened up during the Gods War. Some of those caves led to Tartarus, the Greek Underworld. A lot of ghosts and monsters got out and caused problems until the Temple put a stop to it. The priests say everything is fine now, and the park's open. Well, most of it. Some sections are still sealed off, and the place has a sinister reputation.
That hasn't stopped me. I've been to the park a few times and never seen anything weird.
Mark sighs. “I guess it won't be so bad as long as we stay outside the caves.”
“Here's the thing…” I say, watching Mark's frown deepen. “The canyon's no good for climbing. Bad rock. It crumbles too easy. We're gonna have to go caving.”
Mark covers his face in his hands and makes a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. When he pulls his hands away, his mouth is set in a grim line. “Fine. Why not? I mean, if we get eaten by monsters, at least we won't have to get humiliated Monday.”
I take a sip of coffee. “Listen, it's gonna be all right. I've been caving there before. The priests sealed the monsters up real good. Trust me.”
I see a flash of blue, and my heart skips a beat. A priest walks by, cloak flapping, but it's not Anton, and he doesn't even look our way. Still, I don't like it.
“Come on,” I tell Mark. “Let's get out of here. I gotta do something first.”
I spend a few drachmas hiring a messenger service to tell my parents we can't use the gym and to have the driver meet us at Bronson Canyon instead. I don't want to take any chances breaking curfew again, and I know it makes Mark feel better.
We stop to buy some caving gear and backpacks, pick up a few drinks and snacks, then hop a bus to Griffith Park. During the ride, Mark keeps looking at me funny. When I ask him why, he rolls his eyes and looks out the window.
“Fine,” I say. “Don't tell me.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the stone. I don't know why I brought it with me. Holding it helps. Holding it, I'm not alone.
“I know about you and my sister,” Mark says. “I know she likes you. She begged to come with us today.”
“Oh yeah?” I fake cough and look away. “Maybe she's taking an interest in your training.”
I give it a minute, not saying anything. When I turn back to face him, Mark is glaring at me. “Look, man. It's not like that! Nothing happened.”
“And nothing can,” Mark says. He's looking at me now, his eyes dark. “I mean it.”
“Mark,” I say, fumbling for how to reply. “I'm―it's not―I mean, I would never…”
H“Yes, you would. You're not a bad guy, Andrus. I get that. But you're who you are, and my family, we're who we are, and I haven't known you very long, but I know you don't always think things through. My sister… I won't let her get hurt.”
“I wouldn't hurt Lucy.”
“You wouldn't mean to, but you would. You're not going to see her again. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
Mark stares at me a moment to make sure I'm serious, then looks out the window. The city is a blur.
I lean back and close my eyes, listening to the sound of the wheels. My fingers clench the stone. Mark's right, and I hate it. It makes me so mad. The stone grows warm, startling me. I open my fist. The stone is glowing. Just a little. I glance over at Mark, but he isn't paying attention. I slip the stone back into my pocket. The warmth fades.
I feel strange: exhilarated, exhausted. The next thing I know, I'm asleep.
We get to Griffith Park at mid-afternoon, then catch the shuttle to Bronson Canyon. It's rugged, barren land. The shuttle drops us off and leaves. No one else is around. Far in the distance, the broken and stained HOLLYWOOD sign stands on a scrub-covered hill as a grim reminder of what our world used to be.
“Oh, hey! Wait a minute.” I stop and rummage through my bag until I find the book on climbing. “Here,” I say, handing it to him. “You should read this. It's got a lot of really good information.”
“Thanks.” Mark flips through it, pausing here and there to study the diagrams and illustrations. “This looks really useful. I was gonna ask if you had any books on climbing, but I wasn't sure you needed any.”
“I'm good,” I admit, “but not that good.”
“That's a relief.”
“Huh? Why's that?”
Mark shrugs. “Because if you needed a book to master climbing, then it makes me think maybe I'm not so hopeless after all.”
I grin and punch him in the arm. “Don't get cocky. Hey, whatever happened with your research last night? You find out anything more about that weird cloud-girl?”
“I didn't find much. Just that it might not be a ghost o
r monster. It could be someone who knows magic or maybe found a magic item. That doesn't make me feel any better though.”
“Why not?”
“Because magic is illegal! We should report it, but we can't―not without implicating me for breaking curfew. But if the Inquisition ever finds out that someone with magic helped us… Well, it wouldn't be good. We'd be fed to Cronus for sure!”
I get a sinking feeling. Because I'm magic. What if this cloud-girl is magic too? What if she's like me, but with different powers? What if…
Mark snaps his fingers in my face. “Andrus, you listening?”
“What? I mean, yeah. You were talking about magic.”
“Sure I was, but that was two minutes ago! I'm talking about magic items now, and why that could be worse than if the girl was just a regular witch casting spells or whatever.”
“Why is that worse?”
He rolls his eyes. “You really weren't listening, were you?”
“Maybe.”
“Damn it! You better not have been daydreaming about my sister.”
I laugh, then stop myself. “No, man. That's―just no. I swear I wasn't thinking about Lucy. I have a lot of stuff going on and…”
“You didn't look like you were thinking. You looked like you were spacing out. Why do you keep doing that? I mean, you got some kind of condition or what? You're not going to do that during the rematch are you? Or when we're caving today?”
“No, I'm fine. Go on. You were telling me about your research.”
Mark grits his teeth, then sighs when he sees I won't budge on telling him more. “OK. I was saying most magic items were created by the Gods, not the Titans. The Titans didn't make many because they didn't need many. Whatever they touched became magic, but only while they needed it to be. That's how powerful they are. But the Gods were a different story. They needed magic items to help defeat the Titans.”
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