The Secret Fire

by Whitaker Ringwald

  But the moment disappeared. “Jacqueline’s mother should not have allowed her to travel all this way without supervision,” he said. “Her fate is sealed.”

  I glared at him as hard as I could. “Why are we here? Why are we in this museum?”

  “You are standing in my latest acquisition,” he said, tucking Ethan’s phone into his pocket.

  Acquistion? Why would someone sell a museum to Ricardo? But then I guessed the answer. He probably didn’t buy it. He probably took it. With the urn of Faith, he could convince anyone to do anything. What was next? The Grand Canyon? The White House? What was the Paris Operation he asked about? Was he buying the Eiffel Tower? He’d had the urn for many years. What other places had he acquired?

  He adjusted his fedora. “I would give you a tour but I am not a tour guide,” he told me, his upper lip curling into a sneer. “There are other matters to which I must attend. Pyrrha, you will join me.”

  “Yes, Father, I would like that,” she said.

  “As for you, Jacqueline, my driver, Timothy, will take you to a room where you will wait. If your cousins do as I have instructed, you will be free to go at eight a.m. If not, then I have . . .” He bent close and whispered, “. . . other plans for you.”

  I tried not to flinch. Tried not to blink as he looked deep into my eyes. But I failed.

  He motioned at the driver, who’d been standing silently in the shadows. Then the two men held open a pair of double doors, and Ricardo entered the long building.

  Pyrrha gave me a worried look. I’ll find you, she mouthed at me. Then she followed her father.

  He has other plans for me? I don’t think so.

  As soon as Ricardo, Pyrrha, and the two men were out of sight, I ran toward the red door.

  10

  Ethan

  FACT: According to the ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle, “time” is defined by change and movement. Where there is change taking place, there is time. Where there is movement, there is time. Everything that comes to be or ceases to be exists in time.

  But the gods are never changing and eternal, and thus exist outside time.

  I was standing outside the tunnel, facing a field. Long stalks of purple lavender waved in the breeze, beneath a sky that was as blue as an Easter egg. Tyler stood next to me.

  “Wow,” he said.

  “Wow,” I echoed. There was no doubt in my mind. We were no longer in Boston.

  “This place is amazing.” Tyler laughed. “Give me my phone.”

  “But there’s no signal,” I told him.

  “I’m gonna take pictures. Give it to me.” He grabbed the phone from my pocket and started walking into the field, snapping photos of the sky, the grass, the trees. “Look at these colors!”

  Everyone would think he’d photoshopped the pictures because the colors were much brighter here than back home—more saturated, more intense. The trees had pure white trunks, and emerald-green leaves. Patches of cherry-red flowers and lemon-yellow buttercups dotted the landscape. And everything seemed to glow. No clouds marred the perfect sky, yet the sun wasn’t sweltering, and it wasn’t muggy, like the summers in Chatham. I realized I didn’t have sunblock, which worried me because I didn’t tan as easily as Tyler. But the good news was that even though the grasses were full of seeds, I wasn’t sneezing.

  “Hey, these are fruit trees,” Tyler called.

  I looked around. Did I dare venture forth? There was no sign of other people. Or gods or monsters. Making sure the leather bag was secure, I headed toward Tyler. As I approached the first tree, I noticed an unusual sound. When the breeze rustled the tree’s leaves, faint music was released. And when I took a deep breath, I inhaled air sweet with ripe fruit, like a pie baking in the oven. My worries began to fade away.

  Tyler reached up and yanked a piece of fruit from a tree branch, then handed it to me. It was an apricot and its smooth skin was warm from the sun. Then he picked one for himself. “Wait,” I warned, but he’d already taken a bite.

  “OMG. This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” A piece of apricot skin clung to his teeth as he smiled.

  Something felt weird to me. Why did Tyler look so happy? We were in the middle of a huge crisis. I stepped closer to him and looked into his eyes. I thought about Odysseus, from the famous book The Odyssey. His goal was to get home to his family, but during his journey, some of his crew ate fruit that made them forget about going home. They were held captive by an evil enchantment. I dropped my apricot on the ground. “Tyler?”

  “Huh?” He took another bite.

  “You look different all of a sudden. You look . . . happy.”

  “Of course I’m happy. I’m in the Realm of the Gods, dude. We’re in the Realm of the freakin’ Gods!”

  “I know but you’re smiling like you’re drunk or something.” I pointed to the apricot pit in his hand. “Do you think . . . ?”

  “Do I think what?” He looked at the pit. “Oh, you mean like Odysseus?” He dropped it, then plucked another apricot. “I’m not under a spell. I haven’t forgotten why we’re here. I remember everything. Ricardo. Jax. The urns. Don’t worry. I’m just savoring the moment.”

  I sighed with relief. I was hungry too, so I picked an apricot. Tyler hadn’t been exaggerating. It was like eating warm pie! The juice dribbled down my chin. “You know what?” I asked, looking at my shoes. “My pants and shoes aren’t wet anymore.” They’d been drenched from the fountain but only a few minutes in this place and they were dry.

  Tyler began to climb the tree. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I’m going to get a better view,” he said. “Jeez, Ethan, think of all the research I could do! This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make Cyclopsville as realistic as possible. I need to take mental notes on the landscape, the architecture, anything that can be used in our game. And if I could see a real Cyclops, that would be killer!”

  “Uh, that sounds dangerous,” I mumbled. Even from a safe distance, a real Cyclops could hurl a boulder at us. Or something equally deadly. “Don’t they toss sheep in your game?”

  “Uh-huh.” He’d climbed as far as he could.

  “What do you see?”

  “There’s a house over there. A white house with a red tiled roof.”

  “Is it a normal-size house?” I assumed that a Cyclops would have a rather large dwelling.

  “Looks normal to me.” He went quiet for a moment.

  “Tyler, how are we going to find Zeus?”

  “Maybe we should go ask the person who lives in that house?” He looked down at me. “Or maybe we should just call Zeus’s name. If he’s omnipotent, he’ll hear us, right?” Before I could answer, Tyler cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, “Zeus!”

  “Hey, I thought you wanted us to be quiet. We sneaked in here, remember?”

  “I know but I’ve changed my mind. Zeus!”

  I expected rumbling to fill the sky.

  “HEY! ZEUS!” Then Tyler gasped. And pointed.

  A woman had appeared at the edge of the field. Her long red hair blew gently in the breeze, as did her long white dress. She was looking straight at us.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “How am I supposed to know?” Tyler scrambled down the tree and jumped into the grass next to me.

  The woman began walking toward us. It was a long distance to cross but it must have been some sort of optical illusion because she reached us in three steps. Her gaze settled on the leather bag that was still slung over my shoulder. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

  The first thing that struck me was her voice. It was soft and comforting. I didn’t know who she was but I instantly felt that I could trust her. But was this some kind of trick? I remembered the story of the Sirens. They sang so beautifully that sailors would forget themselves and try to steer their ships to get closer to the singing. Enchanted by the song, the sailors would steer into dangerous waters and end up dashed to their deaths against the rocks. Was she
a Siren?

  But the second thing that struck me was her face. She looked exactly like Pyrrha, only older.

  “Are you Pandora?” Tyler asked. She nodded. “Wow,” he said with a goofy grin. “Uh, hi. I’m Tyler Hoche and this is my brother Ethan Hoche. I’m a friend of your daughter’s. Well, we might be more than friends. That’s up for discussion. But Pyrrha gave us this bag so we could come through the portal.”

  “Pyrrha is well?” she asked, her eyes widening.

  “Yeah, she’s fine,” Tyler said.

  Pandora’s hand flew to her mouth and she gasped softly. Her eyes filled with tears. “I am so happy to hear this news. So happy.” Then she looked at the satchel again. “But why did she not accompany you?”

  “She’s with her dad.”

  Pandora frowned. Her body stiffened. “She’s with Epimetheus? That is distressing news.”

  Tyler shuffled in place. “Yeah, Ricardo’s not our favorite person either. I mean Epimetheus. He has two names so it’s kinda confusing. One name for your world and the other name for our world. He probably chose it because Epimetheus isn’t a common name back home. I bet most people couldn’t even pronounce it.” Tyler was rambling. He seemed overwhelmed. I guess for him, this was like meeting a rock star. I thought about speaking up but talking to strangers isn’t one of my strengths. The whole eye-contact thing makes me super nervous. Tyler kept talking. “Maybe Pyrrha shouldn’t have gotten into his limo but she’s trying to help our cousin, Jax. Ricardo kidnapped her. I mean Epimetheus kidnapped her. Jax, that is. Not your daughter. He’s trying to take over our world. He’s . . . Hey, do you know where we can find Zeus?”

  “Why do you seek Zeus?” she asked.

  “We need to see him right away,” Tyler said. “We need to talk to him.”

  “That is not advised,” she said. Then she stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Seeing Zeus would be to your detriment. Mortals are not allowed in our realm. If Zeus finds you, he will punish you.”

  Tyler and I looked at each other. Pyrrha had failed to tell us that important piece of information. Beads of nervous sweat broke out along the back of my neck, only to be whisked away by the breeze.

  “But Pyrrha told us to come here. Why would she tell us to come here if we’re not allowed?” Tyler asked.

  “My daughter will do anything to save her father,” Pandora said. “Even if it means putting herself and others at risk.” She looked over her shoulder. “Come, we must not let Zeus see you. You will be safe in my home. Follow me.” She started walking toward the end of the field.

  “Wait,” I blurted. Pandora turned around. Her gentle eyes settled on me. “If we’re not supposed to be here, then I think we should go back through the portal. I think we should leave right now.” Zeus had a bad reputation when it came to punishment. I was ready to run back to that tunnel. And I’d set a speed record doing it!

  “My daughter needs your help to complete her quest. For her sake, I will keep you safe. And I will assist you in the destruction of . . .” She pointed to the satchel. “The urn of Love.”

  We hadn’t mentioned the urn of Love, but she knew we had it. Had she sensed it, the way Jax had sensed the urn of Hope?

  “You can rest assured that I have the same goals as you—to rescue our loved ones and to destroy the urns, once and for all.” Then she started walking again.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. Tyler set his hand on my shoulder. “She’s as worried about Pyrrha as we are about Jax. She’s promised to help us. Come on, let’s go with her.”

  Despite my trepidation, it seemed the logical thing to do. But I was being asked to follow a total stranger, to her house, in the Realm of the Gods. We didn’t know anything about her, except that she’d opened a famous box that had unleashed evil into the world. Would she really protect us from Zeus? There was no way of knowing.

  I hate not knowing.

  “Ethan!” Tyler called.

  “Yeah, okay.” Clutching the bag, I followed.

  11

  Jax

  Ethan 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 ta
lking 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.