The Secret Fire Page 9

  I pressed the tissue harder against my nostril. “Is there a way down?” I asked.

  Hephaestus glared up at us. “I forget. You are mortals.” He waved an arm and suddenly we found ourselves standing next to him.

  Heat radiated from the pool. Bubbles rose to the surface, then popped and splattered. Up close it looked like metallic silver paint. Tyler was about to dip his finger in. “If you cherish the use of your hand, I would not do that,” Hephaestus said calmly.

  Tyler yanked his hand away. As a gamer, his hands were everything. “What is it?” he asked.

  “The source of all I create.” Hephaestus grabbed one of the boulders, then tossed it into the pool. The rock began to melt. “This is the metal of the gods.”

  “Whoa,” Tyler said. “Awesome. So this is where you made Eros’s arrows? And Hermes’s winged sandals?” Hephaestus nodded.

  “And the urns?” I asked.

  Hephaestus nodded again, then pointed at my face. “What ails you?”

  I could feel my cheeks go red. “Uh, you mean my nose?” He grunted. “It’s a stress reaction. When I get nervous, my nose starts to bleed. Not all the time, but some of the time. It’s . . . embarrassing.”

  “Embarrassing?” He scratched his tangled beard. “Am I correct to assume that mortal females do not like bleeding noses?”

  “Not so much,” I said.

  “Do they find your bleeding nose abhorrent?”

  “Yeah, some of them do,” I admitted, remembering all those times in school when the sudden spray of blood had caused a commotion. I didn’t mention that the real reason I had only one female friend, and she was my cousin, was because of my social anxiety.

  “Girls aren’t super crazy about gaming geeks, either,” Tyler said with a shrug.

  Hephaestus nodded. “Females also find me abhorrent.”

  Though I appreciated this sort of bonding, I thought “abhorrent” was a bit of an exaggeration, at least as far as Tyler and I were concerned. While we weren’t princes of eloquence or social butterflies, we weren’t ugly. Tyler could use some basic lessons in hygiene, but so could most of his friends.

  “Females,” Hephaestus said with his trademark grunt. “Difficult to exist with them, difficult to exist without them.” He cleared his throat, then spat into the pool. Then he scratched other parts of his body. He wasn’t such a bad guy, I realized. Not half as scary as those Cyclopses. My nose had stopped tingling. I wadded up the tissue and stuck it into my pocket.

  Hephaestus began to limp slowly around the pool and toward a fire that burned in a stone hearth. We followed. “This is where I formed the urns,” he explained, pointing to his forge. He set the urn of Hope on a workbench. “Zeus commanded me to build them. I did not know he would use them to torment Pandora’s family. Had I known my father’s intent, I would have refused him. But he does not forgive easily. If he is fond of you, your days will be blessed. But if you disappoint . . .” He stared at the fire with his good eye, as if lost in memory.

  “Did he really throw you off a cliff when you were a baby?” Tyler asked. “That’s what the stories claim.”

  “When he saw my deformities, he cast me off the mountain.”

  “That’s terrible!” I blurted.

  “Terrible?” Hephaestus snorted. “That is the way of the gods! I survived. The only permanent damage was to my foot. I manage to get around.”

  The image of a baby being thrown off a mountain was horrific. He’d obviously survived, physically, but what about the emotional damage? Did he have a counselor to talk to? A support group? That kind of trauma would leave deep scars.

  Talk about a dysfunctional family of epic proportions.

  An uncomfortable silence loomed. I remembered Jax and our mission. “So, if I understand this correctly, you made the three urns here, so this is where they need to be destroyed?”

  “Correct,” he said. “But they must be destroyed together.”

  I opened the leather bag and handed him the urn of Love. He set it beside the urn of Hope. They made a pretty set, something you might see on a grandmother’s mantel. “We don’t know how to get the third urn,” I told him. “Epimetheus still has it. He kidnapped Jax and told us that if we don’t bring him Hope and Love by eight a.m. tomorrow morning, we will never see Jax again.” Each time I repeated Ricardo’s threat, it was like a knife to my stomach.

  “And Pyrrha?” Hephaestus asked. “What of her?”

  “She’s with her father right now,” Tyler said. “We think she’s trying to convince him to come home.”

  “She is risking her life to save her father,” Hephaestus said. “She must believe that if the urns are destroyed, they will no longer have power over him. And his soul will heal. He will love his family again.”

  “Will he?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But even though I was once married to Aphrodite, goddess of love, I am no expert in matters of the heart.” He suddenly looked pained, as if he’d been struck by a migraine. While I’d never heard about him being tossed off a cliff, I remembered that marriage part of his story. His union with the most beautiful goddess on Olympus had not worked out. While he’d adored her, she hadn’t returned the feelings.

  But enough about theses gods. Jax was waiting for rescue. My thoughts spun round and round. The situation seemed hopeless. “What are we going to do?”

  Tyler rubbed the back of his neck. Then his brow furrowed. “If we try to get the third urn from Epimetheus, chances are he’ll open it and we won’t know what hit us. We’ll become his zombies.” His arms dropped to his sides. “OMG, what if he’s already opened it in front of Jax and Pyrrha?” Had this thought just occurred to him? Had he been so distracted by the Realm of the Gods that he hadn’t considered this? I’d been worrying about it nonstop.

  “It would appear you have only one choice,” Hephaestus said. “You must deliver the two urns to Epimetheus as he demanded.”

  “Huh?” Tyler said. “But—”

  Hephaestus shot Tyler a stern look. Tyler swallowed his objection. “As I was saying, in order to rescue your cousin and ensure Pyrrha’s safety, you must deliver the urns. If you can get all three urns together, in one place, they can be destroyed before Epimetheus has the chance to use them.”

  “How can we destroy them?” I asked.

  “With fire,” he replied.

  “But Great-Aunt Juniper tried to destroy them with fire and they wouldn’t burn,” Tyler said.

  “You must use a special flame. My flame.” He reached his hand into his forge. I winced, but the god showed no sign of pain. When he pulled his hand out, a small orange flame danced in the center of his palm.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “The fire that formed the urns is the only fire that can destroy them.” He stepped close to Tyler. Even though Hephaestus was hunched over, he towered above my brother. “Hold out your hand.” Tyler obeyed. Hephaestus grabbed Tyler’s left hand, which looked like a baby’s hand compared to the god’s. He pressed their palms together. “Tyler Hoche, elder brother of Ethan Hoche, I hereby bequeath you with the sacred fire born from the forge of Hephaestus, son of Zeus.” He lowered his hand. Tyler gasped. The thin orange flame was now dancing on Tyler’s palm.

  “Wow,” Tyler said. Even though fire was touching his skin, Tyler didn’t appear to be in pain. He closed and opened his palm. The flame was gone. He closed and opened it again; the flame was back. It was a trick any magician might master, but this was no illusion. It was real, godly magic.

  “Touch that flame to the urns and they will burn, but only if they are together,” Hephaestus instructed.

  At least we knew how to destroy the urns, but we still had the problem of getting the third urn from Ricardo. “Uh, I’m still wondering—”

  A shuffling sound arose. I darted around. “They’re coming back,” I said with alarm. The Cyclopses must have finished their meal because they were lumbering down the tunnel. A couple of them were gnawing on large bones. One st
ill had a napkin tucked into his leather apron. Another one belched and the scent of sulfur filled the cave.

  “Time to return you to Pandora,” Hephaestus said. He raised his arms. Was he going to transport us again? I hoped so. Those Cyclopses were getting closer.

  “It was very nice to meet you,” I said. Then I grabbed the urns and shoved them into the leather bag.

  “Hang on.” Tyler took out his phone again. “Can I take a photo with you?” Without waiting for the god’s permission, Tyler squeezed next to him, held up the phone, grinned, and snapped a selfie. “Awesome!” The flash caught the Cyclopses’ attention. They dropped their bones and picked up speed. Even though they’d just eaten, they still looked hungry.

  “Uh, I think we’d better go,” I said, clutching the bag to my chest.

  “But I still have so many questions,” Tyler said. “I’m developing a game called Cyclopsville and—” One of the Cyclopses picked up a boulder and took aim.

  “Could you get us out of here?” I pleaded.

  “Good luck with your quest, boys,” Hephaestus said. “And good luck with the females!”

  Tyler aimed his phone at the Cyclopses but I’m not sure if he got a picture or not because, once again, I felt the ground disappear under my feet and even though everything went dark, I knew we’d left the cave.

  17

  Jax

  Pyrrha had the ability to sense the urn’s location, so as we walked along a pathway, she was like a bloodhound following a scent. We stopped at the front door of a building, between blocks five and six. I checked my handy map. According to the brochure, this building had once been the prison chapel, but was now used for museum events.

  One of Ricardo’s followers set a sandwich board in front of the building. Grand Reopening Ceremony, it read. An arrow pointed to the front door. More followers were coming and going, bringing in chairs, platters of food, stuff like that. My ugly blue suit was really coming in handy. No one paid any attention to me. A few bowed, but most were too busy. Pyrrha still looked like a Greek goddess in her embroidered tunic and sandals, but no one seemed to notice her, either. They were all focused on their jobs.

  It seemed weird that Ricardo was letting Pyrrha walk around unsupervised. He totally trusted her. Or else he was testing her. Or maybe she was right. He was overconfident. That hubris thing she’d mentioned. He thought he could do no wrong. He thought he had everything figured out.

  Well, not with Jax Malone around!

  I followed Pyrrha inside. Flowers and balloons decorated the corners of the room. There were tables set up with pastries, coffee, and tea. I guess it’s polite to serve your guests a light breakfast before attacking them with a brainwashing urn. Pyrrha looked around, then pointed up the stairs. We waited for two women to pass us. They were carrying folding chairs. Then we went upstairs.

  The chapel was a small room with white walls and wooden beams that ran across the arched ceiling. There were no pews, but I imagined the prisoners, long ago, who’d sat in that place, praying for freedom. The two women had joined three others and were setting up the folding chairs in tidy rows, facing the chapel’s altar, which looked like a little stage. A banner hung across the stage: New Mount Olympus Corporation. A mountain with a snowy cap was the company logo.

  Pyrrha stopped walking. “Is it here?” I quietly asked her. Then I noticed what she was looking at.

  A white pedestal stood in the center of the stage. It looked like a column from an ancient Greek temple. A large, golden mask was perched on top of the pedestal. The mask was a man’s face but it looked more cartoonish than real. His ears were small and roundish. His eyes were closed and his nose was long and thin. He was smiling, as if dreaming about something nice. Four men stood on the stage, two on each side of the mask. Even though they were dressed like everyone else, I could tell they were security guards because they wore earpieces and stood ready to draw their guns if necessary. Though I couldn’t see their eyes through the dark glasses, they seemed to be staring straight ahead. That mask must have been super important. “What is it?” I whispered to Pyrrha.

  She turned to me and frowned. “That is the Mask of Agamemnon.”

  What? I gasped. My father was in prison because he supposedly stole the Mask of Agamemnon. But there it was, in Ricardo’s lair. I clenched my fists. Not only had Ricardo set up my father, he’d kept the stolen mask for himself. I wanted to scream. Wanted to punch Ricardo. Wanted to make him hurt as much as he’d hurt my family!

  Pyrrha leaned close. “The urn is here,” she told me. “It must be behind the mask.” She climbed onto the stage. A guard immediately stepped forward.

  “No one is allowed on the altar,” he told her in a monotone voice.

  “But I am Pyrrha, daughter of Epimetheus.” She paused. “Daughter of Ricardo. He has given me permission to approach the mask.”

  “No one is allowed on the altar,” the man repeated. Another guard grabbed Pyrrha’s arm and escorted her off the stage.

  When the guards had returned to their places, Pyrrha casually walked back to me. “The urn of Faith is definitely behind the mask. I saw it,” she whispered.

  A tingle ran up my spine. It was so close. We could grab the urn and run down the stairs and out the red door. But how could we get past those men? They were beefy, that’s for sure. The seams in their blue suits were practically ripping from their muscles. Had Ricardo recruited followers at a weight-lifting competition?

  I looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to us. “Why this mask?” I asked. “What’s so important about it?” Once again, I needed Ethan’s factoid brain. Had he gone into the Realm of the Gods with Tyler, or had he stayed behind? Was he okay?

  Pyrrha’s voice was so quiet I could barely hear her above the sounds of chairs being unfolded. “Agamemnon was a very important king. A conqueror. My father admired him.”

  I wanted to tell Ricardo that no matter how many people he brainwashed and controlled, no one in this world would ever really, truly admire him! “How can we get the urn?” I asked. “Maybe we can distract those guys?”

  “Yes, a distraction.” Pyrrha’s eyes sparkled. “When we were in the Museum of Fine Arts, I caused a distraction by pretending to be sick. It worked.”

  I didn’t need directions. I’d been in a few plays at school. With a huge groan, I clutched my stomach. “Oh, I’m sick. Something’s wrong.” The guards didn’t flinch. “Help!” I fell to the floor. The guards didn’t even look at me. But one of the women who’d been setting up the chairs walked over. She knelt.

  “Do you require medical attention?”

  “No,” I said, getting to my feet. What was the point of pretending to be sick if the guards wouldn’t budge?

  “The one purpose,” she said.

  “Yeah, yeah. The one purpose.” I straightened my suit coat. The woman went back to setting up chairs. “Now what do we do?”

  Pyrrha’s expression turned stormy. “We have come so far. We are so close to finishing the quest,” she said between clenched teeth. “These mortals will not tell me what to do.” Then she let out a huge, angry breath. With stomping steps, she climbed back onto the stage. “Move aside,” she ordered in a loud voice. “For I am the daughter of Ricardo and he has instructed me to deliver the urn.” Even though the guards loomed over her, she stood her ground.

  One of the guards spoke. “Our orders are—”

  “You dare to disobey Ricardo?” She pointed at him. “I am his daughter, and the one purpose is my purpose. Are you against the one purpose?” Emotion appeared on the guard’s zombie face. He was confused.

  “The one purpose,” he said with a bow. Then he stepped aside. But the others did not. Pyrrha raised her voice even louder. “I said that I am Ricardo’s daughter and he has ordered you to let me pass!”

  I scrambled onto the stage. I knew that if I touched the urn of Faith, I would feel its warmth, and it would get into my head. I would become its protector. I didn’t want any more urns
talking to me, controlling me. But this had to be over. I lunged for it. A guard blocked me. I bounced off him and stumbled backward. Pyrrha darted around the mask, her arms reaching. But a guard grabbed her around the waist. She threw a punch, knocking him on the shoulder. Then she broke away and did a roundhouse kick, right in his gut! He actually flinched. I wondered what kind of martial arts they taught in her world. Sign me up!

  But the guards outnumbered us. They backed us into a corner of the stage. “I told you,” Pyrrha said, trying to catch her breath. “Ricardo ordered me to get the urn.”

  “He has ordered no such thing,” a familiar voice said.

  The guards stepped aside. Ricardo stood in the chapel’s doorway. His fedora cast a shadow over his face but from the tone of his voice, I knew his eyes were burning with rage.

  He slowly walked into the room, past the rows of chairs, until he stood at the base of the stage. “It is most disappointing that you failed my test,” he told Pyrrha. “Like your mother, you cannot be trusted. Seize her!”

  Two of the guards grabbed Pyrrha by her arms. “RUN!” she yelled at me. But it was too late. I was in their clutches. And Ricardo was pointing at me.

  “Soon,” he said, “you will join the others. You will exist only for the one purpose.”

  18

  Ethan

  FACT: Transporting from one place to another place by means of magic causes dizziness and confusion. It can also be life-threatening, especially if you are being transported into a cave of flesh-eating Cyclopses. But once you rematerialize, and get your bearings, the dizziness passes. If you find yourself in the Realm of the Gods, however, you may still feel confused. It’s a very confusing place.

  We were standing in a field of lavender. The scent of warm fruit filled my nostrils, which was so much nicer than the sulfuric stench of Cyclops burps. We’d left Hephaestus’s forge and were back in Pandora’s field. We needed to get home. We needed to destroy the urns and save Jax. The leather bag was in my arm, Tyler was a couple feet away. The trees were still heavy with ripe apricots, but something had changed. The sky wasn’t robin’s egg blue. The sun wasn’t shining. Thick gray clouds churned and thunder clapped. “Pandora!” a voice bellowed. “What have you done?” The words shook the ground like an earthquake.