The Secret Fire (10 page)

        
FACT:
We stink under pressure.

Normal sweat is meant to cool us off, but stress sweat causes cortisol and adrenaline to rush into the bloodstream, making you go from zero to sweaty in seconds flat. When you sweat, you feed the bacteria that naturally live on your skin. Their digestion produces the odor we call BO. While exercise sweat is mostly water, stress sweat has a lot of fat and protein so the bacteria love it and make a lot more odor.

T
yler reeked. But so did I. That was the first thing I noticed after our transportation. I'm not sure why. It would make more sense for me to notice that we were standing in a new location. But we'd gotten a bit jostled during transport through the Poseidon Portal and I ended up with my nose pressed against Tyler's back. Good thing my nosebleed had stopped back in Hephaestus's cave.

“We're not in the park,” Tyler said.

I stepped away. I'd expected we'd be back in Boston Common, standing in the fountain, but we were somewhere else. I felt stunned, looking around for any clues to our whereabouts. We stood on a sidewalk lined with brick buildings. Each had apartments on top and shops on street level. But the sidewalk across the street was lined with a tall stone wall. A tower rose in the distance. It looked like a medieval fortress.

Tyler whipped out his phone, checking the map app. “Philly,” he said. “We're in Philly. Outside Eastern State Penitentiary.”

“The gods sent us to Jax,” I said with a gasp.

“And to Epimetheus,” Tyler said. “They saved us five hours of driving.”

I grabbed his phone and read the screen. We were
two blocks from the penitentiary's entrance. “How are we going to get our car?” I asked. “It's back in Boston.”

“Who cares?” Tyler said, snatching his phone back. “We can deal with that after Ricardo has been
vanquished
.” He said this with a burst of energy, waving his arm as if brandishing a sword. “Come on.”

As usual, he took the lead, without any discussion. “Tyler,” I said, stopping him by grabbing his sleeve. “We should make a plan. We can't just barge in.”

“You can't always have a plan, Ethan. Believe me. I've fought enough battles to know that most of the time you have to think on your feet.” He was talking about virtual battles, of course.

“But—”

I expected to be dismissed, to be put in my place with some comment reminding me of his genius status. But instead, he put a hand on my shoulder. “Okay, I'm listening. What do you suggest?” His voice was tight with impatience, but he was asking for my opinion. This was a huge change in our relationship.

“I think . . .” Like the heroes in the games he played, Tyler was eager to venture forth and engage in whatever battle awaited us. In those games Tyler always won. But this was no game and I needed to
remain the voice of reason. “I think Jax might still have my phone. Should we try to text her?”

He thought about this for a moment. “Too risky. If Ricardo took it, then we'd be alerting him to our location.” He scratched his face. The stubble was filling in. If he went without a razor for another day, he'd have a full beard. Would this quest take another day? Would we ever get back home, where things like shampoo, clean clothes, and razors waited for us? Along with parents.

Tyler turned around. The shop behind us was a coffeehouse. The scent of freshly ground beans wafted from the open door. There were two customers, drinking from mugs and reading the newspaper. “You take the urns and wait in there,” he said, giving me a nudge.

“What?”

“Ricardo wanted to meet by eight a.m., right?” I nodded. “It's 7:50. I'll go. I'll tell him that he can have the urns
after
he sets Jax free. No urns unless she is free.” That sounded good. “Once she's out of his grip, I'll stick her in a cab and get her out of the city. She can start heading home.” He looked at the leather bag. Then he looked at me. “I want you to go with her.”

“But—”

“I'm not going to argue about this, Ethan. As soon as Jax and you are in the cab, I'll take the leather bag and deal with Ricardo.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.” He started to pace. “I assume Ricardo will bring the urn of Faith with him when he meets me. It's his best weapon in case I try to run. If he has the urn of Faith that will mean that all three urns are in the same place. I'll set the leather bag on fire and try to reach Faith, too.”

I looked at his palm. “Do you still have it?”

Tyler opened his palm. The little flame flicked like a cat's tail. He closed it again.

There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to climb into a cab with Jax and get as far away from Ricardo and this nightmare as possible. But leaving Tyler alone was not an option. He'd already taken a huge hit when the urn of Hope had been unleashed. I couldn't let that happen again. I looked down the street, toward the penitentiary's entrance. I was going to insist that we walk there, together, but something was wrong.

“Why are those guys running?” I asked, my entire body stiffening. Tyler followed my gaze. Two guys,
dressed in blue suits and wearing dark glasses, had crossed the street and were heading toward us. Maybe they were out for a morning jog, or were anxious to get their lattes at the coffeehouse behind us, but I doubted it. They looked like CIA agents.

“RUN!” Tyler shouted.

It was just as difficult to run down the sidewalk as it had been to run through the field with the godly wind blowing against me. My legs were weak and wobbly. I wondered if this was a side effect from traveling to another realm. When astronauts return to Earth, they suffer from muscle deterioration. Had that happened to me? Or, after all the excitement, had my fight-or-flight mechanism been overworked, leaving me weak and easy prey? Tyler raced ahead but didn't make it beyond the next intersection. Two more men had darted around the corner and were blocking his way. They were dressed like the others. Tyler skidded to a stop. I caught up with him. We were both breathing hard. “What do you want?” Tyler demanded as the first two men stood guard a few yards away.

“Come with us. Ricardo is waiting for you,” one of them replied.

“We're not going anywhere,” Tyler told him. “Not
until Ricardo releases our cousin, Jax. And not until I watch Jax and Ethan get into a cab.”

“Ricardo is waiting for you,” the man repeated. His voice was robotic.

Would it do any good to cry for help? What would happen? A few pedestrians might gather. The police might come. And then Ricardo would unleash one of the urns and we'd all be captive. The only chance humanity had was for us to get all three urns in one place.

“We'll go with you,” I told the thugs. Tyler glared at me. But his anger was a brief flash, quickly extinguished by truth. He knew we had to go. He knew what we had to do.

One of the men tapped his earpiece. “We have them,” he said.

We walked with our escorts to the museum's entrance. The entry was cut into the stone wall and blocked by a metal gate. A pair of gargoyles sat on the edge of the wall. They looked clean and new, as if they were recent additions. Their eyes flashed red. Security cameras, I realized. Another pair of guards stood beside a red door.

Cabs and limousines pulled up to the curb. People had begun to gather outside the museum. Most of
them were dressed nicely, as if they were going to an important meeting. A woman in a blue suit and dark glasses began to address the crowd. “Tickets for the grand reopening ceremony are required. Please form an orderly line. The ceremony will begin soon.” Her voice was as unemotional as our escort's voice. I knew, without a doubt, that the blue suits were under Ricardo's spell. The urn of Faith had turned them into mindless followers.

“Excuse me,” a young woman said. She was speaking to the blue-suited woman. “I'm the mayor's chief of staff. I think the mayor would be more comfortable inside, rather than waiting in line. Would you please let us through?”

“All guests must wait here,” the blue suit replied. “Ricardo is not yet ready. The grand ceremony will begin soon.”

Ricardo had invited the mayor and all these people to some kind of ceremony? Should I warn them? Tell them there had been a bomb threat and that they shouldn't go inside? Tyler had already been escorted through the red door. I was only a few steps behind when a car came to a screeching stop in the middle of the road. It was a blue BMW like the one my father drove. The passenger door flung open and a woman
with brown hair stepped out. “Jax!” she cried. It was my aunt Lindsay, Jax's mom. Then my dad got out of the driver's seat. This was unbelievable. How had they known where to find us?

“Da—”

It was too late to warn them because a bunch of blue suits swarmed me and, like being caught in a current, I was whisked through the red door.

Once I got inside, a hand was placed over my mouth and I was forced past a ticket booth and into a courtyard. Neither my dad nor Aunt Lindsay had seen me. If Jax were in this situation, she'd probably bite her captor's hand, but I did no such thing. I didn't want to risk being separated from Tyler. We needed each other. Ricardo had abandoned his family. Madness might have been the cause of his actions. But even if I went crazy, even if Ricardo exposed me to all three urns, I'd never abandon Tyler or Jax.

Never!

I was released from the man's tight grip. Tyler and I stood next to each other. We were somewhere on the museum grounds, the giant stone wall separating us from the outside world. There was no sign of Ricardo. Or Jax. Or Pyrrha. Sweat broke out along my shirt collar. Would we ever emerge from this place?

“Inside,” a woman said. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail. I could see my reflection in her sunglasses as she pointed to a building. A banner across the entrance read:
Grand Reopening Ceremony
. Two balloon bouquets stood on either side of the door. It was odd to see such a happy symbol in such a dark place. When I was little, I loved balloons, and like most kids, I cried if my balloon floated away. Until that very moment I never realized why. To a young child who doesn't understand the laws of physics, a balloon seems like a magical thing and when it floats away, so does the magic. But I was no longer a little kid and I knew that the balloons were filled with helium. And the only kind of magic waiting inside that building was the kind that emptied the soul of the things that make life worth living.

Tyler glanced at me from the corner of his eye and held up his fist, in a gesture of solidarity. The flame waited beneath his curled fingers. I clutched the leather bag and we entered the building and headed upstairs.

My nose didn't tingle.

The blue suits led us into a room that looked like a small church. Rows of chairs faced a little stage. There were flowers and streamers, as if a wedding
was going to take place. But I didn't notice much more because Jax was standing on the stage, her arms behind her back. She was being held by one of Ricardo's followers. Pyrrha was also being held. They both gasped when they saw us.

And I gasped too, because Jax was wearing one of the blue suits. Had she been brainwashed?

“Tyler, Ethan, run!” Pyrrha cried. But even if we'd wanted to, there was no escape. Our escorts stood, blocking the door.

“Jax, are you okay?” I cried.

“It's behind the mask,” she said. Her voice was not robotic. She kicked the man who was holding her but he simply gripped her tighter. She was still her old self, which was great news, but equally great news was that the third urn was here, in the room. My heart beat so quickly it felt like it was in my throat. The urn of Faith was on that stage, behind the mask. We were so close. We could do this!

“Well, well, it would appear we have a family reunion in progress,” Ricardo said, his voice sounding as ominous as it had over Tyler's phone. He stood in the center of the stage. Morning sun streamed in through the narrow windows, casting odd shadows on his face. Before this moment, I'd only seen him
at the comic-book festival, when he'd been chasing us. He wore a black suit and black fedora. His face was narrow, but handsome. His eyes were dark and piercing. I shivered.

His gaze lingered on the leather bag. “You have brought the urns,” he said. It was not a question. I realized he could sense their presence.

“You said if we brought them, you'd let Jax go,” Tyler told him. Tyler reached into the leather bag and pulled out the urn of Hope. Then he stepped in front of me. “Let Jax, Pyrrha,
and
Ethan leave this place, now, or I'll open this urn.”

I took a sharp breath. It was a brilliant strategy, which didn't surprise me. Tyler was thinking on his feet, just like he said. We knew that the urn of Hope left everyone in a semi-comatose state. If Tyler opened it, he would be safe because he held the urn. Pyrrha and Ricardo would be safe because the urns couldn't hurt them. But everyone else in the room would be affected, including me and Jax. Ricardo would have no brainwashed followers to protect him, making it much easier for Tyler to get the third urn.

Ricardo stood his ground, his eyes never blinking. “Your threat is empty,” he said with certainty. “You will not open Hope.”

“What makes you think that?” Tyler asked, clutching the urn.

“Because you know what it feels like to have hope drained from your soul. You would never expose your brother to such suffering.”

I chewed on my lip as I tried to read Ricardo's expression. Did he remember that he'd once loved his own brother? That he'd tried to help ease Prometheus's suffering? But I saw no flicker of emotion. His voice remained icy.

“Let them go,” Tyler demanded, his hand gripping the urn's cork.

“Go ahead,” Ricardo said. “Open it.”

They stood, facing each other from across the room, one daring the other to hurt his brother and his cousin. If Tyler opened the urn, I wouldn't question his decision. I would forgive him. “Go ahead,” I said. “Do it!”