Authors: Clea Hantman
Wednesday, 11:29
P.M.
, parking lot of Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia
“O
n
to the chocolate factory,” Era said as soon as we’d arrived at the car and leaned Pocky up against the passenger-side door.
“But Era, I don’t think the chocolate factory exists.” Era was still having trouble with the concept that lots of movies they showed on TV were make-believe. Or maybe she was just in denial about the chocolate factory. “Don’t you wanna go somewhere else? Like maybe out west?” I suggested. I mean, I could’ve just point-blank said, “Era—pick Denver,” but I didn’t. It wasn’t the time. We stood there, shivering in the parking lot.
“Hmmm, okay.” Era looked thoughtful. “I pick…I pick…here in Colonial Williamsburg—let’s just stay.”
“Hear ye, hear ye, I agree. Now let’s go help those poor people,” said Polly.
“No, no, no, Era, you can’t pick someplace we’ve already been—it’s part of the rules,” I said.
“What rules? I don’t remember any rules,” questioned Polly.
“Um, they’re Pocky’s Road Trip Rules, didn’t he tell you?” Hey, how was it going to hurt him, blaming him while he was asleep?
“Oh,” said Era sheepishly, looking at the sleeping Pocky. “Well, okay, but I dunno where.” She furiously began twirling her blond curls.
“Blech, hurl, ptoot!”
“What was that?” asked Era, twirling faster.
“A bird, I think,” I said, even though I didn’t. “It sounds like a bird regurgitating food for its little infant birds. Now, where to, sis?”
“Blech, hurl, ptoot!”
“That isn’t a bird, Thalia,” explained my sister Polly, her normally pale face paling more. “That’s some poor soul vomiting in the bushes. We should help!”
“How can you help? We may not be immune to a disease of the future. We can’t risk getting sick—who knows how it may endanger us,” and this last part I said in a whisper, “I mean, we’re not exactly human.”
“But…” Polly looked torn. She called out to the bushes, “Are you okay?” But nothing.
“What can you do for her, anyway? You can’t make her better, you won’t use magic. You’re smart for sure, but face it, Pol, you’re no doctor.”
“Maybe she’s right, Polly,” said Era rationally, finally. “There isn’t much we can do for these people. Maybe we should move on.”
“Now we’re talking. So, Era, how about heading out west, someplace like Kansas or Wyoming or…Colorado?”
“Well, I guess, I mean, where do you think, exactly?” said Era, looking way confused.
“Colora—”
“No! Don’t let Thalia pick; it’s not her turn,” said my nosy sister Polly. “You pick a place you want to go, not one that Thalia wants you to pick.”
“Now
who
is telling her where to go?” I said, and I could hear my voice—it sounded seriously snotty.
“I’m not telling her where to go! Era, I just want to remind you to make your own decisions. That’s all, Thalia.”
“You’re not the boss of us, Polly.”
“And you’re not the boss, either, Thalia. I simply can’t—”
“Enough!” Polly and I both fell silent. Amazingly, that angry, firm, booming voice was coming from my always sweet, always impressionable sister Era. “I know where I want to go. New York City. Now, let’s go.”
New York City? The only way we could get any
farther from Denver was to hit the ocean and start swimming. I opened my mouth to speak, but Era shushed me with a wave of her hand.
“There’s this hotel. I saw it on
Access Entertainment
just the other day. Movie stars were staying there and going to this spa, which sounded a lot like the Beautorium back home. And they had water beds and huge golden swimming pools, and that’s where I want to go, to the Hotel Royale…in New York City.” And with that, she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Well, you know, they have, um, crime there, Era. Bad crime, haven’t you seen
Cops
?” I said, grasping at straws.
“That’s where I want to go, Thalia.”
“But it’s dirty!” I yelled.
“A Beautorium, Thalia, we need to get to a Beautorium. Look at my hair!” Now Era was screaming. It was no use.
“What’s a Beautorium?” It was Pocky, leaning up against the car, groggy and half asleep. He was stirring.
“Oh, Pocky, good to see you’re all right. Okay, we’re off. Why don’t you get in the car? Here, I’ll help.” I gave him a hand up and opened the backseat car door. He slid in and slumped back. I shut the door, and he slid down the window, stopping with his chin on the door lock. He started to drool.
I whispered, “Okay, okay, okay. Now that Pocky is up again, someone needs to drive till he falls back
asleep so we can, you know, do our thing. I think that person should be me.”
“Um, no,” said Polly. “Why should it be you? You think you’re better than us at everything earthly, but you’re not. I think I should drive.”
“Have you ever driven before?”
“No, have you?”
“No, but I watch very closely.”
“Well, so do I!”
“Well, I think it takes some athletic prowess, and face it, I’m just more adept at these things than you.”
“I don’t think it takes athleticism; I think it takes a level head and smarts, two things you’ve proven tonight—and, dare I say, previous nights—you severely lack.”
“W-well…” I stuttered.
“Plus I’m older, right, Era? Era, you choose.”
“I don’t wanna,” she said, all quiet.
“That settles it,” said Polly. “I will drive. Now get into the car. If we’re going to go, let’s go.”
Polly got in the front seat, pulled on the seat belt, and clicked it into place. She put the key in the hole and turned it, and the car started right up. She looked so pleased with herself. For a moment. But then she panicked ever so slightly. She shook a little. And looked around furiously. She began to breathe heavily, and then she turned to me with an expression of extreme confusion and said, “How do you get it to go forward?”
Wednesday, 11:46
P.M.
, parking lot of Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia
A
pollo
pulled into the Colonial Williamsburg parking lot with the same wild abandon that he drove those 528 miles from Athens. He stopped the car randomly, covering no less than three actual parking spots, and jumped out of the car before it had even stopped chugging. He was a man on a mission, a man with a one-track mind, a man who’d left the keys in the car. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was finally within reach of Thalia, he was finally going to tell her the whole story—how he was actually Apollo in disguise, how Hera intended to send them to Hades if they messed up just one more time, how he still loved her after all the vomit and greenness and snakes. He loved her.
He ran for the nearest building, a small structure with a sign out front that said Tickets. But he quickly realized that the lights were out. He could see no one inside. He hadn’t thought about the fact that it was late, after hours, and that most people were probably already at home, asleep. He pounded on the glass of the little kiosk—not to get anyone’s attention, but just out of sheer frustration. Now where to? He scanned the parking lot and saw cars but no people. He let out a groan, a groan of anger and pain.
“Can I help you?”
A little mousy face peeked out from inside the kiosk. She looked like she had been sleeping.
“Oh, my, someone is in there! Thank you! I’m sorry to disturb you, but can you please tell me where I can find a young girl by the name of Thalia?”
“Don’t know anyone by that name, sir, sorry.” She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and sleepiness.
“No, of course you wouldn’t. I’ve missed them, surely,” he said. Apollo hung his head low, unsure of what to do next.
“You know,” said the woman from the booth, “there’s a big dance in the ballroom across the way. If your friend is anywhere in the park, she would be there. You go through those gates, take a left at the silver shop, your third right after the magic store, and then your fourth left after the bathrooms that look
like a public hanging spot. There’s a big hall over there, and that’s where the party is.”
“Well, it is a dance, and Era and Polly love those things—they could be there. Yes, thank you very much! That’s wonderful news! You can go back into your house and resume sleeping now.”
“Wait!” She detained him a moment to collect money for a ticket. Then she gave him an awkward, confused wave as he hurried off into the darkness.
Apollo ran across the lot, through the gates, and made his first left, third right, and fourth left after the bathrooms that looked like a public hanging spot. Had he time, he would have liked to look around this village—there were candles burning everywhere, and beautiful gardens lined the walkways—it was lovely. He would have loved to be strolling here with Thalia right now, arm in arm. But maybe that wasn’t such a far-off possibility after all.
Finally he arrived at what seemed to be the hall. It was a tall and graceful building, aglow with lights, but right away Apollo sensed that something was amiss. There was no music. No happy sounds. Just a few grunts and moans. And then he saw the crowd of people standing—or rather, crouching, kneeling, and sitting—on the front lawn.
Apollo hurried over to a man dressed in a very fancy suit, holding a hat in his hands and leaning against a wall. There was no time to ask any questions but the
most important one. “Excuse me, sir? I’m looking for three friends of mine, and I was wondering—”
But before he could finish his sentence, the man opened his mouth to speak…and promptly vomited into his hat! Apollo watched in shock as the man ran off toward the woods, only to be sick again.
Apollo looked around for someone else to ask. But there was no one. Or rather, there were plenty of people, but no one to ask. Because everyone, every single person, was in fancy dress and violently ill.
“Thalia’s been here,” Apollo said to no one in particular. A place filled with unhappy, miserably sick people? He would have bet even the Keres
*
that Thalia had something to do with this mess. And the possibility that it might have to do with magic made him feel a bit ill himself.
After searching every face on the lawn and in the surrounding area, Apollo walked back out to the parking lot and looked around. He figured he could try all the nearby inns or perhaps the local eateries. But before he made it to his car, he spotted a girl in the parking lot coming out from behind a clump of bushes. She looked ill, but currently she wasn’t vomiting. It was worth a try.
“Excuse me, excuse me, miss, can I ask you a question?” As he got closer, he realized she was clutching her stomach and still quite sick. “Uh, are you okay?”
“I don’t know—I feel weak, but I finally stopped throwing up. Who are you? A doctor?”
“No, sorry, not a doctor.” Apollo had to turn away a bit—her breath wasn’t sweet. In fact, it was rather vomity. “I’m actually looking for three girls, sisters. They’re traveling with a tall, scrawny-looking boy with big spiky hair named Pocky. Have you seen them?”
“I don’t…” She coughed. And wheezed. Apollo patted her on the shoulder.
“Never mind,” he said, backing away. “I can see that it’s a bad time and—”
“Wait,” she said weakly. “I did see some girls talking, and they were with a boy, I think, with a mohawk. But I was out of it, you know, throwing up behind these bushes. I barely remember.”
“Yes, that must be them. They weren’t sick, were they?”
“No, I don’t think so. They sounded like they were arguing.”
“It’s them, I’m sure of it. Okay, where did they go? Which direction?”
“I dunno. I’m sick.”
“Right, um, think hard—did you hear them mention anything? Anything at all?”
“I think one of them asked if I was okay. I heard something about a bird.”
She crouched and sat on the ground, then whispered, “Oh, they were talking about that show
Access
Entertainment
and some hotel with a spa or something. They were kind of yelling.” She began to cough uncontrollably. Apollo knelt down, turned his head from hers, and shook her gently. He held her shoulders but couldn’t face her. “Please, it’s imperative I find them.”
“Wait! I remember! It was the Hotel Royale. New York City.”
Apollo let go of her shoulders, and she fell over. “Oh, sorry.” He jumped up. “I’ve gotta run. I’m really sorry. I hope you feel better.”
“Yeah, um, sure,” the girl muttered from the ground.
Apollo ran to the car, turned the keys, which were already in the ignition, and revved the engine loudly. He still didn’t have this driving thing quite down yet. He spotted an old box of Tic Tacs on the floor of Claire’s grandpa’s Buick. They looked like pills of some sort.
“Hey,” he called to the girl who had helped him, the girl who was still crouched on the ground in pain. “Here.” And he threw the box of mints her way, accidentally hitting her on the forehead. He felt really bad, but this was Thalia’s life on the line. He had to go.
Now
.
Screeeech!
Apollo peeled out of the parking lot and didn’t look back.
Wednesday, 11:48
P.M.
, New York City
W
e
didn’t waste any time. As soon as Pocky was asleep, I blinked our way to New York City. Unfortunately, Pocky woke up right quick and sat up straight with a jump.
“What? Where are we?”
“We’re driving, see? Yawn. I’m sooo sick of driving,” I said, even though we’d only been driving for a few minutes.
“This looks like New York City. What? Did I sleep the whole drive?”
“Why, yes, yes, you did,” I said matter-of-factly, maybe too matter-of-factly.
“But then why isn’t it light out? It should be morning. Didn’t we leave Williamsburg late at night?”
“Yes, yes, we did,” said Polly. She wasn’t helping.
But who could blame her? She was busy trying to drive the car, dodging left and right. She looked panicked, but I have to say, she was doing a good job.
“See, Pocky, you’ve been sleeping for like twenty-four hours. It’s not Wednesday night—it’s actually Thursday night.” How else to describe our five-minute jaunt to New York City? I had thought about telling him Era was in fact an expert mechanic who rigged his car to go two hundred miles per hour, but I thought the Thursday night thing was more believable.
“It’s Thursday? No way! I must have been so out of it. What happened at that apothecary?”
“You drank something that didn’t agree with you, apparently,” I said. My sisters kept their mouths shut. Lying wasn’t their forte.
“Wow, that must’ve been some drink.”
“Sure was,” I said, like I knew.
“So wait, that means it’s Thanksgiving…. Did I miss it? What time is it? I can still have my dinner, right? We’ve got to get turkey!” His enthusiasm made us all a bit uncomfortable. I really didn’t like lying to Pocky, but what choice did we have? “Where shall we go? Did you girls already pick a place?”
“No, we haven’t.” Polly’s voice sounded so sad. She hid her beautiful face behind the wall of her straight hair in shame.
But Era didn’t sound sad at all. “How about Greenwich Village? I have seen so much great stuff
about that place on the TV. I bet they’ll have a yummy turkey dinner!”
Polly and I both turned to her and gave her the “duh” stare. Did Era really think it was Thursday?
While Polly clumsily drove us toward Greenwich Village (I held the map), I hoped that Thanksgiving was like one of those holidays they celebrate all week long. We needed a turkey dinner with all the fixin’s tonight. Then we needed to check into that hotel Era was so excited about, get some shut-eye, and hightail it to Denver tomorrow morning.
It seemed like that was never going to happen at this rate. Every thirty seconds Polly’s foot slammed on the brake. We were moving even slower than when Pocky drove.
“St. Marks Place. Did you find it on the map? That’s where we should go,” said Era, all of a sudden an expert on New York City.
“Where did you hear of this place?” I asked.
“It’s a street, a famous street. C’mon, did you find it?”
“Yes, I think we’re close.” Then we all fell silent because Pocky, Era, and I were just amazed by what we saw. Even though it was late, there were people everywhere, people like I’d never seen before—riding bikes, walking their dogs; people with hair even crazier and spikier than Pocky’s; people singing and playing instruments on the streets. The buildings
were enormous—they reached up into the sky. And the lights! They were electric lights, and there were more of them than I could have ever imagined. And the smells! Some of them were wonderful—like the most heavenly spices in the world were being cooked in these little stalls on the sidewalks—and some were terrible, like rotting garbage and goddess knows what else. But who cared? This was as divine a place as I’d ever seen.
We found a parking spot on MacDougal Street and jumped out of the car before Polly could even get Pocky’s cruiser into the spot. It took her eight tries.
I looked around. There were three restaurants right next door to one another. Someone had to have turkey, right?
We started walking toward the row of restaurants. “You know, Pocky, it’s superlate, and people might be out of turkey dinners by now,” I said, hoping that this might explain why on Wednesday evening we weren’t able to get a traditional Thursday night Thanksgiving dinner.
“Really, you think so? I’m sure someone will have some left.”
A bunch of kids about our age walked by, and they all had different-color hair like a pack of those Life Savers Era loves to devour. A man stood on a street corner, blowing bubbles at traffic—he was very talented. We saw a group of women who just had to
be Amazonian, they were so tall. There was a man in a gold lamè dress (or a very unattractive bearded lady), and he was holding these three crazy colored snakes.
We tried all three restaurants and even a fourth around the corner. None had turkey and gravy or cranberry sauce or sweet potatoes with marshmallows. Each gave us a look that all but said, “Tomorrow, stupid.”
“Let’s try St. Marks Place,” said Era. “We can grab something to eat and a cup of coffee. New York coffee is supposed to be strong. I saw that somewhere. TV, I think.”
“I can’t believe I missed Thanksgiving dinner,” said Pocky, who looked truly sad. I felt horrible. His only wish this whole trip was to have that turkey dinner, and now he thought he wasn’t going to get it, thanks to me. And if he did manage to get it tomorrow, how was I going to explain that?
Era grabbed Pocky by the arm and started pulling him toward St. Marks. “C’mon, Pock, this is going to be fun. We’ll get you some food, some yummy, sweet food.”
Polly and I walked slower behind the two of them. “You can’t keep this up, Thalia. The lying, the magic, it’s going to come back and hurt you, hurt us all. I’m sure of it. Something bad is going to happen.”
“I know, I know, I don’t feel good about lying to
Pocky, but I don’t know how to stop now.” I had to admit, my plans had gotten a little out of control. But I was going to try to be better from now on. Really, no more magic. Not unless it was absolutely, positively necessary.
Inside the coffee shop was even wilder than out on the street. We actually spotted a satyr
*
! Or at least that’s what I think he was. He had little horns on the top of his head just like the satyrs back home, and he had these markings on his face, like ink, just like them. I wanted to go pet him and maybe see if he knew my cousin Dion, but Pocky stopped me and said that he might be dangerous.
We got some food and some coffee (yes, it was strong!) and found a table toward the back. The coffee shop was dusty and dark and smelled of old fruit and burning wood. Two girls sat behind us, whispering and sipping these creamy, delicious—looking drinks out of big, cloudy glasses. We were surprised to see an old fortune-teller was setting up her table next to us. We all noticed her rainbow dress and turban, even amidst all the color. Apparently modern-day fortune-tellers hadn’t changed all that much since ancient times.
Era used to love going to the soothsayers back home, and she couldn’t resist now. She shyly asked the woman if she could read her future for her. The ancient woman agreed, “For five dollars.”
“You girls must have the biggest allowances of all time,” Pocky said, eyeing the huge wad of bills Era pulled out of her purse. We hadn’t made much of an effort to hide the fact from Pocky or Claire that we had an unlimited supply of cash. We’d always chalked it up to having rich parents back in Europe.
The soothsayer asked Era to sit down and then grabbed her hand and ran her fingers over Era’s palm. She closed her eyes and whispered a few nonsensical words, then opened them with a pop. We all listened intently to hear what she was saying.
“You, my girl, are from a very far-off land. You are a lover of all things sweet…and beautiful. Hum. You will have a very boring life. Hum. Now, that is all I see—leave my table. Send over that girl who was sitting next to you.” She nodded toward me.
Era got up, appearing very disappointed. That was worth five dollars? Even with an unlimited supply of money, it seemed like a rip-off. She’d been right about Era’s personality, but her future-seeing skills seemed to be lacking. Yet Polly still seemed compelled to go to the woman’s table and ask to see her future, too.
The woman sighed with impatience and glanced at me, as if for some reason she was only interested in reading my palm and not Polly’s. She pulled out a small crystal ball and ran her hands over the globe furiously.
“You, my dear, have a very romantic nature. You are also gentle, and you love animals. I see that you have an antelope you like to ride…. No…wait…it looks like a horse with a horn on its forehead, which doesn’t make any sense, but oh, well. I foresee that you will eat lunch tomorrow. Next? Send over the brunette.”
Polly also headed back to the table, somehow looking both impressed and disappointed.
“That woman may be chintzy with the future info, but she’s sure on target about you, Pol,” I pointed out.
Era gave me a shove. “Thalia, she said for you to go over. We went—you have to go.”
“But why? I mean…” But Era just kept pushing me out of my seat. “Fine, fine,” I said. I’m not against a good fortune-telling now and then, but this woman seemed like a fraud to me. Still, I got up and headed over to her table.
As I approached, a strange smile crept across the woman’s face. I handed her my five. She didn’t take it. She just nodded for me to sit, and she pulled out her tarot cards. She shuffled quickly. All the time the smile stayed on her face. She only glanced up at me once. As she laid the cards out on the table, I noticed that she had the hands of a young woman more my age, but her face was wrinkled and craggy. It creeped me out. Her breath was awful stinky, too.
“You, dear girl, have a young, very handsome, I might add, man waiting for you on the top of a snowy mountain. Hum. He yearns for you, and his heart is breaking at this very moment, wondering where you are. Hum. His heart’s fate is in your hands. Do whatever is in your powers, er, rather, power to get to him at once. Hum. That is all—now leave. Send the boy.”
How could she know? I’d thought this witchy woman was a fake, but she had to be real if she knew about Dylan and Colorado. I sat in the chair for another moment, trying to comprehend what all this meant. It was obvious enough, I guess. I had to get to Denver and quick, for Dylan’s “heart’s fate” was in my hands.
“I said leave,” croaked the old woman. I got up, also dazed, from her chair and went back to our table.
“She wants to talk to you now, Pocky.”
“I dunno. She’s kind of freaking me out. You girls look a little wack now, if you ask me.”
“It’s your turn. We all went—c’mon,” said Era. “Maybe she can tell you where to get turkey and marshmallows. Ask her.”
Pocky slowly got up and went to her table. He quietly sat down and pulled the wood chair up a bit. He wouldn’t even look at the fortune-teller, he was so nervous. The old woman took a slow sip of her tea
and then slammed her cup down on the saucer. She waved a single finger over the cup and then, as she peered inside, her eyes went wild with fire. She was reading Pocky’s tea leaves—an ancient, ancient art.
“You, young man, have a wonderful future ahead of you, magnificent!”
Pocky finally relaxed, sat back in the chair, looked back toward us, and smiled.
“But there is a small hitch!” Her voice was sharp and loud and almost hurt the inside of my head. “You have a hex upon you, a very dangerous hex, and it must be vanquished before you may receive all the wondrous good that is awaiting you. Hum.” She pushed the cup aside and pulled a business card out of her bosom. She handed it to Pocky and said, “My sister, the lovely Madame La Rue, specializes in hex removal. Hum. You see her at once. She is in New Orleans, on Old Chartres Street. It is imperative you do this immediately, boy. Hum.”
Then loudly she said, “Now be gone!”
Pocky, gripping the card with all his might, stood from the table and walked toward us. “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” he said in a squeaky voice. “But, um, how soon do you think we can be in New Orleans?”
“But what about New York?” whined Era.
“And what about my turn to pick?” I cried, before I realized how selfish and stupid that would sound.
We were all silent for a few minutes. Pocky’s face
was so white, his freckles looked bright orange. He cleared his throat. “I really wanted to see New York, too. And I want you to have a chance to pick, Thalia. But we’re talking about a hex.” He handed me the business card. “Please, Thalia, take this. And don’t lose it. I have nowhere to put it.” All those pockets and none of them actually opened. Silly pants.
“I’ll put it in my backpack for safekeeping.”
“New York or no New York, we have to get to New Orleans to remove that hex,” Polly soothed. It was obvious that she believed every word the fortune-teller had said. We all did.
Suddenly Pocky’s face lit up. “Now, wait, if we chill out here tonight, then leave first thing tomorrow morning, which is Friday morning, we could be in New Orleans by Saturday morning—well, if I drove through the whole day and part of the night. We could visit Madame La Rue as soon as we got there, and then, since New Orleans is at least in the south and somewhat near home, Thalia could pick one more place, of course, provided it’s on the way, but it’s totally doable.”
We all sat there for a moment totally still because, of course, we knew it wasn’t Thursday at all but Wednesday night. Yes, Pocky’s plan was even more doable than he thought, but no matter what, my plans weren’t. Not unless I used magic. I thought about the fortune-teller’s words, “everything in my power.” I had to see Dylan—his heart depended on it.
I spoke up. “I don’t think—”
But Polly interrupted me. “Of course, Pocky. We’ll do whatever we need to do. We owe it to you. I am sure we all agree that your plan will be just fine. Let’s get to the hotel, and then tomorrow it’s off to New Orleans to get this nasty hex removed. All in favor, say aye!”
“But…” I said. It didn’t matter. I was drowned out by the loud chorus of ayes.