The Secret Fire (2 page)

        
FACT:
A quest is a search or pursuit made in order to find or obtain something.

In movies and books, the main character almost always goes on some sort of quest. I suppose that in those first stories, told by cavemen around the fire, the quest was to hunt and kill a great woolly mammoth. Later, the quest was to rescue a damsel in distress. In one of my favorite stories as a kid, the quest was to protect a giant peach from being destroyed by sharks and Cloud-Men.

But in this story, the one being told right now, the quest is for two brothers from Chatham, New Jersey, to save their cousin and the entire world from a madman.

Only this isn't a piece of fiction. This quest is real.

“F
ollow that car!” I hollered.

I couldn't believe those words had come from my mouth. That's one of those phrases you always hear in action films. If I were to star in a film, it would most likely be a documentary about how to check books out at the library, or a comedy about a shy kid who gets nosebleeds. I'm definitely not action-hero material. I can't even run a mile without starting to wheeze, thanks to my pollen allergy.

The car we needed to follow was a black limousine, and it was heading down the street with my cousin, Jax, held hostage in the backseat.

“Tyler!” I called. “Hurry up. Ricardo's getting away!”

Tyler looked a bit dazed. His hair was an uncombed mess, as usual, and his chin was covered in stubble. He didn't want to be here. But Jax and I had begged him to bring us to Boston. We'd needed him for
practical reasons—he had a driver's license
and
a car. But we'd needed him for other reasons too. He was smart. He was strong. And he was just as involved in this mess as we were.

We'd kept the truth about this situation from our parents, and now that Jax was in danger, Tyler and I only had each other. I cringed. We didn't have a reputation for working well together.

This whole thing was supposed to be over. I'd wanted to spend the rest of the muggy summer with my feet in our backyard pool, sipping lemonade. Or riding my bike. Or reading. Or doing anything that would be considered sane, rational, and normal. Not worrying about dangerous Greek artifacts or a crazy guy who wanted to take over the world.

“Ricardo is Pyrrha's father?” Tyler mumbled.

We were standing in a parking lot, outside the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston. And if I looked as dazed as Tyler, I had good reason. We'd just stolen an urn from the museum's maintenance room. I don't know if this argument would stand up in court, but
technically
we hadn't stolen it. It was called the urn of Love and it had been hidden inside a small statue, which meant that while the statue was listed in the museum's directory, the urn wasn't.
The curators knew nothing about it.

The urn belonged to my great-aunt Juniper. She's the one who'd stuck it inside the statue for safekeeping. But Juniper was lying in a hospital bed, recovering from a stroke, so it had been up to us to get the urn back. Jax disabled the museum's security system. While Tyler and Pyrrha created a distraction, I went into the maintenance room, opened the statue, and took the urn. Then I managed to sneak it out of the museum. We were a success. No alarms rang, no security guards chased after us, and no police were waiting to arrest us.

Except our cousin, Jax, was supposed to meet us by the car and then we'd all go back home, and everything would be over.

“Tyler, you need to drive!” I cried. I yanked on his sleeve. “We need to follow them!”

“I can't believe he's her father.”

“TYLER!”

He snapped out of it. He jumped into the driver's seat. I jumped into the passenger seat. We slammed the doors. I fastened my seat belt, then cradled the urn of Love between my palms. It radiated, like one of those hand warmers you put into your gloves when you go skiing. Sweat broke out on the back of my neck.

“Go!” I cried as the limousine turned a corner. Jax was disappearing before my eyes. Kidnapped by a lunatic. I felt totally helpless. “Drive!”

Tyler fumbled in his jeans. “Where's the key?”

“Are you serious?” My voice cracked.

“Oh, found it.” He jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life. As Tyler backed out of the parking space, he nearly hit a pair of tourists who'd been visiting the museum. Then he put the car into drive and started out of the parking lot. Something made a sputtering noise. The car jolted once, twice. We stopped moving.

“Drive!” I yelled again. “Go!” I was sounding like a broken record. With each second that passed, Jax was being taken farther and farther away. “Why aren't we moving?”

Tyler turned the key. Nothing happened. Then we both stared at the gas gauge.

Empty.

“No way!” Tyler pounded on the steering wheel.

“Empty? How can it be
empty
? Why didn't you fill the tank?” This was
his
fault. During this whole trip I'd been sitting in the backseat, navigating. I couldn't even see the gas gauge from the backseat. But he'd been looking right at it. He was to blame.
Someone
was to blame. Tears stung my eyes. How would we find Jax now?

“When,
exactly
, was I supposed to fill the tank?” he began his defense, his eyes narrowing with rage. “We were racing to get here, remember? We were trying to get the urn before Ricardo found us. I was driving as fast as I could. I wasn't thinking about gas!” He pounded the steering wheel again.

Tyler had a wicked temper. He mostly controlled it, but when it flared, it was fierce. He'd gotten in trouble a couple of times at school. He'd kicked over a desk. He'd thrown a wastebasket down the hall. Mom said it was immaturity and he'd grow out of it. But he never hurt anyone. He wouldn't do that.

He wrenched open the door and flung himself outside. He stomped around the car, then kicked it twice.

I took a long, deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. Panic would do us no good. We had to think clearly. Logically. And no matter how difficult it was, because we drove each other crazy, we had to work
together
.

Someone started honking. “Hey, move your car.”

Tyler put the car into neutral and we pushed it into a parking space.

I was about to sink back onto the seat when I
remembered something. “She has my phone,” I said with a gasp. “Yes, that's it. She has my phone!” I'd given Jax my phone before we'd entered the museum. She'd used it to text us, to tell us when the security system had been disabled. I held out my hand. “Give me your phone. I'll call her.”

“Are you nuts? You can't call her,” Tyler said, his face flushed. “That phone is her best chance. If it rings, Ricardo will take it away. Hopefully she's turned it off and hidden it so she can use it later.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “But maybe we can trace her.”

“That won't work,” I said, my chest deflating. I took off my baseball cap and wiped my forehead with my sleeve. “I turned off the GPS, remember? So Ricardo couldn't track us. But maybe she'll turn it back on.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Who are we kidding? Ricardo kidnapped her. He's not stupid. He'll search for a phone. She won't be able to call and we won't be able to track her.”

The sounds of the city moved around us. People talking, cars honking, bus brakes screeching. Though Boston was populated by hundreds of thousands of people, I'd never felt so alone. “We have no choice. We have to tell the police,” I said. “She's in danger.”

“We've already been over this. No police. The urns are too dangerous. We can't let the government get hold of them.” Tyler leaned against the car. Then he ran a hand through his hair. “I think Jax will be okay. She's not alone. Pyrrha will take care of her.”

I wanted to believe that.

We'd met Pyrrha just a few days ago. We didn't know anything about her, except that she was a character from a famous myth, and she lived in the Realm of the Gods. She'd traveled through a magical portal to come to our world. It's difficult for me to admit, but all of that is true.

“What makes you think we can trust Pyrrha?” I asked. “She lied to us. She didn't tell us that Ricardo was her father.”

“I trust her.”

“That's just because you have a crush on her.”

He frowned. Then his phone buzzed. I pressed close to him so I could read the screen. The message was from Ricardo.

Bring me the urn of Hope and the urn of Love and you shall have Jax. Otherwise, you will never see her again.

I tried to control the panic that welled in my chest. “Never see her?”

Tyler's phone buzzed again.

Both urns or no deal.

Tyler stared at the screen.

I tried taking a deep breath, but it didn't make me feel less anxious. My nose began to tingle, the sure sign of an imminent nosebleed. “Zeus has the urn of Hope. How are we supposed to get it?” Another text came in.

Bring the urns to the Eastern State Penitentiary by 8 a.m. tomorrow morning.

“What?” I screeched. “Get both urns by eight in the morning? No way. That's impossible.”

“I'm texting him back.” Tyler's thumbs flew over the keypad.

“Tell him that Zeus has Hope. That it's been destroyed! Tell him we can't get it.”

“Such a move would be strategically ill-advised,” Tyler grumbled. “He wants both urns and the fact that he wants something is what's going to keep Jax alive.” Then he typed,
We need more time.

Tyler pressed
send
but a
not delivered
message appeared. He tried to send it again. “Brilliant,” Tyler grumbled. “He's limited our communication so we can't negotiate or change the parameters of his demands.”

“The Eastern State Penitentiary is all the way in Philadelphia,” I said. “That's like five hours away.”

“I wonder why he wants to meet us at a prison?” Tyler asked.

“It used to be a prison,” I told him. “Now it's a museum.” But whether a prison, museum, or hot dog cart, the location didn't matter if we couldn't get the urn of Hope. “Jax,” I whispered. The cousin I'd grown up with. My best friend. I might never see her again.

“And why eight a.m.?” Tyler wondered. “No villain ever sets up a meeting for eight a.m. It's always midnight. Or three a.m. when it's still dark. Are we going to make the exchange over coffee and doughnuts? What's the matter with him? Doesn't he ever read comic books?”

“I'll be sure to ask him that just before he opens the urn of Faith and
destroys the
world
,” I said sarcastically.

Despite how stressed out I felt, my nose hadn't started bleeding. But a drop of sweat rolled down it. The late afternoon sun was beating on us without mercy. My right hand was sticky with sweat. I opened it. I'd been holding the urn of Love this entire time, afraid to let it go. It was small. About the size of a plum. And bright red. “If we tell Ricardo the truth,
that the urn of Hope is gone, he has no choice but to settle for this one,” I suggested. “We'll give it to him. Then he won't hurt Jax.”

Tyler looked at me and I could tell he was as scared as I was. This was no ordinary man we were dealing with. He'd robbed some banks. A person had been killed in the process. And now we knew that he'd come from the Realm of the Gods. He was an immortal and he had an ominous goal—to conquer the world.

Our world.

“We can't give him the urn of Love,” Tyler said. “We can't allow him to hurt anyone else. It has to be destroyed. Do you hear me?
Destroyed
.” He grabbed my shoulder, his grip tight. His eyes were full of determination. There'd be no changing Tyler's mind. He knew the power of the urns. He'd been attacked by Hope and he'd barely survived. “We have to destroy
all
the urns
and
save Jax.”

That sounded impossible.

Tyler reached into the backseat and grabbed a satchel. It was a leather bag with a golden trident stamped on the side. “Pyrrha left us the key to the portal. She wants us to return the urn, remember?”

“But—”

“I'll travel through the portal and give the urn of Love to Zeus, so he can destroy it, just as he destroyed Hope. Then I'll ask for Zeus's help. He'll want to punish Ricardo for stealing the urns. I'll make a deal with Zeus—if he helps us get Jax back, I'll tell him where to find Ricardo.”

Make a deal with Zeus? This was unbelievably crazy. But what other choice did we have?

Trying to save my cousin
and
the world was not a usual day for me. I'm no superhero. I'm just a kid who goes to Chatham Middle School, and my brother is a gaming nerd who wins math competitions. We were supposed to be driving home. Our parents were expecting us. Jax's mom was waiting for her. To make matters worse, I had an allergy appointment on Wednesday. But instead, we were going to travel through a magical portal, into another dimension.

Tyler found the insurance card in the glove box. Then he called roadside service.

“Don't worry,” he told me. “Jax isn't alone. Pyrrha will protect her.”

He seemed convinced of Pyrrha's loyalty. But I wasn't so sure.

“F
ather, you seem different,” Pyrrha said.

She looked just like a character from a myth, in her blue tunic and brown leather sandals that wound up to her knees. Her red hair sparkled even when the sun wasn't shining. I was so mad I scooted away. We were supposed to be working together. But she'd gone to the other side. The dark side. She'd joined Ricardo's team.

He sat across from us, his back to the driver. He didn't say hello. He didn't hug Pyrrha or tell her that he'd missed her. But I could tell that
something had changed. When he saw her, his shoulders relaxed. His fingers stopped twitching. Even his voice softened. “You are here to join me?” he asked.

Pyrrha didn't pause to think about her answer. “Yes,” she said.

“Are you kidding?” I asked, jerking around to face her. I'd been hoping that this was all a big fat misunderstanding. That she'd yell at him and tell him he was a terrible father and that he should stop trying to take over the world. That's what I'd tell my dad if he was trying to take over the world. “You're really going to
join
him?”

She ignored me. She looked deep into Ricardo's eyes. “Father, stop this chariot and let Jacqueline Malone go. Please. You do not need her. She is a mere mortal.”

My stomach clenched. Was that an insult? “Hey,” I said. “I'm not
mere
. There's nothing
mere
about me.” Then I wondered if I actually knew what that word meant. And then I realized that maybe I'd said the wrong thing. “Uh, I think Pyrrha's right. If I'm a mere mortal, then I'm no use to you at all. So go ahead and stop the car and I'll jump out.”

Ricardo's eyes narrowed. Clearly, he did not like this request. Whatever emotions he'd felt at being reunited with his daughter disappeared. His body stiffened again. The steely gaze returned. Evil Ricardo was back. “Do not underestimate the usefulness of mere mortals,” he told Pyrrha. “They are proving to be quite pliable creatures. Easy to mold. Like clay in my hands.” He rubbed his hands together. I expected one of those “muh ha ha” laughs.

He was really creeping me out. His slick black hair and pointed goatee made him look like a comic-book villain. Or one of those guys who would tie a woman to the train tracks in an old cowboy movie. Pyrrha looked nothing like him. Her total lack of creepiness must have come from her mom's side of the family. “You're not molding me!” I said defiantly. I reached across Pyrrha's lap and jabbed the unlock button. Panic was starting to stab at my chest. Maybe the lives of mere mortals meant nothing to them. We were just little ants to be stepped on. Pyrrha had pretended to be our friend, but she really didn't care about us. She wanted to rule the world too!

I jabbed again and again. “Let me out!”

“Father, please release—”

“Silence!” he bellowed. His eyes flashed as if little lightbulbs had exploded behind his irises.

Pyrrha stopped pleading. I shrank back against my seat. Panic turned to fear and for a moment I thought I might throw up.

When he spoke again, his voice was steady, but as intimidating as ever. “Pyrrha, you are free to go if you so choose. I will not stop you from returning to your mother. However, if you stay, I will welcome you as my daughter, and you shall become part of my glorious plan. But I will expect your loyalty to me, and not to
the gods
.” He cringed as he said those last two words. “Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Jacqueline, on the other hand, is not free to go until my conditions are met.” He moved his fedora aside and calmly folded his hands on his lap. His frosty gaze settled on me. “I have full confidence that Tyler and Ethan Hoche will be successful. Two urns for the life of their cousin seems a fair price, to be delivered to me by eight a.m. tomorrow morning. But if they are unsuccessful, well, the life of one mortal girl means nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

I decided that if I did throw up, I'd aim it right at him!

We were moving quickly now, zipping past other cars. I didn't know the area so I had no idea where we were.

“I know that you and your cousins possess the urn of Hope. And I highly suspect that you might possess the urn of Love, or at least know where it is. Therefore I am confident that they will deliver both urns to me.” He paused. “What were you doing in the museum?” He was still staring at me. Didn't he ever blink?

“Looking around,” I said, trying to sound bored. I hadn't actually looked at anything in the Museum of Fine Arts. I'd spent the whole time in the women's bathroom, disabling the security system. But I'd been in enough museums to take a good guess. “You know, paintings, statues, stuff like that.” I shrugged. “My cousin Ethan wanted to go there. He's a total nerd. He loves history. To tell you the truth, I was really bored.” Did he believe me? I couldn't tell. He seemed to wear one expression—menacing.

It was starting to get warm in there. I wanted to take off my purple jacket but I was afraid I might
expose the hidden phone.

“Why did you leave the museum before your cousins?”

“I was bored,” I repeated. “I told them I'd meet them outside. Jeez, what is this? An interrogation? Can't a person visit a stupid museum?”

It seemed like a good lie, but I knew it wouldn't work. Pyrrha had joined his side. She'd tell him the truth—that we'd gone into the Museum of Fine Arts to find the urn of Love so we could return it to Zeus and have it destroyed. I held my breath, waiting for her to say something.

“It is true, Father,” she said innocently. “We were going to meet Jax outside. Ethan wanted to see the museum. He said there were many Greek artifacts that might interest me. I was not impressed. I preferred the Egyptian wing.”

I took a slow breath. What was she doing? Why was she lying to him? She'd said nothing about the urn of Love. Had they found it? Or was it still inside the museum? I had no way of knowing. But she hadn't told him anything about it. Was she still on our side after all?

“Father,” she said. “I came here to find you. I will not return to our realm without you. We can
beg Zeus for forgiveness. And then we can be a family again.” Her voice began to waver, as if she might cry. “Mother and I have missed you.”

His jaw clenched. A little vein throbbed at the corner. Then, he erupted. “I will beg
no one
for forgiveness!” The limousine filled with his rage. His words echoed off the ceiling and floor. One of the windows cracked. I'd heard of opera singers hitting high notes and breaking wine glasses, but I'd never heard of anyone breaking a car window with words!

I shrank against my seat. But Pyrrha didn't flinch. Maybe she was used to his temper.

A few moments later, the echoes died away. Ricardo took a deep breath, his voice once again controlled and emotionless. “Tyler and Ethan Hoche will do whatever has to be done to save Jacqueline's life. They will deliver the urns to me.” He gazed out the window, a faraway look on his face. Was he imagining his future world? What did it look like? Once he took over, would he crown himself a king? An emperor? “I have spent far too much time chasing after the urns,” he said. “By assigning the labor to Tyler and Ethan, I will be free to prepare.”

“Prepare?” Pyrrha asked.

“Not now,” he said curtly. “We will discuss things in private. There is no need to involve this . . .
mortal
girl
.”

I felt insulted again. “Hello? I'm already
involved
. You kidnapped me, remember?”

He ignored me. And Pyrrha didn't look at me either. Maybe it was best for me to be quiet. Mom was always telling me that sometimes you learn more by listening. “Father, what if Tyler and Ethan fail?” Pyrrha asked. “What if they can't find the urn of Love?”

“I will not waiver. Two urns or she dies.”

Silence filled the limousine. I looked out the window. We were on a freeway now, leaving Boston behind.

I pulled my feet onto the seat and wrapped my arms around my knees. Two urns equaled my freedom. But one urn had already been destroyed. My freedom would not be given.

It looked like there was only one thing to do—I would have to free myself.