Muses on the Move (4 page)

Wednesday, 4:10
P.M.
, Pocky’s car on Interstate 85

“I
can’t believe they’re asleep—it’s not even dinnertime,” whispered Pocky. I had to admit, I was feeling a bit sleepy myself. This driving thing wasn’t nearly as fun as it sounded.

“So are we there yet?” I asked quietly, so as to not wake my sisters.

“No, we’re not there yet!” Pocky’s voice grew louder.

“Well, it just seems like we’ve been on the road forever,” I complained.

“We’ve only been driving two hours since we changed our minds and decided to head for Virginia.”

“I didn’t change my mind. I wanted to go to the Alamo.”

“Why? Why were you so bent on hitting the Alamo?”

“Um, you just made it sound real fun, that’s all.” I was getting too good at this lying thing. I thought about confiding in Pocky about Dylan. He didn’t know about my promise to be more selfless. But I just couldn’t.

“Oh, well, Williamsburg will be real fun, too, I swear.”

“Yeah, if we ever get there.” I pouted and looked at the map for the eighteenth time in the last hour and a half, despite the fact that I now had every inch of it committed to memory.

Virginia didn’t look that far on the map. But here we were, still in the car, and oh my goddess, that sign said we were just now crossing into South Carolina! That couldn’t be! That meant we’d been in Georgia this whole time. We still had to go through South Carolina and North Carolina before we even entered Virginia. This was bad, very bad. At this rate I would never get to Denver. Not only were we heading in the opposite direction, we were doing it at a phlegmatic snail’s pace!

I pulled out Dylan’s note from my pocket, the one he wrote me before his parents took him out of school with no notice and moved back to Denver. It read,

I just had to get to Denver and talk to him. I had unresolved feelings. For him and for Apollo, and don’t ask me why, but I was sure that talking to Dylan was going to somehow automatically sort out my feelings for Apollo. Not that I could do anything about Apollo. He’d probably never speak to me again. He probably hated my guts and innards and intestines, too. And then there was that pesky little he’s-miles-and-centuries-away problem. Still, I missed his smile and his recklessness and his ability to find the best adventure and make time stand still. That sure would come in handy about now!

Time stand still. Time stand still
. Actually, I couldn’t quite do that. But truth be told, I
could
get us to Williamsburg faster. Much faster. And if we got to Williamsburg faster, we could see the sites there and start heading to Denver.

But no magic
. I promised Polly and Era, not to mention Hera and Daddy. Of course, we had used magic for Polly when we were punishing that horrible Tim
^*
guy. And nothing bad came of it, no lightning filled the sky, no horrible, life-threatening messages from Hera, nothing. In fact, things had turned out rather well.

And if I got us to Williamsburg quicker, then Polly would be happy and get to feel like she chose the destination, and then I could get to go to Denver, too. Which really, if you thought about it, fulfilled my challenge in a way because I got to be more selfless (helping Polly) and still get what I wanted (Dylan). So using magic in this situation would really be a very, very good thing. In fact, I was almost positive that my sisters would have wanted me to, if they were awake.

I made sure we were on a generic stretch of highway—trees, trees, and more trees. It had been like this for the past two hours, so hopefully it was like this the whole way. I closed my eyes tight and visualized us somewhere closer, much closer to Williamsburg. I wiggled my ears, twice on the left, thrice on the right, and intoned the name of Nike, the goddess of speed.

And suddenly everything shifted. We’d made the move. Not that you could really tell—there were still tons of trees everywhere and not much else. I looked over at Pocky, who was blinking and rubbing his eyes, as if he felt something was a little off but didn’t know what. Then he just yawned and settled farther
into his seat. I looked back at my sisters, still fast asleep. I closed my eyes in relief.

I was just drifting off when Pocky shook my arm, hard. “Thalia, we—are—in—Virginia! When we left that rest stop, we were in South Carolina! It’s still daylight!”

“No, silly, the last time I looked, we were in North Carolina, not South.”

“I’m sure we were in South Carolina. At least I think I’m sure.”

“Really, we’d been in North Carolina for quite some time. We just crossed into Virginia, right? I’ve got the map right here—it makes perfect sense.”

“By my calculations we weren’t scheduled to get into Williamsburg until something like one in the morning.”

“You know, Pocky, you rock at history, but math isn’t your strong suit. Your calculations just must’ve been wrong.”

“Yeah, must’ve been wrong. It’s just—”

“Pocky, it’s been a long trip, you’ve had to deal with the crazy Muse sisters, and it’s probably taken its toll. Trust me, we’re in Virginia, and that’s exactly where we should be.”

Wednesday, 4:40
P.M.
, Pocky’s car in the Colonial Williamsburg parking lot

“I
just don’t understand it, Thalia—we just got here way too fast.”

“Trust me, Pocky, that trip wasn’t all that fast. To me, it was treacherously slow. Hey, Era, Polly, wake up, we’re here.”

“Wha? Finally!” said Era, her curls all tousled and smooshed from falling asleep in the back of the car.

“Really, we’re here?” asked Polly.

“We’re here. You guys slept the whole way, practically.”

We all climbed out of the car and stretched our legs. I couldn’t believe all the cars everywhere. It was like the parking lot at the J-Mart, only a hundred times bigger.

“So what’s first, Pocky, any suggestions?” asked
Polly, who was now not only awake but brimming with energy. We trailed Pocky out of the parking lot up to a ticket booth, where he said, “Four, please.” Polly insisted on paying for the tickets, which were these little slips of paper we had to show to get into the town. Then we walked into what I could only assume was Colonial Williamsburg.

Right away I noticed the clothes. There were tons of women running around with long dresses and these weird little hats. The men all had ponytails with ribbons in them. It was kind of cool. People were riding in chariots much nicer than any I’d seen in ancient Greece, but still not nearly as nice or as shiny as the cars people drove now (and these ones were still being pulled by horses).

“Well, let’s see, we could go tour the gardens while it’s still daylight. Or we could get tickets for a show this evening.”

“So wait, this is supposed to be America, like, a couple hundred years ago?” Era asked.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Polly said. “It helps to explain how things came to be the way they are today. That’s what I love about history.”

I shrugged, watching a pair of teenage boys, ponytails and all, walk by. They were gazing at Era, and when she looked up and noticed them, one of them actually blushed.

History shmistory. Besides the hair and the
clothes and the chariots, the people of Colonial Williamsburg seemed pretty much the same to me. All the more reason why we should just pop in, see the dumb gardens, check out a few old-fashioned exhibits, and skedaddle.

Just then three girls in full colonial garb crossed our path, nearly bumping into us. They stopped just a few feet away, leaning up against a fence. They looked very upset.

Pocky tried to continue. “Right on, Polly. Anyway, we could, um, go have an early colonial supper, or, uh, do those girls look like they need help?”

We all stared. The girls noticed our attention, and one of them gave us a shaky smile.

Pocky smoothed out his eyebrows and touched his hair. Yep, it was still standing straight up. Then we headed over to the fence.

“We noticed you over there. You look upset—can we be of any service?” said Pocky in his most well-behaved manner.

“Well, yes, actually we are in dire straits, young sir,” said the shortest of the three, her hair in perfect blond pin curls. “We have the evening show to put on, and three of our primary young women have dropped out with a nasty bout of the influenza.”

“Oh, bummer. I mean, what a shame, what a horrible shame,” said Pocky.

“You know”—cough, cough—“Henrietta, don’t
you think,” said the tallest one, dressed all in forest green, “that these three girls would fit in the costumes just perfectly?”

“Oh, yes,” squealed the one I could only suppose was named Henrietta. She had the rosiest cheeks and curls of red hair.

“Oh, no,” I cried. “No, we couldn’t possibly.”

“Oh, but please,” they all started whining.

“Of course we’ll help you,” said Polly, my sometimes annoyingly kind sister.

“Sure, can I wear a dress like yours?” Era asked Henrietta.

“Why, yes, indeed, it’s quite like mine.”

“What about me?” asked Pocky. “What will I do?”

“Oh, kind sir, we can use your help as well—you know we always depend on the kindness of strangers.”

Pocky started to blush.

The taller one turned to me. “Please, milady, we entreat you to come to our aid in this time of trouble. We assure you of a rousing good time.”

“How long will this take?” I asked.

“Don’t be rude, Thalia,” chastised Polly.

“I’m just saying, how long are we in for?”

“Oh, just a few hours of your precious time. Please?”

“Fine.” What was I supposed to do? Scream, “No! I want to get the heck out of Dodge as fast as possible and make our way straight to Denver”? Oh, yeah, that would appear really selfless.

“Fantastic!” cried the girls.

“So what do we do?” asked Era, as excited as Polly.

“Well, you, dear girl, what is your name?”

“Oh, forgive us. I’m Polly, these are my sisters Era and Thalia, and this is our friend Pocky.”

“Wonderful. Now, Polly, why don’t you work in the foundry? It is a tad dirty work, a touch physical, but very rewarding.”

“Um, okay, I guess.” Polly didn’t look as excited as before. I’m sure the thought of being inside a dark, dingy metal factory wasn’t her idea of colonial fun.

“Era, why don’t you try—” but she was interrupted by Polly.

“You know, I need to learn to speak up for myself, and, well, the foundry really isn’t my cup of tea. Would there be anywhere else I could possibly go that might be better suited to my interests?”

“What about the printing press?”

“That sounds perfect! Yes, books, I would love that, thank you.” Polly was perky once again.

“Era, now you, you shall go to the foundry in place of Polly.”

“Oh, well, hmph.” Era had now lost her enthusiasm. That is, until Henrietta leaned over and told her she’d be the only girl in a sea of cute foundry boys. Era was all aflutter in the blink of an eye.

“Pocky, dear sir, how would you like to try your
hand in the apothecary? I’m sure they could use an extra-strong arm over there.”

“That sounds great—can I mix up potions?”

“Sure, just don’t tell anyone.” And the girls giggled together. Pocky just blushed again.

“And Thalia, since we know, or rather, we can tell that this isn’t your idea of a good time, we saved the very best job for you. You’ll work in the jail.”

“The jail? The jail? And how is that fun, exactly?”

“Oh, trust us, it’s one of the most popular places to work in all of Williamsburg.”

“Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

“Now head on over to that building and tell the woman at the front desk with the tightly wound bun that you are the replacement actors and you are in need of your costumes. We can’t thank you enough, really, you are lifesavers, truly, and we are honored to have met you in such a fortuitous manner.”

They bid us adieu, and my sisters practically danced to the front desk. I sulked behind. I tried to reimagine this as some sort of adventure, but I just couldn’t take my mind off Dylan and getting to Denver.

Moments later we were each dressed in our uncomfortable and ill-fitting outfits. The girl who had previously worn mine must have been tiny since everything about the costume was short. Era’s ensemble wasn’t too flattering, either. She whined
about her outfit being nothing like that of the cute curly-haired girl. But Polly and Pocky didn’t seem to care. They each were in their own worlds, happy to be a part of this ridiculous extravaganza.

The woman with the bun pointed out where we should each go. We were spread out all over the park. The jail was housed in the farthest building of all. I walked there alone, thinking how odd it was that we hadn’t even been in Colonial Williamsburg for five minutes when we were accosted and practically forced into acting ridiculous in front of strangers.

In fact, I had this nagging feeling that this whole situation was a little off. Whenever I have that feeling, I immediately think of the Furies. But I knew I was just being paranoid. Meg, Tizzie, and Alek were powerful, but they weren’t psychic. They had no idea where we were. No, I was just feeling paranoid about my recent power usage. Plus I was in a bad mood. This colonial world was dirty, and frankly, it was missing all the best conveniences of modern life. No TVs, no sneakers, no phones.

Then I spotted one. An actual phone. Sure, it was disguised as some sort of colonial contraption, but it was indeed a phone. I looked around to make sure no one was looking. I pulled out the calling card Claire had given me and followed the directions on the back.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?”

“Claire?”

“Thalia?”

“Yeeeee!” We both squealed in delight.

I just couldn’t believe I could actually call Claire from anywhere. Anywhere!

“Thalia, where are you guys?”

“We’re in Colonial Williamsburg.”

“What? What happened to the Alamo?”

“Oh, Polly changed her mind.”

“But wait, how are you in Williamsburg already? It should’ve taken you all night.”

“Oh, that Pocky is a crazy driver.”

“Uh-huh, really,” said Claire, sounding more than a little confused.

“Anyway, you are not going to believe how horrible this is. Somehow we got roped into being in one of the shows, and now I’m dressed in this outfit that is two sizes too small on my way to do goddess knows what and I’m just miserable.”

“You’re actually in on the act? That’s fabulous! Anyway, you got it better than me—at least you’re out and about in the world. I’m stuck at home with my parents, who are on a crazy Thanksgiving crusade. They say they’re going to force me to eat turkey, and they want me to wear a big Pilgrim hat.”

“As we speak, I’m wearing a bizarre little thing called a bonnet that is so tight, I may just pass out.”

“Relax, go with it. It’s a fun place, Thalia.”

“Fine. Sure. Whatever.” I was looking for a little support.

“Oh, crud, here comes my mother. She’s been looking for me, something about a reenactment of the Pilgrims’ landing with my uncle Carl. I’ve got to go pretend I’m engrossed in homework. Gotta run, call again. Ciao.”

And she hung up. There was nothing left for me to do but go directly to jail.