The Secret Cipher (18 page)

“Tall,” I said. “Skinny. He was wearing black clothes and a fedora.” I stumbled as I turned around. Lots of people were staring up at the murals. But there was no fedora in sight. At least, not yet.

We took a right turn, into another wing. We passed a couple of Egyptian statues, then a huge
marble statue. “That's a king named Menkaura and his queen,” I said. “And that's the goddess Juno.”

Tyler whipped around. I expected him to say something mean and call me Factoid Boy. But instead, he whispered, “Good work. Keep pretending to be a tourist. The guards won't suspect a thing.”

Guards?

I'd forgotten about them. My arms fell to my sides. Sure enough, guards stood in the corners of the gallery. The good news was, they didn't appear to carry guns. The bad news was—there were a lot of them. I stuck the map in front of my face again.

We took a left. “This is the Italian Renaissance Sculpture and Decorative Arts Gallery,” I said.

“Is Pyrrha going in the right direction?” Tyler asked.

“Yep,” I said. “Gallery two-eleven is up ahead.”

We took a right and entered another room that was filled with Greek and Roman artifacts. Only one guard stood in the corner. Four people were passing through. Pyrrha had stopped walking and was standing in front of a pedestal. She hadn't needed the map to find Aphrodite's head. I glanced around, my heart pounding in my ears. No Ricardo. The security guard wasn't paying any attention to us. She looked
bored. I looked at the wall clock: 4:06. Nine more minutes and the lights would flicker. I sneezed. Oh please nose, don't start tingling!

“It's gone,” Pyrrha said.

“Huh?”

A little sign mounted on the pedestal read,
Bartlett Head
. This was the right place. But the glass case on top of the pedestal was empty. A temporary sign had been taped below.
Removed for cleaning
.

“Oh no,” I said with a groan.

“We've reached the first obstacle,” Tyler said as he folded his arms and stared at the empty case. “In a quest story, obstacles almost always come in groups of three. Every game designer knows that.”

I didn't point out that we weren't playing a game.

“It was here, just a moment ago,” Pyrrha said as she walked slowly around the pedestal. “The energy remains, as if it left a footprint. I can feel it.”

Without Aphrodite's head, the plan was ruined. “What do we do?” I asked. “Should we call Jax and tell her it's over?” Maybe it was better this way. The urn seemed perfectly safe in Aphrodite's head. Pyrrha could return, by herself, and deal with it some other time. And we could go back to living our lives in Chatham. Tyler would spend the summer working on
Cyclopsville. Jax would scour garage sales for travel guides and I could go to the library, sit in the quiet room, and read whatever I wanted to read.

“It is not over,” Pyrrha said. She was looking toward the end of the gallery. “The energy leads in that direction. It is not far. We have not failed.” Her voice was determined, and she wasn't going to give up, which was something else she and Jax had in common.

“Don't panic,” Tyler said. “Three heads are better than one. We can figure this out.”

“I thought it was four heads,” I corrected.

“You kids looking for the Bartlett Head?” We hadn't noticed the guard. She'd moseyed over and had been listening to our conversation.

“Yes,” we all said.

She stood with her feet set wide apart and her arms folded. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun. “The curator just removed it, about ten minutes ago. Cute little thing.” She cleared her throat. “Uh, the head, that is, not the curator. He's a bit homely, in my opinion.”

“Where is it?” Tyler asked. “We need to see it.”

“We need to see it
immediately
,” Pyrrha said.

“Sorry to disappoint you, kids, but the Bartlett
Head is currently in the maintenance room.”

Pyrrha looked toward the hallway. “Down there?”

“Yes, but I can't take you in there. It's against the rules. Besides, it's almost closing time.” She checked her watch. “Yep, sixteen more minutes and I'm outta here.”

Maybe the plan would still work. “Do you need a key to get into that room?” I asked. “Or is it wired into the security system?”

The guard raised an eyebrow and looked at me as if I were up to some kind of mischief. Which I was. Had that question been too obvious? Had I blown it? Was she going to call for backup? Or throw us out?

“We're writing a report for school,” Tyler said. “About the museum. That's why we're asking so many questions.” He smiled politely at her.

She relaxed her expression and nodded. “Kids are always coming here to write reports. If you ask me, they give out too much homework these days. The door is wired into the security system. An alarm will sound if I try to take you in there. Sorry. You'll have to apply to our educational department if you want to get a private behind-the-scenes tour.”

An announcement filled the gallery. “The museum will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please make
your way to the coat-check room to collect all your belongings. Once again, the museum will be closing in fifteen minutes. Thank you for visiting today and we hope to see you again soon.”

Time was up. It didn't matter now if Jax was successful or not. The urn of Love was behind a locked door and there was no way we could—

Pyrrha groaned and grabbed her stomach. “I am not well,” she said. “I feel dizzy.” Then she stumbled forward. Tyler tried to catch her but was too late. She bumped against the guard and collapsed to the floor. Then she lay on her side, moaning.

I dropped the map. What was going on? Was this some sort of godly intervention? Had Zeus decided to punish her already?

“Pyrrha?” Tyler said, kneeling next to her. “What's wrong?”

She squeezed her hands into fists. “It hurts. The pain is unbearable!”

Tyler darted to his feet and pleaded with the guard. “Why are you just standing there! Call someone. Get some help!”

The guard looked just as shocked as the rest of us. One moment Pyrrha had seemed perfectly well, the next she was on the floor writhing. The guard pulled
a walkie-talkie from her belt. “Joe, we have a medical emergency in gallery two-eleven. Hurry!”

Pyrrha curled into a ball, her face clenched in agony.

Though my mind was spinning, I stood frozen in place. We'd learned basic first aid in health class but that was in case someone had a heart attack or drowned. We'd never learned what to do if a Greek god imposed some kind of magical punishment.

The security guard rushed into the next gallery, calling for more help. I knelt beside Pyrrha. “What can I do?” I asked. Should I run downstairs and get Jax? Should I get her some water? A blanket?

She stopped moaning, looked at me, and winked.

She was . . . faking?

“Go get the urn,” she said.

Tyler handed me his phone. “Go!”

Why had we even bothered to make a plan, if we were going to turn it completely upside down? I was supposed to be the distraction. She was supposed to get the urn. Then, as the guard returned with another guard, Pyrrha started moaning again.

I backed away as the two guards rushed to Pyrrha's side. Her groans turned to screams. She was a pretty good actress.

No one was looking at me. Tyler told the guards that his girlfriend might be having a seizure, then shot me a look that clearly said,
GO!

I'd failed to create a distraction in time, so Pyrrha had taken over that role. Now it was up to me to steal the urn. Ethan Hoche. The kid who got nervous in crowds. The kid who needed allergy shots. The kid who always got nosebleeds in stressful situations.

Nose—don't fail me now!

I turned and ran from the gallery until I found the door.
Maintenance Room. Entry Prohibited. Alarm Will Sound.

Tyler's phone read 4:16. Over in gallery 211, Pyrrha was still putting on her performance. No one was watching me. But I couldn't open the door until Jax disabled the system. My fingers twitched, waiting for the moment when the phone rang or the lights flickered.

Jax? What are you doing?

M
y hands were shaking. This was crazy. I was about to hack into a security system that had been designed by my own father. Mom would totally kill me if she ever found out!

Last summer, my biggest worry had been deciding whether or not to spend my hard-earned babysitting money on a new bike. Things sure change quickly.

I held the phone close to the wall, watching as it searched for a Wi-Fi signal. Then four bars appeared.
BMFASecurity
. “Woo-hoo!” I shouted.

“You okay in there?” a lady asked.

Oops. I'd forgotten that there were still people
in line for the toilets. “Yes,” I said. “I'm fine. Just relieved.” Yeesh. Why had I said that? Oh well. There were other things to worry about than having a bunch of strangers think I was pooping.

I tried to log in to the system, but it asked for the code. This was it. I began to type.

Unlock love with a ko . . .

Oops.

. . . with a ko . . .

My thumbs felt like they were made of dough. I was shaking so much, I couldn't control where they landed. So I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, reminding myself what was at stake. The urn of Love might have been the smallest of the urns but it seemed to me that of all the things that could get sucked from your soul, love would be the worst.

If I didn't love Ethan or Tyler, I wouldn't be worried about them getting caught. If I didn't love Great-Aunt Juniper, I wouldn't be trying to protect her. If I didn't love my mom, I wouldn't worry about upsetting or disappointing her. If I didn't love myself, I wouldn't care about anything. If no one cared, people like Ricardo could do whatever they wanted. And now there was someone new in
my life—my father. I didn't know him very well but there was a chance that I'd come to care about him, too. Maybe even love him.

Unlock love with a kiss

I held my breath. Nothing happened. I read the code. It was spelled correctly. Why wasn't it working? Another toilet flushed. Had I done something wrong?

Then, the lights flickered.

FACT:
No time for facts.

T
he lights blinked. The phone rang. “It's disabled,” Jax's voice said. She was whispering. I heard a toilet flush. “You have fifteen minutes.”

“Twelve,” I pointed out.

Gripping the lever, and expecting a siren to blare, I opened the door. Then I slipped inside and shut the door behind me.

It was dark in there. I felt along the wall until my fingers rested on a switch.
Click
. Two fluorescent bulbs turned on and I found myself face-to-face with an Egyptian statue. I gasped.

“What happened?” Jax asked. “Are you okay?”

“No, I'm not okay,” I said as I looked around the room. It was as cluttered as Jax's garage, but without the My Little Pony swimming pool. “I was supposed to be the distraction but the Bartlett head wasn't in the gallery so everything got messed up. Now Pyrrha's pretending to be dying of some stomach flu and I'm trying to find the Bartlett Head.”

“What?”

“There's no time to explain.”

“Okay. I'll wait for you on the front steps. I'll call if I see Ricardo. Good luck.”

Luck was overrated. At least, that's what I'd always thought. I stuck the phone in my pocket and scanned the room. There were two tables cluttered with clay pots, jars, and tools. Crates and sawdust were scattered around the floor. Empty frames leaned against the wall. I nearly tripped on a marble vase. Just as I started to sweat, I saw it.

The small stone head sat on a counter, next to an empty Starbucks cup. Aphrodite's face stared at me. She looked bored, like she was tired of being in this museum. I wondered if she looked like this in real life.

My world was real life. But her world was real life
too. And if I wasn't successful, the two worlds would collide in a disastrous way.

I picked up the head and turned it upside down. Where was the urn? I felt along the bottom, looking for a release mechanism or a crack, anything that might open a secret compartment. I pressed my fingers over her face, her hair, the back of her head. Then I turned her over.

There it was. The bottom of the neck slid to the side. I reached with two fingers and pulled out a tiny clay pot. The urn of Hope had been painted black with white swirls. This urn was bright red—the color of fresh blood. Or the color of a valentine. As I touched the magical urn, I expected the strange voice to fill my head. But nothing odd happened. Then I remembered how Juniper had explained the sensation to us. She and Jax had both touched the urn of Hope and could hear its voice because they were female. The urns had been created for a girl, so it sought a girl's protection. But holding the urn had no effect on me. It simply felt like an ordinary clay pot.

As I stood, holding that tiny artifact, the moment felt suspended in time. My science brain whispered to me, Go on, open it. It's a clay urn. There's no way
it can drain love from people. That's scientifically impossible. Everything you've seen up to this moment has been illusion or delusion. A scientist can find the rational explanation. There are
always
rational explanations.

But I now knew that the truth was bigger. For there are also mysteries. And magic. And luck.

So I closed Aphrodite's head, set it upright, and headed for the door.

With the urn hidden in my hand, I hurried into gallery 211. Five guards and a bunch of tourists were gathered around Pyrrha, who was moaning like she was possessed by demons. “She's having a seizure,” someone said.

“Maybe she's got food poisoning,” someone else guessed.