Muses on the Move (8 page)

Thursday, 5:16
P.M.
, Interstate 40, Pocky’s mom’s car

“W
e’ve
got to go back!” I cried.

“We’re not going back. We’ve been driving forever already, and even if we did, you’d never find it—you don’t even know where you lost it!” yelled Pocky.

“But it had your Madame La Rue business card in it!” I tried appealing to Pocky’s immediate needs.

“You know, after what that old woman said, I thought something like this might happen. So I memorized the address just in case. I don’t need the card.”

“But it has the directions to New Orleans,” I said in sheer desperation.

It was my favorite backpack. It was lucky. It had my notebook and my ducky.

“We have a map, and we can get specific directions
when we get to town. We’re not going back, Thalia.” Pocky was getting more and more assertive as the hex gained power. “And stop pouting,” he yelled.

I wasn’t pouting. I was merely exercising my right to portray a disdainful grimace on my face in protest of my unfair treatment!

“I need to pee,” squealed Era. She couldn’t stop squirming in the backseat. With Pocky at the wheel, we were back to driving like regular people—as in, no magic. And it took ages to get anywhere.

“You just went at that diner back there, didn’t you?” asked Pocky, terribly impatient with the rest of us.

“Well, yes, but I had two Cokes, and what do you expect? I’m a petite girl.”

“We can’t stop—we don’t have time. We shouldn’t even have stopped at that diner,” chastised Pocky.

“You got some more turkey and gravy,” said Polly, full of sweet, sweet guilt.

“We had to stop, we had to eat, Pock,” I said. “It’s not like we can magically conjure up food.”

Polly looked up from the map and shot me her patented death look from the front seat. She’d forbidden me to use my powers. Again. At all. The rest of this trip. It wasn’t exactly fair. I mean, I understood. And I did feel horrible, leading Pocky to believe that Thanksgiving was over when in fact it was really today. And then, well, a lot of people had seemed real upset over the balloon incident. But so
far everyone on this trip had gotten to choose a destination except for me, and now we were headed in the opposite direction of one Dylan from Denver. If I could have just used my powers, we could have been in New Orleans like that, gotten this silly hex removed, and in an instant been in Colorado before Dylan, atop some snowy mountain, lost his will to love forever.

Maybe I was being dramatic, but c’mon, the writing was on the wall.

“Hey, we’re not too far from Graceland. Let’s make a little detour and tour Elvis’s mansion!” suggested Polly.

“No! You already picked a place—you can’t pick twice!” I cried.

“But Thalia, we’re so very close. And it’s
Elvis
!”

“No way. I haven’t even gotten a pick yet.”

“Fine,” said Polly through gritted teeth. She appeared to be losing it.

“Fine,” I said.

“Thalia, why don’t you just pick Graceland? Polly’s cranky and…” said Era.

“I’m not cranky. And I do not need you to stick up for me, Era, I can take care of myself,” yelled Polly.

“You’re yelling at me now?” Era was clearly annoyed. “Anyway, I still need to pee. And my butt’s all cramped…”

“Shush!” Polly yelled at her.

“Don’t tell her to shush,” I yelled back.

“QUIET!” screamed Pocky at the top of his lungs. “Everyone stop arguing. In fact, unless you have a hex on you, no one is allowed to utter another word!”

We all shut up and rode the rest of the way in silence.

Friday, 11:12
A.M.
, New Orleans

T
he
drive was slow and boring until we got to the outskirts of New Orleans. There we wove through endless swamps where the air felt sticky and thick and the water looked as still as glass. I wanted to apologize to Polly for being so grouchy earlier, but I couldn’t seem to do it. So I just turned my attention to the oncoming lights of the city.

At first sight New Orleans reminded me of New York—tall buildings and lots of lights. But as we got closer, I could see how different it really was. There were lots of smaller houses here, and each house looked more colorful than the next. Most of the streets were lined with these huge trees that seemed to drip thick green leaves like a canopy over our heads. And everything—from the buildings to the
street signs to the people—looked old. Not, like, Athens old, but still, older than anything we’d seen in the modern world.

Right before lunchtime we pulled up onto narrow Chartres Street to the house of Madame La Rue. The building had thick moss dripping from every angle and dried skulls in the windows. The porch creaked so loudly, it scared us, and all four of us jumped in unison. Pocky then pulled at the screen door, and it slowly and painfully squeaked open.

“What do you want?” A woman’s voice came from the dim hallway. It was evil and dark like molasses. She emerged into the light—her face looked evil, too. She was wearing a turban, and her lips and wrinkly cheeks were smeared with thick makeup.

“I’m looking for Madame La Rue,” said Pocky meekly. He sounded exhausted. While we had nodded off in the car, Pocky hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours.

“I am she. Now, what do you want?” If it was at all possible, her voice became more evil.

“Um, your sister sent me, from New York, to get my hex removed. Please, you must help me,” said Pocky.

“I am booked solid—I have a very hard case right now. A selfish young girl broke her true love’s heart, and now she has a humongous hex on her. It’s taking all my
energy to remove this one. Come back tomorrow.” Was it my imagination, or was she looking pointedly at me?

“No, please!” begged Pocky. “Mine surely can’t take too long, please.”

“Let me see. Come closer, young man.” Madame La Rue’s fingers emerged from the extra-long sleeves of her bright purple cloak to pry open Pocky’s left eye. She got close to him and peered into his eye from only an inch or two away. I suspected she smelled.

“All right, I can remove your hex today, but you can’t leave New Orleans for twenty-four hours. The magic of the city must settle on your skin. If you leave, your hex will only return, I dunno when or where, but it t’will!” She sounded like someone I knew. Someone back home. Maybe that wretched Medusa.
^*
But I’m sure all mean people have a similar quality about them. Like an evil soul sound.

“Twenty-four hours, huh?” said Pocky. Madame La Rue motioned us to wait and disappeared into the back room.

Twenty-four hours? That was it. I was done for. If we stayed here in New Orleans till Saturday afternoon, there was no way that I could get from here to Denver and back to Athens by Sunday.

But if I said something, anything, in the face of poor Pocky’s hex, I would truly be the most selfish girl in the world and I wouldn’t even deserve to go
back home to Olympus. I wanted to see Dylan, I needed to see him, but…

“Um, I don’t think we can stay here for twenty-four hours. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I have to be back in Athens to pick up my parents.” Pocky was almost shaking.

I saw my opportunity to get out of at least one lie, and I went for it. “Pocky, tomorrow’s not Saturday—it’s only Friday.”

Pocky’s eyes grew wide, and he looked at Polly and Era. Polly said, “That’s right, it’s Friday.” And then Era nodded.

“Oh, man, that hex must’ve done a number on my head. I was sure it was Saturday. I mean, Thanksgiving was days ago, wasn’t it?”

“No, no, it was yesterday. Are you okay, Pocky?” I said.

“Thank heavens Madame La Rue is gonna lift the hex. I think I’m going crazy.” Pocky tapped his forehead for emphasis. “So that settles it—we’ll stay here for the next twenty-four hours. Anyway”—he sighed—“I’ve always wanted to see New Orleans.”

“Um, not to be selfish or anything, but I never got to pick a destination,” I said quietly. I knew it was no use, but I had to say something. I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh, man, Thalia, I feel awful,” said Pocky. “I know this hex removal put a little wrench in our
plans. But hey, since it’s only Friday, we could probably fit one more place in on our way back to Athens. Think about where you want to go.”

Quietly, sheepishly, I suggested Denver, Colorado.

And then Pocky laughed. He actually laughed. But then he stopped when he saw the look on my face. “Thalia! I feel bad and all, but that’s only in the total opposite direction. It’s like a gazillion miles away. It’s impossible.”

Polly was standing beside Pocky, and I noticed she had that look on her face. The one she has when the wheels in her head are turning—when she’s figuring something out. Then her mouth dropped open. Oops. “That’s what this is about?” she sputtered. “It is, isn’t it? Of course, the lying, the mag—” But she stopped herself. Pocky looked on, confused, but at that moment Madame La Rue called him into her back room.

Polly moved in closer to me and seized my arm. She lowered her voice. “How could you? Have you not learned a thing? And how did I not see that all this time you’ve been trying to lead us on a one-Muse mission to Denver? We’ll never get back to Olympus—you do realize that, right? Never!” Era’s look of confusion was slowly turning into one of understanding. Polly stomped off to the opposite side of the hall in disgust. And then…and then she just dropped her face into her hands and
silently began to cry. I could hear her sniffling through her fingers. Era followed and patted her back sympathetically.

“Polly, I…” I said quietly, but Era just looked at me and shook her head. I sat down on the beanbag by the door, feeling utterly, utterly awful.

This place was smelly, like old perfume, like perfume that had been around for a million years. And it was dark and dank and dusty, kind of like what you’d expect Hades to be like. There were jars of crusty bits in every corner, and old apples hung from the ceiling. I hated it here.

I sank back in the beanbag and thought about what I’d done and Denver and Dylan and how I’d used magic when Polly had begged me over and over not to. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

I felt lower than low. And I had to admit, it was looking like fate had no intention of bringing me and Dylan together. Maybe…maybe it was time to just admit that it was not meant to be. I wished I had my Apollo vs. Dylan chart so I could add to it.
Dylan—seriously unattainable and not in fate’s mind’s eye
. That’s a con if ever I saw one.

It was time for me to make a choice.

“I am hereby giving up all attempts to get to Dylan and Denver,” I said aloud. Guilty as I felt about Dylan, I felt just as guilty about Polly, and I had to do the right thing. Dylan would get over this
heartache. I’m cute, but I’m not devastating. The boy would get over me eventually. I hoped.

Polly and Era turned to look at me. I looked at my sneakers. “I have done nothing on this trip but lie and use my powers to turn it into my own little mission to Denver—you’re right.” I cleared my throat. “I’m not proud of myself. And I’m sorry.”

I just fiddled with my laces until a second pair of shoes appeared beside mine. Era plopped down on the beanbag and put her arm around me. Polly just sniffed, and stood, and sniffed again. Then she said, “You know, Thalia, I may be bossy sometimes, but I’m certainly not a monster. If you’d told me you needed to get to Denver, I would have helped you get there.”

I didn’t know what to say. I’d been too busy going out of my way to prove I wasn’t selfish to even ask.

“I’m sorry, Polly.”

Maybe she could tell I really meant it. Or maybe the look on my face was just too pitiful for her to bear. Because Polly stopped sniffling and wiped at her eyes with the hem of her sleeve.

“The hex has left the building,” hollered Pocky, coming out from behind the curtain, startling all three of us out of our silence. “Well, maybe not yet, but in twenty-four hours it will. Now let’s go check into some fine bayou hotel—my treat this time and I’m not taking no for an answer. I say let’s take an
afternoon catnap, then hit the town, see the sights, and let the magic fall where it may!”

Polly walked over and loomed above me. Then, with a tiny, forgiving smile, she pulled both me and Era up from our chair. I gave her a quick hug and Era, too. I made an inward promise to start thinking, really thinking, about my sisters’ feelings before just going with my own wishes. I made another inward promise to get over Dylan from Denver. Then we followed Pocky out the door and into the hot New Orleans air.

Saturday, 10:15
A.M.
, Café Du Monde, New Orleans

“O
h
, these, what are they again, Pocky, they are so yummy!” asked Era.

“They’re beignets. Ben-yays! Or really, they’re just sugary doughnuts, and they are, as you say, Era, very yummy.” Pocky’s face was covered in powdered sugar. Era had it in her hair.

“They are so yummy, and I am feeling so good now that my hex is gone, I think I might just need to sing a song,” said Pocky. Pocky was known all over Athens for his cute little raps of love.

We gave Pocky a rousing standing ovation. I’d say it was his best song yet. But maybe that’s just because it finally wasn’t a song in which he professed his love to either me or my sisters.

We were sitting in perhaps my favorite place in New Orleans yet, Café Du Monde. It was just a bunch of cute tables under a big canopy, and they bring you coffee with tons of milk and these yummy beignets! It was crowded with people talking and reading, and there was a guy in the corner playing his saxophone and horse chariots clip-clopping by and it was wonderful. I could have stayed all day.

“I want to go to the Jean Lafitte National Park today,” said Polly. She read from the brochure, “‘Deep in the heart of New Orleans you’ll find a genuine bayou swamp where nature is plentiful and alligators roam free.’ Let’s go!”

“Seriously, Pol, I am so tired. Let’s stay here awhile longer, order another round of the beignets, and then take another New Orleans-style catnap!” I said with all the enthusiasm I could muster. “I mean, I’m tired. We were out late last night, what with those three jazz clubs and the dancing at the Funky
Butt and then that yummy midnight dinner at the Bluebird. Um, I’m pooped.”

“No, I want to see the alligators and the swamp boats and hear the Cajun men talk funny. You know what”—Polly shrugged—“I’ll go without you. I’ll take one of those…those…those…horse carriages!”

“Wait, Polly, I want to go to the”—and this part Pocky said in a fake French accent—“Jean Lafitte Nacional Parke with zee alligators.”

“Me too,” said Era.

“Fine,” I said. A few minutes later they bid me adieu. I sat under the canopy, ordered another three beignets, and kicked back, listening to the sweet sounds of the sax.

At Café Du Monde, we sat near the Muses,
These girls never seem to catch on to our ruses.
We heard them make small talk and lay down the facts
That they’re going to stay here in New Orleans and relax.
There’s been no talk of Denver, no, not for hours,
No question of using any more of their powers.
No worries for us, though, the damage is done,
So let’s go to the park and stir up some fun!

“This is the coolest,” Pocky whispered, his steps slowing down as the group got closer to the swampy area of the Jean Lafitte National Park. Polly and Era had to agree.

The park was exactly what the brochure said: it was wet and dark and a bit creepy. The alligators weren’t penned in, but they didn’t seem to be a threat, either. They just slept peacefully under a layer or three of thick green muck. You could occasionally see an eye popping out above the slime or maybe a row of scales, but that was all. Still, it was creepy.

The trees were nothing like anything the Muses had seen back home. They were tangled and knotted beyond recognition and covered with a slimy black fuzz. There were surely creatures living in them, but what they were was anybody’s guess.

Era, Pocky, and Polly crossed over a wooden bridge that connected one part of the park to the other. While they weren’t eager to admit it, they were frightened, and so as they crossed, they clutched one another’s hands. Still, at the bottom of the bridge Polly felt the need to talk to one of the gators. She might be a little scared, but she thought they looked so lonely. She leaned over the railing to make eye contact with a peeking reptile. And at that moment a chill, an evil chill, ran across the back of her neck. Distant, girlish laughter echoed across the swamp.

“Polly, be…” Era began to pull Polly back from the railing.

Just as she did, a strange, terrifying thing happened. All the alligators began to stir. Slowly at first, then more quickly, every alligator in the swamp began to rise up out of the water and move toward land. And in case you’ve never seen an alligator move, they get around pretty darn quickly.

Pocky screamed. Polly screamed. Era screamed. They all screamed. And they weren’t the only ones. The whole park became overpowered with yelling—a few tourists went running back toward the entrance, waving their cameras and walking sticks like weapons. Pocky sprinted across the bridge, then shimmied up one of the fuzzy trees in terror, an alligator snapping just inches from his ankles.

Polly panicked. She backed herself up against the railing of the bridge, a gigantic gator inching closer and closer to her. “Help! Era! Pocky! Heeeeelp!”

Era had crawled up onto the opposite railing of the bridge, and now she hissed to Polly, very quietly so as not to anger the gators, “Pol? Polly, we have to use magic.”

“But—” Polly began to argue.

“No buts. We have to.” Amazingly, she was speaking slowly and calmly. “So, on the count of three let’s recite the petra personality spell together, okay?”

“Yes, you are right, yes, sure, yes, on three,” said
Polly, who was perhaps more scared than ever before in her life.

Era counted off, “One, two, three.” Then, “Skylos prosopikotita apodosi,” said Era.

“Alligatorus prosopikotita apodosi,” said Polly.

A few seconds went by that seemed to last forever. And then, just like that, the alligators, every last one of them, stopped their snapping.

Thank goddess! Polly and Era breathed a sigh of relief. Pocky, having no idea what was going on, stayed in his tree.

The alligators calmed down completely, but they didn’t return to the water, either. In fact, the one closest to Polly began rubbing against her leg. The one nearest to Era scratched itself behind the ear, or rather, where its ear would be if alligators had ears.

Several alligators waddled away only to pick up sticks in their jaws and return them to the people they had originally been scaring.

And then the alligator that had been chomping at the bit to have a bite of Pocky’s ankle actually, maybe, barked. And then it panted, its tongue just hanging out of its mouth, off to the side. It looked like it was smiling.

“We did it!” cried Era, proud of herself.

“Yes, we did it,” Polly agreed. But she did notice the odd behavior of the alligators. “Hey, Era, did I hear you say
skylos
in your chant?”

“I don’t think so. But maybe. I might’ve.”

“’Cause you know, the chant is, ‘Alligatorus prosopikotita apodosi,’” said Polly.

“Yeah, I know. Um, that’s what I said.” But Era didn’t seem too sure.

“’Cause you know,
skylos
is ‘dog,’ right, not ‘alligator’?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m pretty sure I said
alligatorus
. I think.”

“Hmmm, well, it can’t hurt to leave them the way they are, right?” said Polly. “I mean, we should do as little magic as possible. And they seem so much more interesting this way. Before, all you got to do was see an eye or two—now you can really interact with the gators.” Polly picked up a stick and tossed it into a bush. A pack of alligators leapt clumsily after it.

“Exactly. See, we did good!” cried Era with pride.

“Pocky, get down—that alligator won’t hurt you,” hollered Polly. “I think we should get back to the hotel, pick up Thalia, and get on our way.”

“But it wants my leg,” said Pocky, still terribly scared and probably emotionally scarred for life.

“No, it just wants to smell your pants and lick your face, so get down from there. Now!”

And Pocky, none the wiser, slowly climbed down from the tree.