TheCrownofZeus:TheLibraryofAthenaBook1

Chapter One: New Beginning

“But Dad,” Megan said. “I don’t want to go. This is ridiculous!”

“Sorry, Megums, but we don’t have a choice,” her father, Donald Montgomery, replied gently. He slurped up a chow mein noodle and patted his daughter’s hand. “I know it will be hard, but my firm is transferring me. It’s quite a big promotion actually. We have to go.”

Megan slumped into her seat and picked at her chicken and broccoli. It was her favorite take-out meal, but she didn’t feel like eating. She loved living in the city—she had grown up here. Everything she had ever known was here. She was supposed to start high school in just a couple of weeks. This wasn’t just an inconvenience, it was a major disaster.

“This sucks. I don’t want to move.” She winced, aware of how childish she was acting. They’d had this same argument every night this week, and Megan had made no progress. “There won’t be anything to do.”

“Sure there will. There’s a stable full of horses to ride and all the grounds to explore. And there’s a village just down the road. There will be lots to see and plenty to do. And don’t say ‘sucks’.”

Megan put her head back and let her tongue hang from her mouth. “Horses, Dad, come on! They stink! I don’t want to explore anything. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m not a little kid. I pretty much like to talk on the phone and shop, okay?” She tried not to pout like the child she claimed she wasn’t. She would win this argument by making her father see how much better off she would be if she stayed where she was, even if that meant annoying him into letting her stay.

“I’ll bet there isn’t any place to shop either. There’s not a good store anywhere outside Fifth Avenue. And you know there’s not a revival house within 50 miles of this place you’re dragging me off to, is there?”

Megan loved black and white movies from Hollywood’s Golden Age. The great actresses like Katharine Hepburn—her favorite—Jean Harlow, Ava Gardner, Bette Davis, Rita Hayworth and the handsome leading men like Cary Grant, Clark Gable, and Spencer Tracy.

One of her favorite things was to go to the revival movie houses tucked into the corners of the city. She loved the glamour, the simplicity of their lives and the way they lived and how it all turned out right in the end. Modern romantic comedies couldn’t hold a candle to them.

They also reminded her of her mother. She and Megan had spent many rainy Saturday afternoons together, watching those movies and munching popcorn.

Right now, Megan couldn’t see any way that this move, which her father was so happy about, could turn out well.

Her father reached between the white and red take-out cartons and took Megan’s hand. “Aw pumpkin, come on. The manor is just forty-five minutes outside of London, a quick train ride. There are more than enough shops there, and we’ll make lots of trips. I’m sure there’s a movie house or two in the city, and it’s not like you don’t have all of those movies on DVD. You can talk to your friends online, just like they were right next door. You won’t miss New York, I promise.”

Megan switched tactics. “Oh, and I’ll be in a new school where I don’t know anyone! I have to leave all my friends, all the girls on the team. Why can’t I just stay here and live with Becky? Her parents said it would be okay.” Becky Reinhart was her best friend and field hockey teammate; they’d known each other since kindergarten. She was like the sister Megan never had.

“No.” He gave her a stern, warning look. “And I don’t want you asking me again. We are staying together and that is that. The Reinharts are good people, but I will not have someone else raising my daughter, no matter how nice they are. There would be too many miles between us. I cannot have that.”

Megan leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “What, so I don’t even get a say?”

“No.”

“It’s not fair. I’m part of the family too.”

“Nobody ever said life was fair.” Her father went back to his dinner, a clear signal to Megan he was finished with the discussion.

Megan gritted her teeth. She wanted to scream at him, to throw a tantrum like she did when she was six. There was no way she was going to go without a fight. But her father could be just as stubborn as she was. He wasn’t going to budge. So instead, she conceded the argument for another evening. She knew how to choose her battles, and there was still a little time left to fight this one. Maybe she could get Becky’s mom to call her dad and talk to him. He might be more receptive to an adult making the suggestion.

“Sorry, Dad.” Still stewing, she looked at her plate and scooped up some rice with her chopsticks.

Her father’s eyes softened. “You’ll make new friends, Megums. You are such an outgoing young lady. I don’t think making friends will be a problem. You’ll see.”

“Whatever.” Megan ate the rest of her dinner in silence.

Once the table was cleared and the dishwasher loaded, Megan stalked to her room and flicked on the light. She fought through the piles of packing boxes, made her way toward her bed and flopped down. She looked at all her things, separated into three piles; boxes with things to be given away, boxes with things to be put in storage and boxes of things to make the trip to the new home.

“I don’t want to go, I have a life here,” Megan said angrily to the framed black and white poster of Katharine Hepburn that still hung on the wall. She shook her auburn curls back from her face, reached across to her nightstand and picked up a photo in a delicate silver frame. The woman in the picture looked like an older version of Megan.

“Mom,” Megan whispered to the picture. Her anger melted, and tears splashed onto her cheeks. “I wish you were here.”

She closed her eyes and remembered the day her mother died. That had been three years ago, in a car crash on her way home from a visit with her parents upstate. For months afterward, Megan hadn’t been able to look at any picture of her mother. Her father, in his usual clueless manner, had given this one to her as a birthday gift last year. It had since become her favorite picture, and she often spoke to it, hoping one day it would give her some advice. This had been her mother’s home too. Leaving here would mean leaving part of her behind.

“I know you would be here if you could. None of this is fair, is it? You’re gone, and now it’s just me and Dad, and I guess I should just go with him to England and be quiet about it, huh? It wouldn’t be fair to leave him alone, half a world away, would it?”

She already knew the answer.

* * *

Four days and an eight-hour plane flight later, they emerged from Heathrow Airport under gray and gloomy skies. Megan let out a small groan and shook her head. “Great.”

Her father ruffled Megan’s curls. “Come on.”

Megan brushed his hand away. “Dad, don’t, you’ll mess up my hair. It probably looks like bedhead already.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “You look fine, dear. The firm was supposed to send a car to pick us up. Let’s go find it, okay?” He walked toward a line of shiny black and white cabs idling at the curb.

Megan picked up her carry-on bag and trudged after him. At the end of the line was a sleek black Town Car. The man in front of it held a card with Montgomery written on it. Megan’s father held open the door and Megan climbed in. The driver—a pudgy, pale man with pudding cheeks and twinkling eyes—put their bags in the trunk and got behind the wheel.

“Are we all set, then?” he said in a smooth British accent, and tipped his cap. Here was a surprise—many of the drivers in New York were rude.

“You know where we’re headed?” Megan’s father asked.

The driver nodded. “Surely do. We’ll be there in no time at all.” He put the car into gear and steered away from the curb.

It was a strange sensation to be driving on the left-hand side of the road. Megan watched the airport slip away and the long highway stretch out ahead. Rain spattered the windows as they drove away from London and into the countryside. The road was banked high on both sides, blocking the view. Once in a while there was a hint of a building—some tall trees, a house or a church’s steeple. The driver talked as he steered the car through the traffic, telling them interesting tidbits about the towns that passed by unseen. Megan wasn’t really paying attention, and she really didn’t care. She was still thinking about the city she left behind.

Soon the rain ended and the sun peeked through the clouds, laying low in the west.

Almost an hour after leaving the airport, they turned off the highway—the driver called it a “motorway”—and onto a small two lane road.

After miles of dreary scenery—empty hills, fields and livestock, mostly—they drove into a small village. It was quaint, with narrow, cobbled streets and a mix of stucco and stone buildings. A bakery, a bookshop, a pub, a coffee shop, and a butcher’s shop lined the main street. At the end sat the town square, filled by an ancient stone church with colorful stained glass windows and a small cemetery. Several people rode by on bicycles, packages in baskets on the handlebars or strapped onto back.

Megan was almost impressed. Okay, it’s cute. But I’d bet nothing interesting has happened here since Queen Elizabeth the First.

On the other side of the square was a train station. People scurried along the platform, getting on and off a waiting train.

“That’s how we’ll get to London,” her father said. “Just jump on the train and we’ll be there. Quite an adventure, huh?”

Megan leaned her face on her hand. “Yeah, sure it is, Dad,” she muttered.

“We’re nearly there folks,” the driver said in a cheery tone. “Not far now.”

Good. Much further and we’d drive off the face of the earth.

Beyond the village a low wall of piled loose stones separated the road and an empty field. On the opposite side, a row of cottages sat close to the road, each with its own little gate that guarded stone walkways and tiny squares of front yard.

The low wall ended, and a higher one of block began. The car slowed. There was a break in the wall, and the car turned onto a gravel drive. A tall wrought-iron gate stood open, and the car pulled in.

Her father gave the driver a puzzled look. “Are you sure this is the right house?”

“Yes sir. This is the place.”

“This just seems so…grand. The big drive, the wall, the gate. And we haven’t even seen the house yet. The girl at the firm said it was a country house. But if you say so, I guess this is it.”

Megan looked at the top of the gate and snorted a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” her father asked.

“Is that, uh, the name of our house or something?”

He looked at the letters of scrolled iron above the gate as they passed beneath them. The Parthenon, it said. He scratched the back of his balding head. “I guess it is. It’s not uncommon to name estates. But you’re right, Megums, it is a strange name.”

Who, Megan wondered, would name a house in England after an ancient Greek temple? A mystery, one she wasn’t sure she cared enough about to solve, but it was curious.

The driver guided the car up the tree-lined drive, and Megan got her first glimpse of The Parthenon.

The house was enormous. Three stories of rough gray stone rose from the ground like a fortress. It was longer than it was tall, at least a hundred and fifty feet. More chimneys than Megan could count grew from the many peaks of the blue-gray slate rooftop. Hundreds of windows winked at her as they reflected the sun.

The car glided into the driveway turnaround. In the middle of the loop was a marble fountain. A sculpture of a Greek woman, her stone dress draped over her, stood in a circular basin. Water poured into the basin from the pitcher she held under one arm.

The driver stopped the car at the entrance. Wide stone steps led up to the heavy oak front door.

Megan’s father looked at her, eyes twinkling. “Pretty nice digs, huh? Almost like living in the middle of Central Park.”

It was like the park, except there was no bustling city on the other side of the gates. Just a big bunch of nothing.

The front door opened and a tall, thin, bald man in black tails marched down the steps and opened her father’s door, then stood back and bowed deeply.

The man straightened. “Welcome, sir. My name is Bailey. I am the butler and custodian of The Parthenon.”

Her father got out of the car and nodded. “Thank you, uh, Bailey. We are glad to be here.”

Uh, wrong. We’re not glad about anything. Although the big house was impressive, she still would rather have been home in New York. There would be no walking to the store or a friend’s house here. She was stranded.

Her father motioned to her as she climbed out of the car. “This is my daughter, Megan.”

Bailey tilted his head toward her, and she felt a cold shiver run up her back. The butler’s face was long and thin, his hair a fringe of white around a bald top. Creepy. He looked down his nose at her.

“Miss.” He turned back to her father. “I will see to the driver and your bags. If you would, please wait for me in the entrance hall.”

Megan and her father walked into a cavernous entrance hall. A floor of marble, white swirled with black, gleamed from beneath vibrant Persian rugs. A rectangular mirror in a gilt frame reflected Megan’s look of surprise from the wall on the right. Next to the mirror and through an archway was a cozy room with a huge fireplace. Shelves of books stood on either side, like sentries. In front of the fireplace sat two low, overstuffed armchairs of burgundy leather.

Beneath a multi-paned window that looked as if it belonged in a cathedral, a wide staircase with oak banisters swept up the center of the room to a landing. More steps led upward, off to the left and right. On the landing sat another sculpture of a woman, this one much bigger than the one in the fountain. Her left arm reached toward them, an owl perched on her hand. Her other arm was at her side, a long spear in her grip.

Megan couldn’t take her eyes off of it. The woman was so beautiful, and at the same time strong. “Cool.”

“Cool indeed,” her father said.

A large painting in a heavy frame hung on the left-hand wall. Megan took a closer look. It was beautiful; it depicted several young ballerinas standing at a practice barre. It looked familiar.

“That was painted by Degas.”

A petite woman, with skin the color of coffee, stood in the archway to the right. Megan wondered how long she had been standing there.

“Excuse me?” Megan said.

“The picture. It was painted by Degas,” the woman said in a thick French accent. “The French impressionist.”

“That’s why I recognized it. I know who Degas is. We went to an exhibit, on a class trip to the Metropolitan Museum.”

The woman gave a sad sigh. “This painting was one of Sir Gregory’s favorites.”

Bailey entered from behind them, bags in hand. He placed them on the floor and closed the front door. “This is Miranda,” he said, indicating the woman. “She is the head housekeeper.”

Megan’s father extended his hand to her. “I am Donald Montgomery, and this is my daughter, Megan. It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Yes, sir.” Miranda did not take his hand, but dropped a small curtsey. “When you are settled into your rooms, tea will be served in the parlor.”

Megan’s father pulled his hand back, looked at the palm as if he expected to see some bit of dirt, and wiped it on the leg of his pants. There was an awkward silence.

“Miranda, please have these bags brought to Miss Megan and Mr. Montgomery’s rooms as soon as possible.”

Miranda gave a small nod, then turned and walked away, her footsteps noiseless. It made Megan a little nervous that the woman could be so quiet.

“Please follow me.” The butler led them across the entrance hall and up the staircase. When they reached the landing, Megan’s father stopped to inspect the large statue. “This is beautiful. Where did it come from?”

Bailey’s face remained stony. “I believe, sir, this particular sculpture was discovered by Sir Gregory on one of his expeditions to Greece. It is the goddess Athena. This was Sir Gregory’s particular favorite. His pride and joy, if you will.”

Megan raised her hand, as if she were in class. “Uh, okay, question. Who was Sir Gregory?”

“He built The Parthenon,” was all Bailey said in reply.

“Sir Gregory traveled to Greece a lot, did he?” her father asked as they continued their climb to the second floor.

“Yes, sir. He was a noted archaeologist as well as a collector of fine art and antiques. Every treasure within the house, he discovered himself.”

Megan stopped at the top of the stairs to look at a portrait of a young man. His brown hair was short and neat, his head erect, but his eyes twinkled impishly, and he wore a crooked, rakish grin on his face. “Who’s this?”

Bailey pulled his shoulders back. “That is Sir Gregory himself. In his younger days, of course. He was only about thirty-five when this was painted, I believe. I had not yet come into his service.”

“He doesn’t look like an art collector,” Megan’s father said. “Or an archeologist, for that matter.”

“He liked to think of himself as an adventurer.”

Megan thought she saw a flicker of a smile cross Bailey’s lips, but before she could be certain, he turned and walked away.

“This way, please.”

The upper hallway was long and dreary, with dark wood and a red Oriental runner. Bailey stopped at the third of six oak paneled doors on the right.

“This will be Miss Megan’s room. Yours, sir, is down here.” He led Megan’s father down the hall to a door on the opposite side. Megan put out her hand and turned the polished brass knob.

She stepped into a room that was roughly half the size of her apartment in New York. In the middle of the room was a queen-sized, four poster bed, its headboard carved with a delicate rose motif. A squat, two-drawer nightstand stood next to the bed. Against the far right-hand wall was an antique vanity. A silver framed tri-fold mirror sat atop it, showing the room to Megan in triplicate. Beside the entrance were a desk and a chest of drawers, also both antique. A fireplace was set into the fourth wall, on the far side of the bed. Four long windows dressed in sage took up the last wall.

Megan looked at the twelve-foot-high ceiling and sighed. “Well, it could be worse.” Her voice echoed to the plaster roses in the center. “I could be in Newark.”

Two other doors led from the room; one on the right, next to the vanity, and one on the left, not far from the fireplace. Megan walked across the room and opened the one on the right. Behind it was a bathroom with an enormous tub and gleaming brass fixtures. It was the most beautiful bathroom she had ever been in; even better than the Ritz-Carlton, where she had stayed once with her dad.

Behind the other door was a walk-in closet that easily could have held her old bedroom. It smelled of cedar. Megan took a deep breath—it smelled like her mother’s hope chest, clean and musky. After a thorough inspection of the many shelves and drawers Megan stepped out and went to the windows. The two in the center were actually a pair of French doors. Megan pulled them open and stepped onto a small balcony with a wrought-iron railing. She leaned over, feeling like a princess in a castle, like those in the fairy tales her mother had read to her at bedtime when she was little.

More like Rapunzel, trapped in her tower. Megan peeled an errant leaf off of the railing, and looked out over her new kingdom. Fields and gardens as far as she could see, bordered by an overgrown wood at the far end. The house was shaped like a “U”, with a wing that extended back from each end of the main building, forming a courtyard in the center. She looked straight down.

“Wow.”

Below lay a rectangular reflecting pool of white marble. Columns, the kind Megan saw in pictures of Greek temples, ran around the edge, placed at regular intervals. Sculptures stood between the columns—men in short, dress-like things, and women dressed like the lady in the fountain. A classic English garden surrounded it; a path of white stone cut through the flower beds, running between the pool and the rest of the grounds.

“That’s weird.” The pool looked out of place against the house’s stoic façade. She looked around her, at the huge, plush estate she and her father suddenly found themselves thrust into. “This whole thing is weird.”

She pushed herself off the railing and went back inside. Someone had come in while she was on the terrace and delivered her bags. Probably Miranda—that woman moves like a cat.

Megan picked up her suitcase and laid it on the bed, ran the zipper all the way around and flipped the cover open. She had just picked up her favorite sweater and was headed toward the closet when the door opened and her father poked his head inside. He grinned. “Hey there. Can I come in?”

Megan nodded.

Her father looked around. “How do you like your new room?”

Megan gave a noncommittal shrug. She didn’t look at her father, afraid of what her face might reveal. “I don’t know, Dad. The house is really nice, but…”

“But it’s not New York.”

Megan shook her head slowly and walked across the room. She appreciated the house—who wouldn’t want to live in a place like this? But she still wished for the comfort and familiarity of her city apartment. It was so quiet here—how would she be able to sleep without the city noises to keep her company?

She went to the window and looked down at the reflecting pool. It was like looking out from a jail cell. “No, Dad, it’s not. It’s so…empty. So quiet. I’m going to hate it here.” She fought back tears.

Her father tilted his head to one side. “I know, I know, it’s a big change. But can you at least give it a chance?”

Megan put her forehead against the cool glass of the windowpane. She closed her eyes, and saw her mother’s face. Like it or not, she had to suck it up, for his sake. “Yeah, all right, Dad.”

She turned to him and smiled. “My room. It’s nice.”

“Just nice? Is that like saying that New York is ‘a quiet little town’?”

“Oh, all right. It’s very nice. Happy?”

“Only if you are.”

Megan shook her head. It wasn’t worth arguing about anymore, they were here and nothing she could say would make her father go back to New York.

Her father reached into her suitcase and pulled out the carefully wrapped picture of her mother. He sat on the bed and pulled off the wrapping, his eyes glued to the face that peered out from the photo.

“She would have loved this place.” His eyes misted over. “She was always ready for adventure. You look so much like her.”

In that instant, Megan realized how immature she had been. It was easy to forget her mother had left both of them behind. “Yeah, Dad, she would have.” I’m sorry I’m such a brat.

Her father put the picture on the nightstand and ran a finger along the upper edge of the frame. He wiped away a tear as he turned around, and she quickly looked at the contents of her suitcase.

He put on a smile. “You can finish unpacking later. Let’s explore for a while, okay?”

Megan laid her sweater on the bed. Clearly her father needed her more than she needed to unpack. “Yeah, sure, that’d be cool. Did you see what’s out back?”

“No, my room looks out the front. What is it?” Megan led her father over to the window and pulled back the curtain.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s different. We have to go have tea, but after, wanna go and see it?”

It took some time to actually figure out which room was the parlor, and by the time they did the tea was cold. So instead they grabbed a couple of scones from the tea tray and went exploring.

They visited the reflecting pool and the gardens. The pool was still as glass, and just as pretty from the ground as from the window. Megan still couldn’t help but think it didn’t match the house and wondered why Sir Gregory would put it here.

The stone garden path Megan saw from the window eventually led them to the stables. The horses weren’t as smelly as she thought they would be, and Stephan the stable manager puffed up with pride as he showed Megan and her father around the barn. He introduced them to Thunder, a beautiful gelding the color of storm clouds.

“Looks like a right beast, don’t he?” Stephan hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “But he’s gentle as a kitten. I think you and he will get along famously, miss.”

Bailey, seemingly very put out by having to search for them, tracked them down and announced that dinner was ready. They were ushered into a huge, empty dining room and sat at a long, gleaming wooden table. Bailey served them a creamy soup that smelled delicious. Megan didn’t remember the last time she had a home-cooked meal. Her father worked so much, most of the time their meals came by delivery boy.

“Tomorrow we have to go into the village.” Her father took a warm roll from a basket and passed it to Megan. “They’re not expecting you at school until the beginning of next week, and in the meantime we need to get you some school uniforms.”

Megan nodded, thinking more about the soup than school. “I hope they’re nice uniforms and not something dorky looking.”

Her father laughed. “Don’t worry, dear. Even if they are, uh, ‘dorky looking’, everyone will be wearing the same thing, so it won’t matter. You’ll all look like dorks together.”

“Gee, thanks.” Megan took a bite of her roll, thinking about something that had been on her mind since she looked out of her balcony. “Dad, I’ve been wondering something.”

“What, sweetie?”

“Why are we in this big house, just the two of us? Your firm didn’t rent this big old thing just for us, did they? They could have put us in an apartment in London. Or flat, or whatever it’s called.”

Her father set down his knife and fork. “I’ve wondered that myself. It does seem strange.” He picked up his utensils and returned to his meal. “I’ll have to ask when I go to work on Monday.”

“Maybe it’s haunted,” Megan wondered aloud. “And nobody else wants to live here, so they got it cheap and pawned it off on the unsuspecting Americans.”

“Hmm.” Her father gave a mysterious look. “Perhaps you’re right.”

They both burst out laughing. It was the best Megan had felt since her father had first told her they were moving.

Perhaps this place wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

Chapter Two: Schedules and Secrets

Megan slowly put on her uniform—a blue and gray plaid kilt, white knee socks, white button-down shirt and navy blue tie. She picked up her blazer; also navy blue, with the crest of St. Agatha’s College for Girls embroidered on the left breast. She pulled it on.

Megan leaned down in front of the vanity mirror to adjust her hat, a wool beret the same color as the blazer. She looked at herself and sighed.

Ick. I hate uniforms. She missed wearing whatever she wanted to school. Uniforms, in her opinion, stifled individuality. Little drones that all look alike, marching along like good little soldiers.

“I suppose it’s not that bad,” she said to her reflection. The uniform didn’t really flatter her figure, but it didn’t make her look dumpy either. She pushed her hat so it sat at an angle. “At least it’s a nice color.”

Not really convinced the uniform was in any way better than wearing something from her closet, she grabbed her bag off of the chair and went downstairs.

Twenty minutes later her father dropped her off for her first day at school at the front entrance of a building that looked like a castle from the Middle Ages. Hundreds of girls, all dressed like she was, streamed in the front door.

Drones.

“Don’t forget, you’re supposed to stop in and see the headmistress first. Have a nice day, Meg,” her father said. He raised his hand to muss her hair, stopped, and patted her on the shoulder instead.

“Thanks, Dad. You too.” She kissed him on the cheek, opened the door and dove into the sea of bodies headed inside.

After being jostled and bounced down the halls, she finally found her way to the headmistress’ office and knocked.

A women’s voice answered. “Come in.”

Megan opened the door. The room was small and neat. Three walls were covered with portraits in heavy wooden frames, men and women dressed in black robes, mortarboards on their heads. The fourth, opposite the door, was taken up by a large window that arched upward toward a peak, like the window of an ancient cathedral. In front of the window sat a desk. Behind the desk sat a middle-aged woman. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a severe, sensible-looking bun. She hunched over the desk, engrossed in paperwork. She looked up when Megan entered; she had a thin face with a small, pointed upturned nose, delicate cheekbones and round blue eyes.

“Can I help you?”

“Ah, yes.” Megan squared her shoulders and tried to stand up straight. “I’m Megan Montgomery. I’m a new student and this is my first day. They said I had to report to you.”

The woman shuffled through the papers on her desk and pulled out a manila folder. “Yes, of course. The girl from America. Well, come in child, don’t lurk in the doorway. Please sit down.”

A thick burgundy rug muffled Megan’s footsteps as she walked to one of a pair of high-backed chairs in front of the desk. She tried to look graceful as she sat down.

“Welcome to St. Agatha’s.” The woman gave a smile that reminded Megan of a cat who has just found a juicy mouse. She folded her hands on the desk, sat up straight, and looked Megan in the eye. “I am Miss Spencer, the headmistress.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Miss Spencer nodded. “Since you are from America, you are probably not familiar with our British education system. You are thirteen, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Megan had never really called anyone ‘ma’am’ before, but Miss Spencer looked like someone who she should. “I’m in the eighth grade.”

Miss Spencer’s smile widened a bit, but it was still a smile that looked put-on for company. “It’s ‘yes, Headmistress’. And we don’t have ‘grades’ here. You are in third year.” The headmistress picked up the file and walked around to Megan’s side of the desk. “I’ve looked over your transcripts, and everything appears to be in order. But I must warn you, Miss Montgomery. Here things are going to be much tougher than they were at your old school. This institution is a tradition among many families from all over the world.”

“The world?” Megan asked. “Do their families all move here so they can go to school?”

Miss Spencer laughed like a parent whose small child just did or said something cute and silly. “No, no, of course not, dear. Some, like you, are day students, while others live in our dormitories. We pride ourselves on turning out the finest young ladies. To that end, you will be taking more subjects than you are used to, including Latin.”

“Latin?” Who speaks Latin?

“Yes. As well as Music, Math, World History, Science, Literature, Philosophy, Geography and Art. You will also be in a House.” She flipped open the file. “I’ve placed you in Whitmore. Your House contains about twenty girls from each year. Your Head is Professor Livingston, she teaches History. If you have problems in school, academic or personal, go to her. Each house also meets twice a week for tutoring and study.”

“I see.” Megan’s stomach felt as if it would drop out of her feet at any moment. All those classes, plus forced study? Megan had held her own at her old school, but she wasn’t exactly a straight-A student. I’m in trouble.

“I notice you played hockey at your old school as well,” Miss Spencer continued, oblivious to Megan’s nervousness. “You might try out for the House team. It’s one of the best in the county. If you enjoy horses, we also have an exceptional equestrian team.”

I’ll run right out and sign up for that. Not.

She handed Megan a piece of paper. “Here’s your schedule. I suggest you get to class. The late bell is about to ring.”

Megan took the paper and looked it over. “Thank you, Headmistress.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked to the door. She wondered what would happen if she just kept running, right out the front door.

Megan’s first class was Literature. She found the classroom and opened the door. A stern-looking man with slicked back dark hair turned and stared at her with small black eyes.

“May I help you?” he drawled. His pasty face wore a look of utter distaste, as if wondering who dared interrupt his class.

“Uh, yes sir. My name is Megan Montgomery. I’m new.” She handed him her schedule.

He glanced, sniffed, and handed it back to her. “Ah, yes. Very well, take a seat. And do not be tardy to my class again.”

Megan felt her cheeks get hot, and thought about telling him that it wasn’t her fault she was late, but decided against it. She found a desk at the back of the room and took out her textbook. From one of the desks to her right she heard a snicker.

“Miss Montgomery?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do not expect special treatment because you are new. Or because you are from America. I expect you to keep up with your classmates.”

“Yes, sir.” She slumped down into her seat and tried to make herself as small as possible.

The rest of Megan’s first day was much the same. The classes here were certainly different than at her old school. For one thing, students were expected to stand when they gave the answer to a question. Her teachers were not “Mrs. or Mr.” but “Professor.” Most of them were very strict, and demanded much more than her old teachers.

Her schedule was packed. The first day alone she had World History, Intermediate Math, Latin, and Philosophy in addition to Literature. Most the teachers referred to her as “The American Girl” several times before remembering her name.

They all piled on the homework.

At lunch, she sat alone, because of course she didn’t know anyone and no one offered to sit with her. And she saw the pointing and whispering that went on; most didn’t even try to hide it.

Megan tried to hold it together, but it was hard to ignore the fact that she was on display like some kind of freak show. She picked at her lunch, unable to eat, and sympathizing with every new kid she had ever seen at her old school.

I want to go home. She meant to New York.

After school, Megan stood on the front steps of St. Agatha’s, waiting for her ride home, wondering how much a one-way ticket from Heathrow to JFK cost. She was miserable and had a ton of homework; her backpack felt like it was going to rip her shoulder off.

She shifted her bag to the other shoulder and watched a group of six girls clustered nearby. She had seen a couple of them in her classes, and was pretty sure they were in her year, but didn’t know any of their names.

She watched out of the corner of her eye as they whispered intently between themselves and took furtive glances in her direction. Megan couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she sure knew who. Just like at lunch. Don’t they have anything better to do?

She allowed this to go on for a few minutes, appearing oblivious to their whisperings. Finally she had enough. She whipped her head around and marched over to them.

“Excuse me.” She walked right up to the tallest girl. “Is there a problem?”

Three of the girls turned bright red, took a few steps back, and slunk away, their heads down, leaving their three co-conspirators behind.

Proper English girls don’t gossip, do they? Megan gave a wide smile that dripped with sugar.

“There’s no problem, is there, girls?” the tall one said in a flat tone, still toe-to-toe with Megan.

“Well, I think there is.” Megan’s smile was gone. “You’ve all been giggling and talking about me behind my back. Care to share?”

The girl licked her lips. “We were just wondering…”

“About what? My accent, my shoes, or my hair maybe?”

The girl pushed a lock of her straight black hair behind her ear, unfazed. “Ah, no, actually. We were wondering about your house.”

It was Megan’s turn to step back. “My House? Oh, I’m in, uh, Whitmore, I think?”

The girls giggled. Megan felt like she had missed the punchline of a joke, and her cheeks burned.

It was the girl with short brown hair and glasses who replied. “No, not your academic House, your house. You know, where you live?”

Megan lifted her eyebrows, confused. “You want to know about…my…house?”

The third girl, a pretty blonde with loose, shoulder-length curls, pulled her Burberry purse up higher on her shoulder. “You do live in the big manor house on Knapford Road, right? The Paragon?”

“The Parthenon,” Megan corrected. “What about it?” It wasn’t the conversation she expected, but she was kind of happy they were actually talking to her.

The dark-haired girl pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, also seeming to choose her words carefully. “We wanted to know, you see, er, whether or not you’ve seen anything…anything strange since you’ve been there?”

“What do you mean, strange? Like African artifacts strange? Or like bad decorating strange?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” the second girl said. She pushed her thick glasses up her long nose. She gave a furtive look. “Like ghosts. Unhappy spirits roaming about the halls at night.”

Megan almost laughed out loud. “No. Why would you think that?”

“The stories about that house are sort of a local legend,” the tall girl said. She gave the other two a superior look. “I never believed them, but…”

“Oh, Rachel, come off it,” said the blonde. “You were scared witless when my gran told you the story.”

“What story?” Megan crossed her arms over her chest and relaxed.

Rachel hesitated. “The ones that say the ghost of that crazy old man who used to live there haunts the place.”

“Sir Gregory? You think that the ghost of Sir Gregory haunts my house? Why would you think that?”

These girls are nuts, Megan thought. Out of their minds. But hey, they’re talking to me, right? She wondered for a moment if they were keeping her busy long enough for someone to tape a “Kick Me” sign on her back. It was something the kids at her old school would have done to a new kid. In a heartbeat.

“They say he was murdered, right there in his own bed,” the blonde girl said. “And that his spirit walks the halls all night, looking for the killer. My gran says he’s guarding something, something that no one has ever been able to find. A great treasure hidden in the house or on the grounds, and that’s why he was killed in the first place. His ghost keeps people away.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Megan didn’t believe in ghosts, of course, and she didn’t know how Sir Gregory died. But it was nice to have a conversation with someone her own age. If she could keep the conversation going, maybe they could talk about something less…weird.

Rachel’s face was serious. “That’s why the house has been empty for so long.” She smiled and she snorted a laugh. “It’s all a right bunch of rubbish if you ask me.”

“Yeah, it is,” Megan said. “I’ve been there for days and haven’t seen a ghost.”

“Honestly?” the blonde said.

“Really. How ridiculous is that? Ghosts—there’s no such thing.” Megan clucked her tongue, and the words came out before she really thought about them. “But if you want to see for yourselves, you’re welcome to come and visit.”

The invitation served two purposes; first of all, she wanted to see their reaction to being invited to a “haunted house”. Second, she had surrendered to the fact she was not going back to New York any time soon. She couldn’t take another day like today, so maybe if she was friendly she’d have someone to hang out with.

The girls paled. The one with the glasses was suddenly interested in something on her shoe. Rachel, however, kept her gaze steady with Megan’s.

“All right, then, I’ll come.” She pushed out her chin. “Just tell me when.”

“How about this weekend?” Megan said. “Uh, just let me clear it with my dad.”

“Fine. I’m Rachel Cuthbert, by the way.” Rachel extended a hand to Megan. “This is Claire McIlhenny.” The girl with the glasses gave a nod. “We’re both in Whitmore, by the way. This is Harriet Darrow.” The blonde raised her hand and waggled her fingers. “She’s in Benson.”

“And you’re Megan Montgomery,” Claire said.

“That’s right. So, do all of you want to come over this weekend? We can make it a slumber party.” She tried to look serious, but the giggle in her voice gave her away. “Maybe we can have a séance.”

Rachel gave Claire and Harriet a look that said they’d better not refuse.

“Yes, we’d love to come,” Claire said. “Thank you.”

There was an awkward silence. “Look, we’re sorry about all that, before, you know,” Rachel said. “The whispering and all. It was rude.”

A car horn beeped. Megan glanced over her shoulder; her dad sat behind the wheel of their rental car, waving.

She turned back to the girls. If she was going to do this, make friends, she couldn’t hold a grudge. She swallowed her pride. “It’s okay. Forget it. That’s my dad over there, so I gotta go. I’ll let you know tomorrow about this weekend. It’ll be fun.”

Rachel smiled. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Megan ran to the car and opened the passenger side door. “Who were they, honey?” her dad asked.

“Just girls from school.”

“You’ve made some friends on the very first day? I knew you would.”

“Yeah, Dad, you were right again.” She settled her books on her lap. Suddenly things were looking up.

Her father pulled out of the St. Agatha’s driveway and pointed the car toward the manor. “By the way, I found out about our house today.”

“Is it haunted?” Megan asked, not sure if she was kidding or not.

“No, but it really is kind of a weird story, at least I thought so. I had to ask a bunch of people before I found one that knew. A secretary that’s been with the firm for thirty years. I had to pull it out of her—it was like she didn’t want to tell me. Anyway, she confirmed everything Bailey told us about Sir Gregory.”

“Uh-huh.” Megan was only half paying attention.

“It just so happens that my firm, way back when it was just a small family operation, helped him to finance many of his expeditions. It was a rather symbiotic relationship. That is to say, we invested in him and he delivered. He became one of our best clients.

“Over the years, Sir Gregory and Mr. Baird, who founded the firm, became good friends. They took vacations together, his family spent weekends here at the manor, that sort of thing.

“Sir Gregory had no family. His parents had died years earlier, and he had never married.”

“How sad,” Megan said, “to live in that big house all alone.” I can totally relate.

“When Sir Gregory died he left everything to the Baird family. The Bairds already had plenty of money and had several houses, but Mr. Baird would not sell this house. People made offers, good ones too I was told, but no sale. He always told his family he promised Sir Gregory he wouldn’t sell it, that he swore he would keep it safe, whatever that means.

“It has remained within the Baird family ever since. The firm is now owned by Mr. Baird’s grandson, and it was stipulated in his grandfather’s will that it’s not to be sold, ever. So it’s sat here empty for years. The staff was kept on to keep the up the house and the grounds. The firm has managed Sir Gregory’s estate well, so there’s plenty of money to pay them.”

He turned into The Parthenon’s drive and through the gates. “So that’s how we get to live in this great big house. Kind of cool, huh?”

Megan knitted her brows and watched the gigantic house grow bigger as they moved closer. “Yeah, I guess. But why was it empty for so long? Didn’t anyone else in the firm want to live here?”

“Don’t know. Come to think of it, when I asked the secretary she claimed she didn’t know either. I guess all the bigwigs at the firm have big houses already or live in the city and don’t want to be all the way out here. We needed a place to stay, so…”

“That’s interesting.” Megan thought back to the story Rachel, Claire and Harriet told her. “Oh, that reminds me. Dad, let me ask you something…”

Her father wholeheartedly agreed to the sleepover, and invited the girls to stay for the whole weekend.

Apparently standing up to the three girls had been exactly what they required in a friend. Her second day was certainly much better than her first. In class, there was a seat saved for her. She didn’t hear one giggle the entire day. Rachel told her to sit with them at lunch, and introduced her to a bunch of the other third-year students. She studied with Claire and Rachel during Professor Livingston’s tutoring sessions, and Harriet waved to Megan across the library or when the passed in the halls.

Wednesday she tried out for the Whitmore hockey team. Rachel was already on the team, and cheered for her during her tryout. The other girls who tried out were good, but Megan was better. She made the team easily.

Although Megan liked Claire and Harriet, she had the most in common with Rachel. Besides hockey, they liked the same music, they read the same books. At night, the two spent time they should have been using to do homework sending instant messages back and forth or talking on the phone.

By Friday, Megan was excited. She spent her study time writing a list of things she wanted to do, like staying up all night, telling scary stories and horseback riding.

She was also a little nervous. She had known the three girls less than a week, but it was long enough to know she liked hanging out with them. A weekend party like this could make or break their new, still-fragile friendship. With a sleepover, you got to know people much more intimately than at school or a regular party. You saw each other in your pajamas, for example, and found out who snored or drooled in their sleep. It was crucial that this first get-together go well.

She still missed her old friends—that kind of been through stuff, known them for forever, tell you deepest, darkest secrets to type of friendship. She crossed her fingers and hoped everything would go off without a hitch.

At six o’clock the doorbell rang. Megan hopped down the grand staircase and almost ran into Bailey opening the front door. Harriet and Claire came inside, each with a bag slung over one shoulder. The girls greeted Megan with a cheery hello.

“Where’s Rachel?” Megan asked.

Claire pushed up her glasses. “She told me to tell you she would be a few minutes late. She said she had to stop and pick up something for tonight.”

“Shall I take the young ladies’ things upstairs?” Bailey asked.

“No thanks, Bailey,” Megan said. “I think we can manage.” She waved the girls upstairs. “Come on, follow me.”

“Wait for me.” Rachel stuck her head in the door just before Bailey closed it. “Hallo all, sorry I’m late.” She wore a mysterious, slightly mischievous smile.

“Don’t worry, you’re not. Harriet and Claire just got here. We were just on our way upstairs.” There was a rectangular box under Rachel’s arm. “What’s that?”

Rachel patted the box. “I’ll show you later. Come on, let’s see your room.”

Megan led the girls upstairs, watching their awestruck expressions as they walked down the hallway. She could almost see their minds working, thinking about what they would tell their parents and classmates.

They entered Megan’s room.

“Wow,” Claire whispered. “You live in here all by yourself?”

“It’s brilliant.” Harriet set her bag on the floor. “I love the architecture, so grand yet unassuming.”

They put their things away and Megan gave her friends a tour of the house. She proudly pointed out all of the things she knew about each room, which were mostly things she had learned from Miranda. In the kitchen Maggie, The Parthenon’s plump, jolly Irish cook, gave them each a fresh sugar cookie, then scooted them out so she could finish preparing dinner.

Her father was in the study in the south wing, which had been outfitted with updated office equipment and turned into his home office. When Megan opened the door, he looked from his computer monitor and waved the girls inside. Megan introduced him to Claire, Rachel and Harriet.

“Come in, come in, girls, it’s nice to meet you. Make yourselves at home.” He bade the girls to sit in the chairs on the other side of the desk. “So, what do you think of our little country cottage? Good place for one of those English mystery stories, what do they call them…? Cozies, that’s it.”

The girls giggled in the polite way reserved for parents of friends. Harriet tossed her curls over her shoulder. “It’s lovely, Mr. Montgomery. Thank you for having us.”

“You are very welcome, any time,” he said.

Megan tried not to show how embarrassed she was by her dad’s weirdness. Do parents take a class on this stuff? “Yeah, okay, Dad, we’re gonna go back up to my room until dinner.”

“You girls have fun.” Her father was already staring again at his computer screen. “Maybe you’ll find some secret passageway behind a bookshelf or a skeleton in a closet.”

“Yeah, bye,” Megan said. I’m going to die. Right here, die of total embarrassment. My dad is such a dork.

Maggie outdid herself with dinner that night. Instead of a fancy gourmet meal, there was homemade pizza. The girls devoured it almost the second it hit the table.

Dessert, hot fudge sundaes with a choice of toppings, was served in an unused room of the south wing that Megan and her father had turned into a media room. Megan and her friends sat in front of a big screen television and watched movies. First they watched Megan’s favorite Audrey Hepburn movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

“I can’t believe I’ve never watched that before,” Harriet said. “It was really good.”

Rachel chuffed. “I would think you’d have been first in line to see a movie with ‘Tiffany’s’ in the title.”

Harriet put her nose in the air. “Ha ha.”

It was after one in the morning when the four girls trudged to Megan’s room. A fire crackled in the fireplace, inviting them in. None of the girls actually intended to sleep, but they all put on their pajamas and fluffy slippers and climbed up onto Megan’s gigantic bed.

Megan was pretty proud of herself—so far things were going well.

Rachel fetched the box she brought with her and set it in the middle of the bed. “I thought about what you said the other day.” She pulled the lid off the box. “About us having a séance. I thought it might be a lark, so I went out and got this.” She lifted a spirit board and pointer from the box.

“Rachel, we can’t,” Harriet squeaked. “Those things are black magic. My gran says that evil spirits work through them. They can possess you, or worse.”

Rachel choked back a laugh. “It’s not black magic, you git, it’s only a game.” She looked at Megan. “It’s your party. What do you say, Meg?”

Megan thought quickly—she didn’t want to choose one friend over the other. But she really wanted to do something besides paint her toenails and eat junk food. And it was her party, after all.

“I’ll get the lights.” She ran to her vanity and pulled some candles, little glass cups, and a butane lighter from a drawer. She kept these supplies because Bailey had warned her the power sometimes went out during storms. She lit the candles and handed one each to Claire and Harriet, then turned off the desk lamp and the chandelier.

“And I’ll be the medium.” Rachel rolled off the bed, went to her bag and rifled though it. She drew out a long blue scarf and tied it around her head, like a carnival gypsy.

She sat cross-legged on the bed and balanced one long side of the board on her knees. Megan put her knees under the other side. In the light from the fire and candles, Rachel’s face looked strange; shadows that shifted with the light fell into the hollows of her eyes and cheeks.

“Do you want to play, Claire?” Rachel asked.

“Sure, why not.” Claire squeezed in on one short end. “It’s just a game, after all. There’s no scientific proof of the existence of spirits and the like.”

“How about you, Harriet?” Megan teased. “Sure you don’t want to join in? Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise.”

Harriet shook her head violently. “No, thank you. You won’t get me to touch that thing. I’ll just watch if it’s all the same to you.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Suit yourself.”

An eerie quiet dropped over the room, leaving only the crackle of the fire. “Uh, Madame Rachel? What do we do now?” Megan whispered. She’d never used a spirit board before, despite having attending a number of slumber parties over the years. She didn’t even know anyone who had one.

“We need to put our fingertips on the pointer.” Rachel said loudly, breaking the spell the quiet weaved over them. Harriet jumped, but tried to cover it with a cool, calm look.

“She surprised me, okay?”

Rachel arched one eyebrow. “Yeah, Harriet, right.” She gave Megan and Claire a surreptitious look. “Someone needs to ask a question, and we’ll all concentrate on it.”

Megan, Rachel and Claire placed their fingertips on the pointer. “Who’s got a question for the spirits?” Rachel said in low, spooky tone. No one spoke up.

Rachel gave a mischievous smirk. “Fine, I’ll go first. Come on now, put your fingers on. Everyone ready? Okay then, here goes.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Who killed Sir Gregory Archibald?”

Megan snatched her fingers from the pointer. “Why would you ask that? That’s not funny.” Strange thoughts ran though her head.

I don’t know why I thought they wouldn’t bring it up. It’s the real reason they came, isn’t it? They probably just acted like my friends so they could get a peek inside my house, and brag about how they spent the night in the spook house. Has this all been a big joke?

She pushed the thought away. Maybe that had been the reason when she first invited them, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t anymore.

“Who was trying to be funny?” Rachel said. “It was an honest question.”

“Let’s not talk about it, okay?” Megan, trying not to show she was mad, laced her fingers together. “I looked it up in the school library yesterday. The newspaper obituary says that Sir Gregory died of a heart attack. Nobody killed him. He was in his eighties, for crying out loud, he had to die sometime. I already told you, there’s no ghost.”

“Sure, that’s what they say.” Harriet’s eyes were wild in the candlelight. “That’s what they want you to believe. What if someone poisoned him, making it look like a heart attack.”

Rachel shook her head slowly. “Nutter. Honestly. Sorry, Megan, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Harriet glared at Rachel, but said nothing.

“It doesn’t matter,” Claire said. She seemed nervous about the conversation; Megan wondered if Claire really did believe in ghosts. “He died, end of story. Who cares how? Let’s get back to the game. Someone ask a different question.”

“Good idea.” Megan was thankful for Claire and her sensible attitude.

The three girls put their fingertips back onto the pointer. A sudden, icy blast of wind swept through the room. The candles dimmed to nearly nothing, then went out. Only the light from the fire was left.

“Megan?” Harriet whispered. “Did you leave the balcony doors open?

“No, I didn’t. I made sure they were shut before we got in bed.”

Rachel laughed. “Come on girls, it was just wind. Probably came down the chimney.” She went to the fireplace.

“What are you doing?” Megan said. Rachel was on the hearth, doubled over and craning her neck trying to look up the chimney. Megan got off the bed, knelt beside her and put her head next to Rachel’s.

“Just looking up the flue to see if I can feel anything. Before Harriet starts blaming Sir Gregory’s ghost.”

Claire spun around on the bed to face the fireplace. “Do you even know what you’re looking at?”

“Of course,” Rachel said, not very convincingly. “But I can’t really see without putting my whole head in the fire. She stood up and dusted off her hands. “We’ll just relight the candles and make sure we keep them out of the draft.”

Megan pushed herself up. As she did, the hearthstone under her left hand moved, throwing her off balance. She fell forward, toward the flames. “Whoa! Help!”

Chapter Three: Book, Poem and Key

“Hey!” Rachel caught Megan by the arm just before she fell into the fire. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Rachel pulled Megan back, and she landed on the hearth, hard.

Megan was unable to catch her breath. Her hands shook, her heart raced, her chest felt tight, and—did she smell burnt hair? “Thanks,” she said between gulps of air. Rachel sat next to her.

“I couldn’t very well let you fly face first into the fire, now, could I? What was that all about? It’s not like you to be so ungraceful.”

“One of these stones came loose, and I lost my balance.” She could breathe now, but her voice still trembled. She waved Rachel aside and scooted herself backwards to get a better look at the gray hearthstones. They were all different sizes and shapes, held together by thick mortar.

“This one.” Megan touched the offending stone. The mortar around it was thinner than the others. She curled her fingers around the edges and pulled. The stone came away.

Rachel peered over Megan’s shoulder. “Hey, look, a hole.”

There was a space beneath the stone, about ten inches deep.

Rachel looked inside. “There’s something in there.” She reached into the hole and pulled out a rolled-up sheet of paper and a small book.

“What is it?” Harriet asked. She jumped down from the bed and sat on the floor next to Megan.

“Beats me.” Rachel unrolled the paper. A large brass key fell out and onto the floor with a clonk.

Megan picked it up, and the firelight painted it red and gold. She wondered what it opened.

“There’s something written inside the wrapping.” Rachel scanned the writing. “It’s a note.”

“Maybe it says what the key is for,” Claire said.

Rachel took the note to Megan’s desk and turned on the lamp. She sat in the chair and smoothed the paper on the surface.

Megan looked over Rachel’s shoulder at the note. Harriet and Claire crowded around Rachel.

“What’s it say?” Claire said.

“Give me a minute,” Rachel said. “Let me read it.”

Megan chewed on her thumbnail. This was unexpected, but exciting. A secret compartment in her room! She thought about the portrait by the stairs, of the young man with the mischievous grin. It made her stomach do a flip-flop. Maybe her father had been right, and there was a secret passage, too.

“It’s a poem,” Rachel said at last.

“A poem?” Claire said. “Why would someone hide a poem?”

Harriet wore a half-hearted grin. “Maybe they were a really bad poet?”

Rachel gave her a look. “I don’t know. But listen to this.”

She cleared her throat and read.

“From her father’s head

Born was she

Now she guards the door

For thee.

When night-bird falls

The way is clear

But be fair warned

There is much to fear

If still you enter and

wish to find

Sacred treasures that

Once were mine

Those tales of old

Will be your key

If unversed you are

Then trapped you will be.”

At the bottom of the page was drawn a small tree with branches extended, like a fruit tree.

“What do you suppose that means?” Harriet said.

“I haven’t the slightest.” Rachel sat back in the chair. “It’s not signed, so I don’t who wrote it. And it doesn’t say anything about what the key is for.”

“Ooo, a mystery,” Harriet said. “This is even better than my gran’s ghost story.”

“Let’s look at the book,” Megan said. Even if this all turned out to be nothing, it was something besides the same old slumber party stuff. Something for them to talk about at school on Monday.

She picked up the small, brown, leather-bound book. The cover was plain, with only the letters “G.A.” embossed in faded gold in the lower right-hand corner. On the back cover, in the center, was the same little tree as at the bottom of the poem. She flipped through the pages. Most of them were filled, all written in the same neat script. Some of the pages had detailed diagrams in addition to the writing.

Why do people hide their journals? To hide their secrets, perhaps? The thought made a chill run up her spine. She turned to the first page and read out loud.

16 April, 1940

Paris is beautiful! The streets are lined with exquisite buildings filled with elegant people. The Champs-Elysées, the Eiffel Tower, the cathedral of Notre Dame. And at night! It truly is the City of Lights. One would not know that war rages a mere few hundred miles from this pristine place.

Of course this trip was not for pleasure. I have made some purchases here to bring back to England, including several sculptures, a few pieces of furniture, and one painting. The painting was something of a surprise—discovered in a small curio shop in a tiny, quiet alley. Behind a pile of old books covered in dust lay this treasure. It is of young dancers at the practice barre, a gorgeous piece. I bought it for a mere pittance from the unsuspecting shopkeeper. I might have felt guilty if I had taken the time to think about it.

The subjects and style is unmistakably Degas. I will have to have it formally appraised when I return home, of course. But I don’t think I will sell it. I will keep it and hang it in my flat, as a reminder of this trip.

I have hope that the rest of the pieces will bring in enough money to help finance my first expedition. Of course I will still need the aid of the investors, but at least I will be able to pay for some of it. I cannot wait to see the Pyramids; to visit the tombs of the Pharaohs. We leave for Cairo in six months.

Megan read the passage again to herself. “I know that painting. It’s the one in the entrance hall. I admired it the day we got here. Miranda told me it’s a Degas.”

Claire pushed her glasses up her nose. “So then, this is Sir Gregory’s diary?”

Megan shrugged. “I guess so. Look at the initials. G.A.—Gregory Archibald.”

“I think it’s all perfectly creepy,” Harriet said. “Who hides their journal like that?”

“Obviously, Sir Gregory did.” Rachel chuffed. “Read some more, Megan, maybe there’s something juicier later on.”

“Like a secret affair,” Harriet added.

Megan flopped in the middle of the bed and flipped the journal open to a random page.

25 August, 1941:

While the war in Europe rages on, I have found a new love. The island country of Greece calls out to me from every ruin, every column. The archaeological, mythological and philosophical history all run so deep and are so rich that one could study for a thousand lifetimes and barely scratch the surface. Although I know I must return home, I also must find a way to come back as soon as possible. Hitler and his armies are headed toward this island, waging a swath of destruction as they come. He will ravage this land and its people, just as he has done to France, Poland and much of the continent.

It is rumored that the Fürer has been scouring the continent collecting archeological and occult artifacts. Why he is doing this, no one knows. I must try and take as many precious things from here as I can, to save it from this madman.

I also feel that I am close to unearthing something truly amazing. We are digging near the Parthenon, the temple of Athena, the goddess of wisdom. Yesterday we found a winding tunnel running beneath the temple. The tunnel is carefully constructed to be confusing to anyone what might wander in, but there is a clever pattern to it. Once I discovered the secret, it was very simple to find the way.

The tunnel leads to a dead-end in front of a stone door. There is an inscription on the door, and the door itself is sealed. I have not been able to translate the entire inscription yet, but I have copied it down and will continue to work on it. If I cannot gain entrance before it is time to depart, I will hide the tunnel. If what I think is inside, the Nazis must not be allowed to enter. If they were to get their hands on it…the consequences are too great to think about.

I must get inside that chamber. If not, I must return as soon as possible.

Beneath the entry was written a cluster of strange looking letters and symbols.

Beware! The crown of knowledge

is not to be sought without temperance.

Megan chewed the inside of her cheek. She turned the book on its side and upside down to try and decipher the strange letters, but couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It wasn’t any language she had ever seen before. She scanned the next few entries, looking for a translation of the inscription, but the next pages were dedicated to a trip to China and something called the Mirror of Yu-Huang. The door and what lay behind it were not mentioned again.

“Wow, he must have been all over the world,” Rachel said. “How exciting. I’ve always wanted to go off on an adventure. Read another one, Megan.”

Megan read to them, following Sir Gregory on trips to Egypt, India, and Scandinavia. In every one he mentioned something he had discovered or was looking for. His words conjured vivid images in Megan’s mind—she felt like she was right there, digging in the hot sands of Egypt and the cold earth of Norway.

There were also pages and pages of transcripts of conversations Sir Gregory had with the people in each place he visited. They were strange; they weren’t historical or archaeological, many were just folktales or local legends. One, if Megan read it correctly, appeared to be a home remedy for indigestion after being possessed by the spirit of a mongoose.

“Weird,” Harriet said. “And boring. No secret affair or anything.”

“Yeah, and I still haven’t heard anything that would warrant him hiding his journal away,” Claire said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Maybe he just didn’t want people snooping in his business.”

“What about the poem, then?” Claire replied. Rachel shrugged.

Megan ran her fingers along the side of the book, flipping the pages like a deck of cards being shuffled and thinking. Claire was right; it didn’t make any sense. And Harriet thought it was boring. That wasn’t good. Her new friends may have had other reasons for coming here, namely to see if her house was haunted, but she certainly wasn’t going to let them be bored.

She stopped flipping and looked at where she stopped. The handwriting was sloppy, the ink blotched in places, like it was written in a hurry. She skimmed it, but was soon going back to read it more carefully.

23 November, 1952

The ancient magic has been revealed to me. After years of searching I have finally discovered the book that until now I thought was mere legend. The method, known only as The Art, is what I have been searching much of my life for. It is complicated and possibly dangerous, but I must continue with the plan I have put in motion. Now that I have collected at least some of the items, they will be hidden in such a way that those who seek to exploit them will not be able to find them even if they know where to look. The Library will be their resting place, until another comes to claim them.

I can only hope that this effort will be enough to keep them safe.

It wasn’t written on the last page in the book, but it was the last entry in the journal.

“Hey, girls, listen to this one.” She read the passage aloud.

“A legendary book, spells and ancient magic?” Harriet said softly. “I had no idea he was into magic. None of the stories ever said that. No wonder his ghost still haunts the place.”

“Oh, stop it, Harriet. Magic, really. It’s obvious that at some point he went off his rocker,” Rachel said.

“What do you think it means?” Claire said.

Megan tapped her fingers on the page. Weird. Sir Gregory seemed like such a together kind of guy. Smart, respected. Even if he did write about getting rid of indigestion after being possessed by the spirit of a mongoose. So why did he write about something so out there as magic? Magic wasn’t real. “I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the poem?”

Rachel held up the poem. “Do you think he wrote this?”

Megan held her hands out to Rachel. “Well, let’s look. Hand me the poem.” She put the poem next to the open journal entry. “Look at the handwriting. It’s the same, even the same color ink.” She flipped the book over. “Look here, and here. The same mark. He definitely wrote both.”

Megan studied the poem; rather, the page the poem was written on. “I think this page has been torn out of the journal.” She turned to the very back of the diary. A small border of ragged edges ran along the spine.

“A page has been torn out.” She took the poem and placed it into the book, next to the ragged edge. It was a perfect fit.

Harriet put a hand on her hip. “So Sir Gregory wrote the poem. But what does it mean?”

Megan scanned the page, her brow furrowed. “I think it’s a riddle.”

“A riddle? Whatever for?” Harriet said.

“It might be a clue to where he hid whatever he was talking about in that last entry.” Megan flipped to the page in the journal. “See? He collected items. ‘They will be hidden’, ‘The Library will be their final resting place’. ”

“What items do you think he was talking about, then?” Rachel said. “He collected tons of stuff.”

“I don’t have any ideas about what,” Megan said. She read over the passage again, and one word jumped out at her. “But I know where we should start looking.”

“Oh yeah?” Rachel quipped. “Just where, do you propose, we begin our little adventure?”

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Megan called.

The door opened and Megan’s father’s head appeared. “You girls still awake?”

“Yeah, Dad. We were just um, uh…”

“We were playing with this spirit board, Mr. Montgomery,” Rachel said. “You know, asking the spirits about boys we like and all that.”

He looked uncomfortable. “Ah, well, okay, but don’t stay up too much longer. You girls need your rest.”

“We won’t, Dad, promise. Good night.”

“Good night, girls.”

When her father had gone, Megan looked at Rachel. “Asking the spirits about boys?”

Rachel burst out laughing. “I had to say something he’d believe and that would get him out quickly.”

Harriet yawned. “This has been thrilling, really, but now I can’t keep my eyes open. It’s time to go to sleep, don’t you all agree?”

“I’m too wired to sleep,” Megan said. Things were working out even better than she could have planned. This was certainly the first mystery sleepover she had ever been to. She was going to be so popular after tonight, especially if they actually found something. She wasn’t expecting anything big, but poking around this big old house in the dark could prove to be fun. Certainly better than ghost stories and phony séances, and definitely not boring. She was going to milk this for all it was worth.

Rachel nodded. “Me too. So where do we start?”

“Downstairs.” She pointed to the open journal. “In the library.”

* * *

Once they were sure Megan’s father was in bed and asleep, the four girls crept down the stairs, Meg in front with a flashlight. She swept the light over the statue on the landing, and up the opposite stair. Empty.

They tiptoed through the entrance hall and into the lounge. It was eerily quiet as they stole through the drawing room; the dying embers of the fire glowed in the hearth like the eyes of strange nocturnal animals.

Megan cringed with every creak and squeak of the floorboards. She didn’t know why she was so nervous—she lived here, after all, and it was her party. Not like she was sneaking out or anything. Still, she didn’t want to have to explain their walking around the house in the middle of the night. Especially if Bailey, for whatever reason, was also up and about. Her father she could handle, Maggie, no problem, even Miranda didn’t faze her, but that butler always seemed to make Megan tongue-tied.

They reached the south wing. There were four doors. At the far end of the hall were her father’s study and a small bathroom. The third was the media room. Megan opened the fourth. Behind the door was a dim, musty library. The large room held a series of floor-to-ceiling bookcases, arranged in neat rows, their ends facing the door. A ladder was attached to each, and they had wheels on the bottom that rolled on the floor, and two at the top that slid along the shelves. The musty, musky smell of old books filled Megan’s nose.

She and Rachel ran to the windows and drew the drapes closed. Harriet clicked on the lights. The soft glow threw their shadows, long and strangely shaped, onto the bookshelves and the floor.

“I found this room the weekend after we moved in,” Megan said in a hoarse whisper. “I haven’t really looked, though, so I don’t know what’s here. But it’s the only library I could think of.”

Claire put Sir Gregory’s journal on one of the reading tables. “Just in case we need to look at it again,” she said when Harriet asked why she bothered to bring it along.

“Let’s spread out,” Rachel said. “Claire, you and Megan take those shelves over there. Harriet and I will look through these.”

“What are we looking for?” Harriet bent down to look at the bottom shelf of the bookcase to her right.

“A book on magic, maybe?” Megan took a book off the shelf. “Or maybe ancient stories, or archaeological treasures or something?”

“Well, now that narrows it down a bit, doesn’t it.” Claire climbed the roll-along ladder and looked at the first few books on the top shelf. “Most of these books are about some sort of archaeological find, or folk tales, or myths.”

“Greek Mythology, Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Egypt, Folktales of Imperial China?” Rachel read aloud as she ran her finger along the spines of the books. “Weird books.”

“Probably not strange for an archaeologist,” Claire said.

“Not all of them are about that stuff.” Megan glanced at the books on the shelf she was searching. “Some of them are about art and antiques. We can rule those out right away, don’t you think?”

“Not if we’re looking for a book about something called The Art,” Rachel said. “Remember?”

“Good point.”

Megan didn’t find anything on the first shelf, so she went to another. Here the books were of a more scientific bent, like The Principles of Archaeology, and several issues of a magazine called Archaeology Today. Another shelf held nothing but books about famous artists and art collecting. But nothing about magic, and nothing called The Art.

If it was so important to him he probably wouldn’t leave it out in the open. If Sir Gregory hid the diary so well, he wouldn’t leave whatever she was looking for to be picked up so readily. The Art? Maybe there’s something tucked between the pages of some book about art? She went back to art books and flipped through some of them. Nothing. She stepped down to the next shelf; all history books.

“Do you think we’re really looking a book, or is the book just a key?” Rachel said. She finished with the top shelf and stepped down to the next. “You know, like in those hokey old movies—we pull the right book and we’ll find a secret passage.”

Megan shrugged. “We already have a key, so I don’t think so. Let’s just see what we find.”

She skimmed the history shelf titles, but nothing jumped out at her. She looked around her—there were hundreds, if not thousands, of books in this room.

This is going to take days.

Maybe there was something else in the journal that could help them. She laid it open on the table and turned to the mysterious final entry. It didn’t help. She still couldn’t understand what it meant.

This is hopeless. I must be insane to think I could figure this out. Of course I’m insane, I’m entertaining my guests by raiding a library in the middle of the night, looking through books for some wacky old archaeologist’s secrets. Why did I think this was a good idea again? Some party. They’re going to go back to school on Monday and tell everyone how wretched a hostess I am. I’ll be a pariah, and Dad will have to send me back to New York.

Megan watched her friends. They seemed to be having a good time. The thought of leaving them suddenly struck her as painful. This place, these girls, had grown on her in just a week. Tears pricked in her eyes. She rubbed them; she was tired, that was all. She laid her head on the book. The page stuck to her head. She carefully peeled it off, and it flipped to the back of the last entry. There was something on the other side, written on the very bottom. Megan squinted at it, almost touched her nose to the page, but it was too small to make out. “Hey, what’s that?”

There was a magnifying glass on the next table. She held it over the ink, and the words came into focus. There were only two short sentences.

Knowledge is the key to all. Athena guards the way.

She called Rachel, Claire and Harriet over to look.

“Do you think that’s important?” Rachel said.

“Athena guards the way,” Claire said. “I don’t know if it’s important, but it’s interesting.”

“Why?” Harriet said. “Sounds like more gibberish to me.”

“No, it’s not. In fact…where is the poem?”

Megan pulled it out of the back of the diary and handed it to Claire.

“Just as I thought. Athena.”

“Uh, mind letting the rest of us in on the big secret,” Rachel said.

Claire pushed her glasses up her nose. “Athena was the daughter of Zeus, the ‘father’ of all Greek gods. She was born when Zeus had a splitting headache, literally. She jumped out of his split skull.”

Harriet wrinkled her nose. “Ewww. Nasty.”

Claire continued. “So the ‘from father’s head, born was she’, refers to Athena’s birth. Add that to ‘Now she guards the door for thee’ and ‘Athena guards the way’, and it’s pretty much a lock.”

“This is giving me a headache,” Harriet said. “Can’t we just go to bed?”

“Athena guards the way—to what?” Megan said. “Maybe we’re looking for something that Athena is known for?” Megan jumped up and grabbed a book from one of the shelves. “Here’s an index of Greek gods.” She brought the book over to one of the reading tables and they all sat around.

Megan opened the book, peeked at the index in the back of the book, found a listing for Athena, and then found the page. “Athena is the virgin goddess of wisdom, arts and literature. She was born out of the head of Zeus, her father, after he swallowed Metis, her mother. Ick.”

“I told you that already,” Claire said.

“Yeah, and it doesn’t make the visual any less gross.” Megan scanned the page. “She was Zeus’s favorite child. She is the patron goddess of Athens, and represents the intellectual and civilized side of war and knowledge. Her symbols include the olive tree, sun, lance and the number seven. Sacred to her are the serpent, crow and owl.” Megan thought about tree symbol on both the poem and the diary. If it was an olive tree, maybe that’s what they were looking for?

“Well that’s not much help,” Rachel said.

Megan shut the book. “Okay, then, back to searching.”

After three more hours, the four girls were exhausted. They had each taken several dozen books from the shelves and looked through them in anticipation, only to return them, disappointed. There was nothing else to help them figure out the riddle, and none of the books triggered a door to a secret passage.

“We might as well stop looking.” Rachel held the back of her hand over her mouth to stifle a yawn. “Whatever we’re supposed to find, it’s not here.” She put the book she had been looking through back on the shelf. “Besides, it’s going to be light soon, and I’m exhausted.”

The girls put the library to rights and re-opened the curtains. The sky was still dark. Megan looked at her watch. Rachel was right, though, it would be light soon. They had about forty-five minutes before the household would start their day, more than enough time to sneak back upstairs.

Rachel closed the library door behind them and the girls slipped through the house. Back in her room, Megan stashed the diary and the poem in her desk drawer, and put the key on the ring with her house keys. “We’ll work on it later.”

There was no answer. Her friends were sprawled across her bed. All three were asleep. Megan tiptoed across the room, and Rachel let out a long, resounding snore. Claire muttered something about wanting to go horseback riding.

“Okay,” Megan whispered, and laughed quietly. She pulled off her bathrobe and threw it on the floor. “But first we should get some sleep, I think.”

She pushed Harriet to the middle of the bed, climbed in next to her, pulled up the covers and closed her eyes.

Chapter Four: The Plot Thickens

Knocking. Megan peeled her eyes open, despite their efforts to the contrary. Bright light streamed through the long windows. It hit Megan directly in the face. With a hand over her eyes, she called out. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Meg,” her father said. “Are you girls going to sleep all day?”

Megan squinted at the clock on the bedside table. It was nearly noon. “Uh, no, Dad.” She sat up straight, and accidentally kicked Rachel, who lay across the foot of the bed. Rachel didn’t move. “We’re getting up now.”

“Okay, then. I would hate for the scrumptious-looking lunch Maggie made to go to waste. You missed a good breakfast already. I’ll see you down there?”

Megan glanced at her three friends, still sleeping soundly. The events of the previous night crept through her foggy thoughts. In the light of day, the thought of a mysterious secret hidden in this house seemed almost silly.

“Meg? You didn’t go back to sleep, did you?”

“No. Okay, Dad. We’ll be down.” She listened to her father’s footsteps fall away, then threw off the covers and shook her friends awake.

“What’s going on?” Harriet mumbled. Her eyes were barely open, her normally perfect, shiny blonde curls knotted and mussed.

“It’s time to get up,” Megan called on her way to the bathroom.

The girls quickly dressed and met Megan’s father in the dining room for lunch. Maggie had left a buffet spread of cold meats, cheeses, and fresh fruit. When Mr. Montgomery asked why the girls had slept so late, Rachel told him that after his visit they had scared each other with ghost stories and hadn’t fallen asleep until almost dawn.

Full and more awake, they said goodbye to Megan’s father and walked to the stables.

“Do you still want to ride today?” Rachel fed a stump of carrot to Annabelle, the chestnut mare Stephan had picked out for her to ride. “We could be working on the poem instead.”

Megan pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of her jeans. “We can do both. There’s a nice, private place we can go where no one will bother us. Besides if we stay locked up in my room on a day like this, my dad will be suspicious.”

A warm breeze, the last of summer’s breath, blew across the girls’ faces as they followed a narrow track that led across the rolling green meadow that lay beyond the well-kept, formal lawn.

It was so quiet, so peaceful; Megan could almost believe that they were the only people in the world. She wondered if Sir Gregory had ever been out here, on a horse or walking, and if he had felt the same peaceful feeling she had now. The meadow turned into a wood, and the path continued between the trees.

Harriet rode beside her, her face lifted toward the sun. “It’s such a beautiful day. Are we really going to waste it working out that poem?”

“It won’t be a waste.” Claire said. She rode next to Rachel, behind them, and didn’t seem to be very comfortable in the saddle. “I think whatever is hidden inside the house is really worth looking for.”

“Like what?” Harriet shook her head, and the sun’s rays bounced off her golden hair. “Clay pots? Or perhaps something more gruesome, like a dried up old mummy?”

Claire adjusted her glasses. “Sacred treasures.”

Megan looked at her. “What did you say?”

“Sacred treasures,” Claire repeated. “It’s in the second part of the poem. ‘If still you enter and wish to find, sacred treasures that once were mine.’ I think this really could lead to wherever he hid whatever it was he was talking about in that last journal entry.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure I’m not interested,” Harriet said. “I’m just happy there’s no ghost. We would have seen it last night if there were. Can’t we just go shopping?”

Rachel gave Harriet an annoyed look. “So lame.” She looked at Claire and Megan. “Let’s not worry about what it is. It won’t matter unless we find out where it is.”

Megan rubbed her hands over her face and yawned. The thought of just lying in the sun and napping was tempting. After all, whatever it was had been there a long time, what would another few hours hurt? But Rachel and Claire were clearly excited, although for different reasons. She didn’t want to disappoint them—a good hostess looked after her guest’s needs, right? She remembered her mother saying that to her once. She was determined to show her guests a good time, even more so after last night’s failed midnight adventure.

“Good point, Rache,” Megan said. “But we’re clueless so far.”

“I think the first part of the poem is most important,” Claire said. “We’ve already figured out the first few lines refer to Athena. That also fits in with the notation in the diary. Then there’s the mention of a library. But…”

“It’s not in the library here, that’s for sure,” Megan finished.

“Exactly. So maybe we’re looking for something else that related to Athena.”

“Like what?” Rachel plucked a leaf from a tree as she passed. “Archibald had kind of a thing for the Greeks, in case you didn’t notice.”

“And we still haven’t figured out what the night-bird thing means,” Megan said.

Claire looked over the top of her glasses at Rachel. “I was getting to that. What birds come out at night?”

“Nightingales,” Harriet said dreamily. “They sing so prettily.”

“Or owls,” Megan said. “There’s one in the barn. I hear it sometimes, chasing mice or whatever else it can find in there in the middle of the night.”

“And the owl is sacred to Athena,” Rachel said. “I remember that from the book last night.”

Claire nodded. “That’s why it’s used so much in academics to symbolize wisdom.”

“And what about it?” Harriet leaned back her saddle and looked at the sky. “Are we supposed to wait for some bloody owl to just drop dead and fall out of its tree? Or do we search every carved and painted owl in that huge house? I’m confused, are we looking for a goddess or an owl, now? Maybe what we’re looking for isn’t even in the house anymore? Did you think of that?” She gave a dramatic, breathy sigh. “I’m tired of this, let’s do something else.”

The path led them to a clearing beside a fast-moving stream with a grassy bank.

Megan slid from her saddle. “Here we are.”

They tied up the horses and let them graze.

Harriet flopped onto the grass. “Okay, can we please stop talking about that stupid poem now? Let’s have some fun, already.”

“I agree.” Rachel stripped off her shoes and socks. She rolled up the bottoms of her jeans and waded into the steam. “It’s so cold.” She shivered and crossed her arms over her chest. “But it feels good. Come on.”

Megan pulled her pants up to her knees and dipped a toe into the water. It wasn’t cold—it was freezing.

“Come on, tough girl,” Rachel teased. “Step in.”

Megan pulled her foot back and kicked water at her. Soon all four girls were in the water, splashing and screaming. They were quickly soaked and shivering. They climbed onto the bank, wrapped themselves in the horses’ blankets and lay on the grass to dry in the sun. They gossiped about teachers, about classmates, about boys; just four girls talking about normal things. Megan forgot for the moment about wanting to go back to New York.

It was late afternoon when they mounted up and rode back to the stable. They rubbed the horses down and helped the stable hands to feed them, then traipsed, tired and still a bit damp, into the house to clean up before dinner.

They met Bailey and his ever-present feather duster in the hall outside of Megan’s room. Each girl gave him a polite hello, to which he said nothing, but acknowledged with a slight nod of his head.

“He’s a bit of an odd duck, isn’t he?” Harriet whispered when he was out of sight.

“Yeah, he freaks me out.” Megan pushed open the door to her room. “Just the looks he gives, makes me wonder what I’ve done wrong. But he’s harmless. I hardly notice he’s around most of the time.”

Rachel tossed her jacket on the bed. “Uh, Megan. Did you leave the desk drawer open?”

Megan’s stomach dropped when she saw the desk. “No, I didn’t. I shut it when I took the poem out, I know I did.” She ran to the desk, and the sinking feeling turned into panic.

The drawer wasn’t closed any more.

“Open it, Megan,” Rachel said.

Megan, hands trembling, feeling sick, reached out and ripped the drawer open.

The journal was gone.

Chapter Five: The Library of Athena

“What do you mean, gone?” Claire’s voice was higher than normal. “Who took it?”

Megan slammed the drawer closed, her heart sinking. “Whoever it was had to know what it was. I mean, it could have been my diary, right? Then they wouldn’t have taken it. So they definitely know it wasn’t.”

“It had to have been Bailey,” Rachel said. “We saw him right outside this room.”

“But we didn’t see him actually coming out of here,” Harriet said from her perch on the bed.

“She’s right,” Claire agreed. “There’s no proof it was him.”

“It could have been any of the staff.” Megan sat in the desk chair and leaned her head on her hand. “At least we still have the poem and the key.” She threw the brass key onto the desk, where it made a sad clunk.

“Yeah, and we need to keep a careful watch on them,” Rachel said. “Give me the key.”

Megan wondered what Rachel had in mind, but handed it over. Rachel tucked it into the front pocket of her jeans.

“And Meg will hold onto the poem. That way if someone finds them, they’ll only find one and not the other.”

“Unless someone kidnaps you both and searches your pockets,” Harriet said.

“Thanks. Thank you for your good cheer,” Rachel replied with a touch of snark. “It’s better than nothing.”

Claire sat on the bed and crossed her legs. “Harriet has a point, though. If we do lose one, both are pretty useless.”

“So I guess we’ll just have to make sure we hold onto them,” Rachel said.

Once again Maggie fed them well, this time with a feast of Mexican cuisine—soft tacos and refried beans. After dessert, the girls watched another movie, Claire’s selection, with Megan’s dad. Afterwards, he said goodnight, and the girls raced to Megan’s room. With the door locked, they gathered around the desk.

Her school books sat in a pile on one end of the desk. She plucked out her Literature book. She opened to the section on Greek mythology.

“Oh, come on, Megan,” Rachel moaned. “This is the weekend. I don’t want to think about schoolwork.”

“It’s not schoolwork. It’s research. Sir Gregory obviously liked Greek mythology, so maybe we should at least look at them. Listen to some of these.”

The girls took turns reading some of the stories out loud. It didn’t help solve the riddle, but it was entertaining.

“Wow,” Rachel said after reading the Twelve Tasks of Hercules. “Some of these are pretty intense. Bet you couldn’t get them on the telly. Well, you could, but not network.”

“We should get back to working on the poem,” Claire said. “Since the library was a bust, and we don’t have the journal anymore, let’s see what we can find out about Sir Gregory.”

Megan shut the book and logged onto the Internet. Into the search engine she typed “Sir Gregory Archibald”, and hit Enter. Several links popped up on the screen.

Claire scanned them over the top of her glasses. “None of these look very useful. Most of them are press releases or articles about his art collection or things that he donated to the British Museum.” She leaned in front of Megan, her short brown hair falling on either side of her face, and typed something.

“What did you do?” Megan asked. Claire stood and she looked over the new set of links. They were all about Ancient Greece.

“If we can’t find out about the man,” Claire said with a satisfied air. “We’ll just have to learn about his work. Perhaps the answer is there somewhere.”

Rachel clucked her tongue. “All this research. Can’t we just go back to searching the house? That’s much more fun.”

Harriet maintained her earlier position. “Can’t we just forget about it? Nothing we’ve done has led anywhere, and I don’t want to spend another night creeping around in the dark or with my nose in some book.”

“Still afraid of ghosts?” Megan said with a smirk.

Harriet shifted uncomfortably. “No, I just don’t want to lose any more sleep over this wild goose chase. Besides, someone’s already stolen the diary. That tells me that whatever the secret is, someone wants to make sure it stays that way. What if they try to find out what we know, and stop us if we get too close? It could be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Ha!” Rachel flapped a hand at Harriet. “This is more fun than sitting up all night telling silly stories, or painting our toenails, or some such nonsense, isn’t it? I think the four of us can handle one old butler, don’t you?”

Harriet gave Rachel a cockeyed look, put her nose in the air and, with a huff, went to the bed and plopped herself on it. She pulled the latest issue of Hello! magazine out of her bag and silently paged through it.

Megan bit back a laugh as she turned back to the computer screen. She was having a great time trying to solve the mystery; she agreed one hundred percent with Rachel. It was obvious Rachel and Claire were on board, willing to see this through to the end. But what Harriet said nagged her. What if she was right, and this was more than just fun? They had no idea who they were dealing with; whoever it was obviously wanted to put the girls off the track. What were they willing to do to stop Megan and her friends? They would have to be careful.

She typed in a new search. A site dedicated to Athena came up. There was a list of sites of the goddess’s temples in Greece, the myths she played parts in, and pictures of various statues. One caught Megan’s eye. She clicked on it, and a photo filled the screen.

“Hey, that looks like the statue downstairs,” Rachel said.

It was like someone threw a switch in Megan’s brain. Bailey’s voice echoed in her head. Something he said to her and her father the day they arrived. It danced at the edge of her thoughts—there was something there, she just had to reach out and grab it…

“I’ve got it!”

The other girls jumped. Megan’s face was flushed with excitement. She was certain this was the answer. If it wasn’t, she’d forget all about Sir Gregory and his secret.

“I know what the poem is talking about. It’s so simple.”

“What are you going on about?” Rachel said.

Megan danced in her seat. She wanted to make them wait. “You’ll see. We’re going to have to go back downstairs.”

Claire glanced at the clock on the computer screen. “Do you think your Dad’s in bed yet?”

“I hope so.” She logged off and spun around in the chair. Harriet had drifted off, face down in the magazine, soft snores coming from under the cascade of blonde hair spread out around her.

“Should we wake her up?” Rachel covered her mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Yeah, probably,” Megan said. “As much as she complains, she might get mad if we leave her behind. Especially if we find anything.”

Rachel, Claire, Megan, and a grumpy-but-willing Harriet changed into stealth attire; dark-colored pants and long-sleeved shirts. They pulled their hair into ponytails (except for Claire, whose hair was too short) to keep it out of their way. Megan dug through the bottom drawer of her dresser and pulled out the flashlight.

Quickly and quietly, Megan crept down the hall to check on her father. The door to his bedroom was shut; Megan heard the muffled sounds of the TV. She pressed her ear to the door. Snores that reminded Megan of a rusty saw told her that he was in for the night. Her father was nothing if not predictable. She went back to her room and poked her head inside.

“All clear,” Megan whispered. She beckoned her friends with the flashlight. “Let’s go.” She walked toward the stairs with Claire, Harriet and Rachel following in her wake.

Without a word, Megan led them down the stairs and past the landing. Halfway down the steps that led to the entrance hall, she turned around and faced her friends.

“There it is.” She pointed past the girls and up the stairs.

“There what is?” Harriet turned and tried to see in the dark. “What are you playing at?”

Megan marched back up the stairs and stopped on the landing. “The answer is right here. We’ve walked right past it at least a dozen times this weekend.”

Rachel shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Realization dawned on Claire’s face. She pointed to the statue of Athena. “Her. That’s the answer. This Athena. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Harriet gestured toward the statue. “Will you please explain to me what this statue has to do with the library?”

“I don’t know, but it does have to do with the poem and the little note in the diary. And the poem is about whatever Sir Gregory is hiding,” Megan said. “Look, we know the first lines are about Athena, right? We all thought it must mean a book about Athena. The library reference in the diary threw us off. But that little notation could be right on. They’re talking about this statue. She guards the way.”

Harriet shook her head. “I don’t know. Why would he put it out in plain sight like that?”

“Sometimes the best place to hide something is in plain sight,” Rachel said thoughtfully. “Without the poem or the diary, no one would suspect, would they?”

Megan’s excitement was in her voice. “Bailey said that this statue was Sir Gregory’s favorite—his pride and joy. And the next part of the poem fits too. ‘When night-bird falls, the way is clear’. Look at her arm.”

They all looked up at the statue. Claire smacked herself in the head. “Of course. I am such a dolt. This must be what he was talking about.” She reached up and touched the owl perched in Athena’s right hand. “When night-bird falls…”

“So, here’s the night-bird,” Harriet said. “At least we were right about that part, looking for an owl. What about the ‘falling’ part?”

Megan already had a plan in mind. “Here, hold this.” She handed the flashlight to Rachel, grabbed onto the owl with both hands, and pulled down. Nothing happened. “Maybe I just need a little more weight.” She lifted her feet off the ground, but the marble arm didn’t budge.

“Let me try,” Rachel said. She pulled on the arm, her muscles straining, but to no avail.

“This has got to be it,” said Megan. “We just have to figure out how to make it work.” Her nerves were on edge, she knew they were close. They had gotten this far, they couldn’t fail now.

Harriet stepped up to Athena; she focused on the end of the figure’s arm. “Maybe you only have to pull on the owl?” She reached up and tugged on the owl’s head. There was a grinding sound, and the statue’s wrist, along with the owl, spun around until the bird was upside down.

“Way to go, Harriet.” Megan clapped her on the shoulder.

Harriet shrugged. “It just made sense.”

“Okay, now what?” Rachel took the flashlight from Megan and shone it up and down the statue. “I don’t see a door or a secret compartment or anything. Shouldn’t the treasure be inside the statue or something?” She handed the light back to Megan.

“The poem said she guards the door and the way would be clear.” Claire pushed up her glasses. “But I don’t think it meant in the middle of the night with only a flashlight to see by. Let’s look around a bit.”

Claire and Rachel each took a branch of the staircase and ran their hands along the wall, looking for a hidden door. Megan shone the light along the floor.

Harriet went behind the statue. “It’s terribly dark back here. Megan, would you be a love and bring ’round the flashlight so I can see?”

Megan stopped. “Harriet, what did you say?”

“I said, bring the flashlight over here so that I can see better, please.”

Her voice sounded strange, like she was speaking into a coffee can. Megan peered around the statue and shone the light onto Harriet and the wall beside her. Her breath caught in her throat. A narrow opening, just big enough for one person to slip through, revealed a set of stone steps that wound down into the dark.

“I didn’t even see that there,” Harriet said. “Lucky I didn’t fall down and break my neck.”

Megan called Rachel and Claire and they each took a turn peering into the dark opening. Megan perched on the top step. How long had it been since someone walked down these stairs, or even looked at them? A secret staircase was beyond anything she could have hoped to find. She fought the urge to race to the bottom.

“I’m going down,” she said. “Who’s coming with me?”

“You don’t know what’s down there,” Harriet whispered. “It could be anything. It could be booby-trapped, for all you know.”

Rachel chuffed. “I don’t think the bogey man is going to jump out at you. It looks perfectly safe. We’re coming too, Megan.” She grabbed Harriet’s hand. “All of us.”

The girls followed Megan, single-file down the narrow stairs. The gray stone was smooth and slightly damp, which made it slippery, even in sneakers. Megan held the flashlight in front of her with one hand and used the other to steady herself on the wall.

The stairs continued down, down, down, with no sign of ending. How deep beneath the house were they? She kept going, counting each one, and lost count as she passed the hundredth step. Finally the light fell onto a flat stone floor and open space.

“We’re here.” Megan stood to one side and trained the light on the bottom steps so that her friends could safely see their way down.

“And just where is here?” Rachel peered into the dark. “I can’t see a thing.”

Megan moved the light around. It bounced off a wall, also made of stone, about fifteen feet away. “I’m not sure. Looks like just an empty room.”

“No way did we come all the way down here for an empty room,” Harriet said. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Hold your horses,” Megan said. “Let me take a look.”

There were three solid walls. The fourth, to the left of the stair, contained an arch that opened into a larger, darker space. Megan looked above her, but couldn’t make out a ceiling.

“I’m not sure we should be here,” Harriet said directly into Megan’s ear. “Let’s go back.”

“Don’t you dare, scaredy-cat,” Rachel threatened. “What if someone sees you? Then everyone will know we found this place. Remember, someone stole that diary. What would they do if they knew we were down here?”

“I agree,” Megan said. “Besides, there’s safety in numbers, so let’s stick together.” She swung the light through the arch and into the next room, then walked forward, confident and anxious all at once. There was an audible click, and one of the stones sunk beneath her foot. “Uh oh.”

“What ‘uh oh’?” Claire said, anxious.

Megan looked over her shoulder; all three of her friends stood directly behind her.

“I think I set off some sort of trap. This stone just moved. You guys better back up, right now.”

“Booby-trapped. I told you so.” Harriet shot up the staircase. Rachel and Claire took three long steps backward and pressed themselves against the back wall.

Megan held her breath and waited for the trap to be sprung. She imagined poison darts coming from the wall beside her and finding her neck, or a spray of some gas that would kill her. She took a deep breath and slowly lifted her foot.

There was another click. Torches, in brackets on the walls, flared to life. Megan caught the smell of natural gas, like when she used to light the stove in her old apartment. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, her chin coming to rest on her chest. “It’s okay. I’m all right.”

Harriet peeked around the curve of the staircase. “All clear?”

“Yes, sissy,” Rachel said.

Harriet came back down. Claire’s face was pale and shiny with sweat; she looked like she might faint. Rachel pushed herself away from the wall, ran to Megan and hugged her tight. With their arms around each other’s shoulders, they stepped through the arch.

“What the…” Rachel and Megan said together.

A Greek temple, buried here beneath Megan’s house, lay before them. Twenty-foot-tall scrolled columns of white marble ran around the perimeter of the room. They reached to meet the smooth, flat roof of the cavern, which was intricately carved with a series of strange symbols.

Harriet and Claire came in behind, open-mouthed.

Claire pointed to the ceiling. “Fascinating.” She craned her neck to better study the carvings. “I see Greek letters and symbols, some Egyptian, and some Cabalistic. But I don’t recognize the rest. How long must it have taken to do all that? It’s brilliant.”

Megan and Rachel moved further into the temple, which was about forty-feet long. They walked past a statue of a centaur and one of a griffin. In one corner sat a large shallow bowl made of a shimmering golden metal, on an iron three-footed stand.

Rachel leaned over to look inside. It smelled heavily of oil. “What is this thing, the world’s largest deep fryer?”

“If I’m not mistaken, this is the sacrificial fire,” Claire said. “A piece of the sacrifice would be cut off and tossed into the fire set in this bowl.”

“How do you know all this stuff?” Harriet asked. She looked around nervously.

Claire gave a quick shrug. “I did a project last year on life in Ancient Greece for World History. I remember everything I read.”

Harriet shuffled her feet. “This is all well and good, but I don’t see any treasures, sacred or otherwise. They’re probably long gone, moved since Sir Gregory wrote the poem.”

Megan shook her head. “Why leave the poem if he moved the treasure? There must be something else here.”

They walked along the back wall of the little temple; Rachel went ahead, toward the opposite corner. Harriet clung to Megan and Claire, who stopped to admire the biggest statue in the temple. It was another of Athena, fifteen-feet tall. The folds of her sleeveless gown looked fluid, despite being carved in solid marble. An owl sat on her left shoulder, a spear in her right hand. “How in the heck did he get all this down here, I wonder? Down those narrow stairs?”

“And all by himself,” Claire said.

“We don’t know that it was by himself.” Megan ran a hand over the cool, smooth stone. She felt a slight vibration, like the statue had its own a life force, just waiting to be tapped. “He could have—“

“Girls, come here!” Rachel yelled from nearby. The echo rang off the stone walls like a bell.

Megan, Claire and Harriet ran to where her voice came from. She was between two columns in the middle of the wall.

Rachel pointed at the wall. “Look.”

Hidden in the shadows was a plain oak wooden door with an ornate brass doorknob. It looked out of place amidst the stark gray stone of the temple.

“Hey, check out the knob,” Megan said. “It has the same tree as the diary and the poem.”

“The treasure is here, I’ll bet.” Rachel ran a hand down the front of the door.

“And I think that’s where it should stay,” Harriet said. “Or are you forgetting the end of the poem—‘if unversed you are, then trapped you will be’? I don’t know about you, but I could live very well without being trapped, thank you very much.”

“I swear, sometimes I don’t know why we’re friends,” Rachel said. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Harriet bristled. “It must be off on holiday with your common sense.”

“I’m going in,” Rachel said. “I didn’t come all this way just to turn back now. I want to see the treasure.” She turned the knob. “Locked.”

“Of course it is,” Claire said. “Would you leave the door to a treasure room open for anyone to just tromp on in?”

“Okay, it’s locked, we can’t get in.” Harriet pulled a blonde curl straight and let it bounce back. “Let’s go back up to Meg’s room and go to sleep. Or we could watch another movie.”

“We’re going in,” Megan said. “We’ve got the key, remember? Rachel?”

Rachel pulled the brass skeleton key from her front pocket, put it into the lock and turned it. It turned easily, which was almost a surprise; Megan thought the lock might be tight and rusty after years of disuse. The sound of the lock’s tumblers was louder than she expected, ominous; but that could have been only in her own mind.

She held her breath as she spun the key all the way around, pulled it out and put her hand on the knob. Her heart pounded in her chest. “Ready?”

Rachel and Claire nodded; Harriet only pressed her lips together so that they formed a tight line. Megan turned the knob and pushed the door open.

She stepped inside; Rachel was right behind her. It was black as pitch inside; even the small bit of light from the temple did not penetrate very far.

“Find the lights, will you?” Rachel said to Claire and Harriet.

Megan heard them feeling the wall beside the door. It was Claire that spoke.

“I think this is it.”

There was the click of a switch and electric wall sconces, made to look like the torches outside, flickered on.

This room, like the door, was different than the temple. Instead of a stone floor, there was a highly polished, wide-planked wooden one. Above them was a domed ceiling, painted like a midnight sky—deep blue with sparkling stars scattered across it.

Megan stared at it, entranced. It was strange; she swore the stars moved. It must be a trick of the light. Hanging on a chain from the center of the dome was a round crystal chandelier at least ten-feet across. Light from the bulbs inside bounced off the crystal drops, making them glow as if they were on fire.

The room was filled with bookshelves. Rows and rows of them sat perpendicular to a center aisle—covered with a thick, Oriental-patterned carpet runner—that ran into the distance. Megan inhaled; the room had a familiar smell. It was the same dry, spicy smell of the New York Public Library.

“It’s beautiful.” Claire’s voice echoed into the vast room.

“There must be a million books in here,” Rachel said.

“The Library of Athena,” Harriet said in an awed whisper.

Megan spun around. “What was that?”

“That’s what this place is called.” Harriet pointed to a brass plate mounted on the wall just inside the door. It read:

The Library of Athena

Knowledge is the greatest treasure

“This must be what Sir Gregory was talking about in his diary,” Megan said. “Knowledge is the key to all. No wonder we couldn’t find anything upstairs. We were in the wrong library.”

“Great, mystery solved.” Harriet gnawed her thumbnail. “Now can we go? This place is spooky.”

Rachel looked up, her palms raised to the ceiling as if asking some unseen force for patience. She poked a finger at Harriet. “Go if you want. But don’t you dare tell anyone where we are.”

Harriet looked from one face to the other. “Oh, all right. I’ll stay.”

“Good girl.” Claire patted Harriet on the back. “Let’s go exploring.”

They walked slowly down the center aisle. Attached to the end of each bookshelf was a small brass frame. Like many libraries, inside each frame was a card with the contents of the shelf listed. This library was cataloged alphabetically.

“Abaris—Amun Ra,” Megan read from the card on the first shelf on the left.

Claire looked at the shelf directly opposite. “Anake—Aztec.”

“What the heck kind of library is this?” Rachel pulled a book from the second row of shelves; the card said the shelves contained books Baba Dochia—Belladonna. The volume was old, its pages yellowed and warped inside the mottled cover. There was no title. She opened it.

Before she could read a word, a blue-gray mist rose from the pages and swirled around Rachel’s head.

“Cripes.” The mist did nothing, only hung above her for a few seconds. Suddenly it dove back into the book, slamming the cover shut tight behind it. Rachel, hands trembling, put the book back in its place and backed away from the shelf.

Harriet’s eyes were the size of saucers. “What was that? Now I know I don’t like it here.”

“I still want to find the sacred treasures,” Rachel said, her voice shaking. “Let’s keep looking. Spread out, but don’t wander. If you see something, shout.”

“More like scream,” Harriet muttered. “I don’t want to be alone in here.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t be far away,” Megan said.

Each girl selected a section and searched its contents. Megan had just plucked a book titled Mummification Rituals of Ancient Egypt from a shelf when she heard Claire shout.

“You guys come here! You have to see this!”

Megan dropped the book and ran. She found Claire standing in the middle of one of the D shelves, mouth hanging open.

“What’s the matter? Are you all right?”

Claire smiled. “More than all right. Look at these.” She pointed to a section of ancient leather-bound books. “Do you know what these are?”

Megan shook her head.

“Da Vinci. Not just books on da Vinci, but by da Vinci.” She pulled one down and showed it to Megan. “This is a journal, handwritten, by Leonardo da Vinci. A codex I’ve never heard of.”

Harriet came toward them. “And that’s important, why?”

Claire adjusted her glasses. “Because, with the exception of a few codices in museums and well-known private collections, everything ever written by him is in a vault in the Vatican Library. Or at least it’s supposed to be.” She paged through the one in her hand. “This is incredible.”

“Sir Gregory was a collector, remember.” Rachel came up the aisle, a book in her hands. “You can bet he didn’t want anyone finding out he had those. He would have had to give them up.”

“I wonder why he didn’t just give them to the National Library?” Harriet said. “Isn’t there one of those codex thingies in the Victoria and Albert?”

Claire nodded absently, concentrating on reading. “Uh, well, I can understand why he wouldn’t want them made public. There’s some very controversial ideas in here. And some diagrams for some very odd inventions.”

“That’s nothing.” Rachel plucked a book from the shelf. “Will you look at this? Dragons—A Comprehensive Guide? It’s right next to Great Sorcerers of Denmark. This is a very strange library.”

Megan shrugged. “So Sir Gregory was interested in magic. His diary said as much. It probably wasn’t something he announced at dinner parties. It’s a weird hobby, and they’d lock him up in the loony bin. Plus, there are other books in here too, like these.” She pointed to the da Vinci collection. “It makes sense he hid them. Let’s keep looking.”

They resumed their exploration, and it was clear this was indeed an eclectic collection. The “G” shelf held both writings by Galileo (Claire swore those were also very valuable) and about Gypsy magic. Megan and Rachel came across several original Shakespeare manuscripts sitting beside a large number of self-proclaimed spell books from the 14^th century. Their inspection of the “P” shelf found a book by Ptolemy just beyond no less than fifty books on potions.

Megan picked up one and looked it over. “Wow,” she said to no one in particular. “There sure are a lot of books about magic. I didn’t think there were this many people in the world who believed in it, let alone wrote all these books about it.”

The girls met in the center aisle at the back of the room, just past the last shelf (Zeus—Zochon).

“Do you think this is it?” Rachel said. “That the ‘sacred treasure’ is this room, these books?”

Megan pulled the poem from her pocket. “I don’t see how they could be. For one thing, we’re not trapped in here. At least I don’t think we are. The poem said something about being trapped. And for another, there’s not much sacred about these books. Yes, some of them are very valuable,” she said, in answer to a look from Claire. “But the diary specifically mentioned items that he collected, and that they would be hidden in the library. If they were books, why not just say so?”

“Maybe there’s a specific book we’re looking for,” Rachel said. “Hidden among all the others? Like that one about The Art he talked about.”

“I didn’t see one.” Megan read the poem again. They had solved the first part of it; that was certain. “And I still don’t get the ‘tales of old’ part, either.”

“There’s no way we could search every book in here,” Harriet said. “It would take years.”

Megan pressed her cheek against the cool stone of the back wall. She needed to think.

“What’s that over there?”

There was a small bump in the wall, halfway between the center and the corner. Megan went to it, and discovered the bump was actually the stone molding that framed a dark arched opening in the wall. Above the door, carved into the stone, were the words “Special Collection”, and the now-familiar small tree beneath it.

She waved her friends over. “Come here.”

Megan felt the wall inside the alcove. There was no light switch. She pulled the flashlight from her back pocket and clicked it on. The room was long and narrow, and shelves ran along the left-hand wall, leaving a space just wide enough for one person to walk. Megan moved the flashlight beam along the shelves, and the spines of what looked like thousands of books. They were all exactly the same size, with different colored cloth covers. Like they were part of a set.

“Great,” Harriet said. “More books. Still no treasure.”

Megan walked in, Claire and Rachel following single file. Harriet stayed outside.

“I can’t see much back here,” Rachel said. “A little help, Megan?”

“There’s a lantern out here,” Harriet said. Rachel stepped outside, and came back almost immediately carrying a lit brass oil lantern. It cast a soft golden glow on the books.

“Ick, somebody’s forgotten to clean back here for a century or so.” Rachel ran a finger along a shelf and left a trail in the thick dust.

A large spider skittered away when Megan hit it with the beam of the flashlight. She shuddered. “I wonder why these are back here and not in the main library?”

“Who knows? Maybe it’s a catalog of the books out there, or more of Sir Gregory’s journals,” Claire said.

No, these aren’t catalogs or journals. These are special. There was something about them; a power that Megan could almost feel. It wasn’t good or bad, but like a low hum inside her head. Like they were sleeping.

That’s stupid. Books aren’t alive, they don’t sleep. But she couldn’t shake the feeling.

Rachel pulled a random book from the shelves. She blew the dust from the cover, right into Claire’s face.

“Thanks,” Claire sputtered through a fit of coughs and sneezes.

“Sorry.” Rachel looked over the worn blue cover. “The Crown of Zeus. Odd title. Wonder what it’s about.” She walked out of the little room and took the book to a long wooden table butted up against the back wall. Claire, still sneezing, and Megan followed.

“I don’t think we should,” Harriet said slowly. She put her right index finger in her mouth and chewed on it. “Those books were back there for a reason. Maybe they’re dangerous or something.”

“C’mon Harriet.” Megan and Claire stood on either side of Rachel. Megan pulled Harriet up next to her. “It’s just a book. It won’t bite you.” She wanted more than anything for Rachel to open the book. These books were special to Sir Gregory. They came this far; she needed to see what was written inside.

Harriet continued to gnaw her defenseless fingernail. Rachel sat the book on the table, the spine flat against the wood. She let it fall open.

From the book came a sudden bright light and the sound of howling wind. Megan put her hands up to shield her eyes. Both light and sound grew, until they were surrounded by them. Megan felt as if she were being pulled forward by her shoulders. Her feet lifted off the floor—she fell headfirst, like Alice down the rabbit hole. She could no longer see or hear the other girls as she fell. If she screamed, the sound never reached her own ears. She closed her eyes and moved her hands over her ears. She was still falling, even though she should have hit the floor long ago.

Suddenly everything stopped.

Chapter Six: Sir Gregory’s Puzzle

With a bone-crunching thud, Megan hit something solid. She lay still for a moment, just breathing, before she opened first her right eye, then the left. Rachel lay on the ground next to her, groaning. Megan rolled toward her.

“Are you all right?”

Rachel sat up and rubbed her head. “I think so. But I’ve got a terrific headache. What was that?”

“Beats me.” Claire lay a few feet to Megan’s left, next to Harriet. “But we’re definitely not in the library anymore.”

Megan sat bolt upright. They were in an empty meadow, surrounded by long grass. Large rocks dotted the landscape, poking out of the grass like little mountains. The sun shone from a cloudless sapphire sky, and a gentle warm breeze blew, bringing with it the tangy scent of salt water.

This is not good.

All four of them stood. The land sloped away from them for about a hundred feet before dropping away altogether. Beyond the cliff Megan saw water—a large body of water. Whitecaps danced on top of sparkling blue waves.

“We’re not even in the house.” Megan tried not to panic, but it was making a good case for itself. “I don’t even think we’re in England. Where are we?”

Claire picked up her glasses and put them on. “Judging by our attire. I’d say Ancient Greece.”

Megan looked at her friends, then at herself. Her jeans and long-sleeved shirt were gone; she wore an ankle length dress made of a soft material. It was the color of a robin’s egg. The fabric was draped over her body, secured by gold pins instead of sewn together. Her sneakers were gone too, replaced with a pair of leather thong sandals. Rachel, Claire and Harriet were all dressed the same, except in different colors. This is really not good. What have I done?

“Ancient Greece?” Megan said. Panic took another step forward. She thought Claire must have hit her head or lost her mind—what she said made no sense. “How did we get to Ancient Greece? Is there a time machine in your pocket?”

Claire shrugged. “I’m only stating what I see. Based on the landscape and our clothing, Ancient Greece is a logical conclusion.”

“This is insane,” Harriet said. “There’s no way in bloody hell we’re in Ancient Greece!” She inspected her yellow dress and sandals with a look of distaste. “Is this a toga? Am I wearing a toga?”

“No,” Claire said, whose dress was green. “It’s called a chiton. Togas were worn in Rome, not Greece.”

Rachel was still rubbing her head. “Logic and fashion sense aside, how did we get here from the library? And how do we get back?”

“I know it sounds insane, but maybe the book sent us here,” Megan said. It was the only explanation she had. She thought she might be dreaming, but everything felt so real. Besides, why would she have a dream this crazy? “But I don’t see it, or any other way to get back.”

She took a deep breath, and pushed panic back into its corner of her mind. Survival instinct took over. There had to be a simple solution, she just had to keep her head and she would find it. Then she could get back to showing her friends a good time. Because this was certainly not a good time. “Wherever we are, there must be people here somewhere. Let’s find someone and ask them to help us.”

Rachel stood on tip-toe, her back to the cliff, and shaded her eyes with one hand. “I see something over there.” She pointed to something in the distance. “A village maybe?”

“Let’s go.” Megan charged off in the direction Rachel indicated. She needed to concentrate on something, and looking for people was as good as anything. This situation was so bizarre she didn’t want to think about it. Could they really be in Ancient Greece? Did the book really send them back in time? The thought made her head spin. Of course it didn’t. That’s not even possible. I must have hit my head.

The others followed, Harriet muttering “I told you we shouldn’t have” and “never listen to me” under her breath.

Megan, to herself, agreed; they shouldn’t have messed with something they didn’t know anything about. She did not have a good feeling about this at all. She would fix this. She was still the hostess, after all. It was her house and her library (okay, so it wasn’t her library, but it was in her house) so it was her responsibility to put everything right.

Together they traipsed across the meadow. Every few steps, one of them would trip over their long skirts and go head over heels in the long grass.

After picking herself up for the fourth time, Megan had enough. She grabbed a handful of fabric and stuffed it into the waist of the dress, so that the hem hung just below her knees. “That’s better.”

Rachel and Claire did the same; Harriet chose to hold the skirt of her dress up—“like a lady should.”

A cluster of small huts came into view. A tendril of smoke wound its way skyward between them. Closer, and there was a flock of sheep grazing on the edge of the meadow. A young boy, no more than seven or eight years old, stood nearby watching the sheep. When he saw the girls, he waved to them. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

“What did he say?” Megan said. “I didn’t understand a word.”

“I have no clue,” Rachel replied. Her mouth dropped open. “The way things are going, I’ll bet he only speaks Greek or something. Claire, please tell me you know Greek.”

Claire shook her head. “Sorry, no. I do exceptionally well with Latin, but that won’t help. Greek is a totally different language; the alphabet isn’t even the same.”

Harriet moaned. “Great, now what do we do?”

Megan tried to find the bright side. “He’s waving at us, and he’s smiling. That’s a good sign. Let’s go to him and see what happens.”

“I don’t want to go,” Harriet said. “We have no idea if this place is friendly or not.”

“I don’t see that we have much choice,” Rachel said. “We’re stuck here until we figure out how to get home. If he doesn’t know how we do that, he might know someone who can tell us.” She grabbed Harriet’s hand and pulled her toward the boy. “Besides, he’s just a kid. You can’t tell me you’re afraid of a little kid?”

The huts were made of an off-white, rough-looking material that looked like stucco, and had straw roofs. Besides the sheep, there were other farm animals—chickens and ducks walked freely in the yard, a pair of goats stood inside a pen. The smoke came from a fire in the middle of the compound. Behind the little farm rose a tall, grassy hill.

The girls approached the boy, who was dressed as they were, in a short, white chiton. His curly brown hair blew around his head in the breeze.

“Hello,” he said. “How are you this fine day?”

Megan blinked. “You speak English?”

“I speak the language of the book.” His face was well-tanned, his teeth straight and white in his bright smile, and his brown eyes sparkled. “If that is called English, then yes, I guess I do.”

“That’s a relief,” Harriet said. “It’s about time something went our way.” She sat on a nearby rock, took off one of her sandals, and shook some small pebbles onto the grass.

Language of the book? Megan thought she must have heard him wrong.

“What’s your name?” Claire asked.

“I am called Homer. I tend the sheep for my father. His name is Iorgas, and this is our farm.”

“Hello, Homer. My name is Megan. And these are my friends, Rachel, Claire, and Harriet.”

The boy nodded to each of them. “What strange names you have. Did you come from outside the book?”

“Uh, well,” Claire said, “We come from—”

“What do you mean, ‘from outside the book’?” Rachel interrupted.

Homer gave a mysterious look. “The answers you seek are up there.” He pointed to the top of the hill. “Follow the path.”

Claire squinted at him. “But—”

“Follow the path.”

Megan gave him an incredulous look. “Okay, if you say so. Thanks, Homer. Come on,” she said to her companions. The girls waved goodbye to Homer.

“What is happening?” Harriet said. “Does anyone know what that kid was going on about? Where are we going?”

“I don’t really know, but we’re going to take his advice,” Rachel said. “Unless you have a better idea?”

Harriet shook her head.

They walked through the cluster of huts, past the animal pens and to the base of the hill.

The path was easy to find. A short stone pillar stood on either side of the entrance. Stone owls topped each pillar. Something familiar at last, Megan thought. “Here it is. Any guesses as to what’s up there?”

“Probably more trouble,” Harriet muttered.

Megan, Rachel and Claire glared at her.

“But, I suppose we should press on,” she finished with a forced smile.

They walked between the pillars and up the path. It spiraled around the hill, leading them toward the top.

“Are we almost there?” Rachel said. “I’m getting dizzy.”

Megan laughed. “Are you sure you didn’t start out that way, Rache?” The sun on her face and the cool wind relaxed her a little. The hill could be any seaside resort; she almost forgot they were stranded someplace with no idea of how they got there.

She was drawn out of her reverie. “Hey, we’re here.”

The path ended at the edge of a clearing ringed with trees. The trees blocked the cool sea breeze and much of the sun, so the clearing was covered with soft, shifting shadows. In the center, beneath a single shaft of sunlight, stood a wooden lectern. It was the same type her teachers used to hold their books and notes while they droned on about whatever subject they were boring the students with.

It was so quiet that Megan was almost afraid to speak. “I guess that’s what we’re looking for,” she whispered. All of a sudden she wasn’t sure she wanted to know where they were or how they had gotten there.

They stepped into the clearing. The trees towered over them; sunlight peeked through the dense foliage and painted the grass in specks of gold.

Megan reached the lectern first. The upper part of it, instead of being a plain flat board, was a carved wooden owl. The bird sat on the post, wings spread wide. On the wings was a book. Megan ran her fingers over the wooden feathers. “It’s so pretty.”

“And what does this have to do with us being here?” Harriet said.

Megan stepped behind the lectern. “I guess we look in the book.” Like the book in the library, this one had a blue cover. A crown was stamped on the front in faded gold leaf. There was no title.

“Another bloody book.” Harriet crossed her arms over her chest. “Wonderful.”

“Harriet,” Rachel said in a low voice. “You know I love you like a sister. But will you please. Shut. Up?”

Harriet turned a deep shade of red, but said nothing more.

Rachel and Claire stepped up next to Megan. Megan grabbed the edge and opened it to first page. Straight rows of familiar writing covered the cream paper. She read aloud: “Greetings, traveler! Welcome to the Ancient Greece of my mind. The book you opened has transported you inside its pages.”

“That explains a lot,” Rachel said. “You said the book brought us here, Megan. You were right.”

“Ah-hem,” Claire said. “I think I said we were in Ancient Greece. I deserve some credit, don’t I?”

“But we’re not actually in Ancient Greece, now are we?” Rachel retorted.

Megan didn’t want to think about how ridiculous the idea was that they were inside a book. She just wanted to figure out how to get home. “You two quit bickering. There’s more. ‘You are now in pursuit of the Crown of Zeus, a magical object of great power. The road you now follow is perilous and the dangers many. Beware!’”

“Fabulous,” Harriet muttered. Rachel gave her a warning look.

Megan continued. “‘You, traveler, must find the clues that will lead you on your journey. Solve them to discover what tasks you must perform in order to get the next clue. Knowing what you are supposed to do will help you. If that sounds vague, well, then, I do apologize.

“‘You will not be released from the book until you have recovered the crown. So find it, dear traveler, or be trapped forever. Good luck.’”

Rachel looked over Megan’s shoulder at the inscription. “That’s the same handwriting as the poem. Sir Gregory wrote this.”

“We’re stuck inside a book?” Harriet squeaked. “How can we be inside a book? Books are just words on paper!”

“This must be the ‘ancient magic’ he was talking about in his journal,” Megan said. “I mean, I know it’s unbelievable, but stick with me a moment. He talked about that book that showed him The Art, or whatever. The Crown of Zeus sounds like a sacred treasure—it must be one of the things he was trying to hide. He hid them in those books in that room, and the only way to get them, and out of the book, is to find the clues and play the game.”

“Trapped you shall be.” Claire ran a hand through her short hair. “The last part of the poem. I guess we know what that means now.”

“I wonder if, we’re, you know, really in the book,” Harriet said. “Or if this isn’t some kind of mind game, and we’re really all just laying on the library floor, drugged or something.”

Rachel pinched Harriet’s arm. Harriet yelled. “What’d you do that for?”

“To make a point. You’re really here, or else that wouldn’t have hurt. Okay, so we find this crown-thing and we’re out of here. Sounds simple enough.”

“Do any of you know what the Crown of Zeus is?” Megan said. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Rachel turned to the next page of the book. “Here it is.” She pointed to a passage. “‘The Crown of Zeus. The crown worn by Zeus, king of the Olympian gods. A source of incredible power, the crown is the source of all knowledge. Whoever wears it upon their head will be all-knowing.’”

“That’s it?” Claire said. She peered over the back of the lectern. “No description, no picture? How are we supposed to know what it is when we find it if we don’t know what it looks like?”

“One thing at a time,” Megan said. As crazy as it sounded, at least they had some direction. She was willing to go on a little faith. Sir Gregory hadn’t let her down yet. “Right now, we have to figure out what the first task is.”

Harriet stepped up beside Rachel. “What’s the first clue?”

“You want to do this?” Rachel said. “What happened to ‘I told you so’?”

Harriet bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry about that, all right? And we have to go along with it now, don’t we? If we ever want to get out of this place and back home. So let’s get on with it already.”

Megan smiled. “Good. The first clue must be here somewhere.” She turned the page. It was covered in strange symbols. So were the next, and the next, and the next. “What is this?” She flipped through the book.

Harriet peered over Megan’s shoulder. “It’s Greek.”

Claire, mouth open and one eyebrow cocked, stared at her. “How do you know that?”

“Because, my father went to college in America,” Harriet said. “He spent a year at Harvard, on exchange from Cambridge. While he was there, he pledged a fraternity. I’ve seen his pin, and I recognize some of the letters.”

“There’s nothing else in there but pages of Greek?” Rachel took the book from Megan and rifled through it. “How are we supposed to figure out the first clue if we can’t even read it?”

“Maybe this isn’t the clue,” Claire said. “It doesn’t make sense that Archibald would have the people here speak English, write the greeting in English, and then write the clue in Greek. Nobody would be able to figure it out. Unless, of course, they could read Greek.”

“What if that’s the point?” Harriet said. She looked in danger of hyperventilating. “So that no one can get to the crown? We’re going to be trapped here, I know it.”

Rachel slammed the book shut. “If the clue is here, I can’t read it.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to be stuck here,” Megan said. Everything was starting to catch up to her—her eyes were heavy, her muscles ached. There was a desperate hope that she was still at home in her own bed and this was just a bad dream. She put her chin in her hand and stared across the clearing.

“There it is.”

“Where?” Harriet said.

Megan pointed across the clearing. “There.”

The girls followed Megan’s finger. Set among the trees was a weather-beaten rock. Something was carved into one side. Megan rounded the podium and went to look.

On a lonely island your path begins; the hero’s heart is the one who will win. The quest of Perseus is now your own; be careful or you will turn to stone.

“That’s rather depressing, isn’t it?” Harriet said. “Who wants to be turned to stone?”

“It’s brilliant,” Claire said. “Bloody brilliant. Knowing what you are supposed to do. ‘Those tales of old will be your key. If unversed you are’—I get it.”

Megan knelt in front of the stone and repeated the clue. “What the heck does it mean? I don’t have any idea.”

“The quest of Perseus,” Rachel said.

“Mind cluing us in?” Harriet said. “Who in the world is Perseus?”

“We read it in the Lit book, back in Megan’s room. Perseus was the son of Zeus and Danae,” Rachel said. “Danae was locked in a tower, because there was a prophecy that her son would kill her husband. While she was locked up, Zeus came to her in a shower of gold, and baby Perseus was the result.”

“How romantic,” Harriet said.

“The king threw Danae and Perseus into the sea, but they were rescued. When Perseus grew up, his quest, well, one of them anyway, was to find Medusa and chop off her head.”

“Ugh, gross,” Megan said. She felt stupid; she vaguely remembered the story now. She never would have gotten that clue in a million years. Rachel may have been more interested in hockey than history, but she had a good memory.

“And why would he want to chop off some poor woman’s head?” Harriet asked.

Claire jumped in. “I remember that part. Medusa was a Gorgon. The only human of three sisters. She was once very beautiful, but she angered Athena when she defiled her temple. So Athena turned her into a hideous beast, with boar’s tusks and serpents for hair. She was so ugly that her gaze could turn a person to stone, and her blood became poison.”

Harriet wrinkled her nose. “Ewww, disgusting. If that’s the answer, it seems a rather easy clue. Are you sure that’s what it means?”

Rachel nodded. “Pretty sure. It wouldn’t be an easy clue for someone who didn’t know the story.”

“And I’m sure the actual task won’t be simple,” Claire said. “I guess we have to go and find Medusa.”

Harriet grimaced. “And cut off her head. Without getting turned to stone. Lovely.”

“Good job, Rachel,” Megan said. She was glad, if she had to be stuck in a book, Rachel was with her. She never lost her cool.

“That’s what Sir Gregory meant,” Claire said. “About knowing what we are supposed to do. We know the story, so we know the task. It also explains the line in the poem. If we were unversed in Greek mythology, or tales of old if you will, we wouldn’t know how to get the next clue, and we’d be trapped here.”

“Wonderful,” Harriet said. “This just gets better and better.”

The other three ignored her.

“Where do we start looking?” Rachel said. “Where is this ‘lonely island’?”

Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “Greece is a series of islands. I don’t know if the clue means this island or another one.”

“This one’s not exactly lonely,” Rachel said. “We know there’s at least one other person on it.”

Megan walked through the trees to the edge of the hilltop. The land lay below her like a green blanket between the hilltop and the strip of white beach that bordered the sea.

She bit her lip. “Maybe we should go back down the hill and ask Homer—he might know.” She really didn’t think so, but she had no other ideas; her mind struggled with the idea that this was all real. They were inside a book, with cover, pages, and words. Like thousands of other books.

Not to mention her only friends in England were now trapped in said book with her. This was not a good way to impress people. At all.

Harriet pointed at something to the left. “How about there?” Not far from the shore was a tiny island. Harriet shaded her eyes with her hand. “I can see something out there. A house, maybe?”

Megan squinted against the bright sunshine. “A lonely island is where we begin. Way to go, Harriet. Let’s get down there.”

“How do we get to it?” Rachel asked.

“If that’s where we’re supposed to go, then I would think there would be a way to get to it,” Claire said.

Megan led the way down the hill, considering what she was going to do next. They retraced their steps along the path, around and around. Megan watched the little island get bigger each time they came to that side of the hill, and wondered why she hadn’t noticed it on the way up. She supposed she hadn’t been paying attention. The girls walked between the pillars and turned to the shore.

Megan looked at the farm. It was quiet and empty. The fire was black and cold, not even a smoldering ember was left. Even the animals were gone.

Weird. Wonder where everyone went? She didn’t have time to think about it; Rachel pulled her arm and dragged her away.

The path led to the water. The ground changed from soft green grass to coarse yellow, then to sand. The girls followed the beach around the base of the hill, watching gulls swoop and dive over the water. Slowly the island came into view.

What seemed so small and far away from the top of the hill turned out to be quite large. Trees grew thick and tall over most of the island; it looked like a jungle. A peaked white stone roof was just visible over the treetops.

“Are we sure this is it?” Rachel said.

“Only one way to find out,” Megan said.

“I see a boat,” Harriet said. “Over there.” It was a rickety wooden rowboat, the wood gray from the weather. It was tied to a small outcropping of rock with a length of frayed, rough rope. The boat banged rhythmically against the rock, torn between the current trying to take it away and the rope pulling it back. Two oars, so weathered they looked like splinter farms, lay in the bottom.

“Can we all fit in that thing?” Harriet said. “It doesn’t look very seaworthy.”

“I think only two of us will fit,” Rachel said. “The other two will have to stay here.”

“So who’s going?” Megan said.

“Hmm, the chance to face an ugly creature that can turn you to stone with a single glance and try to lop off its head?” Harriet said. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Claire?”

Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “As tempting as it is to actually go and see a Gorgon’s lair, I think I’ll have to pass as well. I’m not too keen on the sight of blood. It makes me pass out. Plus I get seasick.”

“It’s just you and me then,” Rachel said to Megan. “Ready?”

Megan couldn’t believe how quickly they came up with excuses. They probably thought about it all the way down the hill. What would they have done if there had been a bigger boat? But she supposed it was only fair that she be the one to find the monster. They wouldn’t have been here at all if not for her.

“I guess I have to be.” She squared her shoulders and stood tall. “Let’s go.”

Megan held Rachel’s hand to steady herself as she climbed into the boat. Claire helped Rachel in, then leaned over and untied the line.

“Good luck,” Claire said, and waved to them as they rowed away.

“Thanks,” Megan called back, trying not to sound too sarcastic. She and Rachel sat beside each other in the center of the boat on the bench seat. Each held one oar and paddled as hard as they could against the strong current. Megan concentrated on the steady rhythm of rowing; it took her mind off what lay ahead. Soon her arms were tired and her palms sore.

“How…much…further?” she said between strokes.

Rachel looked over her shoulder. “Not much. Another few good hard pulls and we should make it.”

“I hope I have strength left to get out of the boat,” Megan grunted. The boat hit something and stopped.

They made it. Rachel put her feet over the side and slid into the water, then held the boat steady so Megan could get out. They tossed the oars inside and together pulled the boat up onto shore.

“How are we going to find Medusa?” Megan said. “Without her seeing us first, I mean?”

“You’re asking me?” Rachel wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of one hand.

“Well, yeah, you’re the one who remembered the story.”

The girls walked across the beach to a path that led to the interior of the island. The greenery was as thick as it looked from the opposite shore, and the canopy of leaves above them quickly blocked much of the sun, layering deep shadows across the path. They walked about half a mile when Megan saw something ahead that wasn’t green.

“Rachel, stop,” she whispered. She grabbed the back of Rachel’s chiton and pulled her off the path and behind the trunk of a large tree.

“What is it?”

Megan pointed ahead. “Look.”

The jungle ended, but the path continued up to what looked like a garden. A low wall made of short, smooth columns and a flat-top rail ran to the path and jumped it, leaving a space to enter. There was no gate. If indeed it was a garden, it was not well kept. Tall grass and weeds grew wild among the few flowers that bloomed in the patch of sun that covered the area.

That was not what made Megan stop. Past the wall and between the weeds, statues dotted the garden. While not unusual in itself, these were not arranged in any particular way, but scattered. Like the garden, they were not well kept. Some were wrapped in creeper vines, and some had no heads or only one arm.

Of those that were recognizable, most of the statues were of men in armor; a few had one arm raised, spear or sword in hand. The faces that Megan could see all wore the same look of terror and surprise. It exuded an air of foreboding, and Megan realized that suddenly the forest around them was silent.

“It’s weird,” Megan said. “Who would arrange the statues that way? And why soldiers? Why not goddesses, or something else pretty?”

“That’s Medusa’s garden,” Rachel said softly. “Those are not just statues. They’re her victims, the men that came to find her and got turned to stone. We’re definitely in the right place.”

“How are we going to get her?” Megan said. “If all those soldiers couldn’t do it?”

Rachel leaned against the tree and closed her eyes “Oh! That’s it!” She walked into the woods.

“What are we looking for?” Megan hopped over a large branch that lay on the ground.

“The weapons that we’re going to need to defeat Medusa.” Rachel moved between the trees, searching the ground and the lower branches. “We’ll know them when we find them.”

“How do you even know they’re out here?” Megan kept a watchful eye on the garden. “And what are they?”

“Because the clue and Sir Gregory’s instructions say so. The book said knowing what we’re supposed to do would help. And the clue said we’re to follow Perseus’ footsteps. The reason Perseus was able to kill Medusa was that he had help.” She stepped around a large oak tree. “Gifts from the gods.”

“Gifts from the gods?” Megan said.

Rachel unhooked the hem of her chiton from a downed tree branch. “Don’t you remember? Athena gave him a mirrored shield, so that…ah, yes, here they are.”

She waved Megan over. Leaning against the tree was a large, shiny round shield with an owl embossed in the center. Beside it stood a long, sharp-looking sword.

Rachel handed the shield to Megan and picked up the sword. She tried to swing it in front of her. “It’s pretty heavy. It’s going to take two hands to get the job done.”

Megan shivered. “I still can’t believe we’re going to cut off someone’s head.”

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but we’re inside a book,” Rachel said. “This is all a figment of Sir Gregory’s imagination. We have to play along if we want to get out of here.”

“Yeah, but if we get turned to stone, that’s it. Game over. How are we going to get near that Medusa thing? She’ll see us coming a mile away, and then we’ll be sunk.”

Rachel looked at the sword. “Something’s missing. Two somethings.” She walked around the tree. “Where are they? They should be here too, somewhere.” She went off again, searching.

Megan extended her arms, palms to the sky, exasperated. “What are you looking for now?” She glanced at the bizarre garden, just visible through the woods. “We shouldn’t stay in one place too long if we want to have the element of surprise. We should get moving.” She figured as long as she didn’t stop and think about what they were doing, she’d be okay.

“We will.”

Megan turned around “Rachel,” she said in a panicked whisper. “Where are you?”

“Right here,” was the answer, spoken directly in her ear.

Megan jumped and spun around. “Where? I don’t see you.” Oh. My. God. I’ve lost her. I had a sleepover, and we got sucked into a book, and now Rachel has disappeared into thin air. How am I going to explain this to her mother?

Rachel giggled, off to Megan’s left, and suddenly appeared out of thin air.

“What’s wrong with you?” Rachel said, holding back her laughter. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Megan’s mouth hung open. “How did you do that?”

Rachel tried to look innocent. “Do what?”

“You were there, then you weren’t, then you were again. How?”

Rachel held up a large piece of red brocade cloth. “The cloak of Hades. It makes the wearer invisible. Another gift from the gods.”

Megan’s eyes widened. “So if we wear that, we’ll be able to sneak up on old stone ugly.”

“Exactly.” Rachel reached into the tree and pulled down a smaller piece of cloth. “And this is the bag that we put her head in.”

“Oh, now, that’s just gross.” Megan twisted her face into an expression of disgust. “Why would we want to take her head with us?”

“Because that’s how the story goes,” Rachel said. “And if the bag is here, I assume we’re going to need it. Come on, let’s go.”

Chapter Seven: Medusa’s Head

Megan, shield and sword in hand, walked back to the path. Rachel took the cloak and bag and followed close behind. When they reached the edge of the path, Rachel threw the cloak over both of them. It wasn’t quite large enough; they had to stay close together to fit. They half-walked, half-shuffled down the path and into the garden, Rachel breathing heavily in Megan’s ear. Their footprints pressed the grass, the only sign that anyone was in the quiet, sunlit garden.

Rachel stumbled and almost fell. “Ow.”

Megan clamped her hand over Rachel’s mouth.

“What was that for?” Megan pulled her hand away slowly.

“I kicked something. It was hard. I think I broke a toe. Stupid bloody sandals.”

Megan looked, and in the middle of the path was a small stone rabbit. He was alert, ears straight up.

“Poor thing,” Rachel said.

Megan swallowed hard. “We’d better keep going, or it’ll be poor us. Just pay more attention to where you put your feet.”

Both garden and path ended at a short set of steps in front of a small granite house. The gray structure had a peaked roof, but no windows and only a dark rectangular opening that served as a door. Like the garden, the building had seen better days. Ivy and creeper vines covered the walls, which were cracked and crumbling. Megan grasped Rachel’s hand and together they crept up the steps and stopped just outside the door.

“It’s so dark in there,” Megan whispered. “I can’t make out anything.”

“Well, don’t look too closely. Who knows where Medusa is. Use the back of the shield to look around.”

“Oh. Good idea.” Megan took the shield from Rachel and held it in backwards. The polished, concave back acted as a mirror. She stood to one side and turned the shield so that it reflected the interior of the building. She couldn’t see much, only a few feet of floor and the edge of another statue. “I don’t see her.”

“Maybe she’s not at home.”

“Yeah, right.”

As if in answer to Rachel’s comment, a slow, rhythmic sound, mixed in with occasional pig-like grunts came from the other end of the room.

“Crud,” Megan said.

“We have to go in,” Rachel whispered. “But be careful. Look at the floor and follow me. And be quiet.”

Rachel led Megan inside. It wasn’t completely dark, like they first thought. A few torches in wall brackets threw about a dim light that flickered and danced.

The building had a single-room. Megan looked in the shield, but saw only more crumbling statues scattered across the cracked and dirty tile floor. She dragged Rachel farther inside and to the left, behind a large pile of rubble that might once have been a woman with long hair. The sound got louder. Megan resisted the urge to peek. Instead she stuck the shield out again and rotated it slightly to get a better view of the back of the room.

She almost dropped the shield.

Medusa lay on a chaise of stone. Her hair, just as the story told, was made of green serpents that moved and slithered on her head. Their tongues darted about, their teeth bit each other. In the low light Megan couldn’t see what Medusa was doing, but she didn’t move from the chaise.

Megan took a deep breath and tried to get her racing heart and trembling hands under control. They would have to be quick. Sounds traveled in here, and it wouldn’t be long before Medusa figured out that she and Rachel were there. They still had the advantage of invisibility; that was something. Megan wondered if the cloak would repel Medusa’s glare. Somehow she didn’t think so.

“Close your eyes,” Megan whispered in Rachel’s ear. “Hold onto my hand, tight. Whatever you do, don’t look up until I say.”

Rachel only nodded. She clamped her eyes shut and grasped Megan’s outstretched hand. Megan put the hilt of the sword in Rachel’s empty hand.

“No way,” Rachel hissed. “I am not cutting off her head.”

“Fine, we’ll shoot for it. Rock, paper, scissors. Best out of three.”

Megan lost.

Beautiful. I guess it’s only fair. I promised myself I’d make it right, right? It’s all up to me. “Okay, let’s go. Hold it for me, though, would you? I’ll take it from you when it’s time. And don’t drag it on the floor.”

They tiptoed around the rubble. A row of statues stood on the other side of the room. Megan led Rachel there, and they used them as cover to move toward where Medusa lay.

Megan stopped Rachel behind the last statue, a tall, chiton-clad maiden with flowing hair and an expression of utter horror.

“Okay, Rache, open your eyes,” Megan said. “But look at the floor.” She dropped Rachel’s hand and took the sword.

“How are we going to do this?” Rachel’s eyes were glued to the cracked tiles beneath her feet. “We can’t both stay under this cloak and get to her.”

Megan handed Rachel the shield. “I’ll stay here. You take the cloak and sneak back around to the other side. If you’re quiet you won’t have to go all the way around, just cut through the middle of the room. Stand over there.” Megan pointed over her shoulder. “In that corner. When I give the signal, you throw off the cape. Hold the shield in front of you, with the shiny side toward me. Whatever you do, do not open your eyes. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Rachel looked skeptical. “But what if Medusa sees you? You’ll be unprotected without the cloak.”

“There’s no other way.” Megan gave her friend a smile that she hoped covered her own fear and doubt. “Now hurry up, before she figures out we’re here. I’ll count to 100; that should give you plenty of time.”

Rachel hesitated. “Meg, I still don’t know—”

“Go.” Megan pulled the cloak off of her head and left Rachel covered. “I’ll be fine. I won’t look at her—I promise.” She heard Rachel’s feet scuffle once or twice, watched the little puffs of dust that marked her footsteps as she moved away. Megan pressed her back to the statue and started to count. She closed her eyes and twisted the grip of the weighty sword in her hands.

Was she really prepared to cut off someone’s head? It was a horrible thing to do. This is only part of a book, only a story. And Medusa isn’t really a someone, is she, more like a something, one that would readily kill both me and Rachel if given the chance to add us to her collection.

This was the only way for Megan and her friends to move forward, to get home. Right? She steeled herself against any sympathy she might feel for the monster, tried to push it out of her head. She could do this.

I can do this.

Seventy-five. Megan tightened her grip and thought about her father.

Ninety-five, ninety-six.

She picked up a stone from the floor. It was a hunk of marble, probably a chip from the statue. The statue that had once been a person, perhaps, not unlike her or her friends. She focused on that.

One hundred. Megan threw the rock back and toward the door, making sure it bounced off the floor. The sound echoed. Megan held her breath and hoped that Rachel recognized the signal.

She stepped out from behind the statue, her eyes on the floor about six feet ahead. She looked for Medusa’s feet, and found them. Both still rested on the end of the chaise nearest to Rachel.

Medusa hadn’t moved, not an inch. She took a step closer. The breathing sound continued, slow and steady, with an occasional grunt.

Why hadn’t Medusa moved? She should have heard the stone hitting the floor and gotten up to see what it was. If not, she should have at least seen Rachel by now, standing at the foot of the chaise.

That had been Megan’s plan, for Medusa to be distracted by the stone or Rachel, while Megan snuck up behind her. Megan had planned to hit the Gorgon in the head with the end of the sword first, and knock her out before she cut off her head.

Megan raised her eyes. Rachel was right where she should have been, shield in front of her, eyes on the floor. In the mirrored face of the shield Megan had a perfect view of Medusa’s reflection.

Medusa was asleep! Megan couldn’t believe their luck, but still didn’t understand why she hadn’t woken up when Megan threw the rock. Maybe she’s a heavy sleeper?

Megan looked closely at the reflection. In one hand, Medusa limply held a golden chalice; there was a strong odor of wine hanging about her head.

I guess she can’t hold her liquor. Good luck for me.

Megan relaxed a little; this would be easier than she thought. Her steps soft, she moved next to the chaise. Medusa’s head was directly to her right. She continued to watch the reflection in the shield and prayed that Medusa wouldn’t wake up. She hoisted the sword up and rested the flat of the blade on her shoulder, and turned to face the sleeping monster.

Megan raised the sword over her head. She took another glance at the reflection, took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She hesitated; what would her mother think of this? There was no more time to think—she couldn’t hold the heavy sword any longer.

She swung with all her strength. There was a sickening crunch, and the blade came to a sudden stop that jarred and vibrated up her arms and into her shoulders. There was a gurgling noise, a sudden thump, then nothing.

I did it. Didn’t I?

Megan tried to pull the sword back, but it was stuck. She opened one eye to look at the shield. It was no longer there, and neither was Rachel. She laid on the floor, unconscious, the shield on top of her. It looked like she had fainted.

“Rachel.” Megan pulled on the sword. “Rachel, are you okay?”

Rachel moaned. She shifted on the floor, opened her eyes and sat up. The shield dropped to the floor with a rattle.

“What happened?”

“Medusa was sleeping. I think I cut off her head, but I’m not sure. She’s not snoring anymore, so I guess she’s dead. When I tried to look in the shield and see, you were on the floor.”

“Sorry about that.” She picked up the shield and held it in front of her again. “How’s that?”

Megan now had a good view of what she had done. It wasn’t pretty. Medusa’s head was severed at the neck, and the sword imbedded in the chaise. The wound gaped at Megan like a sick smile. Blood oozed out onto the floor. A sizzling sound, like meat grilling, came from the cut. Another tug and the sword pulled free. Megan landed on her backside with a curse and the sword’s hilt in her hand. That was all that was left. The blade had been almost completely eaten away.

She looked at what remained of the blade. There was a thick green substance on the broken end.

“Gross, it’s eating through everything, like acid.” She threw the hilt away and jumped back from the body as the blood pooled on the floor. “Ick.”

She tried not to think about what had just happened. They needed to get back to Claire and Harriet and get out of this book. She wouldn’t feel better until they were all home safe. Her stomach rolled, and she pushed it away. There would be time to be sick later. Now she needed to keep it together. Rachel was counting on her.

“Throw me the bag,” Megan said.

Rachel pulled the bag from under her arm and tossed it underhand to Megan.

“Don’t look at her, Megan. I think her gaze can turn you to stone even when she’s dead.”

“Now you tell me.” Megan shut her eyes again. She fumbled with the drawstrings on the bag and finally got them loose. She reached out and grasped Medusa’s hair. The snakes were still, their smooth, scaly hides cold. She lifted it slowly. It was surprisingly heavy, like a bowling ball. She slipped it into the bag and cinched it up tight.

“It’s okay,” Megan said with a sigh of relief. She didn’t think her heart would ever beat normally again. “You can look now.”

Rachel opened her eyes and pointed to the bag. “It’s in there, is it?”

Megan nodded.

“Then let’s get out of here.” Rachel dropped the shield.

“I’m for that.” A smile crept into the corners of Megan’s mouth. She couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t funny, exactly, to have just chopped off a monster’s head, but the relief that it was over made Megan smile just the same. They walked together toward the exit.

“Why do we have to take this thing with us?” Megan asked.

“If I recall correctly, the book said that Perseus had to bring the head to some king, I forget his name, so that he would leave Perseus’ mother alone. I don’t know how much of the story we have to follow, so we might as well take it. We can ditch it later.”

Megan slung her arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be stuck in this book all by yourself. Or stuck with…Harriet.”

“Thanks.”

A noise behind them made Megan stop. A wet, sticky, gurgling sound. She gripped Rachel’s shoulder and pulled her close.

“Do you hear that?” Megan didn’t turn around.

“Uh huh.” Rachel’s wide eyes were also still forward.

Megan swallowed hard. “Do we look?”

Rachel shook her head fiercely. “Probably shouldn’t. I’m not going to.”

“All right, I’ll do it.” Megan swore under her breath; they had left the shield on the floor back by Medusa’s body. She would have to turn around to see what it was. At least the body couldn’t turn her to stone. The sound turned into a steady slurping—suck, plop, suck, plop.

Megan handed the bag to Rachel. “If something bad happens, you take the head and run back to the boat. Get back to Harriet and Claire. Find your way home.”

Rachel nodded. Megan took two deep breaths and turned on her heel. Medusa’s headless body still lay on the chaise. The blood from her wound had started to coagulate, forming dark, lumpy pools on the floor. Megan couldn’t tell where the sound came from. She took a step closer, then another.

Blood bubbled and foamed slowly in the stump of Medusa’s neck. The sucking sound was the bubbles pulling to the surface.

Megan grimaced. “Ew—gross.”

“What’s gross?”

“Turn around and see for yourself. It’s okay.”

Rachel pivoted around and stood next to Megan. She wrinkled her nose. “That is gross. And what’s that smell?”

Megan sniffed. She smelled it too; the sharp odor of a freshly lit match, mixed with the coppery smell of blood. The bubbling sped up. Blood spilled over the edge of the cut and ran down Medusa’s neck in dark rivulets.

“Perhaps we should back up,” Rachel said. She took three large steps backward.

“Good idea.” Megan followed. The bubbling was now a furious boiling, and the sulphur smell almost overpowered her.

“I think it’s going to blow!” Rachel ran for the door. Megan had only taken a few steps when the explosion came.

Medusa’s neck blew outward. It split like an overripe melon, sending poisonous blood spraying outward in all directions. Megan ducked, her arms over her head, and ran behind the nearest statue. Dark green blood spattered across the floor, eating away at the tiles with a hiss.

The slurping sound stopped, but had been replaced with a new one. It sounded like horses’ hooves clomping on stone. Megan took a cautious look around the statue.

Getting to its feet in the center of the floor was a large, white, winged horse. It extended its four legs and two wings slowly, stretching them. Megan walked toward it, enthralled by its beauty. She held out her hand to the animal, palm flat, the way that Stephan had taught her.

The horse gazed at her with eyes like liquid sapphires; its nostrils flared to get her scent. He nuzzled Megan’s hand gently. She ran her hands over his nose; it was velvety soft. She stroked his head and neck, feeling his muscles, the raw power that lay just beneath the snow white hair. “Rachel, come here. It’s amazing.”

Rachel’s head appeared through the door. “What on earth…”

“It’s Pegasus, of course.” Megan laughed, still rubbing the horse’s neck. “I kind of remember that from my old school. Pegasus was born from Medusa’s severed neck.”

Rachel came warily forward and, like Megan had done, put her hand out toward the great beast. Pegasus sniffed her briefly and snorted out a puff of air that blew her hair into the air.

“Does that mean he likes me?” As if in answer, Pegasus moved his head close to her hand again, extended his large pink tongue and licked it, leaving a glistening trail of saliva across her palm.

“Eww.” Rachel wiped her hand on the front of her chiton.

Megan laughed. “I guess he does like you.” She gazed into his eyes. They looked so intelligent; she wondered if he understood every word she and Rachel said.

I don’t mind this part of the story, Megan thought. It almost makes up for having to decapitate that thing. “I wish I had a carrot or sugar cube for you.” She leaned her cheek against his nose.

“What do we do with him?” Rachel said. “Do you think he’s part of whatever it is we’re supposed to do next?”

Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess now we have to find the next clue. I don’t see it here, so let’s look outside.” She didn’t want to leave the beautiful animal behind, but she had to be practical. They needed to move on. She gave Pegasus’s neck one last reluctant pat, picked up the bag with Medusa’s head and walked out with Rachel.

The sunlight blinded them after being inside Medusa’s dim lair; both girls flung a hand over their eyes as they stepped outside. Blinking rapidly, Megan turned her face back toward the darkness of the inside. Pegasus stood in the doorway.

“Maybe he wants to come with us?” Megan said.

But he walked right past the girls, into the garden, and straight to a patch of honeysuckle. He curled his lips back, cropped off a mouthful, and chewed it slowly.

“Let’s get back to the boat,” Rachel said. “Harriet and Claire are probably going crazy. We can always come back and find the clue after we tell them we’re okay. We’ll make them come over here and look for it.”

“Okay.” Megan glanced at Pegasus, content with his meal, and wished she could take him with her. Rachel was right—Harriet and Claire would be worried. She and Rachel set off down the path toward the water. The woods seemed different now, brighter. Megan heard birds sing, and small animals scurry through the underbrush. It was as if they knew that Medusa was gone.

The girls stepped onto the beach. Rachel groaned. “Oh, no! The boat’s gone!” She grabbed the rope, still wrapped around the rock, and pulled the other end out of the water. “The knot must have slipped.”

Megan shaded her eyes with her hand and looked toward the opposite shore. “I can’t see Claire and Harriet. Do you see them?”

Rachel squinted. “No, I don’t. But they’re probably sitting on a rock or something, or they went somewhere to get out of the sun. Harriet doesn’t like to get too much sun, she’s afraid it’ll wrinkle her skin and she hates to sweat.” She looked at Megan, one hand on her hip. “So, how do you propose we get back over there? Do you think we can swim it?”

“No, the current’s too rough. It would pull us right under.” Megan was a good swimmer, but even she knew better than to risk it. She gave Rachel a mischievous smile. Her wish had been granted. “I guess we’re going to have to fly Pegasus Air.”

Rachel’s face paled. “Are you serious? You want me to climb aboard that thing?”

“What’s the matter?” Megan walked back to the path. “You ride horses, don’t you? You rode at my house, you did great.”

Rachel hesitated. “Y-yes. It’s not the riding that bothers me. Most horses don’t fly. Flying, I am afraid of.”

Megan stopped where the beach ended and the woods began. She turned and gave Rachel a sympathetic look. “I understand, Rache. But we don’t have much choice; we can’t swim and the boat’s gone. So you’re just going to have to suck it up.”

Megan walked up the path quickly, feeling terrible about forcing Rachel to do something she didn’t want to do, but also fighting the urge to just run as fast as she could. “Come on,” she called over her shoulder.

Rachel sighed deeply, looked toward the opposite shore, and trudged after her.

Pegasus was right where they had left him, grazing in Medusa’s garden. Megan walked up to him, not bothering to hold out her hand this time. She patted one flank, and his head swung around. He gave her a vaguely interested look.

“C’mon, boy,” Megan said softly, and ran her hands over his back. “We need a ride, okay?”

Pegasus seemed to understand. He walked away from Megan and stood next to the garden wall. She grabbed Rachel’s hand and pulled her over to it.

“Climb aboard. I’ll hold him steady.”

Rachel, her face pale and her hands shaking, climbed on the wall’s top rail. She gripped Pegasus’s mane and jumped up across his broad back.

Megan helped her to swing one leg over and sit up. “Now scoot back, and hold this for a minute.” She pushed the bag holding Medusa’s head into Rachel’s hands.

Rachel made a disgusted face, but pushed herself toward the horse’s rump. Megan clambered on top of the wall, and like Rachel had done, hoisted herself onto the horse’s back. When she was settled, she took the bag from Rachel, put her wrist through the drawstring and set the bulk of it in front of her. She gently hooked her knees behind Pegasus’s wing joints.

“Ready?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

“Wrap your arms around my waist,” Megan instructed. “And hold on.” Once Rachel was secure, Megan wound her hands in Pegasus’s thick mane.

She leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Okay, boy. Take us up, nice and easy.” She squeezed his sides with her knees and gave him a light kick in the ribs.

Pegasus whinnied; he reared a little before he took off running. Megan’s heart jumped into her throat, it beat wildly. She tried not to hold her breath.

“I told you this was a bad ideaaaaaa…” Rachel screamed.

His wings unfolded as the trees rushed toward them. Megan felt a gust of warm air over her face as the ground fell away—they were airborne.

“How are you doing?” Megan shouted over the sound of the air in their ears and the steady beat of Pegasus’s wings.

Rachel’s face was glued to Megan’s back. “Fine, I guess. Just tell me when we land.”

They circled the island, soaring. Megan looked below at Medusa’s island, a collage of brown and green with the gray building in the center. The water surrounding it sparkled like a bright blue jewel.

“This is amazing!” Megan threw her head back and let the sun warm her face. The wind smelled of the sea, and she felt energized, alive. Free. She forgot, for just a minute, the terrible situation they were all in, stuck in a book, and the horrible thing she had just done; it was washed away in a puff of fresh sea air.

She pushed her left leg against the horse’s side and gently tugged his mane to the left to steer the big animal toward the mainland. He flew in a graceful arc, wings spread, and glided to the shore. They made a soft, perfect landing near the spot where they last saw Claire and Harriet.

Rachel’s arms were still clamped around Megan’s midsection, her fingers stiff, the knuckles white. Megan pried them apart. “We’re on the ground, Rache. You can get down.”

Rachel lifted her head and pushed her windblown hair out of her face. “Thank goodness.” She slid off of Pegasus’s back and nearly fell to the ground. Her legs shook, and her face was ashen. Megan felt bad for her, but it took a great deal of restraint to stop herself laughing—she just felt so good.

She dismounted smoothly and gave the horse a grateful pat. “Thank you. It was wonderful.”

“So, where are they?” Rachel asked.

“They’re not here?” Megan looked up and down the shoreline. Claire and Harriet were gone.

Chapter Eight: Cassio-Who?

Megan spun, searching for any sign of their friends. Rachel cupped her hands around her mouth and called out to them. No answer.

She slapped her hands against her legs. “Where could they have gone? They wouldn’t have just wandered off, would they?”

“I don’t think so.” Megan sat on a nearby rock. The elation she felt just a moment ago was gone, replaced with anxiety. If they were going somewhere, they would have left Megan and Rachel some sign—written in the sand, or made an arrow of pebbles, something. They wouldn’t have wondered off by themselves. “Unless they thought something happened to us and went for help. Or something scared them off.”

“How are we going to find them?” Rachel gave up her search and sat beside Megan. Megan watched Pegasus, who had found himself a clump of long, sweet grass to chew on. She looked at Rachel, one eyebrow raised.

Rachel shook her head. “Oh, no. There is no way on this earth you are getting me back on that bloody beast.”

Megan laughed. “Okay, okay. Only as a last resort.”

“A very last resort.”

“All right then, I guess we walk.” Megan stood and looked at the sand. If Claire and Harriet had left any footprints, they were gone now. “We came from that way.” She pointed toward the farm and the hill. “So let’s try the other way.”

“Maybe they went back to the farm when we didn’t come back right away,” Rachel said.

“Good point. Should we split up? I’ll go this way, and you go back to the farm?”

Rachel looked in both directions. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” She tilted her head to one side. “Hey, what’s that over there?”

“What?” Megan tried to see what Rachel was looking at.

“There’s a bit of something stuck to that tree.” Rachel pointed to a single small, bare tree that stood on the edge of the sand. Something was stuck to it, fluttering in the wind.

“I’ll get it.” Megan pulled something out of the tree’s trunk. “It’s a note.” She showed Rachel a yellowed piece of parchment paper. “It was stuck to the tree with this.” She held out a small, shiny gold dagger.

Rachel looked from the dagger to the note; her brow had a deep crease. “What does it say?”

Megan tucked the dagger in her waistband and sat back down next to Rachel. “I think it’s the next clue. Listen to this—‘A mother’s pride seals daughters’ fate. The sea-king’s wrath you must abate.’”

“Could that be any more cryptic?” Rachel flipped off her sandals and brushed the sand from her feet. “Any ideas?”

Megan read the note over again. She tapped a fingernail on her teeth, searching her memory. Nothing came. She shook her head, and then lowered it. “I’ve got no idea. I’m sorry.” She was frustrated—things weren’t getting better, they were getting worse. And she was angry at Sir Gregory. This game of his was going to get them all hurt or worse.

And he pretty much ruined my sleepover. Stupid dead guy.

Rachel put a hand on Megan’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Megan. We’ll work it out.” She looked around again. “Staying here isn’t going to help, I suppose. I guess we need to go and search for them. We’ll worry about that clue later.” She put her shoes back on. “So what do we do?”

“We won’t get very far by walking. And it’ll take too long.”

Rachel looked skeptical. “What are you scheming?”

Megan gave Rachel an apologetic smile. “I think it’s time for our last resort.”

* * *

Again they soared over the water. Pegasus flew along the shoreline, and Megan scanned for any sign of Claire and Harriet. Rachel again pressed her face into her friend’s back, her arms wrapped tightly around Megan’s waist. Convincing Rachel to get onto Pegasus again had taken some doing, but Megan guilted her into it by telling her that it was the fastest way to find Claire and Harriet.

“I know how you feel about flying on the big beast,” Megan had said. “But Harriet and Claire need us.”

Rachel shook her head. “Oh, no way. I told you I can’t do it.”

“Please, Rache,” Megan begged. “You have to. It’s the only way.” It was a terrible thing, to play on Rachel’s sense of guilt, but Megan hadn’t been able to think of anything else.

Rachel had chewed her lip for a moment. “Oh, all right, fine. But you owe me big time.”

She had felt horrible about making Rachel do something she didn’t want to do, and she hoped Rachel would forgive her.

Megan had studied the clue again before they took off; but wasn’t any closer to figuring it out.

Below them, the beach disappeared into a ledge that butted against the water. The ledge turned into sheer, stony cliffs that pushed their way into the water, gray rock jutted out into the sea. There was still no sign of Harriet or Claire.

“Hey, what’s that over there?” Megan pointed to the cliff. Rachel didn’t look up, only shook her head. Megan spurred Pegasus on.

A shelf of rock stuck out from the middle cliff’s face. Two small figures stood on the shelf. One wore a yellow chiton and the other green.

“Oh crap. Rachel, look!”

Harriet and Claire huddled together on the shelf; they were chained to the cliff.

“How in bloody hell did they get down there?” Rachel shouted.

Megan looked over her shoulder, surprised that Rachel had actually looked. She looked more worried about Harriet and Claire than her fear of flying.

Megan bit her lip. “How are we going to—”

A sound like thunder drowned out the rest of her words. Below them, the water churned violently. Bubbles and foam made it look as if the sea boiled. A dark shape took form beneath the waves. It parted the water as it rose from the depths of the sea. One of the girls on the rock screamed.

“Oh. My. God,” Megan sputtered, her voice caught in her throat. Medusa was a beauty queen compared to the monster before them. Megan’s thoughts jumbled together in a lump of terror.

Rachel yelled in her ear. “What is that?”

Megan’s head was spinning. “A sea-monster?”

“Sorry I asked.”

Megan pushed her heart back down into her chest and guided Pegasus to Claire and Harriet. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Claire said, “we’re fine, considering.” She looked over Megan’s shoulder, toward the sea. “Uh, can you get us out of here? Now would be nice.”

The monster emerged fully from the water. It was easily over a hundred feet tall, with four legs. The monster’s head and upper body was that of a dog, while the rest looked like a fish. It was covered in green, slimy scales, with a tail that ended in a sharp trident. The monster walked on its hind legs toward the cliff. Kelp hung from its arms, clung to its skin in long slimy strands.

“We’ll be back,” Rachel yelled to the captives. “Don’t worry.” She kicked Pegasus hard.

“What did you do that for?” Megan shouted “We have to get them out of there before that thing gets them.”

“There’s no time to free them first. I’ve got an idea.”

Megan turned her head, to look at her friend. Rachel was smiling. “I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

She leaned over and yelled into Megan’s ear. Megan gave her an incredulous look. “You’re kidding, right?”

Rachel shook her head. Megan repeated Rachel’s instructions into Pegasus’s ear. He wheeled away from the cliff and flew upward, toward the monster’s head. Two rows of huge razor-sharp teeth snapped at them as they flew in front of its face. The winged horse hovered just above the monster’s head. Megan sat up straight, gripped with her legs and let go of Pegasus’s mane.

“I must be nuts!” Megan screamed. Rachel’s arms tightened around her waist. “We’re going to fall.”

“Trust me,” Rachel said again.

Megan loosened Rachel’s fingers just a little. The bag with Medusa’s head was still in her lap. Megan unwound the drawstring, pulled open the bag and put a hand inside.

“Now!”

Pegasus pulled his wings back and dove toward the monster. Rachel screamed. They headed straight for the monster’s face. It watched them, mouth open. When its eyes met Megan’s, she pulled the head from the bag. She pointed the Gorgon’s face away from her own and directly at the sea-monster.

The sea-monster tried to turn its eyes away, but it was too late. Under Medusa’s gaze, the gigantic creature instantly turned to stone.

And now they were on a collision course with a huge statue. “Pegasus, stop!” Megan yelled. She dropped Medusa’s head into the ocean and threw her arms around his neck. “Rachel, hold on!”

Pegasus pulled up sharply and turned away, just inches from the monster’s now-granite body. Rachel slid dangerously to one side, her arms still wrapped tightly around Megan’s midsection. Megan reached back, caught Rachel by her chiton, and held on.

They circled the body of the monster and flew back to shore. Pegasus made a graceful landing on top of the cliff.

“Jump off,” Megan said. “I’ll go down and get Harriet and Claire.”

Rachel slid gratefully to the ground and sat cross-legged in the thin, short grass. She patted the ground with both hands. “Land. Wonderful, stationary land.”

Megan kicked, and Pegasus took off again. He leapt over the edge of the cliff, spread his wings wide and caught the wind.

He soared nimbly down and hovered in front of the narrow ledge. “I’m back,” Megan said, trying to be cheerful. The two girls were dripping wet. “Miss me?”

“What was that?” Harriet sputtered. Salt water sprayed from her mouth. “It was horrid. I could have sworn it wanted to eat us.”

Megan waved a hand at them. She didn’t want to upset them, at least not now. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s get you guys out of here.”

That was much easier said than done. Both girls wore thick iron shackles around their wrists. Their chains ran through a pair of large rings anchored to the rock.

“How do you open these?” Megan asked.

“You need the key,” Harriet said. “There’s something new, huh.”

Megan patted her chiton; the key to the library was in her pants, wherever they were. The lump of panic in her stomach solidified. How was she going to get them down? “Uh, I don’t have the key.”

Claire pointed to the rock above Harriet’s head. “Not that one. It’s over there somewhere, I think.”

Megan scanned the rock. An iron peg stuck out of the rock, and on it hung a big iron ring with a single key. The ring was at least ten feet up the wall; well out of their reach.

“Hang on, I’ll get it.” She leaned out to grab it, but it was too far for her to reach without falling off of Pegasus’s back.

Megan swore. “I can’t get it. I’ll try to get closer.” But she couldn’t get nearer to the cliff without Pegasus’s wings banging into it, and the shelf was too small for him to land.

“Now what?” Harriet wailed. “We’re going to be stuck here forever?”

“No, you won’t,” Megan said, irritated. “I’ll think of something. Just hang on.” She furrowed her brow. How did the key get up there in the first place? Megan couldn’t see how it could be done, unless the person who put it up there was unusually tall. She needed to get closer. She slipped off of Pegasus’s back and carefully lowered herself onto the shelf.

“What are you doing?” Claire said. “Are you crackers? You’ll be stuck down here too.”

“Just keep your pants on, will you?” Megan looked in the rock near Harriet’s feet. “Ah, here it is.” There was a small hole in the cliff wall about fifteen inches above the ledge. It was just large enough for her to put a foot in. There was another one a foot above the first. She pushed herself up, her body flat against the rock, and grabbed the key. “I’ve got it.”

“Thank goodness,” Harriet said. “My wrists are beginning to chafe.”

Megan released her friends and climbed back onto a very understanding and cooperative Pegasus.

“There’s only room for me to take one of you at a time,” Megan said. “Who wants to go first?”

“Me!” Harriet volunteered without hesitation. She leaned forward, her hands on the horse’s back, in front of his wings and Megan. She bent her knees to hop up, and the ledge crumbled beneath her feet.

She screamed. Megan grabbed her by the wrist and held on with all her strength. Harriet dangled, feet kicking, a hundred feet over the ocean.

“Help me!”

Megan tried to pull her up, but she was too heavy. “You’re slipping. We won’t make it if we try to fly from here.”

“Don’t let go,” Harriet pleaded

“Never. I swear.” She tightened her grip and willed herself to hold on.

Claire reached out, careful of the crumbling edge, and grabbed Harriet around the waist. “I’ve got her, Megan.” She pulled Harriet back onto the ledge.

“Are you all right?” Megan would never tell Harriet, but she had been about a second away from losing her grip. She didn’t want to think about what could have happened, and silently cursed Sir Gregory Archibald.

“Yes, I think so. How am I supposed to get on that thing?”

“I’ll help you,” Claire said. “Hold my hand.”

This time Harriet was able to climb in front of Megan without a problem. Harriet buried her face in Pegasus’s mane as they flew up. Megan dropped Harriet off with Rachel and retrieved Claire.

Now that the four were reunited and on solid ground, Claire and Harriet hugged Megan tightly.

“We thought it was the end.” Claire wiped the sea-spray off of her glasses. “Thank you.”

“How did you wind up down there?” Rachel asked.

“It was so weird,” Harriet said. “We were just standing on the shore, waiting for you two to come back and we fell asleep. It was so sunny and warm, you know, and we did miss our sleep last night, or whenever it really is. The next thing we knew, we were chained to that rock.”

“You didn’t see anyone?” Megan said.

Claire shook her head. “But we heard someone. They kept us blindfolded until after we were chained up. Whoever it was, kept calling us both Andromeda.”

“I wonder if that goes with the clue that Rache and I found,” Megan said.

“What clue?” Harriet said.

Megan pulled the parchment from her dress and handed it to Harriet, who read it and gave it to Claire.

Harriet pointed to the monster. “So, what does this have to do with Claire and me being served up as lunch for that thing?”

“It’s the story of Cassiopeia and Andromeda,” Claire said. “It’s part of the Perseus myth. After Perseus slew Medusa—which I assume you did—he flew around, doing all kinds of heroic things and meeting all kinds of people. As he flew near Ancient Ethiopia, he saw Princess Andromeda chained to a rock. Her mother, Cassiopeia, boasted that she and her daughter were more beautiful than the Nieids, sea-nymphs. The nymphs complained to Poseidon, God of the Sea, and he said that Cassiopeia must sacrifice her daughter to Cetus, the sea-monster, or else Poseidon would destroy the city where they lived. Perseus made an agreement with Andromeda’s parents. If he could save the city and kill Cetus, then he could have Andromeda as his wife. So he did, by turning the monster to stone with Medusa’s head.” She turned to Rachel and Megan. “You did it just right.”

“Yeah, well, thanks to Rachel,” Megan said. “It was all her idea.”

“And you flew like a champ,” Rachel replied. “So explain to me how this all fits with the bit of clue we found on the tree?”

Claire ran a hand through her short hair. “‘Mother’s pride’ was Cassiopeia’s boast, and the ‘sea-king’s wrath’ had to mean the monster sent by Poseidon.”

“So it was trying to eat us?” Harriet said.

“Sorry, ’fraid so,” Claire said.

“Why would they take both of you if there was only one princess in the story?” Rachel asked.

Claire shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’s just an idiosyncrasy of the book. No matter who was on shore, they would become Andromeda.”

“What if someone came into the book alone?” Megan said. “And no one was on shore.”

“No idea.” Claire crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you get a different clue, or there’s a stand-in. I didn’t write the bloody thing.”

“Good point.” Megan looked overhead. The sun was just past the highest point in the sky. “I don’t know about you girls, but I’m hungry. We need to find something to eat. Anybody see the next clue?”

The girls scoured the immediate area, but there was no sign.

“I need to sit down,” Harriet said. “All of this adventure has me worn out. Then we can look for food, then the clue.” She pointed to a small grove of trees a little way from the cliff’s edge. The girls sat in a circle, none said a word. Megan had wanted to tell Harriet and Claire about what happened inside Medusa’s house, and about finding Pegasus, but now it didn’t seem that important. Her friends could have died—this wasn’t a game, no matter what Sir Gregory called it. And it wasn’t much fun at all.

It was cool and quiet in the shade. Peaceful. Soon all four of them lay in the grass, dozing. Megan didn’t feel peaceful, however. The knot in her stomach hadn’t loosened, and now that she had time to think, it only got worse.

This is all my fault. If I wasn’t such a klutz and hadn’t fallen into the fireplace, we never would have gotten into this mess. But I will get everyone home safe and sound. I swear I will. They’ll probably never talk to me again, but they’ll be alive.

She watched her friends relax in the sun, and realized how much she cared about them, even though she had only known them a week. They don’t deserve any of this. Some friend I am, right? If we get out of this, they’ll probably dump me faster than last week’s school lunch. And I had to kill someone. She closed her eyes and the scene in Medusa’s lair replayed in all its shocking, gory detail. How had she been able to do it? She never would even have considered it before today. She suddenly thought she might lose her appetite.

Rachel sat up and sniffed. “Do you smell that?”

Megan put her nose in the air and took a deep breath. Her stomach betrayed the grim recollection of Medusa and the rest of her dreary thoughts, and growled. “I sure do. Mmm, it smells delicious. Where is it coming from?” She stood up and looked around. “I don’t see anything.”

“We need to find whoever’s cooking.” Harriet’s stomach grumbled loudly, as if it wanted to speak for itself. “And ask if they would share.”

The only one nearby was Pegasus, who grazed near the cliff’s edge. On the other side of the grove, the land sloped away to a deep valley. The hillside, like everything else here, was carpeted with emerald grass. In the distance, beyond the valley, rose a range of blue-green hills. A wisp of gray smoke meandered into the air, coming from somewhere on the hillside below. They walked toward it. Pegasus followed.

The source of the smoke was not hard to find. Halfway down the slope a small fire burned brightly, enclosed by a ring of stones. A makeshift spit lay across the fire, a large something speared onto it. Beside the fire sat a lone figure, turning the spit slowly. Whatever was being cooked gave off the most mouth-watering aroma.

The figure stood as the girls approached; a young woman with silky blonde hair that tumbled to her waist. She raised a hand in welcome. “Hello, weary travelers.” She flashed a serene smile. “Please, sit and rest yourselves. Have something to eat.”

“Thanks.” Rachel sat on a rock near the fire. “We’re starving.”

“I know.” The woman picked up a wooden bowl and stirred its contents. Megan sat next to Rachel and studied the strange woman. Her skin was pale and creamy, and her eyes a brilliant shade of emerald. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman Megan had ever seen. She reminded Megan of her mother, just a little. The thought made her heart ache for home.

Harriet cocked an eyebrow. “Who are you? And how, exactly, do you know we’re hungry?”

The woman gave a knowing smile. “Your coming has been foretold. That is all you need to know.”

“You seem to know quite a bit.” Claire sat on the ground near the fire. “Are you going to give us our next clue?”

The woman shook her head. Her blonde hair moved like wheat caught in the wind. “I can only guide you. The choice whether or not to take the task is yours.”

“You mean we have a choice?” Harriet said. “I didn’t think that that was part of the deal.”

“You always have choices.” The woman sprinkled something into the bowl. “Some are easy, and some are hard. The choices you make depend on what you want to achieve.”

“We want to get home.” Megan eyed the meat on the spit and watched the juices drip into the fire and burn up with a sizzle. Her stomach rumbled.

“Then your choice will be easy,” the woman said with a shrug. She finished stirring, set the bowl aside, and bent over the fire and picked up the spit. In silence, she pulled a knife from the waist of her chiton and cut the meat into four chunks. She took the pieces and put one on each of four red clay plates. That done, she picked up the bowl again and scooped something white and grainy onto each plate, then handed the plates around to the girls, along with rough-hewn wooden spoons.

Megan picked up the meat with her fingers and took a large bite. “Mmm.” Juice ran down her chin, but she made no effort to wipe it off. “This is the best meat I’ve ever tasted. It’s delicious.” She noticed that the woman wasn’t eating. That made Megan nervous—what if the food was poisoned? “Aren’t you going to have any?”

The woman smiled again, and there was no malice in it. “I have already eaten. I am glad it pleases you. The gods have been generous to us today. We must remember to thank them for whatever bounty we receive.”

“Thank you,” Harriet mumbled through a mouthful of meat. At least none of them seemed to labor under any indecision about taking what was offered, which made Megan feel better. Still, she watched them carefully for signs that something was wrong.

“What is this stuff?” Rachel prodded the white grain with her spoon.

“Semolina. Try it, it’s very good.”

Rachel scooped some of the semolina onto the spoon and tasted it. “This is good. Like rice, but better.” She shoveled the rest of it into her mouth.

The meal was over in less than ten minutes, washed down with clear, cool water the woman supplied in a gourd canteen.

Satisfied, Megan laid on the ground. “Thank you again.” She burped loudly, and covered her hand with her mouth, embarrassed for being so unrefined. “Excuse me.”

Claire giggled. “Yes, thank you. But I think we need to get down to business. You mentioned that there was a choice to make. What else can you tell us?”

The woman took handfuls of dirt and threw them on the fire to smother it. When she finished, she stood up and dusted off her hands. “I can tell you what your choices are. Down the hill, in the valley, is a path that runs beside a stream. If you go to the left, you will come to a village, where the people will be more than happy to accommodate you for as long as you wish. There are soft beds and good food.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Harriet said. “I could so go for a nap.”

“Yes it does.” Megan was already suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

The woman nodded slowly. “You are bright, young one. Stay too long and you will forget both your home and your quest.”

“I knew it sounded too good to be true,” Megan said. “What happens if we go the other way?”

“If you go to the right, you will face a great peril that may cost you your life. But you will be one step closer to your goal.”

“Oh, good, something new,” Harriet said.

Claire’s mouth dropped. “What kind of peril?”

“That I cannot tell you, for as I said before, I am only a guide, I cannot choose for you. Each choice has its pitfalls and benefits. You must decide which way to go.”

“The lady or the tiger,” Rachel muttered. “But with a twist.”

“So that’s it?” Claire said. “No rhyming poem, no clue to figure out. Just ‘right or left’?”

“That’s all.” The woman’s emerald eyes sparkled. “That, and a gift.” She reached into a small satchel that hung from her belt and brought out what looked like a ball of thin red yarn. She handed it to Megan.

“Why do I need this?” Megan tossed the ball from one hand to the other.

“It is silk,” the woman said. “A silken thread, like the bonds of friendship, is very strong. It will not break no matter how hard you pull.”

Megan gazed at it, slid her fingers over the thread. She was amazed that something so thin could be as strong as the woman claimed. “Thank you.” Megan glanced down the hill and wondered what awaited them. “I guess we should be going.”

“Take these as well.” The woman handed each girl a ripe, red apple. “And the water gourd. Good fortune be with you.”

“Come on, Pegasus.” Megan and the others walked away from the fire and down the hill. But he was nowhere to be found.

“Maybe he went to stretch his wings,” Claire suggested.

“Or maybe his part of the story is finished.” Harriet shrugged. “And he went home.”

Megan understood—it was the same reason that Homer’s farm had suddenly become deserted. “Like when you turn a page in a book. We’ve gone into the next chapter, left characters behind.” She held the ball of silk in one hand and the apple the woman had given her in the other. At least I finally understand something. She had so far been just going along, following the others’ plans. She hadn’t done a single thing on her own yet, and it was starting to give her a complex.

“Oh, I just thought of something I wanted to ask that woman. I’ll be right back.” She turned to run back to the fire.

The hillside was empty.

Chapter Nine: King Minos’s Monster

All traces of both the woman and the fire were gone, as if they had never been there at all.

Megan scratched her head. “Where did she go?”

“She was probably part of that last chapter, or whatever,” Rachel said. “Like you said. Maybe if we went back up the hill, she’d reappear, like when you turn pages back in a book and reread it.”

Harriet took a step down the hill. “This place gives me the creeps. Let’s get out of here.” She ran from Megan, Claire and Rachel. The girls ran after her.

“Harriet!” Rachel called. “Wait up!”

Harriet continued to run and quickly put some distance between herself and her friends. A few dozen feet before the bottom she tripped, tumbling end over end down the steep slope.

Harriet screamed, then there was a splash.

“Harriet, are you all right?” Megan called.

The three girls reached the bottom of the hill. The path and the stream were there, just as the woman had said they would be. Harriet sat in the middle of the stream.

“I’m soaking wet!” She splashed the surface of the water with one hand. “Again!”

Rachel and Claire clutched their stomachs and doubled over with laughter. Megan, relieved and wearing her own smirk, helped Harriet out of the water.

“It’s not funny.” Harriet wiped her face with one hand. “I hate to be wet unless I’m taking a bath or swimming. And I really hate to get my hair wet.”

She climbed on shore and pulled the clinging chiton away from her body. She marched over to Claire and Rachel, grabbed a handful of yellow material and wrung it out, soaking their feet. Claire and Rachel jumped back, no longer laughing.

“How do you like that?” Harriet stuck her tongue out at them.

“At least it’s a nice sunny day,” Megan said. It was warmer down here, away from the sea breeze, than on the cliff. “You can lie on the grass and dry out.”

“Then we’ll go to the right,” Rachel said.

“What?” Harriet wrung out the rest of her garment. “Why to the right? Who said you get to choose which way we go?”

Megan couldn’t believe her ears. “I, uh, thought we all wanted to go that way. That woman said it’s the way to our goal, so it must lead to the crown. We have to go that way.” She didn’t want to start an argument, but she really thought all of them wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

Harriet harrumphed. “Well, thank you, but I for one don’t want to go walking right into—what did she call it? Oh yes, ‘great peril’.” She flopped on the grass. “I’ve had quite enough danger for one day, thank you. I thought we’d go to the village and spend some time there. Recoup our strength, calm our nerves.” She flicked drops of water off her fingertips. “They probably have dry clothes, too.”

Rachel shook her head, her hands on her hips. “We don’t have time for that. And whether or not you’ve had enough danger, we’re still stuck here, in case you haven’t noticed. I, for one, want to get home as soon as possible. Besides, you heard the woman. If we go there, we’ll forget what we’re supposed to be doing and never leave. Do you want to be stuck inside a book forever?”

“I’m sure we could stay for a little while,” Harriet said. “Just long enough to get a nap and maybe another meal.”

Claire adjusted her glasses. “Let’s take a vote. It’s the only democratic thing to do. All in favor of going left; raise your hand.” Harriet’s hand shot up in the air.

“And all in favor of going right?” Megan and Rachel raised their hands. Claire nodded. “Then it’s decided. We go right.”

“But you didn’t vote, Claire,” Rachel said. “Which way do you want to go?”

“If I voted there would be an even number of votes. Since I abstained, there could be no chance for a tie. This way, we get on with whatever we’re going to do instead of standing here all day prattling on about it.”

And with that, she turned to the right and walked away. Megan and Rachel looked at each other, shrugged, and followed her. Harriet, still dripping wet, trudged behind.

The path was really a narrow foot track. It cut through the valley and followed the stream, which gurgled and sang its way along. Wildflowers bloomed here and there, adding a splash of bright color among the green and brown of the grass. Turtles sunned themselves on rocks in the middle of the stream; once in a while a fish poked its head above the surface.

The shadows grew longer; the sun started to sink behind the hills. Megan wondered how much longer they would have light down here in the valley, and how much farther they would have to walk. The hills grew closer together, and the path and stream continued between them. Large rocks, perhaps pieces of the hill that had tumbled, sat beside the path.

“Where does this thing end?” Rachel stopped and looked ahead. “I can’t see anything up ahead that looks remotely dangerous. Not even a sharp rock.”

Harriet sat on a small rock beside the path. “Can we take a break, please? I still need to dry out a bit. Especially my feet.” She took off her soggy sandals and set them next to her.

“Yeah, we might as well,” Megan said. “You’ll be cold when it gets dark down here if you don’t.” She shook the canteen and listened to the water slosh around inside. “I’ll go fill this up.” She walked down the small bank to the stream, and stuck the lip of the gourd into the water, watching it bubble as the air inside was displaced. She stood and put the stopper back in, turned to climb back up the bank, and froze. She heard something—voices, but not those of her friends. They came from behind them, and were pitched low.

Megan bounded up the bank and ran to where Rachel, Claire and Harriet sat. They stopped talking when they saw the look on Megan’s face.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Rachel said.

“I don’t hear anything,” Harriet said. “I think you’re imagining—”

“Shh.” Megan put a finger to her lips, and the girls sat very still. The voices were louder now, closer.

“Quick, hide,” Rachel whispered.

They jumped up and dove behind the rocks. The voices were very close now. Megan couldn’t help herself—she took a peek.

A group of boys and girls, who looked to be older teenagers, walked in two columns along the path. They didn’t speak. The voices came from four guards dressed in short leather skirts, bronze breastplates and helmets. Each carried a long, razor-sharp spear and shield. Two guards led the group down the path, and two followed behind.

“How much farther?” one said.

“Not much. Just around that bend ahead. We should be there soon.”

“Good. I want to get home in time for supper,” said one in the back.

“Better than being supper,” laughed a third.

The young people remained silent. Megan watched their faces. Their eyes were downcast, their faces ashen. Most looked terrified. Megan counted them; seven boys and seven girls—fourteen in all.

The procession marched past the girls’ hiding place without slowing. The guards’ voices faded. “We should follow them,” Rachel said.

“Of course we should.” Harriet rolled her eyes. “We can’t just go our own way, can we?”

Rachel gave Harriet a hard stare. “Look, we were already headed that way. We might as well see where they’re taking those people. Did you see them? They looked like they were going to a funeral.”

Megan had been thinking the same thing. Those kids were in trouble. Suddenly her own problems seemed less significant. “We’ll stay behind them, but close enough to make sure we don’t lose them.”

They checked to see that it was safe, and crept from behind the rock. Single file, Megan in the lead, then Rachel, Harriet and Claire, they followed the group. The guards stayed focused on their charges, and never turned to look behind them. Megan could still see them, but she slowed down and let them get ahead until they were almost out of sight.

“You’re going to lose them,” Harriet hissed.

“Shh. Keep quiet,” Rachel said. “And no, she’s not. She’s got it under control.”

They followed the group for another half mile before Megan put her hand up to stop her friends.

“They’ve stopped. We’ll wait here and see what happens.”

The girls looked for something to hide behind, but there was nothing. The hills crowded around them; there wasn’t a rock in sight. The stream had meandered from the path long ago, so they couldn’t hide along the bank.

“Now what?” Harriet whispered. “If they come back, we’re done for.”

Megan glanced around. “There.” She climbed a little way up the hill on their right and ducked beneath an overhanging rock. In the deeper shadows she hoped they wouldn’t be visible.

“Brilliant.” Claire said. She clambered up, Rachel and Harriet squeezed in beside them. From this elevated vantage point Megan had a good view of what went on ahead.

The guards shepherded the frightened young men and women into a cave cut out of the bottom of a hill, where the path ended. When all fourteen were inside, the guards stood shoulder to shoulder and blocked the entrance. They pointed their spears inside, probably to discourage any of the prisoners from running out.

The soldiers stood that way for several minutes, ready to skewer anyone that dared to come out. Finally the guards turned away and headed back down the path.

Megan pulled herself deeper into the shadows, and hoped that her hiding place was good enough. The soldiers appeared relaxed now that their job was done, and walked by without a second look. One said something Megan couldn’t hear; the others laughed and slapped each other on the back.

The minutes that the girls waited seemed like hours. The guards didn’t come back. Rachel and Megan slid down the hill and checked to make sure they were really gone. Soon Rachel beckoned Claire and Harriet with a wave of her hand.

“All clear. I think we’re safe.”

“What do you think is in that cave?” Claire asked.

“I don’t know,” Megan said. “But it looks like grave peril to me.”

“So you think that’s where we have to go?” Harriet took a big bite out of her apple.

“That’s where the path leads,” Claire said. “So I imagine it is.”

The cave entrance was not merely a rough-edged cave opening, but a finely crafted doorway. The rock on either side of the entrance was carved into columns with strands of stone ivy wound around them. Across the top of the cave’s mouth was a flat slab of stone with single word carved into it. Minwtaur. Megan got a creepy feeling from it, like she should be afraid, but didn’t know why.

“What does that say?” Harriet said to no one in particular.

Claire studied the letters and shrugged. “It’s only one word. Could mean ‘Danger’, or it could mean ‘Jail’. Those people could be criminals for all we know.”

“They were kids, though,” Megan said. “Our age—how could they be criminals?” She stared into the cave. Something about this situation felt familiar, but she couldn’t figure out why.

“Should we follow them inside?” Harriet stood at the edge of the cave. “I mean, if they are criminals, they did something wrong, and they’re being punished.” She licked her lips. “Besides, it’s dark. I don’t suppose any of you have a flashlight?”

“You know we don’t,” Rachel said. “We have to go in. This is where the path ends, so our next clue is probably in there. We’ll have to face whatever’s in there to get it.”

“I suppose we could just feel along the walls,” Megan said. “Those other people couldn’t have gotten far. If it’s just a cave, how far back could it go? We’ll find them and ask them why they’re in there. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll know where the clue is.”

“Why don’t Harriet and I go in first,” Rachel said. “That way, if it’s too dark or we get lost, we can call to you and Claire and follow your voices out.”

“No!” Megan said. She wasn’t going to let them walk blind into something so obviously dangerous. If anyone was going to put themselves on the line, it was going to be her. “I’ll go. By myself.”

“Absolutely not,” Rachel said. “No one should go in there alone. And you did brilliantly flying Pegasus, and you cut off Medusa’s head. Let us take a turn, okay?”

Megan still had a nagging feeling that she should recognize the cave and they should stay out. But she didn’t see that they had a choice, and she couldn’t force Rachel to let her go alone. “All right, fine. Just be careful.”

“Me,” Harriet protested. “Why me? You can go by yourself. I don’t do danger, remember? Take Claire.”

Rachel tapped an impatient foot on the ground. “Harriet, you’re going. And we’ll be careful. I’ll keep one hand on the wall, and you can hold the other. That way we won’t lose each other, and we’ll be able to find our way out again.”

Rachel and Harriet walked into the cave. Megan watched the darkness suck them in, as if it had been waiting for them. She sat on the ground and rolled the ball of string from one hand to the other, thinking about why this cave seemed so familiar to her, worried for her friends, feeling helpless again. Minutes crept by without sight or sound of Rachel and Harriet.

“Do you think they’re okay?”

Claire stared up at the word carved into the rock above the entrance. “I don’t know. I’m trying to figure out what this word means. Darn it all, I wish I knew Greek.”

Megan stood next to her. “Let’s talk it out. Whatever is in there is something dangerous. The woman told us as much. We saw seven boys and seven girls being forced inside. And that—” she pointed to the first letter, “—is most definitely an M. I don’t know if it sounds the same in Greek as in English, but let’s assume it does. What do all those things together mean?”

Megan’s stomach dropped. Claire must have figured it out at the same time, because her eyes were huge.

“Oh, no.”

“Rachel, Harriet!” they screamed together. “Come back!”

They received only their own voices in reply from the inky blackness.

“This is bad,” Megan said. It was the one story she did remember, in its entirety, from her Lit book. Because it was, by far, one of the most disgusting.

And if I had remembered it sooner, I would never have let Rachel and Harriet go in there! What have I done?

“Do you really think this is the Minotaur’s labyrinth?”

Claire bit her lower lip. “From what I remember of the story, I’d have to say yes. Those people we saw going in weren’t criminals, they’re the sacrifice from Athens required by King Minos of Crete.”

“We have to get in there.” Megan took Claire by the arm and dragged her toward the labyrinth. “None of them stand a chance. They’ll get lost, and then…”

“…the Minotaur will get them.” Claire pulled her arm from Megan’s grip. “But if we go in without a plan, we’ll get lost too. What good would that do?”

Of course, as usual, Claire was right. Megan’s shoulders slumped. She had to think things through, or else she would wind up needing to be saved too. And that was unacceptable.

What would Rachel do? The fact was, Megan wasn’t sure. If she was talking about Becky, who she had known since the second grade, she could have almost read her mind. She just didn’t know Rachel well enough.

She looked at the ball of silk still in her hand. The woman on the hill’s words about friendship came back to her. Why didn’t I think of this before? I’m such an idiot.

She held it up to show Claire. “This is what we need.”

Megan turned the ball over until she found the end of the string. “You take this.” She handed the ball to Claire. “And I’ll take the end.” Megan tied the string around her waist. “Stay here and unroll the ball as I go.”

Claire unraveled a length of string and let it fall to the ground in a pile. “Are you sure about this?”

Oh Jeeze, Megan thought. Not really.

“Absolutely.”

Megan stepped inside the labyrinth’s entrance. “As long as we don’t run out of string, I’ll be able to follow it right back out again, easy. Once I find Rachel and Harriet. And the next clue.”

Claire grabbed her and hugged her tight. “Just get all of you out of there in one piece.”

Megan gave her a strained smile that didn’t quite hide her fear. “I’ll be fine.” She said it as much for her own benefit as for Claire’s. “Just don’t let go.”

Megan took small steps into the cave, and was immediately swallowed in cool, clammy darkness. The air was stale and still; it smelled like the pair of dirty, sweaty socks that Megan had left in her locker the entire week of hockey camp last year. She tried to take a deep breath, but the stench forced her to take small, shallow sips of air.

She looked over her shoulder. Claire was still there, framed by a small square of light. Megan waved, but it must have been too dark for Claire to see her, because she didn’t wave back. Megan turned from the entrance, and a ghost square of light floated in front of her vision like a sunspot.

It slowly dissipated and left behind a veil of cold darkness that completely blinded her. She put her right hand out and ran it along the cave’s rough stone walls. Setting one foot out in front of her, she stepped forward. Small stones and rocks—she hoped they were rocks—crunched beneath her feet, but otherwise the floor was level and clear.

Slowly, steadily, Megan felt her way through the cave. She stopped when she came to a corner and used her hands and feet to get an idea of the layout. She checked to make sure the string was still around her waist. She pulled on it several times to be certain it hadn’t broken. The woman was right, silk thread was strong.

She heard voices, whispering, and turned her head first one way and then another to try and pinpoint where they came from. But the labyrinth’s echo made it impossible. Nor could she tell who the voices belonged to.

“Rachel? Harriet?” she called hopefully into the dark. Her voice reverberated until it faded away into the distance. No answer came, but the soft, constant sound of whispering continued. It was getting louder, coming closer.

“Is anyone there?” she said, not so loudly this time. Still no answer; and the sound grew louder still.

Megan held her breath, her chest tightened; she was rooted to the spot. The sound changed suddenly, from the whispering of voices to the sound of wings.

They were all around her, flapping and screeching. Megan put her hands over her head and curled up into a ball. The bats’ wings scratched her arms; their feet pulled at her hair. She could stand it no longer—she screamed. It sent the bats into a frenzy. Megan waved her arms and beat at the bats; she felt their soft fur against her palms.

She found her feet again. She stayed low and ran, not caring where she went as long as it was away from the writhing beasts. Bouncing off of walls and sliding around corners until she smashed, face first, into something hard.

Megan fell backward and landed flat on her back with a grunt. She lay there for several minutes, breathing heavily. Her eyes stared into nothing. It was quiet. They were gone.

She pushed herself to a sitting position and rubbed her throbbing nose. She felt her face to see if it was bleeding. It wasn’t, but it did feel about three sizes too big, like the time she had gotten hit in the face with a field hockey ball. It wasn’t broken, but it did hurt.

Oh. No. She had been so careful, trying to find her way through the labyrinth so that she would have at least a vague idea of how to get out again. Now she hadn’t a clue which way to go.

Great. Just great. How am I supposed to find Rachel and Harriet when I can’t even keep myself from getting lost?

She stood and pushed the negative thoughts out of her head. She had to keep her head. Maybe it would be better to go back to the entrance and start over again. It couldn’t waste more time than she was standing around here, freaking out. She touched the string. Still there, thank goodness. She spun around so that it stretched out in front of her, and grasped it, meaning to wind it up as she went. She had gone only a few feet when she heard a scuffling sound behind her. She turned her head in the direction of the sound, and was promptly knocked to the ground again.

“Who… Who’s there?” someone said to Megan’s left.

“Who is that?” Megan waved her hands around and searched for the person.

“My name is Diona.” Her voice was right in front of Megan. “Who are you?”

“Megan.” She found what felt like an arm. “Are you part of the sacrifice?”

“Yes.” Diona’s voice was hoarse. “I got separated from my companions, and have been wandering in this horrible place ever since.” Megan heard her sob. “It is useless, the Minotaur will find us all soon, and eat us.”

“Have you found anyone else since you got lost?” Megan said. “Anyone else that was not in your group?” She reached for a hope.

“No.” It was easy to hear the sadness and desperation in Diona’s voice. “I have found no one but you. We are doomed.”

Megan wasn’t giving up. “No we’re not. Give me your hand.” She fumbled around until she found Diona’s outstretched hand, and placed it on the silk thread. “This will lead you back to the entrance. Hold onto it tightly and follow it, don’t let go. My friend Claire is waiting at the other end.”

Diona gasped. “Could this be true? There is escape?”

“Yes, but you should go now. I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay in one place too long.”

Diona put her other arm around Megan’s neck and hugged her tightly. “Thank you. Why don’t you come with me?”

“I need to find my friends. But could you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“When you get out, please tell Claire I’m all right, and tell her not to worry.” Megan tried to sound brave, but her voice wavered.

“I will do what you ask. May the gods watch over you and keep you safe.”

“Good luck to you, too.” Megan heard shuffling as Diona stood, felt the tension on the string as the girl gripped it for dear life. More shuffling as her new friend took a few tentative steps.

“Goodbye, my friend.” Diona’s voice was further away. Her footsteps grew faint until all was silent once again. Megan sat for a few minutes longer and gathered her thoughts. What she had said to Diona was true—she couldn’t turn back now. By the time she got to the entrance and started again, it would be too late—if it wasn’t already.

She couldn’t think about that; Harriet and Rachel had to be alive. They had to be. Megan got to her feet and found her bearings as best she could. With her right hand on the wall again, she continued her search of the never-ending passages, backtracking several times when she came to a dead end. She found nothing but dark, dismal, smelly tunnels.

How long have I been in here? I should have run into someone else by now, shouldn’t I?

She cursed out loud when her foot connected with something hard, sending a wave of pain up her leg. She sat on the ground to rub her toe, which throbbed in concert with her nose. It was a minute before she realized that she could see her foot.

She looked around her. Things weren’t clear—only an outline in shades of gray—but visible.

Megan rubbed her eyes, thinking her mind was playing tricks on her. The grayness remained. She held her hand up in front of her face and wiggled her fingers. Five fingers waved back.

She stood and looked behind her. The gray faded into complete darkness. In front of her it grew brighter. On the floor in front of her was a large chunk of rock. That’s what she had kicked. She walked around it and toward the light.

The walls came into focus and she was surprised—the labyrinth was not part of the cave, but built from rectangular stone, like the one she had kicked. It was man-made. The mortar between the stones crumbled away in places, and there were dark gaps where stones between the tunnels had fallen away. More of them lay in the passage ahead of her. Megan skirted around them easily now that she could see them.

Ahead was a short set of rough steps that led down to an open doorway. Beyond was a low, narrow corridor. The light came from bracketed torches on the walls.

Megan shivered. Now that she could see, she wasn’t sure that she wanted to. Bones of small animals littered the floor, and the labyrinth’s distinctive odor was much stronger.

The hall opened into a square room. Water ran down the slimy walls in rivulets and made puddles of mud on the floor. The torches sputtered and hissed when the water splashed them, and the flickering firelight cast long, wavering shadows, like dancing demons.

In one corner was a pile of straw. It was mashed down in the center, as if something heavy sat there recently. The straw stunk of must, mildew, and something else—animal. Beside the straw was a pile of strange-looking white sticks and rocks. Megan leaned down, picked up one of the sticks, and bit back a scream. It wasn’t a stick—it was a bone.

A human bone.

Chapter Ten: Beating the Maze

Oh. My. God.

Megan felt the blood drain from her face. She dropped the bone and clutched her stomach. Her gorge rose in her throat. She was in the Minotaur’s lair. She turned from the pile and bent over. More remains were scattered around the cave, some with bits of rotten flesh still clinging to them.

Megan’s body heaved, and everything the woman on the hill fed her came up in a rush. When it finally stopped, she wiped her mouth on her chiton and stood upright.

At least the Minotaur isn’t at home, or my bones would already be in the pile.

She took a few deep breaths, ignored the stench, and pulled herself together. Keeping her gaze well above the floor, she took another look around the chamber.

Three doors led from the room, including the one she had used to enter. Another was directly across, and the third beside the Minotaur’s bed. The fourth wall had a series of twelve small niches, three rows of four each. Their edges were smooth, each the concave recess like its brothers. The outer edge of each was decorated like the labyrinth’s entrance, with ivy vines carved of the stone.

Their purposeful placement looked incongruous in the slimy, smelly cave filled with the remains of the Minotaur’s meals. Half the niches were empty. The rest contained small items. A rag doll was tucked into one, and a gold bracelet in another.

Where did they come from? Megan remembered the bones on the floor, and the blood drained from her face. On second thought, I don’t want to know.

The last cubbyhole contained a brown wooden box. Megan reached up and lifted it from its place. It was the size of a small jewelry box, and made of dark, highly polished wood. It was beautifully carved all around. The top was decorated with a head, carved in relief. In the dim light she couldn’t tell if the head was supposed to be a man, woman or something else. For a second it looked like whatever it was had horns—then the light shifted and they were gone.

She pulled on the lid. It didn’t open. Megan looked at the front of the box; the latch was rusted shut. She held it up to her ear and shook it. It didn’t sound like there was anything inside. She heard the sound of whispers again and cringed. Please, not more bats. But nothing happened. With a shrug, she reached up to put the box back on the shelf and stopped. Something was written on the bottom.

Megan squinted to read the inscription, but it was too dark. She moved nearer to one of the torches for better light.

A deep-throated grunting sounded nearby; followed by a heavy shuffling. Megan, box in hand, froze and listened. Whatever it was, it was closing in quickly.

She ran to each door and listened briefly. The sound came from the passage across from where she entered. With her heart in her throat, she ran back the way she had come. The silken thread trailed behind her. She pulled it into the corridor and pressed her back against the wall, making herself as flat as she could and willing herself invisible.

Something came into the room. Megan’s hands shook, her breaths were ragged. Her heart thundered in her ears, so loud that she was sure it could be heard in every tunnel of the labyrinth. She had to see what it was; she peeked into the room.

The Minotaur. It had the body of a man—long, well-muscled legs, bare chest and arms, a dirty loin cloth wrapped around its waist. The head was that of a bull; long face and snout covered with chocolate-brown fur. A gold ring hung from its nose and two sharp, stained horns sat on top of its head. The beast dragged something behind it. He turned to the straw bed, and Megan got a clear view of what it was.

Harriet. The Minotaur held her by the wrists and pulled her unconscious body along the earthen floor. Megan couldn’t tell if poor Harriet was alive or… She shuddered. The bull-man let go of Harriet’s arms, and her body fell limply to the ground. She let out a small groan, and Megan sighed with relief. Harriet was alive, but for how long? She had to get Harriet away from the beast, and fast. And what had happened to Rachel? Megan’s insides danced with worry. Focus. Harriet was here, now. She had to help her first.

The Minotaur sniffed Harriet; for a moment Megan was sure she would have to make her presence known. She had no idea what she would do, but she wouldn’t just stand here and let the monster kill Harriet.

Instead he stood and shuffled out the door beside his bed. Megan bolted from her hiding place and to Harriet’s side. She knelt and brushed her friend’s hair away from her face. “Harriet. It’s Megan. Can you hear me?” Please, please, please be all right.

Harriet’s eyes fluttered, but did not open. “Come on, Harriet, wake up. We have to get out of here before that thing comes back.” She tugged on Harriet’s arms, wanting to slide her across the floor to safety, but she was too heavy. There was nothing in here that Megan could use to lift or move Harriet. She was running out of time.

Grunting, shuffling came from the passage. The Minotaur was coming back. Megan quickly threw some of the straw on top of Harriet.

Maybe that will confuse him for a while, as long as Harriet stays still. It was a desperate measure; Megan didn’t think it would work, but she didn’t have any other ideas. She ran to her hiding place just as the Minotaur came through the door.

Megan watched him. His limbs jerked when he moved; his head swayed from side to side in a constant rhythm. He gave the straw a quick sniff, then turned away from it and stumbled around the room. He snorted, and his huge nostrils flared as he swung his head around. He lifted his head and sniffed the air, cocked an ear and listened. After a few moments, he stood in the center of the lair, threw his head back and let out an angry yell. He charged around the room, arms flailing, that horrific sound coming from him again and again.

Megan put her hands over her ears. Why didn’t he go back to Harriet? Couldn’t he see her, beneath the straw? She hadn’t counted on the Minotaur being so stupid.

She watched the bull continue its rampage. He bounced his head off of the walls. When he came close to Megan’s hiding place, she saw his face. Milky white eyes looked right at her. She was sure she was caught.

The beast continued on. He ran right by her and stuck a horn into one of the niches. It pierced the rag doll. The doll stuck; it flopped and spun around on the tip of the horn as the bull turned and ran to the other end of the room.

Why didn’t he see me? It was dark here in the passage, but not that dark, and she wasn’t well hidden. Her mouth dropped open. Eyes that were milky white, the head shaking, the jerky movements. The Minotaur was blind!

No wonder the labyrinth is so dark. It gives the Minotaur an advantage. The poor souls being sacrificed stumble around in the dark, as blind as the beast that hunted them. Unlike the people, the Minotaur knew every twist and turn in the maze.

Megan remembered how he had sniffed and listened, just before his tantrum. He was blind, but he could smell, and he could hear.

That was how he found his victims; smell and sound. Harriet was covered with the rancid straw; he couldn’t smell her through it. If she remained still, he wouldn’t hear her. It was like she had disappeared. Megan watched the beast throw itself against the walls again and again, angry he had lost his supper. Probably why he hadn’t smelled Megan; he was focused on finding Harriet.

Megan snuck up the passage, back to where the wall had fallen apart. She knelt and picked up some bits of mortar and small stones from the floor. With rocks cradled in the skirt of chiton, she stole back to her place in the doorway. The Minotaur raged on. She waited until he was on the far side of the room and slipped just inside the door. She pressed her body against the wall and crept to the nearest corner, afraid that the tiniest sound would give her away.

Before the beast could sniff her out she took one of the rocks and threw it as hard as she could into the doorway across the room.

The Minotaur stopped, his head cocked toward the sound. Megan threw another stone. It bounced off the wall inside the passage and echoed into the distance. She had two rocks left.

Harriet stirred beneath her cover of straw. Megan held her breath and willed Harriet to be still. While the Minotaur was still distracted, she threw the biggest stone, and tried to make as much noise as possible. It pinged off the walls and floor and rattled to a stop somewhere down the tunnel.

The Minotaur charged down the passage with a huff. Megan ran to Harriet. She pulled the stinking straw off, tossing it over her shoulder. Harriet woke up slowly, and Megan helped her to her feet.

“Megan?” Harriet pulled a piece of straw from her hair. “How did you get here? Where am I?”

“We’re in the Minotaur’s lair. And we have to go, now.”

“We have to find Rachel.” Harriet’s legs shook. Megan had to hold her up or she would fall. “I lost her. We were running, and I tripped. I don’t know where she is.”

Megan felt a little relief—there was still a chance Rachel was all right. “We’ll find her. How do you feel? Can you run?”

“I think so.” Harriet rubbed her head. “But it’s so dark, how will we find her? And how are we going to find our way out?”

Megan pulled up some of the slack on the thread and looped it around Harriet’s waist. “This will keep up together. Claire’s holding the other end outside. As far as seeing where we’re going…”

Megan took Harriet’s hand and pulled her to the wall. “We’ll just borrow one of these.” She lifted one of the lit torches from its bracket. She handed the little carved box to Harriet.

“Hold this.”

Harriet looked at the lid, her eyes glued to the face on the top. “What is it? It’s beautiful.”

Megan didn’t have time to explain; she hoped it was their clue. She wasn’t spending any more time looking for the clue if the box wasn’t it. They needed to get out of here. “We’re taking it with us. Just don’t lose it, okay?”

Harriet looped the fabric of her chiton around it and tucked it tight. Megan led Harriet from the Minotaur’s room through the door the Minotaur used to bring Harriet in.

Now that they had light, Megan and Harriet were able to move through the labyrinth easily. They looked for Rachel in corners, down intersecting paths and through holes in the walls. The only living things they saw were the rats that scurried away into the shadows. They walked in silence—neither wanted to let the beast know where they were.

Megan stopped often to listen for movement—either the Minotaur’s clumsy steps or some person lost in the maze.

“How long have we been looking?” Harriet whispered.

Megan put a finger to her lips. “Shh. I don’t know. I don’t have a watch.”

“Do you think we’ll ever find her?”

Megan sighed—it was exactly she was thinking. When would it be time to stop looking and follow the thread back outside, to abandon their friend? Megan shook the thought from her head—not yet. She wouldn’t give up. “Come on, let’s keep moving. We shouldn’t talk anymore either.”

They found Rachel down a long corridor, hiding in a corner, curled up into a ball. She sobbed quietly; her black hair fell around her like a curtain. Megan knelt in front of her and put a hand on her shoulder. Rachel looked up, her face blotchy and her eyes red, and put her hand in front of her eyes to block the light from the torch.

“Megan?” she croaked. “Is that really you? What are you doing here? Is Harriet with you?”

Megan smiled and wiped Rachel’s cheeks with one hand. “Yes, it’s us.” She gathered Rachel in her arms and hugged her. “You’re all right now, you’re safe.” She pulled Rachel to her feet and brushed her hair out of her face.

“I was so afraid.” Rachel hugged Harriet. “Once I lost you, I got all turned around and I thought I’d never find you again, and I’d never get out of here.”

Megan looped the thread around Rachel’s waist. “Now that we’re together again, we are getting out of here. Right now.” There was a sudden noise; all three girls jumped.

“I’m for that,” Harriet said.

Megan turned back the way she had come, and the thread showed her exactly the way out of this waking nightmare.

They came back to the Minotaur’s lair. It was still empty. Megan ran, and dragged her friends across the horrible room, into the narrow corridor and up the stairs. Megan stopped and leaned against the wall—she needed to take a moment. Crossing the monster’s lair gave her the heebie-jeebies.

“It shouldn’t be far now,” she said. “As long as we don’t run into that thing we should be all right.”

“You can say that again,” Harriet said.

“No thanks.”

They continued to follow the thread, and darkness closed in around them again. In the light of the torch Megan could see the path she had taken. It was nothing short of a miracle she had found her friends.

“Megan,” Rachel whispered.

“What?”

“Do you hear something?”

“No.”

“Harriet?”

“No, I don’t hear anything.”

“Megan?”

“Yes, Rache?”

“Someone’s coming.”

Megan stopped. Without the noise of six feet shuffling along, it was very quiet. She did hear something. It was coming from behind them. It was running.

Harriet’s hands trembled. “We have to hide.”

“There’s nowhere to go,” Megan said. “We’re in a straight tunnel.”

“Then let’s run,” Rachel said. “Go!”

The three girls bolted. Megan couldn’t hear anything except the sound of their feet and breathing. She looked over her shoulder. Whatever it was had caught up to them, it was just outside the circle of light from the torch.

“Wait! Stop, please!” a terrified voice shouted. Megan rounded the next corner and grabbed Harriet’s arm.

“Why are we stopping?” Harriet wailed. “We’ll be caught.” Rachel tried to keep running, but the thread pulled her up short. It still did not break.

“What the—” she said.

“Thank you.”

That came from one of the three boys who ran into the light, along with one girl. All of them were breathing heavily; they bent over and clutched their sides.

“Thank you for stopping,” one of the men said. “But we cannot linger. The beast is not far behind.”

Megan grabbed the thread and put it into each of their hands. “Hold on to this and don’t let go. Link hands with the person ahead of and behind you. Rachel, you hold onto them. Harriet, please don’t lose that box. I’m not coming back for it.”

Megan took her place at the head of the line. “Let’s get out of here.” She pulled the train of people along behind her. They walked at first but soon broke into a jog.

“Run!” someone behind her shouted. “It’s coming!”

Megan pumped her legs as fast as she could. It was hard with six people in tow. The Minotaur’s grunts echoed behind them. The light swayed in front of her and highlighted the walls as they streaked by.

Someone behind let out a blood-curdling scream. The thread around her waist cinched tight. “Ow, take it easy,” Megan said.

“It’s not me,” Harriet said. “Rachel, quit it.”

“It wasn’t me either,” Rachel said. “Whoever was at the end of the line tripped. I think we’ve lost them.”

Megan stopped. “What do you mean, ‘lost them’?”

“Keep going,” said one of the boys. “We can’t stop. The beast will be distracted, we can get away.”

Megan realized what he was saying. She thought she was going to throw up again. Instead she took a deep breath. They had to take advantage of the poor person’s misfortune. “Right.” She steadied herself and started to run again.

Finally she saw the exit, and there was Claire, waiting for them. When they emerged from the cave, each of them took a deep breath of fresh air.

Claire dropped the ball of string, which didn’t look any smaller than when Megan had gone into the labyrinth, and wrapped her arms around her friends.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see you again.” She wept into Megan’s shoulder. “I was terrified, actually.”

Diona waited with Claire. She greeted Megan with a brilliant smile. “My friend, you are most certainly favored by the gods. I never would have thought it possible to escape the labyrinth of King Minos.”

“We had help.” Megan loosened the thread. It fell around her feet and she sat on the ground, put her arms on her knees and gulped the fresh air. “If that woman hadn’t given us the ball of thread, I don’t think I would have been able to pull it off.”

Diona picked up the thread and looked at it. “It is a gift from the gods.”

“Perhaps.” Megan took the thread and rolled the loose end between her fingers. If I ever see her again, I’ll have to thank her. She laughed out loud. The woman wasn’t real, she was just another of Sir Gregory’s characters. It felt good to laugh. She didn’t remember the last time she had even felt like laughing.

She stopped when she saw the two boys and the girl who they found in the tunnels. They spoke with Diona briefly, in hushed tones, their faces solemn. No doubt they talked about the ten people they had lost to the Minotaur.

Leave it me to be inappropriate, Megan thought with a sigh. Harriet or Rachel would never have laughed when someone else was hurting.

“What do you want me to do with this thing?” Harriet said. She pulled out the little wooden box that Megan had lifted from the Minotaur’s room and stared at it. “It’s so pretty.”

“Where did you get that?” Claire asked.

Megan pulled the box from Harriet’s grip; it took some doing too, Harriet didn’t seem to want to let go. “In the Minotaur’s lair. There’s something written on the bottom.” She turned it over. “I saw it in the cave, but the Minotaur showed up and I never did read it.”

“What does it say?” Rachel said.

Megan scanned the words, scrawled in black. “‘In the house of the daughter lies the Crown of the King’.”

“It must be our next clue,” Rachel said.

Megan looked at the words, and thought hard. What could it mean?

Uh, I am so bad at this.

Rachel, once again, was quicker on the draw. “Zeus was king of the gods. We’re looking for his crown. So maybe we’re looking for the house of his daughter? How many daughters did Zeus have?”

“He had several.” Claire continued to stare at the box; something was strange about her expression, like she was preoccupied. “But only one, according to myth, was his favorite. She also happens to be Sir Gregory’s favorite, which is no coincidence I’m sure. Athena.”

“Okay, where does Athena live?” Harriet asked. “Can we just ring her up and say ‘Oh, hi there, dear, do you think we could just come by and nip that crown from you?’”

Claire gave Harriet a reproving look. “A god or goddess’s house on earth is a temple dedicated to them. The clue might be a reference to a Temple of Athena.”

“Excuse me?” one of the boys said. “Did you say you were looking for a Temple of Athena?”

“Yes,” Claire gave the box back to Megan. “Do you know where we can find it?”

“There are many shrines to the Goddess of Wisdom,” he said. “But the largest is in our home city of Athens.”

“Makes sense,” Rachel said. “Athens, Athena. How do we get there?”

“There is a boat waiting to take us to the city,” the other boy said. He was tall and muscular with full lips and curly golden-brown hair. “It was foretold I would escape the Minotaur and return home.”

“And who are you?” Megan realized she and her friends were being rude. Thinking only about the next clue, they had all but ignored the people who had escaped with them from the labyrinth. Megan hadn’t said she was sorry about the person the Minotaur took on their last dash from the maze. He had probably been their friend.

“My name is Theseus.” He bowed to the girls. “I am the prince of Athens.”

“Of course,” Claire whispered to the girls. “Theseus told his father that if he died in the labyrinth, his ship would return to Athens with black sails. If he lived, they would be white. Theseus killed the Minotaur and returned to Athens to claim his throne. But he forgot to change the ships sails from black to white, and his father thought he died, so he threw himself into the sea. That’s why it’s called the Aegean Sea; his father was Aegis.”

“Don’t any of these stories have a happy ending?” Harriet said with a roll of her eyes.

Megan ignored her and tried to decide if she needed to curtsey to an imaginary Greek prince. She decided not to, but put on her friendliest face. “Ah, okay, then, Your Highness. May we, uh, hitch a ride?”

Theseus looked puzzled. “Hitch?”

“She means, will you please allow us passage on your ship and take us to Athens?” Claire said.

“Yeah, that’s what I mean,” Megan said, mentally kicking herself. Not only hadn’t she been able to figure out any of the clues so far, she couldn’t even speak properly to a make-believe prince.

“Of course.” Theseus shook his hair out of his eyes. “You saved me from the beast. It is the least I can do.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said. “We appreciate your generosity.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The prince smiled; his teeth were white and straight. Megan thought he was what her father would call charming. Her knees suddenly felt like jelly.

“We should go now,” Theseus said. “Before anyone discovers we’ve escaped. King Minos will be furious when he finds out.”

He led the girls and the small group of survivors into the hills. They found the sun again once they were out of the valley, but it dipped low in the sky as they continued to walk. It peeked between the hilltops and made their shadows grow long in front of them. Megan shivered; it was getting chilly. She hoped it wasn’t much further to the ship.

Soon they heard the lonely cry of seagulls, and the cool breeze that blew over them carried a scent of salt. At the top of the next rise Megan saw the ocean below, clean smelling and crystal blue. Between the hills and the sea was a crescent-shaped cove. Nestled within it lay a tiny village.

The little band walked into town. Homes crowded in next to each other along a wide, deeply rutted dirt road. Most of the people Megan saw were women and children, or very old men. One woman held a dripping piece of cloth over a wooden wash basin, her eyes wide and mouth agape. Others stole glances at Megan and her friends from the shadows or around doors.

Megan, Claire, Rachel and Harriet tried to look friendly. The prince and his friends kept their eyes straight ahead, their expressions unreadable.

“Don’t talk to them,” Diona whispered to the girls. “We’re Athenians, and not welcome.”

“Bloody wonderful,” Rachel said.

Along the shore, what must have been every able-bodied man in the village pulled nets and boats up onto the beach. Others dumped the nets, filled with fish, into long wooden boxes that sat in rows on the dune grass. Still others picked up the fish and took them to a table to be gutted and cleaned.

“Oh, that stinks.” Harriet held her nose.

“Quiet,” Rachel scolded. “We don’t want to offend them. Let’s just get out of here as quickly as possible.”

Anchored offshore was a single ship. Theseus looked up and down the beach, and waved at a man sitting on the sand next to a small rowboat. The man waved back.

“Come,” Theseus said. “The ship awaits.”

They followed him to the rowboat. The prince and his friends climbed inside and helped the girls. When everyone was seated, the sailor and one of the men pushed the boat into the shallows, before they clambered into the back. All the men, including Theseus, rowed out to the ship.

The long, low-lying ship rocked gently. Wood creaked as the waves pushed it from side to side. Megan was surprised at the size of it. It hadn’t looked so large from the shore. Men scurried across the deck.

Their little boat was rowed over to two ropes that hung from the side of the ship. Theseus and the sailor tied the ropes to loops on the front and back of the rowboat. The boat was lifted, passengers and all, out of the water and onto the deck. Everyone jumped out; the crew cheered when they saw Theseus alive and well.

Theseus raised his hands to those assembled “Thank you. I have returned, thanks to these four young women, sent to us by the gods. They saved me and the others of our countrymen you see before you. I owe them my life, and you owe them your thanks.”

There was another cheer from the crew. Theseus put up his hands again, and the noise subsided. “Now, make ready to sail. We must go before King Minos discovers what has happened.”

The crew went to work. Some unfurled the sails and others pulled up the anchor. While the crew got the ship ready to sail, Theseus led the girls to a door off the main deck, beneath the bridge.

“We should be ready to leave soon. Here’s where you will stay.” He opened the door, and Megan gasped. Red velvet cushions sat on benches built into the walls, a large bed covered in purple brocade and silk sat in the center—and gold. Gold plates on the small wooden table, golden goblets and gold candlesticks. Small gold statues and urns reflected the last rays of the sun, which came in through the port side windows.

“My own cabin,” Theseus said with obvious pride. “It is at your disposal.”

“Wow.” Harriet picked up a small gold statuette and weighed it in her hands. “This is too much.”

“It is no more than you deserve,” Theseus said. “And now, if you will excuse me, ladies, I have matters to attend to before we depart. If you have need of anything, please just ask.” He bowed to the girls and left, pulling the door shut behind him. Megan walked to the window at the back of the room and looked across the empty ocean.

Rachel flopped on the bed. “I could sleep for a week.” She sunk into the mattress. “Being trapped in a labyrinth and chased by a half-bull, half-man monster really…takes…it…out of you.” No sooner was her head on the pillow than she was asleep and snoring lightly.

“Being trapped in this book is what’s wearing me out,” Harriet said. She put down the figure and settled on one of the velvet cushioned benches. “Being chained to a rock, almost eaten by both a sea-monster and a crazed bull man? Are we ever going to find that stupid crown? I’m more than ready to go home.”

“I think we’re getting close.” Megan more than understood her friend’s irritation. And, like Rachel, she was tired. She didn’t even want to think about what had happened, or what was going to happen once they finally did get out of here. After the labyrinth incident, she was sure to be off Harriet and Rachel’s “New Best Friends” list. She knew they probably hated her; they were just too polite to tell her. She didn’t blame them.

At least they haven’t left me behind altogether. Without them, I’d really be in trouble.

She sat next to Harriet and looked at the box she stole from the Minotaur. “I hope we’re getting close, anyway.” She set the box in her lap and pulled on the lid. It wouldn’t budge.

“What’s in that thing, do you think?” Harriet asked. She slid closer to Megan and looked over her shoulder at the box. “Some leftovers from the Minotaur? Maybe a finger bone or some teeth?”

“That’s gross,” Megan said. She shrugged. “Everything the Minotaur had in that cave looked like it had been taken from the people he had, you know, eaten. Like trophies, I guess. I don’t know what’s inside. Jewelry, maybe. I’ve tried to open it, but this latch is stuck.”

“Let me see that.” Claire said. She sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed. Megan tossed the box to her. Claire pushed up her glasses and inspected the box’s carvings. She bit her lower lip, furrowed her brow and shook the box, then turned it over and read the bottom. She looked at Megan, and her expression was deadly serious. “We can’t open this box.”

“Why not?” Megan asked. “I’m sure we could pry that latch open, if we really wanted to. It’s only rusted shut.” She sat next to Claire, took the box back and tried again to open it.

Claire gave a small squeak. She jumped off the bed and grabbed Megan’s hands and the box. “You don’t understand.” She shook her head and sighed. “Look at these carvings.”

The sides of the box were carved with what Megan first thought were vines or plants. Megan went back to the bench and both she and Harriet leaned in to get a better look. Tiny people, writhing and twisting, were carved into the wood. Most of their tiny faces looked miserable, some looked in pain.

“Okay, so it’s not the cheeriest looking thing,” Harriet said. “It’s just a box.”

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “Look the head on top.”

“What is that thing, anyway?” Megan said. “I can’t tell—it’s like it changes. Is it a person, or some kind of animal?”

The creases in Claire’s face deepened. “I can’t tell either, exactly. And that’s what worries me. Look at this.” She put the box on the window ledge. The last rays of sun touched the box’s top and threw the carving into sharp relief. Megan still couldn’t quite make it out. If the light hit it one way, it looked like the smiling head of a handsome, wavy-haired man with a long nose. But if a shadow fell another way, the smile turned to a long-toothed grimace, the wavy hair into flames.

“So, what does that mean?” Megan said. “The artist was really good, but had a sick sense of humor?”

“No.” Claire threw her hands into the air, and pursed her lips tightly. She held the box up to her ear.

“What are you doing?” Harriet said. “Do you hear anything in there?”

“No, fortunately. But let’s put this box away somewhere safe. Just in case.”

“Okay, Claire.” Megan rubbed her forehead; Claire’s failure to just come out with whatever she wanted to say gave her a headache. “You want to let us in on the secret?”

“I think this box is dangerous.” Claire turned away from her friends and looked out the window. “But I’m not positive. I would say get rid of it, but one, it’s got our clue on it, and two, I don’t know that there’s a safe place to lose it here. It’s better that we forget all about it until we get to Athens.”

Megan was about to press the matter when there was a knock on the door. “Come in.”

The door opened and Diona came in. She carried a small silver tray loaded with fruits, cheeses and dried fish.

“We are almost ready to leave,” she said. “The journey to Athens is not long. Prince Theseus thought you might be hungry.” She set the tray down on the table. “If there’s anything else I can get you, please call.”

Megan smiled at her. “Thanks, Diona, that’s very nice of you, but I think we’ll be all right.”

She gave Megan a shy smile. “I’ll leave you to your meal.” She dropped a small curtsey and left.

“What a nice girl.” Harriet picked up a piece of cheese and a slice of fruit. “Mmm, this cheese is delicious.”

“It’s probably made with goat’s milk,” Claire said absently. She continued to stare at the box over the top of her glasses. Suddenly she rose from the bench, walked across to the corner of the cabin and lifted the lid to a large chest.

“What are you doing?” Megan said through a mouthful of grapes. “That’s my box. We need it.”

“I’m putting it away.” Claire set the box on top of a mound of coins inside the chest. “That way none of us will be tempted to open it.” She dropped the lid and latched it. “I’ll study it more tomorrow, when it’s light and we’ve all had a chance to sleep.”

The girls ate in silence, watching as the daylight slipped away and darkness crept into the cabin. They left some food for Rachel and climbed up onto the bed next to her. Soon, they were all asleep.

Chapter Eleven: Pandora’s Box

Megan woke and stared at the wooden ceiling; the room swayed gently. She rubbed her eyes. Where was she? It took a moment to remember. The room was darker now; it was full night. Someone had lit a branch of candles on the table and in sconces on the wall next to the bed; they cast just enough light to see the room.

She sat up and yawned. Claire, Harriet and Rachel were still asleep. Whoever lit the candles had also draped a blanket over the four of them.

Megan crawled off the bed and stumbled to the window. Outside, the sea stretched away from the boat until it touched the star-speckled sky. Both were velvet black, the water trimmed in silver from the light of the moon; the sky winked down at the sea. She heard the endless shush, shush, shush of the waves as they slapped against the side of the ship. It was so peaceful, almost hypnotic. Megan pulled herself away and looked at the girls. She didn’t want to wake them, they deserved a peaceful rest. It’s the least I can do for them, after all that’s happened.

She walked across the room and opened the door. A chilly wind blew in, making the candle flames jump and dance. She shivered and closed the door, then opened the carved rectangular chest at the foot of the bed. There was a thick, woven, striped blanket on top of a pile of clothes. She wrapped it around her and went out onto the deck.

The wind blew steadily across the deck of the ship. It filled the sails and drummed in Megan’s ears. She took a step, and almost fell over. She wasn’t used to the constant motion of the ship. Clumsily she made it to the rail, leaned on it and watched the water rush by and roll in the ship’s wake.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” a voice said behind her. Megan twisted her head around. Theseus was silhouetted in the moonlight. He walked toward her from the bow of the ship; he walked easily on the moving deck. In addition to his short chiton, he was dressed in a wool cloak, pinned at the throat with a large gold, jewel-encrusted brooch.

“Yes, it is.”

Theseus stood beside her at the rail. “It will be good to see my home again.” He looked at Megan. “And I owe it all to you and your friends.”

“It was our pleasure.” Megan ignored the butterflies in her stomach and reminded herself that while he might be handsome, he also wasn’t real. She tucked a lock of stray hair behind her ear and was suddenly concerned with how it looked, after all the wind, dirt and sleep it had been through recently without so much as a comb. She felt silly, getting flustered over a character in a storybook. She said the first thing that came into her head. “That place, the labyrinth, was awful.”

“Agreed. So, why are you looking for the Temple of Athena? What wisdom do you hope to find there?”

Megan tilted her head. “Not wisdom, exactly. Direction.” Although I could probably use a dose of wisdom while we’re at it.

Theseus nodded. “Ah, I see. Many have gone there, looking for the same thing. Many never return.”

He looked over the water, his face pensive. “I hope you and your friends find what it is you are looking for.” He bowed graciously and went below deck. Megan wondered what he meant by ‘many never return’. Had others been here, in the book, before Megan and her friends? If they had, obviously they had failed, since the crown was still here to be found.

If they failed, what happened to them? Megan shuddered at the thought. She remained a while longer at the rail, thoughts racing around her head, the sea spray hitting her face. I won’t fail. For their sakes, I can’t. With no answers, she went back to the cabin.

Harriet was awake. She sat on a bench, head bowed and hands in her lap. She held something, but Megan couldn’t see what it was. She closed the door loud enough to announce her presence, but Harriet didn’t look up.

“Hey,” Megan whispered. “Harriet, what are you doing?”

Harriet’s head snapped up; her eyes were wide. She looked guilty of something. “Nothing.” She pulled a blanket across her lap. “Just sitting here. I couldn’t sleep anymore.”

Megan walked toward her. “What’s that in your lap?”

Harriet’s face shone like the moon in the dim light of the cabin. “It’s a blanket.” She held it up for Megan to see. “I was cold.”

Megan gave a nervous laugh. “What’s under the blanket?”

“My lap,” Harriet retorted. “Honestly, Megan, what’s with the third degree?”

Megan shook her head, confused. There was a strange gleam in Harriet’s eyes.

“Harriet, I’m—”

“No, don’t apologize. You’re so suspicious. I don’t know why I even bother with you.”

Megan’s mouth fell open. Tears welled in her eyes. I knew it. She hates me. Why shouldn’t she?

“I-I’m not being suspicious, Harriet. I was just asking.”

Harriet stood and clutched the blanket to her stomach. “Yeah, but it’s all your fault we’re here, in the middle of the ocean, trapped in some bloody story, isn’t it? So if you don’t mind, I’ll find somewhere else to sit.” She stomped toward the door.

Megan, feeling like she had been kicked in the gut, tried to stop her. “Harriet, wait!”

Claire was awake. She sat up, grabbed her glasses off the table and pulled her knees to her chest.

Rachel stretched her arms over her head. “What’s going on? Why is everybody shouting?”

“I’m not sure,” Megan said. “All I did was ask Harriet what she was doing and she got all defensive.”

“I’m leaving.” Harriet reached for the doorknob and something fell out of the blanket.

Claire jumped from the bed and picked up the little carved box. “I told you to forget about this.” She shook it under Harriet’s nose. “You shouldn’t be messing with it.”

Harriet’s face turned red. “Who died and made you boss? You act like you know everything, but you don’t, you know.” Before anyone could stop her, she snatched the box from Claire, pushed past Megan and ran out the door.

“Stop her, before she opens that box!” Claire shouted.

Megan shot onto the deck, Rachel on her heels. Harriet stood near the bow, her back to them.

“Give me the box, Harriet,” Megan said in a soft, steady voice. She didn’t know why Claire was so upset over the box; she just hoped Harriet’s plan wasn’t to jump overboard. “We’re not trying to hurt you, or boss you around.” She looked over Harriet’s shoulder—Harriet’s fingers fumbled with the latch. She tore a fingernail, badly, and the metal ripped her skin, but she didn’t cry out, only kept at the latch.

Claire reached them, out of breath, and spoke into Harriet’s ear. “Please, Harriet. You can’t open it. It’s not safe.”

Harriet stopped her manic working of the latch and stared out over the water. Claire reached around and gently took the box from Harriet’s now limp fingers.

Harriet hung her head. “I just wanted to see what was inside,” she muttered.

“And that’s the problem,” Claire said.

“Why don’t you just tell us what’s in the box,” Megan said. “If you think you know so much.” She didn’t want to be angry with Claire, but the stress was getting to her. Harriet’s taunts still rang in her ears—her worst fears come to pass.

Claire gave Megan a piercing, critical look, and then her shoulders slumped. “Oh, all right.” She looked up and down the deck. They were alone, except for the night watch and the captain. “But not here. Back into the cabin.”

With Rachel, Megan and Harriet settled on the bed, Claire stood in front of them, the box in her hand. She shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I wanted to protect you.”

“Just spit it out already,” Rachel said. She seemed to be the only one unaffected by the obvious tension in the room.

“I think, that is, I’m fairly certain, that this is Pandora’s Box.”

“The Pandora’s Box?” Rachel said. “How exciting.”

“What’s a Pandora’s Box?” Harriet was much calmer, her eyes dull and tired. She held her injured finger with her other hand.

“Pandora was the first woman, according to Greek legend.” Claire put the box on the table and tented her hands on either side of it. “In order to tempt her, the gods took all the bad things of the world—disease, strife, pain, and the like—out of Hades and put them into this box. Then they locked the box and made sure it wound up in Pandora’s keeping. She was told never, ever, under any circumstances, to open the box.

“Pandora watched the box daily, very diligent in her task. Eventually she heard voices coming from the box. It was the evils inside, calling to her to be let out. Finally curiosity consumed her, and she lifted the lid. Pandora released evil into the world.”

Harriet put her knuckles to her mouth. “I heard them,” she whispered.

“Heard what?” Megan asked. Her hurt and anger faded, replaced by concern for Harriet. She was hearing things? What was this book doing to them?

“I heard the voices.” Harriet sunk into a chair. “They were telling me that you wanted what was inside for yourself, and that I shouldn’t trust you and you weren’t my friend. I couldn’t help myself. Megan, I’m so sorry.”

Megan put an arm around Harriet’s shoulders. “It’s all right. It wasn’t really you.” Megan said it, but inside there was still a kernel of nagging doubt.

“We have to get rid of that box,” Claire said. “Before anybody else is tempted.”

“What do we do with it?” Rachel eyed the box. “We can’t smash it, or burn it; we’ll let the, uh, things out. If we hide it, someone else might find it.”

“We could toss it overboard,” Harriet suggested. “Throw it into the sea.”

“I suppose that would be all right,” Claire said. “But let’s make sure the box stays shut.” She looked around the cabin. “We’ll use this.” She took one of the thin, tasseled cords that tied back the bed curtains and wrapped it around the box. She tied the ends with multiple knots. “There. That should do it.”

“Let’s take it back out on deck,” Rachel said. She led the girls outside.

“Why do you suppose there was a clue written on the bottom of this thing?” Megan asked. “If it’s so dangerous, why use it?”

“That’s probably the exact reason.” Claire leaned over the rail and looked down at the water. “It was a test, another task to complete. Another chance to keep us trapped in here, and to keep us from the crown.”

“Sir Gregory was a clever one, wasn’t he?” Rachel said. “Putting this box into the mix to try and trip us up.”

“And now, over she goes.” Megan dropped the box over the side of the ship, and they watched it tumble into the water and sink beneath the surface. Megan was glad to see it go.

“That’s the end of that.” Rachel brushed her hands together. “I’m starving. Is there anything to eat?”

* * *

After two days of calm seas and blue skies, the ship pulled into Athens. The city was a gleaming jewel set between the sea and the emerald island of Greece. White buildings stuck out from the side of a hill, as if they had been carved from the rock; wide stone-paved streets wound through the metropolis from the docks to summit of the hill.

The girls lined up along the rail as the ship pulled into the harbor.

“It’s beautiful,” Rachel said.

“What’s that up there?” Harriet pointed to the top of the hill. A long rectangular building with many columns and a peaked roof stood above the city like a watchful mother.

“That,” Claire said, “is the Temple of Athena. Also known as the Parthenon.”

The mention of that name made Megan long for home. She was surprised she thought of the big old manor as home. It was a strange feeling.

“That’s where we have to go. Let’s get there as soon as possible.”

It was not going to be easy. The day before, Claire reminded Theseus to change the sails from black to white, so instead of arriving to the tragedy of a king’s death, or even a nice inconspicuous landing, they returned to a hero’s welcome.

It appeared all of Athens came to greet them. People lined the wide main street, and threw wreaths of flowers and palm branches at their feet. Some reached out just to touch their clothes.

Theseus led them to the Acropolis, the great citadel and palace of Athens. Aegis himself met them at the gates.

“My son,” he exclaimed, his arms open wide, as he came across the courtyard of marble and grass toward them. “You have returned, as promised.” He hugged his son tightly. He looked at the girls, eyebrows raised. “And you have brought friends.”

Theseus bowed deeply to his father. “My liege, may I present Megan, Rachel, Claire and Harriet.” Each girl stepped forward. Rachel, Claire and Harriet each dropped a polite curtsey as her name was called. Megan, who wasn’t used to such pleasantries, blushed and made her own awkward dip.

“It was they who saved me and my kinsmen from the wrath of King Minos and his beast.”

Aegis beamed. “Then they are welcome in my house. Come, come, I have prepared a great feast in honor of your return.” He walked toward the palace, his arm around the shoulders of his son.

“Megan,” Rachel said. “We can’t stay, we have to get to the temple.”

Megan watched Aegis and Theseus walk away. “I think we have to stay,” she murmured out of one side of her mouth. “It would be impolite if we just took off.”

Harriet rolled her eyes. “Come on, we’re inside a book, for cripes’ sake. Who cares if we’re impolite?”

Claire pushed her glasses up her nose. “I think Megan’s right. These people may just be inside a book, but Sir Gregory has gone to great lengths to be accurate about things so far. Who knows what would happen to us if we snubbed the king of Athens? We could wind up in jail—or worse.”

Reluctantly, Rachel and Harriet agreed. The four of them ran to catch up to their hosts. Inside, floors of polished marble reflected the girls’ faces as they gawked at the rich interior of the palace. They walked past beautiful murals that depicted heroic feats. Painted urns sat on pedestals tucked in corners. They were things Megan had only seen in books and museums.

A woman, dressed all in white, her hair elaborately styled, sat on the wide window ledge. She played a small harp-like instrument; Megan thought it was called a lyre. The woman was a gifted musician, her fingers found the strings with ease, and played a beautiful melody. Megan found the sound soothing; she wanted to stay a while and listen, perhaps rest on one of the chaises set around the room. But the king pressed on.

King Aegis led them into a large, bright room with a high ceiling supported by the same type of columns that surrounded the reflecting pool at home; the same kind that were all over the city. It was packed with people, some dressed simply, some bedecked with jewels and bangle bracelets all the way up their arms. At the far end was an elevated platform. Three steps ran the width of the dais, and on the platform was a beautiful golden chair.

“Come,” The king waved the girls inside. “Come forward and be recognized.” He walked to the center of the room; people parted before him and knelt as he passed. Aegis strode by them, head held high.

He turned and gave the girls a jovial smile. “This way, this way.” When they reached the platform, the king climbed the steps and stood in front of the chair, Theseus on his right. The girls stopped on the floor in front of the steps and looked at each other. Theseus motioned with his head.

Stand up here, he mouthed to Megan. He made a quick gesture at the second step, then at the four of them. Megan grabbed Rachel’s hand and pulled her up. Claire and Harriet followed.

Aegis spread his arms wide, and the crowd was silent. All eyes were on the small group of strangers at the front. “This is a great day, indeed,” he bellowed. “My son, your prince, has been returned to us unharmed.” He waved his hand over the girls’ heads. “These young women are the instruments the gods used to bring him back to us. Let us show them our appreciation.”

The room thundered with applause. Megan felt heat climb up the back of her neck. She leaned over and looked at her friends. Claire blushed too; Rachel and Harriet looked cool and confident, like they experienced this kind of thing every day. Megan wondered what they were thinking.

When the crowd quieted, the king clapped his hands twice. Two women stepped forward, each simply dressed in a short chiton. Neither wore any jewelry.

“I have rooms prepared for you,” King Aegis said to the girls. “So that you may freshen up and rest after your long voyage, and prepare for the banquet tonight in your honor. Persephone and Iris—”each bowed her head as her name was called, “—will show them to you.”

“Thank you, uh, Your Highness.” Megan didn’t want to speak for her friends, but she could do with a rest. The temple would still be there tomorrow.

Aegis waved a hand at them. “Speak not of it. If you will excuse me, I have more preparations to make before the feast.”

With a polite bow to the king, the girls followed the two servants out of the throne room, through an ivy-covered cloister that surrounded a well-groomed courtyard and into another wing of the palace.

They walked down another hall and stopped in front of a wooden door. “I hope this is to your liking,” Iris said. She pushed the door open.

“Oh my goodness,” Claire said.

“Wow,” Megan said.

“Brilliant,” Rachel said.

“I’m so glad I listened to you, Megan,” Harriet said.

In the center of the room was a pool of made of rose marble and filled with clear water. Steps led into the water at one end, at the other was a fountain made of a series of cherubs. Each spewed water from its mouth in a graceful arc. Several women, dressed like Persephone and Iris, stood around the pool.

“Who are they?” Harriet said.

Persephone answered. “Servants. They will see to your every need.” She took Harriet and Megan by the hand and led them inside. Two of the women came forward, helped them undress and into the water. It was so warm and inviting, and smelled like flowers. Megan dipped herself to her neck, and she was in heaven. She didn’t ever want to get out.

The women bathed the girls, massaged their sore muscles, brought them food and drink, brushed and set their hair, and gave them clean chitons.

Rachel lay on a chaise, having her feet rubbed. “Do we really have to leave? Can’t we just stay here forever? This place is better than a spa. And it’s free.”

“Seriously.” Harriet admired her reflection in a hand mirror. “My mum would be green-eyed jealous if she knew about this.”

Megan, still in the pool, splashed Rachel. “This really is nice.” She took a grape from a tray on the edge of the pool. “But I think we should move on.”

“I agree,” Claire said. “But I also think this was just what we needed. I’m ready to face whatever comes now.”

Megan couldn’t argue with that. Not at all.

The door opened, and another woman entered the room. She stopped at the edge of the pool.

“The King requests your presence.”

“Is it time already?” Megan said sadly. She slowly pulled herself out of the pool, where three of the women waited for her with a fresh chiton. When the girls were ready, they followed the woman through the palace and back into the spacious throne room, which was now decorated with palm fronds, flowers, and lengths of vibrantly dyed silk. Long tables were piled with food—figs, goat’s-milk cheese, lamb, and fish. Megan picked up a handful of olives and popped one into her mouth.

“Ouch.” She spit it out. “There’s something hard in this thing.”

Rachel giggled. “It’s a pit, silly. I think they just pick them off the tree and eat them. They don’t take the pits out and stuff them with pimentos like at home.”

Megan felt her ears burn. “Of course. I knew that.” She had been to Greek restaurants in New York, of course, and had the olives there. She just hadn’t remembered about the pits. Duh.

The girls were seated at the end of the head table, next to the royal household. Servers filled their plates with every delectable dish on the table, including a roasted pig, dripping with juice, a special treat to honor Prince Theseus’s return. Everything tasted exactly like it looked—delicious. Megan had several servings of everything; she even took a taste of the wine, poured from golden pitchers into shining chalices. Half a cup made her head spin.

“Ah.” She put her cup down and patted her stomach, “I’m stuffed.”

“Me too.” Rachel popped one last fig into her mouth. “That was wonderful.”

“We should get some rest.” Claire drained her cup of apple cider. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the temple.”

“And home, I hope,” Harriet said. “Although I will admit, it hasn’t been all bad.” She looked at the banquet, and at Theseus, who sat beside his father at the center of the high table. “Yes, this has definitely been my favorite part.” She ran a hand down her arm. “I wish I could get whatever they put in that bath of ours at home. My skin feels fantastic.”

The girls said thank you and good night to their hosts and went back to their suite. In a room connected to the one with the pool were four beds, filled with goose down.

“Good night.” Claire climbed into one.

“Pleasant dreams.” Harriet pulled up her woolen blanket.

“Don’t let the bedbugs bite.” Rachel giggled.

“That’s actually not funny,” Claire said. “At this time in history—”

“Oh, Claire, please just shut it, will you?” Harriet said.

Megan lay down and stared at the ceiling. She heard each of her friends’ breaths become deep and regular as they fell asleep. Outside, the gulls cried and the waves crashed on the shore. She sat up and looked out the window. The moon’s light illuminated an olive grove in the courtyard. A nightingale perched in one, singing its sad song.

She thought about home. Where was that, exactly? Wherever her father was, of course. She had fought him so much about the move, but it really hadn’t been that bad. Until very, very recently, anyway. On top of feeling guilty about getting her new friends into such a mess, she felt doubly terrible about causing him so much grief. At least she still considered them friends, she still couldn’t count on the feeling being mutual. Rachel and Claire treated her well enough, but the incident on the boat, Harriet’s words, only cemented her own feelings. Were they mad at her? She could just ask them, but she didn’t know how to bring it up. Better they get out of here first, and she’d deal with the consequences once they were home.

She turned her mind to other things. They had been gone three days. Is my father worried about me? Of course he is. He still worries so much.

Right after her mother died there had been a period when her father wouldn’t let Megan out of his sight. She had been ten years old, but he treated her as if she were five. She remembered how he insisted on driving her to school and picking her up instead of letting her take the bus. He had had to know where she was every minute.

Megan supposed that it was normal for him to act that way. He had already lost someone that he loved. She knew that he had blamed himself, even though he never said it. It made sense that he wanted to protect her, even if it meant smothering her.

She sighed and laid down. Harriet wasn’t the only one who wanted to get out of here.

* * *

A low ceiling of granite-colored clouds hung over the city. It gave the buildings a dull, grimy look. The same servants who had helped them yesterday brought breakfast; bread, pomegranates, dates and dried fish.

“Are we ready to go?” Claire said when she finished.

“I know I am.” Harriet tossed a bread crust back onto her plate.

“I’m all set,” Megan said.

“Me too,” Rachel muttered through a mouthful.

“Good. We’ll go as soon as we—”

There was a knock on the door.

“Megan?” a man’s voice said in a low tone. “It is Theseus, may I come in?”

“Oh, my gosh,” Harriet squealed. “He’s here to see you.”

The first thought to go through Megan’s mind was, Me? No way! She didn’t know what to do. “Uh, oh, just a minute.”

Rachel’s grin was from one ear to the other. “Well, go on, then, get the door!”

Megan ran a hand through her hair, opened the door and gave the prince a bright smile. “Of course, Your Highness, please. What can I…I, uh, mean we, do for you?”

The prince bowed his head in greeting as he stepped into the room. “I wanted to see you before you left. And give you a few things.”

“You’ve already been so kind,” Claire said. “You don’t need to give us anything else.”

Harriet jammed an elbow in her ribs. “You are too gracious, Majesty,” she said with a flirtatious look. Megan got the distinct feeling Harriet was hoping whatever he brought was sparkly.

“These are things you will need when you enter the temple.” From beneath his robe he pulled a thin green cord. An ornate gold medallion with a green jewel in the center hung from it. He draped it around Megan’s neck.

“What’s this for?” Megan turned the medallion so she could see it.

“It is the mark of my house,” Theseus said. “With it, you may enter the temple and move about without question.”

Rachel looked puzzled. “Who would ask?”

“The Guardians. Only certain citizens are permitted in the temple on certain days. Except for the royal house—they may use the temple as often as they desire. You will see the Guardians when you arrive. Show them the medallion and they will let you pass.” He handed Rachel a basket. “This is for the sacrifice. You will need to make an offering to Athena once you are inside.”

Rachel took the basket. “Thanks.”

“One more thing.” He stepped out into the hall, and came back holding several pieces of blue cloth. “You will need these.” He handed one to each of the girls.

“What is it?” Harriet asked. If she was disappointed in the prince’s gifts, she didn’t show it. She held up the small, rectangular piece of fabric.

“A veil,” Theseus explained. “If you wish to go beyond the public area of the temple, you will need to disguise yourselves as priestesses. All of them wear veils like these. You will be able to go anywhere you wish.” He gave Megan a knowing look. “Anywhere.”

Megan folded her veil and put it under her arm. It was obvious the prince knew exactly what they were after. “Theseus, thank you. I… We couldn’t have come this far without you.”

Theseus waved a dismissive hand. “I have also arranged for a servant to meet you at the front gate. Women, especially young women, are not allowed to move through the city unescorted. He will guide you to the temple.” He took each of the girls by the hand and brushed his lips across the knuckles.

“And now I must leave you. May the gods watch over you and guide you on your journey.” He left the room and closed the door.

“Give me those.” Rachel held out her hand, took the veils and put them into the basket. She looked at Megan, and knitted her brows. “Did you tell him we’re looking for the crown?”

Megan got an uncomfortable feeling, like she had been caught doing something wrong. “Uh…no, not exactly. I’m pretty sure he knows anyway. Maybe Sir Gregory wrote him in to help anyone who got this far.” Megan thought of how nice Theseus was and wondered if Sir Gregory wrote a little bit of himself into the character. She found herself thinking she would miss him.

“Oh, okay, then,” Rachel said. She shrugged. “No worries.”

“Let’s get going then,” Harriet said. “The sooner we go, the sooner we get home.”

Chapter Twelve: The Temple of Athena

Megan and her friends walked through the palace. It was surprisingly busy for so early in the morning. Servants and members of the royal family bowed and smiled to the girls as they walked by, but no one asked where they were going.

Harriet, Rachel, Claire and Megan left the citadel. A boy stood across the courtyard. He leaned against the wall inside the gate, making patterns in the dust with one foot.

“Hi.” Megan tried to sound friendly. “Are you our guide?”

The boy looked up. “I am Jason.” He didn’t look at the girls, but over their heads. “I have been instructed to take you to the Temple of Athena.”

“Thank you for doing this,” Rachel said. “We appreciate it.”

Jason glared at her; obviously he didn’t consider it a privilege to escort the girls across town, but more like a chore. “Follow me and don’t speak to anyone.”

He held the gate open for the girls, closed it behind them and walked away without a word. The girls, surprised by how fast the boy moved, jogged to catch up with him.

Athens was a large and prosperous city. It was packed with buildings—homes, temples, businesses. Sculptures and fountains were everywhere. Jason steered them through the winding streets. Megan was spellbound—the city vibrated with life, with culture and a civilization long since lost. Rachel had to drag her along whenever she stopped to stare.

“We’re about to enter the Agora,” Jason said over his shoulder. “Stay close to me and don’t dawdle.”

He led them into a large, open paved square. It was crowded. Booths, overflowing with goods, were set up inside. Megan heard a fishmonger call to passers-by in a loud voice that he had fresh fish for sale. Next to him, a middle-aged couple sold fruits and vegetables. The Agora was a marketplace.

The square itself was bounded by buildings on three sides. Some were shops—one that sold clay pots, another was hung with rugs, and a third that displayed brass goblets and plates. There was also what looked like a school. Men and boys came in and out, dressed in long chitons and carrying wax tablets.

The fourth side of the square was blocked by wooden pens. Sheep and goats bleated miserably inside as they wandered about. Buyers leaned against the fence and pointed at the ones they wanted to purchase, haggling with the seller over the price. The air of the market was heavy with the scent of food cooking—Megan smelled falafel and hummus—plus animal waste and the smell of people packed close together.

As they followed Jason through the throng, Megan noticed the few women she saw were older, middle-aged at least, and all were in the company of a man—a husband, brother, or chaperone. Except for herself and her friends, she saw no young women or girls anywhere. A pack of boys, not yet old enough for school, ran freely through the square, chasing a scared-looking dog. Most of the people in the market didn’t pay any attention to the four girls; if they did they looked away when they saw Jason.

I guess equality for women hadn’t been invented yet, Megan thought. I thought the Greeks were supposed to be this progressive culture?

They passed through the center of the square, and the crowd pressed in on them. Megan’s chest felt tight. She tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t. The air was too warm, the square too dusty, the smell overpowering.

“Are you all right?” Rachel said. “You don’t look so well.”

Megan nodded, although her stomach said she was a liar. She tried to concentrate on getting away; she didn’t know how much longer she could stand it. She was going to pass out.

They were through. The Agora was behind them, with it the crowd. Megan relaxed and breathed easier. That had been awful. She never liked tight places, but never had they affected her so badly.

On this side of the market the streets were steeper, and the temple closer. The buildings were decidedly residential, packed close together, like the rowhomes of New York, where one wall served two houses. The streets were dirtier; so were the residents.

It was a harder climb than it looked. By the time they had reached the top, Megan was breathing heavily, and she was thankful it wasn’t a sunny day. Her friends were in similar shape—Harriet was the color of a cooked lobster, and Rachel and Claire each had sweat running down her face.

Harriet sat on a low wall. “It…doesn’t…look…that…steep…from…the bottom.”

Rachel wiped her face on her chiton. “You can…say that again.”

“I don’t think I have…the energy…to say it again,” Harriet said.

“Here is where I leave you.” Jason didn’t look the least bit strained by his efforts up the hill, but he did look amused at the girls’ discomfort. “The entrance to the temple is over there.” He pointed behind them. “Good day.” The boy turned on his heel and walked away.

“Well, thanks,” Megan called after him. For nothing, you jerk.

Jason didn’t even turn his head.

“What was his problem, do you think?” Rachel said.

Megan shrugged. “Maybe he had a hot date today and we made him miss it.”

Rachel, Claire and Harriet laughed. Megan joined in; it felt like a real friend moment.

The temple loomed over them. It was a long, rectangular building with a peaked roof. Columns marched around the perimeter, holding up the roof’s edge. In the front, just below the peak, was a group of marble statues. It looked like the front of a museum or a courthouse. Megan looked at them closely.

“That’s the birth of Athena,” she said. “You can see where she’s coming out of Zeus’s head.”

“I still think that’s disgusting,” Harriet said.

The temple looked clean and new, a far cry from the ruin it was in their world. Megan wondered how long it had been since anyone actually saw it like this, whole and beautiful, before she remembered that this one wasn’t real anyway. Thousands of years?

She stood and stretched. No sense in waiting any longer. “You guys ready?”

They walked across the wide, paved courtyard in front of the temple. A light drizzle fell, painting the stone with polka dots. They climbed the steps and walked between the two center columns in front. There was a second set of columns behind the first. High above the girls was one of the famous friezes of the Parthenon—marble panels with relief carvings of Greek men and women.

Claire’s head was back so far Megan was certain it would fall off. She whistled. “Sir Gregory really did his homework. Most of the originals are in pieces in the British museum. These are beautiful.”

“He was an archaeologist, and this was his favorite time,” Megan said. “And he loved Athena. I’m sure he took a lot of time making sure this part was just right. However he, you know, made them, or whatever.”

They left the frieze behind and went to a pair of huge double doors. They were closed.

Harriet leaned in close to the other girls. “What do we do once we’re inside?”

“Don’t know,” Rachel said. “I guess we’ll just have to look around.”

Claire took off her glasses and wiped them on her chiton. “I’m a bit afraid. Nervous, I mean. We don’t have any idea what we’re walking into. Sir Gregory could have put any number of traps or tricks in our path.”

“I think we’re all nervous.” Megan certainly was; her throat felt like she had swallowed a desert. “But we’ve been through so much already.” She thought of the strength of the strand of silk, and what the woman on the hill said about the bonds of friendship. She wondered how much she had strained those bonds, and hoped that, like the silk, they weren’t broken.

Rachel reached out and clasped Megan’s hand. Megan grabbed Claire’s and Claire grabbed onto Harriet. Harriet took hold of the brass rings set into one of the doors and pulled. With hands linked, they entered the temple.

It was dark and cool inside. Megan heard birds chirping somewhere above her head, looking for shelter from the rain. People milled about. The temple was crowded, but Megan thought it still felt lonely, like a gallery at the Metropolitan Museum. A hundred people could be in there, and yet she always felt alone with the paintings.

Within the crowd were several women who wore light blue veils like the ones that Theseus had given them—priestesses. Megan’s eyebrows lifted. Many of them were not much older than she was, and some looked younger.

“You four,” a man’s voice said from beside them. “Stop.”

Megan turned. Two Guardians approached the girls from within the crowd, each wearing a short, metal-plated skirt and blue tunic. Over their tunics was a metal breastplate with an owl embossed in the center, and a helmet with a strange animal depicted on each side. It looked like a winged lion, but with a strange head. Each carried a long spear, which he pointed at the girls.

“Who are you?” one said. “You need permission to enter.”

Megan pulled out the medallion and showed it to the guards. “We are guests of Prince Theseus.”

The other guard leaned down and looked at the necklace. He nodded to his companion, and they both lowered their spears. “Fine.”

The girls pushed past the guards. “Hey, look over there,” Rachel said, and elbowed Megan in the ribs. She pointed to a large stone dish on a three-footed stand. A woman stood next to it. She put something inside the dish. She was not a priestess; her dark hair was uncovered and piled on top of her head, strands of small beads woven through it. When she finished, she put a torch to the contents of the dish. It blazed briefly, and the flames settled to the bottom. The woman replaced the torch and turned to face the girls.

“Diona,” Megan said a bit too loudly. Her voice echoed, and several people turned their heads, disapproving looks on their faces. Megan covered her mouth, embarrassed. Diona saw them and smiled.

“I am happy to see you, my friends,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” Rachel asked.

“I have come to thank Athena for delivering me safely from the Minotaur.” She pointed to the dish. “I have made my offering, now I will go to the shrine and meditate.”

“How nice,” Harriet said. “Don’t let us keep you.”

Megan knew Harriet didn’t want to dawdle, but real or not, Diona was nice. There was no need to be rude. She didn’t say anything to Harriet, just gave Diona a smile. “Yes, we do have our own sacrifice to make.”

“It was good to see you again, though,” Rachel added. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will ask Athena to watch over you, my rescuers.” With a small bow, she turned and walked to the other end of the temple.

Rachel put the basket beside the still-simmering dish. “I guess this is where we put the offerings, then.” She took the lid off the basket and pulled out a bunch of grapes, a bundle of wheat and a small clay jar. She handed the grapes and wheat to Harriet, who threw them into the fire. She took the lid off the jar and smelled the contents. Megan cocked an eyebrow.

“Olives.” Rachel tipped the jar and emptied it into the dish. Olive oil dripped out, and the flames shot up. Rachel jumped back, her hand clutched to her chest. “Whoops. Almost got singed a bit, there, didn’t I?”

Claire looked into the basket. “All that’s left in there is the veils. What do we do with it?”

“I think we should just carry it,” Megan said. “We don’t have anywhere to hide the veils, and I think it will look suspicious if we don’t take the basket with us. If we find the crown, we’ll need something to put it in, right? I don’t know what will happen after we find it.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “I don’t really want to lug this thing around all day. Harriet, you carry it for a while.”

Harriet glared at Rachel, hand on her hip. “Why does everyone assume I’ll do anything they tell me to?”

“Please?” Rachel held out the basket.

“Oh, all right,” Harriet huffed. “If it will get us out of here faster.” She took the basket and clomped away. Megan, Claire and Rachel hurried after her.

In the center of the room, toward the back, stood another set of columns; they formed a small rectangle near the back wall—a room within a room. They stepped inside. In the center of the room stood a fifteen-foot tall, gold and ivory statue of Athena. The Goddess of Civilized War, she held spear in one hand, shield in the other. Tendrils of ivory hair framed her face. She was full-lipped, with a long but graceful nose. She wore a compassionate, almost loving, expression.

“It’s beautiful,” Rachel said. “She’s so, you know, beautiful.”

“The virgin goddess,” Claire said. “She belonged to no one but herself.”

Megan gazed at the statue. She was so strong, so sure of herself. I’ll bet she would have been able to lead her friends out of danger in a snap. She would have protected them. And I’ll bet she didn’t get her friends sucked into a book that had the potential to kill them in multiple, disgusting ways.

She wondered if goddesses had friends.

People clustered around the base of the statue. Some spoke praises and requests aloud, some knelt in quiet meditation. One barrel-chested man, with just a fringe of dark hair on the sides of his head, laid a gold pitcher on the small pile of precious offerings at the goddess’s feet.

Outside, the drizzle had turned to a downpour. Thunder rumbled through the temple like a kettle drum. Priestesses moved around the shrine, keeping the torches lit. Megan, Rachel, Harriet and Claire skirted around the statue. In the wall behind it was a small door. While Harriet and Rachel kept watch, Megan and Claire pulled the door open and peeked inside.

“What’s in there?” Rachel said softly.

“Stuff,” Megan said.

“What kind of stuff?” Harriet said out of the corner of her mouth.

“It looks like the treasury,” Claire said. “Where the priestesses keep all the stuff left at the foot the statue.”

“Do you think the crown is in there?” Rachel asked.

“Only one way to find out.” Megan took a step toward the door. Claire caught her by the arm and stopped her.

“What?” Megan said.

“We can’t just walk in. Only priestesses are allowed in, I think.”

Megan looked around. No one was watching them; the girls were hidden well behind the statue, in the shadows. But, as usual, Claire was probably right.

“Of course, yeah. We should put the veils on.”

“Open that basket, Harriet,” Rachel said.

Properly disguised under their veils, they snuck into the treasury. The room was much smaller than the outer gallery, and was stuffed with shiny objects—gold, silver, bronze. The light from the torches made the treasures glow with an eerie light. Two young priestesses glanced at the girls on their way back into the shrine, but said nothing. The disguises seemed work.

“I think we should each pick a corner and work your way toward the middle,” Rachel said.

Megan picked through golden plates, jewel-encrusted chalices and bronze statues. She found something that looked like a crown, but it was only a shallow pot. The four girls met in the middle of the room.

“Anything?” Rachel said.

Claire and Harriet shook their heads. “Not a thing,” Claire said. “It’s not here. If it is, we didn’t find it.”

“What do we do now?” Rachel said. “There’s nowhere else to look.”

Megan looked at the ceiling and gnawed on her lower lip. “Everything so far has been hard. It wouldn’t be left right out in the open, not even in a pile like this.”

“Right. Sir Gregory would want to make us work for it, like he has since the beginning,” Claire said. “So what are we missing? We followed all the clues. There has to be something else.”

But there wasn’t another clue to be found.

“Now what do we do?” Rachel said, her hands on her hips. “Go back to the Acropolis? Go back to the cave? Did we read the clue wrong?”

“If we did, I don’t know what else it could mean,” Claire said.

“Great. So we’re stuck,” Harriet said. “Bully that. This is ridiculous.”

It was just too much for Megan. They didn’t know which way to go; maybe there was no way out. Her knees gave way, and she knelt on the floor, her face in her hands. She couldn’t believe it would end here, and they’d be stuck in this book forever.

And it’s all my fault.

“I’m sorry.” Tears flooded down her face.

“What’s wrong, sweetie,” Rachel said. She put her arm around Megan’s shoulder. “What are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry I got you all into this. I’m sorry you’re all in so much danger. Harriet, you were almost eaten by a Minotaur, and I made Rachel ride on Pegasus when she didn’t really want to. I’m terrible at figuring out the clues. We might never, ever get out of here, and I’m sorry. About…everything.”

“Oh. That,” Rachel said softly. “Where is all this coming from? It certainly wasn’t your fault. I opened the book, right? And you were right to make me get on that flying beast. You saved Harriet and Claire from the sea-monster. You killed the sea-monster.”

“That was your idea.”

“But I was scared to death. You did it. And don’t forget who cut off Medusa’s head. I couldn’t have done it.”

“Yes, you could have.” They were trying to make her feel better. It wasn’t really working. The fact is, if she had been sucked into this book by herself, she wouldn’t have made it past the first task. She knew it.

That’s what having friends means—they’re there to help you when you need it.

That was her mother’s voice in her head. She had said that to Megan a week before she died.

Yeah, but they don’t need me, Megan thought. They’ll get along just fine without me once we’re out of here. I certainly wouldn’t stay friends with someone who almost got me killed.

Harriet leaned down and hugged Megan tight. “You saved me from being eaten by that bull-thing. You’re wonderful.”

Megan wiped the tears from her face. “But if it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have been in that cave in the first place.”

Harriet smiled. “No, that was Rachel’s fault.”

“Thanks, Harriet,” Rachel said. “Thanks a lot.”

“And you didn’t chain me to that rock either,” Harriet said.

“But you even said so, Harriet, it’s all my fault we’re here.”

Harriet hesitated. “But I was under the influence of Pandora’s box. You can’t listen to anything I said then. I told you I was sorry.”

“And if I hadn’t been so bent on trying to impress you, we wouldn’t have gone looking for that stupid library in the first place,” Megan said.

“Are you kidding?” Rachel said. “That was the most fun I’ve had in years. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. This adventure, while a bit more dangerous, has been a blast. And you don’t need to impress me.”

“Come on, now, no more tears,” Claire said. “The fact is, we wouldn’t have made it this far without you. You’re a hero.” She reached down and helped Megan to her feet. “So come on, let’s finish this.”

Megan dried her tears on her chiton. She felt a little better, but also stupid she had broken down like that. She took a deep breath, glanced around the room again and shook her head “Well, I don’t have any ideas. This is worse than trying to decipher that poem.”

Rachel gave Megan a pointed look. “What did you say?”

“I said that this is worse—”

Before she could finish, Rachel walked to the back wall and ran her hands over it.

“What?” Harriet asked. “What’s it? What are you doing?”

Rachel waved her friends closer. “The poem. It made me think about Sir Gregory’s diary. That passage about his excavation of the Parthenon.”

Megan vaguely remembered reading it, again wished she had paid more attention. “And?”

Rachel closed her eyes. “I’m trying to remember what it was exactly. It had something to do with digging under the temple. He found a tunnel, and a door with an inscription, remember? He thought something amazing was behind it. It didn’t say what it was, but what do you want to bet that’s where he found the crown.”

“I remember the inscription,” Megan said. “It was all these weird characters…just like the ones in the book on the hill! It’s Greek!”

“So, maybe this temple has a tunnel, is that it?” Harriet said.

“It’s a start,” Rachel said. “Question is, how do we find it?”

Megan looked around the room. “There must be a hidden entrance somewhere.”

Rachel, Claire and Harriet searched the rest of the room. Megan knocked on stones and pushed on the right side wall. Nothing. Rachel and Harriet searched the back wall. It was covered with frieze panels like the ones hanging from the front of the temple.

“I think I’ve got it,” Harriet called. “Come here.”

The girls ran to her. The figure her hand was on had sunk into the stone, and a small door opened up in front of her.

“Cool,” Rachel said. “Good job.”

“Hey, look at that.” Harriet removed her hand. The image beneath it was an owl.

A long, narrow stairway led down. Megan couldn’t see the bottom. There was no rail, and only three torches to light the way.

“Looks kind of like the escalator at Victoria Station,” Harriet said.

“Be careful.” Megan braced herself against the smooth stone wall with one hand and stepped down. She watched each step, concentrating on not missing any or slipping—a tumble from this far could be lethal.

Harriet yelped.

“What is it?” Megan looked over her shoulder, but couldn’t see what had happened.

“I think I saw a rat.”

“Don’t bother it and it won’t bother you,” Rachel said.

The staircase ended in a dimly-lit, empty corridor with a packed reddish-yellow dirt floor. It ran away from them and into the shadowy distance. There were at least twenty doors.

“Any idea which one of these is the right one?” Harriet said.

Megan shook her head. “I’ll know it when I see it. It’ll have that weird inscription on it.”

“Should we split up?” Rachel said.

Harriet’s head whipped around, blonde hair flying. She glared at Rachel, spots of color high on her cheeks. “Are you crackers? We are not splitting up.”

Rachel shrugged. “It would make the search faster.”

“No,” Megan said. “I think we need to stay together, so that when we find the crown we can get out of here right away.”

“Exactly.” Harriet looked at her feet, like she was embarrassed. “I don’t want to be alone in a dark hallway ever again.”

“This hall isn’t that dark,” Rachel said.

“Let’s just start looking,” Claire said, and took Harriet’s hand. “It’s likely to be in the place farthest away from the stairs.” She marched down the corridor, pulling Harriet behind her.

Claire pointed to the left. “You two look on this side of the hallway,” she said to Megan and Rachel. “Harriet and I will look on this side.”

The first two doors were open. Inside were small rooms with rows of straw-filled mattresses on the floor—sleeping quarters for the priestesses. A girl of no more than seven was inside the second one, sweeping the floor. She gave Megan a slight, puzzled smile and a little wave. Megan smiled and waved back, hoping that their veils would assuage the child’s suspicion, or the girl was under some kind of vow of silence.

The next door was half open. The room behind it was lit by hundreds of candles. Across from the door was a small shrine to Athena.

Probably the priestesses’ personal altar. The statue on the table was a miniature replica of the one upstairs. Here, however, the gifts were simpler. Plates of food, bundles of wheat and wreaths of flowers lay at her feet. Megan stood inside for a minute. She liked this shrine better than the one upstairs. These gifts and this small, quiet room seemed like a place where Athena was truly worshipped, and not just a public display of wealth. She said a quiet prayer, to Athena or whoever was listening, that she and her friends would make it out of this place alive, and stepped back into the hall.

The next four doors were closed. The girls pulled them open one at a time. Two were empty; the other two held stores of food.

“Remind me again how we know the crown is down here?” Harriet said, as she closed the door to the second pantry.

“It’s got to be,” Megan said. “This is where the clues and the diary lead.” She still hated that she wasn’t sure; she hoped she wasn’t leading them down the wrong path and into some kind of trap.

Well, if we all get killed, at least I won’t have to worry about being a social outcast, right?

The thought did not comfort her.

“There are more doors here,” Claire said. There was a little tension in her voice. “We have to keep looking.”

Most of the other doors were locked, and the ones that weren’t opened to empty rooms.

There were just three doors left. “It must be one of these,” Megan said. She didn’t hold much hope—none of them had an inscription. Maybe we’ll find another clue, or a map or something behind one of them. She crossed her fingers beneath the fabric of her chiton.

“Let’s do it,” Rachel said.

Harriet, Megan and Rachel each took one door and pulled. Megan’s was the only one that opened. She fell backward and landed on her backside. “Ouch.”

Rachel giggled as she helped her up. “It’s not funny,” Megan said, rubbing her rear.

“Yeah, it is,” Rachel said, still chuckling.

“But where’s the bloody crown?” Harriet wailed. Inside the open door was not another room, but another hallway.

“There isn’t anywhere else to go,” Megan said. “Might as well try it.”

The corridor was much like the one they had just come from, made of smooth gray stone, except there weren’t any doors. They walked for a few hundred yards when the corridor forked into two different directions.

“Which way?” Harriet said.

Megan shrugged. She really wished there had been a map of these tunnels in Sir Gregory’s diary. The gnawing feeling returned, and with it the uncertainty she hated. “Don’t know. The diary said something about a simple pattern, but that’s all. If we had a coin, I’d say we flip for it.”

“Let’s just pick one,” Rachel said. “If we go for a while and don’t find anything, we’ll backtrack.”

“Uh, Rachel, remember what happened last time we tried that?” Harriet said.

Rachel gave her a cocky look. Harriet held her hands up in front of her in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just saying, all right?”

“Yes, I do remember. We’ll just have to keep track of which way we go. That way we won’t get lost.”

“All right,” Megan said, hoping they were going the right way. “I guess that’ll work.”

Rachel looked from one path to the other. “We’ll go left.”

It was a dead end. The girls walked back to where the passage divided and took the right fork. They hadn’t gone far when they came to another fork.

Rachel didn’t bother to wait for a debate. “Left.”

That one took them down a long run to a left turn, then down another, slightly longer corridor and another left turn.

They came to another fork.

“Ugh,” Harriet said, and smacked her thighs. “Now which way?”

“I know,” Rachel said.

“You do?” Megan said. She was glad Rachel did, because she was very confused. “How?”

We’ve been here before.” Rachel pointed to the dirt. “See, look there, they’re our footprints. We’ve gone round in a circle.”

“A triangle, actually,” Claire said. “There were only two turns and three straight corridors.”

“This is maddening,” Harriet said. “How are we not going to get lost in here?”

“We could use the string again,” Megan suggested.

“But there’s nowhere to tie it up,” Claire said. “And none of us want to stay behind to hold it.”

“Good point,” Megan said. “I guess we’ll just have to wing it.”

“No, we won’t.” Rachel bent down and picked something up off of the earthen floor. “We can use these little stones to mark our path.”

They walked deeper along the main tunnel. When they came to a fork, Rachel dropped a few stones to mark the direction they had gone. If they came back to the same place, they moved the stones to the other passage.

“That’s strange,” Harriet said. “It seems that the passages to the right are always the correct way to go. Whenever we go to the left we wind up back at the path we just came from. How could that be?”

“Simple,” said Claire. “This corridor is built in a spiral.”

Harriet shook her head. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been picturing it in my head since we started. “Since we’re always using the right fork, we must be moving in a circle. But since we‘re not retracing any steps, the circle must be getting smaller—a spiral.”

“Well, that’s why you’re first in the class, then, isn’t it?” Rachel said. “Smarty pants.”

Claire adjusted her glasses. “We’re also going down. The slope is gentle, but I feel it. We must be winding our way beneath the hill under the temple.”

“It is simple,” Megan said. “Remember, his diary said it was a simple pattern.” Something else suddenly made sense. “Just like at the beginning.”

“Huh?” Rachel said.

“The hill at the beginning of the story. The path to the book…was a spiral. We’re at the other end of the story now. Another spiral to get to the end. One up, one down.”

Rachel smiled. “You’re bloody brilliant, you know that?”

Using this logic, the girls quickened their pace, and ignored the left-hand paths. Soon there were no more forks, only a smooth tunnel that gently turned clockwise.

“The turns are getting tighter,” Megan said. “We must be nearly there.” No longer able to contain her exhilaration, she ran down the tunnel. The feeling was contagious; Rachel, Harriet and Claire followed her example.

Megan’s feet flew, she practically skipped around the curve. How much farther?

The path straightened out, and fifty yards ahead, the tunnel ended—and there was another door. The door.

Megan pumped her legs harder; she wanted to touch the door, make sure it was real. Home was on the other side of it, she was certain about that.

Rachel ran past Megan. “Last one there has to do my History homework for a week.” She put on a burst of speed. “Come on, slowpokes.”

Megan skidded to a halt. “Rachel, stop!”

Chapter Thirteen: Riddles & Crowns

Rachel sprinted toward the door. “No way.” She looked over her shoulder at Megan. “I’m not falling for—”

Rachel’s sandal came off, and she tripped. She went flying, landed and sprawled across the ground. When she sat up, she was holding her ankle. Megan, Claire and Harriet walked up to her.

“Why did you yell like that?” Rachel said. “I could have been really hurt, you know. Why were you so hot for me to stop?”

“I’m really sorry,” Megan said. “I wanted you to stop, because of that.”

She pointed to something at the end of the hall. A lump covered in tan fur and white feathers. It moved up and down in a steady rhythm. It was breathing.

Harriet took a step closer to Claire and Megan. “What is it?” she said.

“I don’t know.” The excitement Megan felt just a minute ago was gone, replaced by a cold feeling of foreboding. “But we’ve got get past it.” She pointed to the door. “This is the door we’ve been looking for. Those are the same characters as in the diary. The crown is on the other side.” She knew the words were true.

Rachel swallowed hard. “How do we move that thing in front of it?”

“Maybe we can just climb over it,” Harriet said. “I think it’s asleep.”

“Doubt it,” Megan said. “Do you really think it would stay asleep with us climbing on top of it?”

“Let’s just sneak up on it and see what happens,” Rachel said. “If it gets up, we run.”

“And hope it’s not as fast as we are,” Harriet said.

“We don’t have a choice, do we?” Megan suddenly felt very tired. Tears threatened again, and she blinked them away. “Sorry, Harriet. We need to get on the other side of that door. Look, I’ll go first. If something bad happens, run.”

“No way,” Rachel said. “We go together.”

Megan wasn’t in the mood to argue. “Rache, look, I don’t want—”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Rachel interrupted. “You don’t have to protect us. We’re a team. We don’t leave anyone behind and we don’t send anyone by themselves. We go together or not at all.”

Megan looked at Claire and Harriet. They both wore the same determined expression that told Megan they agreed with Rachel. And that’s when it hit her.

It had never been her responsibility. Falling into the book had been an accident, and not once since they had been here had Rachel or Claire ever blamed her. Each of them had done their part to get them this far. Claire with logic, Rachel with her wild sense of adventure and terrific memory, even Harriet with her nagging way of reminding them what they were fighting for.

And Megan got to kill all the monsters. Hey, someone has to do it, right?

Megan wasn’t a goddess of war, or a hero. She needed her friends. They were in this together, to succeed or fail. She couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather be stuck inside a book for all eternity with. “Okay, fine. I give. Let’s go.”

They tiptoed toward the lump. Twenty feet was all that separated them from their goal.

“I think we’re going to make it,” Harriet said.

Megan put a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

The thing moved. A pair of gray and white wings pulled up and away from furry tan shoulders. The head of a woman emerged. Her hair was black, and hung just below her ears. Her eyes were bright blue, almond-shaped with dark, cat-like pupils and full, red lips. She blinked at the girls slowly.

“Who comes to claim the crown of Zeus?” she said, and yawned.

Megan took a step forward, despite the fact that her knees felt as if they were made of gelatin. There was a tug-of-war between her head, which said run, her feet that couldn’t, and her utter joy at hearing they were really almost there. “Uh, we do.”

“Are you sure about that?” Harriet murmured.

“You want to get home?” Rachel said. She stepped next to Megan, and gripped her hand. “Yes, we do.”

The woman-creature pushed herself from the floor. Below the woman’s head was the tawny body of a lion. She stood on four paws, arched her back and stretched both body and wings. Long, sharp claws appeared and retracted. She turned a circle on padded feet and rested on her haunches, long tail wrapped around her hind legs.

“Who are you?” Rachel said.

The creature licked one of its front paws absently. “I am the Sphinx. I guard the door. I guard the crown.”

“And what do we have to do to get you to let us pass?” Megan said, and swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. She was glad Rachel was there, holding her together.

The Sphinx’s eyes narrowed. “It is simple.” There was a playful smile on her lips. “You must answer three riddles.”

“And if we don’t?” Rachel said.

“I eat you,” the Sphinx said with a shrug.

Megan really wished she hadn’t asked.

“Great.” Harriet’s face was pale. “Couldn’t you just, oh, I don’t know, let us go?”

The Sphinx shook her head slowly. “That is not possible. Only the wisest may possess the Crown of Zeus. Those that cannot answer are not wise, and therefore not worthy. Those that are not worthy, die.”

“I see,” Rachel said in a strained voice. “Well, then, let’s get on with it, shall we?”

“Just a minute, please.” Claire pulled the girls into a huddle. “We need a plan.”

“What kind of plan do you suggest?” Harriet said. “Die now, or die later?”

“No, of course not. She said three riddles, right? The first is probably the easiest, to lull us into a false sense of security, the second will be harder, and the third will be the hardest. And I can’t imagine Archibald would use the riddle from the myth. Too easy, everyone knows the answer.”

“I don’t,” Rachel said.

“You’re not Greek mythology scholar,” Claire said. “I think Sir Gregory figured anyone who did make it this far would be, so he would want the riddles to be something a real scholar wouldn’t expect. Or maybe he would.” She screwed her face up, as if thinking about it was painful. “Either way, we need to be smart, and take our time. No one answers until we all agree. Okay?”

Rachel and Harriet piped up in the affirmative, but Megan hesitated. She hadn’t been very good at figuring out the clues, she wasn’t sure she could handle riddles.

So I’ll have to rely on my friends, won’t I?

She nodded her assent. It felt good—more importantly, it felt right, like a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

They broke the huddle and lined up across the tunnel, hands joined.

“Are you prepared?” The Sphinx said with a swish of her tail.

Claire nodded.

The Sphinx stood and paced the width of the hall. She looked each of the girls in the eye.

“Very well. Let us begin.” Her lion’s body was taut and muscular. She carried herself like a queen as she positioned herself, head erect, front feet together, eyes bright.

“Riddle the first.” Her voice was like velvet. “A man and his wife have seven children. Half of them are boys. How is this possible?”

The girls gathered around Claire. “This should be easy. Simple math. But I can’t think of how that’s possible.”

“I don’t get it,” Rachel said. “Half of seven is three and a half. It doesn’t divide evenly.”

“Maybe one of the children is half boy, half something else,” Megan said. “We’ve seen stranger things than that here.”

Claire shook her head. “We’re overthinking it. It’s a logic problem, the answer must be simple. We just have to work it out. What combinations make up seven?”

“You can have four girls and three boys,” Megan said. “Or four boys and three girls. Or six boys and a girl, or six girls and a boy…”

Rachel scratched her head. “Or, they could be all girls…”

“That’s it.” Claire looked around the circle at her closest friends. “Do you trust me?”

The three girls nodded. Claire stood and faced the Sphinx; she looked terrified. “The children are all boys. Half are boys, and so is the other half.”

The Sphinx blinked her sapphire eyes and smiled. For a moment Megan was sure the beast was going to open her jaws and snatch them all up. “That is correct.”

Megan’s shoulders slumped and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Good job, Claire.”

I knew I could count on her.

One down, two to go.

The end of the Sphinx’s tale flicked. “Riddle the second. How many letters are in the alphabet?”

“That’s simple,” Harriet blurted out. “There’s twen—”

Claire slapped her hand over Harriet’s mouth. “Don’t you dare.” She pulled Harriet toward her. “It’s a trick question. The answer is not twenty-six.” She lifted her hand.

Harriet shot her an exasperated look. “Of course it is. There are twenty-six letters in the alphabet. Nothing could be simpler.”

Megan got where Claire was going. “It can’t be that easy. I mean, a five-year-old could answer it. It’s not a riddle, then, either. Just a question. She could mean the Greek alphabet or something.”

Harriet crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Wouldn’t she have said so, if that’s what she meant? And what are you doing?” She looked at Rachel, who was muttering to herself and counting on her fingers.

“Eleven,” Rachel said.

“Huh?” Megan said. “Where did you come up with that?”

“The alphabet. T-H-E-A-L-P-H-A-B-E-T,” Rachel put up a finger with each letter she named. “Eleven letters.”

Claire raised her eyebrows. “Bloody brilliant. How did you figure that?”

Rachel shrugged. “It was the way she said it, I guess. The answer just came to me.”

Megan smiled and hugged Rachel by the neck. This is going to be a piece of cake. “Okay, you tell her.”

Rachel stood up and faced the Sphinx. “Eleven. The answer is eleven.”

The Sphinx cleaned herself while she waited. She stopped licking the back of her paw and gazed at Rachel.

“Very good. Many do not answer correctly. They look for the easy answer. I have eaten more than one human because of that riddle.

“There is one more riddle to answer before you may enter the chamber of the crown. Be certain before you answer. As with the others, there is only one chance. An incorrect answer brings death. Are you ready?”

Megan hesitated. This was the point of no return. “Yes.”

The Sphinx cleared her throat. “Riddle the third. I soar without wings, I see without eyes. I’ve conquered the world, yet I’ve never been anywhere but home. What am I?”

Harriet inhaled sharply. Rachel’s eyes grew wide. Megan and Claire both knitted their brows.

“How do you expect us to answer that?” Rachel said.

“I don’t,” the Sphinx said with a shrug and a grin. “I’m rather hungry after my long rest. But there is an answer.” She returned to her grooming.

Megan pulled her friends a few feet further down the passage. Her insides were made of lead. “Please tell me one of you knows the answer.”

Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease.

Harriet chewed on a fingernail and shook her head. “What in the world do you think it could be? We’re going to die, aren’t we?”

“I don’t know. No, we’re not either.” Claire raked her fingers through her short hair. “But we have to figure it out. Being eaten alive is not what I wanted to do with my day.”

“How long do you think we have?” Rachel said. “I don’t think she’s going to let us think about it for the next century or anything.”

“Probably not long,” Claire said. “So let’s work it out. What soars without wings?”

“A leaf?” Harriet suggested. “You know, once it falls from a tree. It kind of soars.”

“No, I would call that falling,” Megan said. “Or floating. What can see without eyes?”

“My mother,” Rachel said. “I swear she’s got a pair in the back of her head. She always seems to know what I’m up to.”

Claire smirked. “I don’t think that’s the answer. Besides, has your mother ever conquered the world without ever leaving the house?”

“Not that I know of, but I don’t watch her every minute of the day.” Rachel covered her face with her hands. “Sorry. I joke when I’m upset. It’s a defense mechanism. Ugh, this is impossible. I can’t think of anything that it could be.”

Megan had an idea. “Maybe it’s not a thing. I mean, maybe it’s something you can’t touch, like the wind, or just air. The wind doesn’t have wings. Do you think it soars?”

“Nope, just blows,” Rachel said. “Kind of like this situation.”

“But you could argue that it sees without eyes,” Claire said. “I don’t think that’s the answer, but I think you’re on the right track, Megan. Think of other things that exist but you can’t touch.”

“Sunshine.”

“Love.”

“Peace.”.

“Trust.” Megan looked at the faces that surrounded her. “Or friendship.”

“Emotion.”

“Thought.”

Claire held up her hand. “Wait. Let’s explore that one. What kinds of thought are there?”

“What do you mean?” Rachel said. “You either think, or you don’t. Pretty black and white, if you ask me.”

“But it’s not.” Claire scratched her head. “There’s logical thought, there’s subconscious thought, conscious thought, artistic or creative thought, daydreams…”

Megan looked at the floor for a few minutes, her brows knitted. Then she knew. She couldn’t say how, but it was as if the answer just appeared in her head.

No, that can’t be right. Can it? I mean, how can it be? I never know the answer.

But no matter how many ways she thought about it, it made sense. She whispered into Claire’s ear. Claire’s face brightened, and she nodded. She whispered into Harriet’s ear, who passed the message to Rachel.

“Do we all agree?” Megan said. She hoped she had the answer. If not, it would be her fault they died.

The others nodded.

“Are…are you sure?” Megan said. “I mean, if there’s a better answer…”

“Oh, stop it already,” Rachel said. “We don’t have anything, because that’s the answer.”

Megan pushed the fear down as far as possible and swallowed. “Okay.”

They walked, side by side, to the Sphinx. Megan’s stomach churned, her hands shook. Rachel stood on one side of her, Claire on the other; she could hear both taking long, ragged breaths.

“Do you have your answer?” The Sphinx smiled broadly, revealing two rows of sharp, cat-like teeth. “Are you prepared to meet your end?”

“And what makes you think we’ll get it wrong?” Rachel said.

The Sphinx chuckled. “Because no one has ever answered it correctly.”

Claire reached out and squeezed Megan’s hand.

“Go on. You can do it. I believe in you.”

Megan licked her lips and took a deep breath. “Imagination.” Her voice cracked. “The imagination can soar without wings, see without eyes. It can conquer the world without ever leaving the imaginer’s head, which is where it lives.”

The silence that followed stretched out forever. Megan had to remind herself to breathe. Did they win the crown, or did her wrong answer get them a painful death?

“Well?” Rachel said. “Is that the right answer or isn’t it?”

The Sphinx lowered her head and looked at them through her long lashes.

“As hungry as I am, I cannot lie.” She stood and moved from in front of the door. “Enter. You have proved yourselves worthy.”

Everything turned surreal. Megan wanted to jump for happiness, but her feet had turned to lead. She tried to lift them, but they felt so heavy. The other girls threw their arms abound her. Tears of relief and joy streamed down her face.

“Who can’t figure anything out now?” Rachel crowed. “You did it!”

“Yeah,” Megan said, still in a little bit of shock. “Now let’s get the heck out of here.”

Together they approached the door. The Sphinx bowed her head as they passed, then disappeared.

Megan could hardly believe it. They made it through to the end, passed all of the tests, beaten all of the beasts, and had earned their way home, all in one piece. The door didn’t move further away or disappear. It was real. She ran a hand across the inscription on the smooth stone. It had only been days since she had first seen it in the diary, but it seemed like years. Centuries. Beneath the Greek was written:

Beware! The Crown of Knowledge is not to be sought without temperance.

“Temperance?” Rachel said. “I could care less about temperance. I just want to get the stupid crown and get out of this bloody book.”

There was no knob or pull, so Megan pushed. The door swung open with a grinding, stone-on-stone sound. Inside was a small cave. The room had a low ceiling, and the walls were rough stone, the walls uneven—a natural cavern. A raised stone dais was in the center. On the dais stood a rectangular stone table, like an altar. Strange symbols, some like the ones in the underground temple at home, were carved into it. The room was lit by two torches on long poles set into the ground. A singular, diffused beam of light came through the ceiling to fall on the center of the altar.

Three velvet pillows the color of blood, edged in gold braid and tassels, were placed across the top of the altar, one next to the other. In the center of the each perched a circlet of gold. All three were different. One was tall and studded with rubies. The one in the center was decorated with golden laurel leaves; the third was a simple gold circle with single, sparkling lightning bolt attached.

“Which one is it?” Rachel said. “Does anyone know?”

Megan shook her head and cursed. She couldn’t believe it—how could Sir Gregory do this to them? “How are we supposed to know which one is the real one?” she muttered, more to herself than to her companions.

“There’s something over here,” Rachel said. On the wall next to the door, beneath a small olive tree carved into the stone, was one last clue.

You’ve made it this far

You’re to be commended

Now claim your prize

And your journey is ended.

“Beautiful,” Harriet said. “What happens if we pick the wrong one?”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Claire said.

“Temperance,” Megan said. “We sought the crown, we need restraint, self-control. If we grab the wrong one, we lose.”

Harriet sat on the edge of the dais and put her face in her hands. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she sobbed. “We’ve made it all this way, we’re so close we could literally reach out and touch it, and we don’t know which one it is?”

Rachel ran her hands through her hair. “That clue over there doesn’t tell us which one to pick. Let’s think about this for a minute. Is there anything we know about Zeus or Archibald that would tell us which one it is?”

Claire rubbed the knuckles of one hand across her brow. “I can’t think of anything.”

Megan circled the pedestal, her jaw set. She refused to be beaten, not now. She carefully examined each crown, tilting her head first one way, then the other. Then she saw it. “Hand me that torch,” she said to Rachel.

“What are you thinking?” Rachel pulled the torch out of its holder and handed it to her.

“Look.” Megan moved the torch along the edge of the altar. Each crown winked in the firelight as the flame passed.

“What?” Rachel said. “I don’t see anything.”

“I do,” Claire said. “No shadows. Two don’t have shadows.”

Megan nodded. She pointed to the ruby crown, her finger almost touching, but not quite. She wouldn’t put it past Sir Gregory for the fake ones to be booby-trapped. “It’s an illusion of some kind. But this one,” she pointed to the one in the center, with the laurel leaves, “does.”

Claire shook her head. “Simple. One last, simple trick, only discovered by a little…patience.”

“Brilliant!” Rachel said. “Then that’s the one. “Let’s take it and get out of here.” She reached for it.

“Wait!” Megan said.

“Why? What now?” Rachel said.

“I think if you touch it by yourself, we’ll get left behind,” Megan said.

“We didn’t have to be touching to get into the story,” Rachel said. “The book just sucked us all in.”

Megan thought about that. “Okay, you’re right. But the clue says we have to claim the prize to end our journey. What if that means the crown itself is rigged to transport whoever grabs it out of the book. I mean, I don’t see another way out, do you? I’d rather not take any chances.” She stood in front of the true crown. “Come on, Harriet, stand up. Time to go.” All four girls gathered around the crown.

Megan grinned—it really was time to go. There were times when she never thought they would get here, never see this room or the crown. She and her friends were made of stronger stuff than Sir Gregory thought they would be. They had won.

“Are we sure?” Rachel said. “That this will take us home, and not someplace else? Someplace worse?”

“I don’t think Archibald was that kind of person,” Megan said. “I know it’s been horrible, but he’s played fair. This is our reward. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Last time you said that, we wound up being sucked into a book,” Harriet said.

Please don’t remind me. “Everybody hold hands.” Megan took Rachel’s, who took Claire’s, who took Harriet’s. “I’ll grab it, and it should take all of us with it.”

“Okay, then, do it,” Claire said. “Everyone hold on tightly. I’m not coming back into this book to fetch anyone who gets left behind.”

“On three.” Megan squeezed Rachel’s hand until her knuckles were white. “One, two, three.”

She gently grasped the crown. In the center of the pillow a pinprick of light appeared. It grew quickly, opening like an iris, until it filled the circle made by the crown. Megan felt herself rise from the floor.

Like going over a waterfall, she plunged headfirst into the light. She felt Rachel’s hand in hers, but the light blinded her. She couldn’t see if Claire and Harriet were still with them. As when they entered the book, there was a noise like a mighty wind that filled her ears. They fell.

The light softened, the noise dimmed and Megan bellyflopped onto something hard. All the breath was pushed from her lungs. Something landed on her back.

“Ow,” she gasped as the space between her spine and her belly button decreased rapidly.

“Sorry.” Rachel rolled off Megan and onto the floor. She pushed herself to a sitting position. “Some ride, huh? Is everyone here? Did we all make it out?”

Megan, not willing or able to get up, turned her head to one side. Harriet lay nearby. She was unconscious, and a purple bruise erupted on her forehead. Claire knelt next to her, trying to wake her. Megan still held the crown; the points of the leaves dug into her palm.

She regained her breath and stood up. They were back in the library. The book with the blue cover, that had taken them on their adventure, sat on the table, closed, appearing perfectly innocent. She was again wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.

Harriet groaned; her eyes fluttered open. “Are we there yet?”

“Yes,” Megan said with a smile. “How do you feel?”

“If we’re home, then I’m perfect. But can someone please help me off the floor?”

Claire extended her hand and pulled Harriet up. She hugged Claire. “Thank you, thank you.”

Rachel pointed to the crown. “What do we do with that thing?”

“I can help you with that,” a man’s voice said. Megan spun, ready for a fight. Bailey stood in the library’s center aisle not far from where the girls landed.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?”

Chapter Fourteen: Revelations

Megan took a step backward, and hid the crown behind her back. “What are you doing here?”

Bailey’s face broke into a smile—the expression looked foreign on him. He chuckled warmly. “I should be asking you the same question. This part of the house is not usually…used.”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “You know about this? The hidden stair, the temple, the library?” She narrowed her eyes. “The books?”

Bailey gave a small shrug. “Of course.” He put his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet. “I am the butler, after all. It is my responsibility to keep the house in good condition.”

He brandished his feather duster at them. “The entire house.”

Megan put a hand on her hips and thrust her chin outward. “Why didn’t you tell me or my father about it?”

Bailey inspected a fingernail. “Quite simply, it wasn’t any of your business.”

Megan fumed. How dare this man keep so large a secret? If they had known, they could have avoided this entire mess. “Not any of our business? This is our house.”

“Yes, you live here, but it is not yours.” Bailey’s tone was like a schoolteacher giving a lesson. “I had no say over your coming to live here, that was young Mr. Baird’s choice. The secret of the Library of Athena is to be preserved at all costs. It was not your concern.”

He pursed his lips, and his gaze traveled from one girl to the next. “Come with me, please. And bring that.” He pointed to the book on the table, turned on his heel and walked away. Halfway down the center aisle, he turned right and disappeared into the stacks.

“Should we go with him?” Rachel said.

Megan licked her lips. There was something she was missing, and it was likely Bailey had the answers. She was tired, but she needed to know. At least here there weren’t any monsters. At least, she didn’t think so. “Yes, I think we should. I want to know what’s going on.” She grabbed the magic book and jogged after the butler. Only Rachel followed.

“Aren’t you coming?” Megan called to Harriet and Claire.

Harriet shook her head, and gingerly touched it with the back of her hand. “Not me. I’ve had quite enough adventure, thank you. And my head hurts. I just want to sit.”

Claire grasped Harriet by the elbow. “I’ll stay here with her. Make sure she’s all right.”

“That’s a good idea.” Megan turned to start her jog again. “Call us if you need anything.”

Rachel and Megan stopped at the row where they had seen Bailey disappear. There was no sign of him.

“Where did he go?” Megan said. “He didn’t wait for us?”

Rachel shrugged. “Maybe he went to the other end.”

At the far end of the shelf was a reading area with two rows of long tables. The wall was covered by a wooden case; not a bookshelf, but cubby-holes, like a gigantic beehive with square combs. Nearly every hole was stuffed with rolled papers, some yellowed and crumbling on the edges, some with wooden handles. Some held only leather tubes. Bailey, a large book in his hand, sat at the table closest to the cubby wall.

“Please, sit down, ladies.”

Megan and Rachel sat across from him. Bailey opened the book.

“No!” Rachel said. “Don’t open it.”

Bailey smiled. “Not to worry, miss. This book will not take us anywhere. I can assure you of that. Only the Special Collection books can do that.” He flipped through the pages until he found the one he wanted, then spun it around and pushed it across the table to Megan.

“Read this, out loud, if you please.” He sat back in his chair and tented his fingers in front of his mouth.

A beautiful hand-drawn picture of the Crown of Zeus was at the top of the page. Below it was a paragraph written in Sir Gregory’s neat script. Megan skimmed the page, her brows drawn together.

“The Crown of Zeus was discovered in a chamber beneath the Parthenon in Athens. Ancient writings indicate that it was, in fact, worn by the God Zeus when he ruled Mount Olympus.

“The crown is purported to have been made for Zeus by Hephaestus, the same blacksmith god who manufactured his lightning bolts. It bestows upon the wearer access to all knowledge.”

Rachel pulled the book away from Megan and reread the page. “So this—” she pointed to the crown, still in Megan’s hand, “—is the real thing.”

Bailey nodded, his face somber. “It is indeed.”

“What does that mean—‘all knowledge’?” Megan said.

Bailey sighed. “When I came into Mr. Archibald’s service, I was a very young man. Still in my teens, in fact. He was well into his career, wealthy due to his savvy sales of art and antiques, and had a reputation as one of the most respected archaeologists in the world. Not long after I began my employ, Sir Gregory took a trip to Greece, one of many. Among the many treasures he brought back with him was the item you now hold in your hand. Most of the artifacts went to the British Museum, or were sold at auction. The crown, however, he kept. He placed it in his private safe. He did not know what it was, only that it was very valuable, both historically as well as intrinsically. He wanted time to study it before turning it over to the museum’s curator.

“Not long after, someone broke into the house. We—Mr. Archibald and I—caught the would-be thief and questioned him before the police arrived. He had been sent to steal the crown. The thief said only that his employers, whom he had never met, were very anxious to get their hands on it. For what purpose he did not know.

“The incident strengthened Sir Gregory’s suspicions about the crown. He became obsessed. Years of digging, searching and research, much of which was done by reading ancient scrolls from the Library of Alexandria—” he pointed to the rolled-up papers behind him, “—among other places, which he went to great pains to find, confirmed what the crown really is—a source of unbelievable power.”

Megan set the crown on the table. It made a soft clink against the wood. The enormity of what she had read sunk in, but she had to hear it again to believe it.

“So if I were to put it on, I would know everything? Everything in the world that there is to know?”

Bailey nodded.

Rachel eyed the crown. “Can I borrow it for my algebra exam next week?”

Megan elbowed her in the ribs.

“Ow.” Rachel rubbed her side. “I was only joking.”

“It is not something to joke about, miss.” Bailey leaned forward. “Knowledge in and of itself is a good thing, but in the wrong hands it can be very dangerous.”

“The Crown of Knowledge should not be sought without temperance,” Megan muttered. The warning reverberated through her head. Because that was what the inscription really was—a warning. Suddenly she wanted to be as far away from the gold circlet as possible.

“Precisely. Knowledge is not the same as wisdom. Anyone could use its power to their own ends—constructive or destructive.”

Megan flipped through the book. It was full of beautiful illustrations, each with a paragraph written beneath. “What are these other things?”

“This book indexes the many mythological items that Mr. Archibald discovered during his travels and research. Some, unfortunately, he was unable to recover. Of those he did find, about three-quarters he hid inside his books, like the journey you and your friends experienced.”

Megan thought about the little room at the back of the library. Dozens and dozens of books were on those shelves, every one another magical trap waiting to be sprung.

Yeah, but he did that to protect those special whatevers. That’s not so bad.

Bailey went on. “It was, he decided, the best way to keep them safe. Even if someone did stumble upon their hiding place, they would have to face the challenges he set forth in the books to obtain what they sought. They would earn their prize.”

He reached for the blue cloth-covered book and flipped back the cover; Megan gasped and got ready to dive beneath the table. Nothing happened.

“The book is now harmless,” Bailey said. “Once the object is taken, the spell is broken. It is again just words on a page.”

The book seemed a little sad and lonely with its magic gone. Not that Megan was sorry for it or anything. It had caused enough trouble.

And probably cost me my friends too. There was still the nagging worry that after everything she had put them through, Rachel and the others wouldn’t want to stick around. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. She had thought before about just asking them if they planned on remaining her friends, but the time hadn’t seemed right. They were busy escaping from a book that wanted to kill them.

Bailey took both books, pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He followed the cubby-hole wall to the back of the room.

Megan and Rachel looked at each other, got up and followed.

“What about the stories?” Rachel called after him. “The ones about Sir Gregory being murdered, and his ghost haunting the manor, searching for his killer?”

Bailey laughed. “Ah, yes. Stories I made up myself, to discourage the curious after Sir Gregory passed. A few well-told yarns spun in the local pub. Over the years they’ve become so overblown, as gossip tends to do. Better than I expected, actually.”

“Really?” Rachel’s eyebrows hung somewhere around her hair line. “Well done, then. But I still don’t understand. Just how did he manage to put solid objects inside a story? How did he write books that someone could literally get inside of?”

“He mentioned using magic in his diary.” Megan walked right up behind Bailey and stayed there.

“His diary, yes,” Bailey said over his shoulder. “Yes. I am sorry that I took it from you, but, under the circumstances, I felt that I had no choice.”

“I knew it,” Megan said. “How did you know I found it?”

“Miranda discovered it while she was cleaning your room yesterday, and she told me. You really should lock your desk, miss.”

He must have seen the look on Megan’s face, because he quickly backtracked. “She wasn’t snooping in your things. She opened the drawer to put something away. You left it right on top, where she couldn’t help but see it.”

I’ll have to remember never to leave anything really important where someone could find it.

“To be honest,” Bailey said, “I had forgotten the diary even existed. I haven’t seen it for years. I assumed Sir Gregory put it in his safety deposit box at the bank, with his other effects.”

Megan stopped. “Miranda knows? Does she know about—” she waved a hand at the books, “—all this?”

Bailey nodded, but his pace did not slow. “All of the staff does, miss.”

“Of course,” Megan said. She ran to catch up to the butler. “That’s why Sir Gregory’s will stipulated that all of them remain, and the house never be sold.”

“Exactly. He needed someone he could trust to take care of it after he was gone. Mr. Baird, who was Sir Gregory’s best friend and executor of his will, also knew about it, but was sworn to secrecy, even from his own family. It is a sacred trust. Your father’s employer does not even know, even though he is bound by the terms of his grandfather’s will. There are few others who know, and that number is more than enough.”

Without explanation of this last, he took a sharp right down the aisle marked Oedipus—Oz. “As for how he got the items into the books; I just don’t know. I never was privy to the inner workings of The Art. Sir Gregory started his magical studies not long after he discovered the crown’s true purpose. It wasn’t long before he became a devout student of magic. He also loved to collect books.”

“We noticed,” Rachel said.

“He collected magical books and writings from all over the world. It became his passion. He searched for years, and it was in the secret da Vinci papers, I believe, that he finally found the description of The Art.”

“The Art,” Megan said. “I read that in the diary too. What is that?”

“It is, simply, the way to make enchanted books. The craft of writing magical stories. Sir Gregory spent many of his last years carefully shaping the stories in each of the artifact books.”

“He was really a magician too?” Megan said. She wasn’t being thick, just having a hard time wrapping her head around everything she had just learned. Even after having first-hand experience of it, she wasn’t sure she believed it.

Bailey waved a hand, as if he shooed away a fly. “Magicians perform tricks for children’s birthday parties. Sir Gregory Archibald was a sorcerer, one of the greatest of this century. He has woven spells and charms unlike any the world has seen for an age.”

“Too bad he didn’t have one to protect the door,” Rachel muttered. “We might just have gone back to bed instead of down here and sucked inside a book.”

“So that—experience—we just had? That was real magic? Not just some weird group hallucination?”

“Yes, miss. I know it’s difficult to understand, but in time you’ll come to accept it.”

What does he mean “in time”? Megan thought. I don’t want to “accept” anything, I just want to forget this ever happened and go back to my life!

They crossed the center aisle. Megan caught a glimpse of Claire and Harriet, still at the back of the room. They gave identical surprised looks as Megan, Rachel and the butler sped by.

“So all of these—” Megan indicated the books on the shelves, “—are his collection of ‘magical’ books or whatever? But we saw books that don’t have anything to do with magic.”

Bailey came to an abrupt stop, pulled a book off of a shelf and leafed through it. “Most are books of magic.” He ran a finger down the page. “Some are one-of-a-kind pieces of literature, like sonnets written in the Bard’s own hand, some are important but forgotten books, perhaps the last remaining copy in existence; some are writings no one ever knew existed, passed to Sir Gregory in secret, and some are translations of ancient writings. After all, a book is easier to store than a chunk of hieroglyphics or a stone tablet.”

“That’s true,” Rachel said. “Very practical.”

“They are more than a mere collection; they represent Sir Gregory’s life’s work.” Bailey closed the book with a snap, replaced it and took down another.

“What about the poem and key?” Megan crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn’t leaving this room until she had every last piece to this puzzle. “Did you know about them?”

Bailey knitted his brows and seemed to study her. “No, miss. Is that how you got inside the library?”

“Yeah.” Megan pulled the poem from her pocket and showed it to him. “They were with the diary, beneath the hearthstone in my room.”

His lips moved as he read it to himself. “That is most interesting. I have often wondered if Sir Gregory left some extra clue behind, something no one but he would know about.”

“Why would he do that?” Rachel said.

Bailey sighed. “The staff, and the…others…I mentioned are sworn never to tell another soul what we know. Once we are gone, the secret of the library will go with us.”

He handed the poem back to Megan, who folded it and carefully put it in her pocket. She suddenly felt as if she had entered a secret society; she was now one of the protectors of Sir Gregory’s secret.

“That hiding place must have been Sir Gregory’s failsafe,” Bailey said. His eyes got a faraway look. “In his last days, Sir Gregory wasn’t well. He would slide into a melancholy mood, and ramble on about his life and the library. He said that whoever found his key would be the one who was supposed to find it, someone who would protect it. I dismissed it as the ramblings of an old man. He said…so many things.”

He looked at Megan, his eyes misty. “You, my dear, are now the Librarian.”

“Huh?” Megan said. “I thought that was your job?”

He shook his head. “I am merely a custodian. You found the key, so you are now the Keeper of the Library of Athena. Fate, it seems, has deemed you will protect the books and the magical items they contain.”

“Awesome,” Rachel said, her eyes wide. “That sounds so cool. Megan, you could do it easy.”

“No way,” Megan said. “I’m just a kid. And I don’t know any magic.”

Bailey sighed. “Sir Gregory believed very strongly in fate. He believed it was his destiny to collect the items and build the library. Since you found the key, you were meant to. Same thing with your little adventure—it was your destiny to go into that book and retrieve the crown. That’s what he would have said. If it wasn’t meant to be, something would have stopped you.”

Megan ignored the implications of that last statement. “Not to be rude or anything, but you didn’t go through what we did. It was horrible. I just want to lock the door to this place and forget it exists. I’m gonna pass on the whole Librarian thing. Besides, I found the diary and other stuff by accident. I fell on the loose stone.”

Bailey looked directly at her, his gaze steady. “Was it? Why did you have that room in the first place? It was a completely random choice, I assure you. I could have just as easily put your father in there, but I thought you’d like the color and the view.”

He flapped a hand at the girls. “It’s all much too existential for me. I can’t say that I believe in fate, not like Sir Gregory did. But there is a certain, oh, romanticism, about it, isn’t there?”

“Yeah, real romantic,” Megan said. “I had to chop off someone’s head. Like I said, I pass.”

Bailey smiled. “You can take comfort in knowing that it was only within the pages of a story. If you were able to travel inside the book again you would find the Gorgon’s head fully restored. Here, see for yourself.” He opened the storybook and flipped through the pages. He turned the book toward Megan and she read. Medusa, on this page at least, was alive and well and turning innocent people to stone.

“Weird. But cool.” Megan felt an overwhelming sense of relief. She wasn’t a killer.

Bailey closed the book again and took another one down from the shelf and opened it. His lips moved as he read. He put it back on the shelf and looked at his feet, deep in thought.

“Come, and bring the crown. Can’t leave that lying about.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Megan said. “I said I’m out. I can’t be the Librarian.”

The butler said nothing, only led the girls to the end of the shelves and stopped in front of the wall on the other end of the room. This wall was also floor-to-ceiling cubby-holes, except for a small section of wall that was empty except for an owl carved in the center. Bailey touched the owl’s head and muttered some Latin-sounding word Megan didn’t understand. The stones sprung to life and rearranged themselves into a neat arched doorway, exactly like the one to the room where the magic books were kept.

Megan’s jaw fell open. “Whoa. How did you do that?”

Bailey gave a thin smile. “A simple spell. One of only two Sir Gregory taught me. I haven’t used it in so long I had nearly forgotten it. My, it must be dirty in there. Now, come inside.”

Megan and Rachel followed him into a small dark room. Bailey pulled a long match from a container beside the door and lit a branch of candles and three torches.

“What is this room?” Megan asked. It was like the room with the enchanted books, but wider. Dusty floor-to-ceiling shelves stood along the left-hand wall. Bailey stopped in front of them and looked closely at the small placards set on each.

Only a few of the shelves were occupied. Rachel reached into one and pulled down a sword with a brightly jeweled handle.

She swung it carefully. “This is nice. Very pretty.”

“Excalibur,” Bailey said.

“Excuse me?” Rachel stopped in mid-swing.

“That is Excalibur,” Bailey repeated. “The legendary sword used by King Arthur…”

“I know the story.” She carefully put the sword back on its shelf. “But why is it here and not in a book?”

“As I said, not all of the objects were put into books. Sir Gregory…ran out of time. They remain here in Sir Gregory’s workroom.”

“So why didn’t he just leave them in here?” Rachel said. “Why put them in books at all? If this place is a magical room, inside a secret library, why bother?”

Bailey pursed his lips, as if looking for the right words. “Because the nature of these items is so…powerful…that no chances can be taken. The safest vault in all the world would not keep them safe for long if someone were to discover them. As it is, I believe these items have passed into the annuls of legend.”

Megan spotted a familiar-looking box. She swallowed hard and stepped away from the shelf. “That looks like the box we found in the Minotaur’s cave. Is it Pandora’s box?”

Bailey nodded. “Yes, and I was always a bit nervous that particular object remained here.”

“So what did we throw into the sea?” Megan said, confused.

“Part of the spell of the book. A perfect replica of Pandora’s Box Sir Gregory wrote inside the story to put off the adventurer. I remember when he came up with the idea. He thought it rather inspired. Ah, here we go. If you would hand me the crown, I’ll just put it in its place.”

Bailey stood in front of the last shelf, near the back of the room. Megan handed him the golden circlet, almost relieved to be rid of it.

Nearby was a small round table. Megan skirted around the butler and took a look at it. There were a few unlit but well-used candles, a long thin wand made of wood, an inkpot and several feather quills, one fountain pen, and more books. One lay open. The page was blank.

“This was also Sir Gregory’s workshop. Here is where all the enchanted books were written.” Bailey stood by the shelves, the crown still in his hand, watching Megan with a look she couldn’t quite read. Was it happiness, or regret? Maybe he just missed his old master.

Megan blew the dust off the cover of one of the books in the pile. She looked at Bailey, and he nodded that it was safe.

This book’s story had never been finished, but the magic was already inside. The words literally danced across the page. The ink swirled on the paper, formed and re-formed words and images. It was beautiful, but made her dizzy. She shut the book and put it back on the table, then picked up the wand and waved it over her head, like she had seen wizards do in the movies and on TV. Nothing happened.

“It won’t work without an incantation.”

She put the wand back on the table. Magic is pretty cool, I guess. Who would have thought? She considered all she’d been through, and what this place meant to Sir Gregory. She had been brave, hadn’t she? She’d come through with flying colors—with the help of Rachel, Harriet and Claire, of course. Why shouldn’t she take the job?

“So, this being the Librarian thing. What would I have to, you know, do? I wouldn’t have to do any magic, would I? ’Cause I can’t.”

“No, not unless you wanted to learn. Just make sure the library stays safe. That’s the primary job requirement.”

Bailey turned back to the shelves and set the crown in its place on a high shelf. “Back where you belong.”

“Well, okay then,” Megan said. “I guess I could do it, if it’s that easy. I mean, it’s hidden. How hard could it be? It’s not like there’s a whole mess of people waiting to break in here, right?”

Rachel smiled. “I knew you’d change your mind.”

Bailey dusted his hands against each other. “Very good, then. I suppose I must come back here later and clean this room properly. Now, let’s go and collect your friends and go upstairs. Maggie is busy preparing you a lovely brunch.”

“Uh, isn’t anyone worried about us?” Rachel led the way out of the vault. “We were gone, like, days.”

“Not as long as you think,” Bailey replied. He waved a hand over the entrance, and the arch closed up. The wall was solid again, complete with owl. “As it is with reading books, days pass within the story, but here in the real world, it is only a few hours. Which, I would venture to say is how long you have been away. I don’t know when you left, so I can’t be certain.” He looked at the ceiling. “Yes, only a few hours, I think.”

Megan followed his gaze and gasped. The dark sky and stars were gone, and the dome was now the color of a robin’s egg. Clouds floated across, white with just a hint of sunrise pink on the edges. It was fabulous and…magical.

Yeah, magic is definitely cool.

She pried her eyes from it and walked with Rachel and Bailey back toward the center aisle, where Claire and Harriet waited for them.

“So no one’s noticed we were missing?” Megan asked.

“Not yet,” Bailey said. He shrugged. “Who truly expects young ladies at a sleepover to wake early?”

Megan giggled—she knew her father didn’t. “Good point. I usually don’t wake up early on weekends anyway. Dad knows better than to wake me up early on a Sunday.”

“Your father has already left. He said he had some errands to run this morning and won’t be back until after lunch.”

“Well, at least we won’t have to explain anything to him,” Rachel said. “What would we say?”

Bailey looked stern. “I would ask you to say nothing. It is enough that three people outside…besides the new Librarian and the servants know about the library. Can I trust you all not to mention the library or its purpose to anyone?”

“You can count on me,” Megan said. Obviously. If I’m the new Librarian, I can’t very well go blabbing it all over, can I?

Bailey nodded. “And your friends? You will make sure that they keep the Parthenon’s secret?”

This was the moment Megan had been afraid of. “I guess so, but…” The moment of truth had come. There was no way to avoid it any longer.

“I don’t know if they’re still my friends or not.”

Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding? We’re best mates now, aren’t we? After everything we’ve been through, how could we not be?”

“But I…all this…” Megan stumbled over her words. “You all almost died, like three times. You should be super mad at me! You should yell and scream at me and run from my house like a crazy person. I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Rachel placed a hand on her chest. “I’m a little offended you would think something as small as being sucked into a book and almost being killed would stop me from being your friend. No, dear, you’re stuck with me. And I’m sure Claire and Harriet feel exactly the same.”

Claire nodded. “Absolutely. How could I turn my back on you now? We all have our little quirks. Rachel doesn’t know when to quit, Harriet can’t stop complaining—”

“You’re a bloody walking encyclopedia,” Rachel chimed in.

“—and you, Megan, have a library in your basement full of books that could kill us,” Claire finished. “It all works out.”

Harriet, the bruise over her eye an even deeper shade of purple, remained silent but nodded slowly.

Rachel gave an impish smile. “Besides, you throw the best sleepovers.”

Megan laughed, and gratefully, with a few tears, accepted the hug Rachel offered. “Thanks.”

“And as for keeping your secret, well, that’s what best friends do, isn’t it?” Rachel looked at Bailey “I won’t tell a soul.”

Bailey gave a short nod and looked at Claire and Harriet. “And you ladies?”

“I’m sure Claire won’t,” Rachel said. She glared at Harriet. “Harriet here might take a bit of convincing. But we’ll make sure she keeps her mouth shut or I’ll kick her in the bum.”

Harriet looked at Megan, her eyes glassy. “Where did you go?” she said crossly. “My head hurts.” She touched the spot gingerly. “I think I hit it on something.”

“What happened to her, Claire?” Rachel muttered.

“I don’t know,” Claire said. “After we saw you go by, she passed out for a few seconds. When she woke up, she didn’t remember anything.”

Harriet looked dazed. “We were looking at that Greek statue on the landing. It was the middle of the night.” She looked around. “How did we get here? Looks like a library.”

Megan gave a grateful sigh. At least that problem was solved. She wouldn’t spill the secret, even by accident. “It’s okay, Harriet. It’s not important, and we’re going now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, Harriet. Tell you what, no horseback riding today. We’ll go shopping instead.” Megan pulled the library door open and held it for Harriet and Claire.

“But first, some breakfast. I’m starved.”

Rachel gave her a little bow. “You first, best friend.”

Megan grinned. Who needs New York?