Thirty-Five
Ava scanned the office for the second time—the flypaper lining the window seams, the filing cabinet, the desk, the animal heads.
“Metis,” she called softly.
No one answered, not that Ava expected they would. Clearly Metis had been locked away. Presuming she was still in the fly form Zeus had caught her in, she could be in a very tiny prison.
Ava pulled open the top drawer of Mr. Orion’s desk and rooted around through pens and stamp books, envelopes and stationery. The most interesting item she found was the half-finished draft of a letter from a “former student” regretting her monster-y actions while at the Accademia. These included “singeing a teacher,” which was then crossed out and changed to “attempting to burn a teacher alive.” Mr. Orion had obviously channeled some of his anger during the night into preparing Fia’s future correspondence.
The contents of the drawer beneath it made Ava queasy but in an entirely different way. Inside was an embalmed scorpion, which would have been fine—actually quite cool—had it not been deposited beside a stack of love letters from Artemis, the goddess of the hunt.
“Remember when we killed that giant scorpion together? We had a moment,” read the top one. Ava had forgotten that Artemis, a solitary goddess who had never shown an interest in men or dating, had inexplicably fallen for Orion. No one had been happy about this, least of all her twin brother, Apollo. Ava didn’t blame him—thinking about Artemis snuggling up to Mr. Orion made her shut the drawer in a hurry.
In the bottom drawer, Ava found a fawning and pathetic letter from Mr. Orion to Poseidon. “You are the best father ever, even if I don’t see you very often. I’d like to talk with you more, but you said I should only contact you in case of emergency. . . .” It was almost enough to make Ava feel sorry for him—if he hadn’t silenced Fia.
Ava turned to the filing cabinets and pulled them open, poking into the folders alphabetized by name, checking beneath them. Nothing. She checked under the carpet for a secret door. Nothing. She picked up the conch shell, looked inside. Nothing. She peered into the terrarium. Could there be a fly inside? Nothing was buzzing around.
But then the plants caught her eye—they each had oval pods with bristly green spikes sticking off the top of them. Some of the pods were open, almost like mouths with sticky little teeth. Ava gasped. The terrarium was full of Venus flytraps.
Just then, someone knocked.
Ava jerked upright.
“Mr. Orion, you in there?”
Zale!
Ava froze, breathing fast. The office door had locked behind her, hadn’t it? If so, Zale couldn’t get in. All she had to do was stay quiet, and he would go looking for Mr. Orion elsewhere. Just be calm and wait him out, she told herself.
But then a sickening thought occurred to her. Jax’s whole story about Zale helping him would fall apart once the real Zale showed up. She had to delay him.
Ava grabbed the conch off the desk and chucked it across the room. She meant to hit the wall, but her aim was bad, and it splintered the glass covering the portrait of the Olympians. Whoops, Ava thought.
“Mr. Orion, you okay?” Zale asked, frantically jiggling the doorknob. “What’s going on in there?”
Ava tiptoed to the door and unlocked it. The door flew open, forcing her to jump out of the way. Zale looked around the office, right through Ava.
“What the—”
He took in the cracked photo of the gods, then hurried over to the terrarium. Ava tiptoed after him. He grabbed the silver ring on the lid, but instead of pulling up on it, he began to chant in Latin:
Open case, open glass
The strength of gods will let me pass
This seam unseal, this spell undo,
By Zeus’s power, let me through!
Ava heard a loud pop, like a seal breaking on a jar, and Zale pulled off the terrarium lid. Sticking his large face over the top, he squinted down. “Did you do that?”
One of the spiky pods wiggled. “Me?” buzzed a high voice from inside it. “Of course not. I’m trapped in here.”
Metis! Ava desperately wanted to cry out.
“Who else could have done it?” Zale snapped. “You’re the only one around.”
“May I make an observation of my own, much less astute, of course?” The buzzing voice continued playfully before Zale could stop her. “You didn’t water or feed the flytraps last night. Orion forgot them as well. I wonder . . . what could be distracting you both? Problems at the Accademia?”
“Shut up,” Zale said.
“You might try me,” Metis said. “I have a reputation as a problem solver. Of course, I think much more clearly when I’m not stuck inside a carnivorous plant.”
Zale snorted. “As if I’d ever let you out. It’s too bad you can’t be digested like the rest of the insects.”
“This flytrap is also frustrated with my indigestibility,” Metis said. “But unfortunately for you both, I’m immortal. Perhaps soon, though, she’ll have a meal more to her liking.”
“What are you talking about?” grumbled Zale.
“Never mind me,” Metis said. “I’m powerless in here, but I do like to talk.”
“Yap away,” Zale said. “The glass is soundproof so no one can hear you.”
Zale replaced the top, all the while muttering about “troublesome Titans.” Then he chanted a different version of the spell:
Close case, close glass
The strength of gods won’t let her pass
This seam seal up, this spell redo
By Zeus’s power, she’ll never get through.
Ava had to dart out of his way and flatten herself against the wall as he stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Zale would look for Mr. Orion elsewhere—Ava knew she didn’t have much time. She grabbed the silver ring at the top of the terrarium and chanted the magic words:
Open case, open glass
The strength of gods will let me pass
This seam unseal, this spell undo,
By Zeus’s power, let me through!
She listened for the pop, but there was none. She tried pulling up, but the lid wouldn’t budge. The spell had worked for Zale, why wouldn’t it work for her? She tried again, speaking more slowly. She was certain she remembered the words correctly. But the lid refused to open. Perhaps the spell only worked for Zale and Mr. Orion? They were the ones, after all, who obeyed Zeus. Ava decided to try her own version:
Open case, open glass
The strength of goddesses let me pass
This seam unseal, this spell undo,
By Hestia’s power, let me through!
There was a pop, and Ava yanked the lid off the terrarium.
“Thank you,” buzzed a voice below. “Now put down that top before you drop it.”
“You can see me?” Ava said. “But I’m wearing the helmet.”
Metis laughed. “I am an expert at invisibility. All older women are, of course. But I’m older than most and have trained myself to notice what others do not. Plus, I heard your breath and your footsteps.”
“I thought I was being quiet,” Ava said.
“Oh, you were. The Cyclops noticed nothing.”
Ava was relieved, but she knew as soon as Zale found Mr. Orion and the others, he’d know she had tricked him.
“How do I get you out of there?”
“Tickle the spikes that stick up from the flytrap’s mouth. It will think you’re a fly and open.”
Ava did as Metis instructed her. Slowly, the pod opened, and a shimmering blue fly darted out. It swooped over the desk and landed on Mr. Orion’s chair, where it transformed into a young woman with black eyes and curly silver-blue hair. Her skin glowed with an iridescent shimmer. Ava instinctively bowed before her.
“Don’t bother with that silliness,” Metis said. “I’m not my former husband, who wants only mindless supplication. It is you who deserves thanks. Tell me, child, what is your name and why did you rescue me?”
Ava stood back up. She was tempted to say she had rescued Metis because she’d heard about her plight, but Metis seemed too clever for flattery.
“My name is Ava, and I need your help. My friend Fia is in trouble with the Olympians.”
Metis gave a wry smile. “What clever girl isn’t? What did she do?”
Ava explained as quickly as she could—about Fia’s voice being taken away, about finding Medusa imprisoned on Poveglia and the Oracle’s prophecy that whoever told Medusa her true and full story would restore her power.
“I think her story starts with you,” Ava said. “I believe Medusa is your daughter.”
Metis’s dark eyes studied Ava, but she said nothing.
“Did you hear me?” Ava asked.
Metis looked over at the portrait of the Olympians. “Don’t you know your myths, child? Athena is my daughter. I have no other.”
Ava almost doubted herself. But then she pictured her own mom’s face. “I know you’re just trying to protect Medusa. That’s what mothers do.”
Metis’s jaw quivered, and she slumped down onto Mr. Orion’s chair. “I couldn’t protect her from Zeus. I tried, but I was too late.”
Without thinking, Ava crouched down in front of Metis and took her hands. They pulsed with light as Ava gently squeezed them. “Maybe you couldn’t protect her then, but you can free her now.”
But Metis just sighed heavily. “Restore her power just so Zeus can punish her again?”
“She didn’t know who she was before,” Ava said. “Think how much more powerful she’ll be when she knows she’s your daughter!”
Metis’s ebony eyes met Ava’s. “Clever girl! You’re right! But you must tell her yourself. If I went to her, Zeus would guess the truth. Then none of us would be safe. I’ve known from the start, Ava, who you really are.”
“I’m a Gorgon,” Ava said. “I know. It’s okay, though. We’re not what people say. I know that now.”
Metis stared at her, bemused. “A Gorgon? No, dear child. What you are is a goddess.”