The Curse of the King. Peter Lerangis

       All I know, all I recognize, is that I am back in Bodrum. The last place in the world I want to be. The place where we failed to find the Loculus. Our last stop before NYC, where all our hope was lost—

       The others—Dad, Cass, Aly, Torquin, and Canavar—are nowhere. The hotels and houses are gone, too. I’m wearing sandals and a robe. My mind goes from confusion to panic. Before me is an expanse of blackness, the contours of surrounding hills lit only by moonlight.

       Bodrum is Halicarnassus. I am in another time. And my Jack thoughts are being crowded out of my head.

       In rushes a flood of other, more distant memories. Of beauty and pain. Of deep-green forests and smooth blue lakes, happy laughing families, scholars teaching children, athletes wrestling deadly piglike vromaskis, sharp-clawed red griffins swooping overhead.

       Of smoldering clouds and raging fires, blackened corpses and shrieking beasts.

       Over my shoulder is a leather sack. Inside is a sphere. It looks like the Loculus of Healing, but I know it’s not. It is fake. I planned it this way. I am also heading in the wrong direction—away from the distant silhouette of the great half-finished structure in the distance. The Mausoleum.

       I planned that part, too.

       I hurry onward quickly, keeping the sea to my left.

       I know now. I am Massarym. And I have a plan.

       Not far ahead, maybe a half mile, is a hill. Trees and thick bushes. A team of mercenaries awaits there. They will take me to safety. After my plan is fulfilled.

       I want to be found before I reach them. I must be found. The plan depends on this. My mind conjures up an image: the real Loculus, I see, is safe underground. Or so I hope.

       I am scared. But I slow my steps, deepen my breaths.

       When the explosion happens, I am barely prepared for the blast of light, the cloud of dirt like a giant fist. I stagger back. I fall to my knees.

       Then the cloud begins to lift, and a tall, bearded man emerges. He wears a white, gilt-edged robe. Although his hair is gray, he stands straight, like a warrior, his shoulders thickly muscled. His body radiates power, but his face, which is familiar to me, is etched in sadness.

       Part of me wants to run to him, to hug him. But those days are over. The lines have been drawn. He is my enemy now, because he is an enemy of the world.

       “I am hoping you have come to your senses,” he says deeply, forcefully.

       I am both comforted and repulsed by the sound of my father’s voice.

       As the old man comes nearer, his robe snaps in the sea-thick wind. I see the hilt of his sword, his prized possession, jutting from its scabbard. But the scabbard’s leather is frayed and ragged looking. I know Father must not be happy about this indignity. Slowly I sidestep closer to the edge of the cliff. Below us, the waves crash against the shore.

       “My senses,” I say in a voice with false confidence, a voice that isn’t my own, “have never been lost, Uhla’ar.”

       The old man’s face softens slightly into a rueful smile. He holds out a powerful arm, his palm extended.

       I step closer and then turn. With a swift, sure thrust, I toss the Loculus into the sea.

       I watch the sphere turning and growing smaller in the dull light of the moon. My father’s eyes bulge. His mouth becomes a black hole.

       As he dives into the raging churn below, his scream slices me like a dagger.

      

       TWO DAYS.

      That was how long it took the doctors to release Aly. I thought about the dream a lot during that time. But neither Cass nor I could figure out what it meant.

      The more important thing was convincing Dad about our plan. He tried hard to act like we were happy beach-going tourists in la-la land, but we pounded him with logic and pleading, to no avail. I’m surprised he didn’t drop us both into the La Brea Tar Pits.

      When Aly was released, we had a great reunion, on two levels. On the top floor of her house, Aly, Cass, and I pored over her research materials, trying to figure out where to get ourselves captured.

      On the first floor, her mom and my dad were having lunch. And arguing. Well, okay, discussing.

      “My dad doesn’t love the idea,” I said.

      “He’s gone from ‘Are you out of your minds?’ to ‘Can we change the subject?’” Cass said.

      “I think Mom is willing,” Aly said. “I told her this was the only way to keep me alive. She said she’d already seen me die and didn’t want it to happen again. Give her a chance. She can be very persuasive.” Her fingers clicked over the keyboard. “Okay, take a look at this.”

      “Looks like Torquin on a bad hair day,” Cass said.

      “Is this a joke?” I asked.

      “Stay with me,” Aly said. “I thought this was cheesy, too, but there was something about it. So I did a little digging around. And I found this.”

      Now she was clicking away to another page:

      I took a deep breath. “If it looks like a hoax and the experts say it’s a hoax …”

      Aly clicked the back button and returned to the Routhouni website. “Take a look at the thing in the statue’s hand.”

      She zoomed in to the image:

      “A bowling ball?” Cass said.

      Aly smacked him. “What if it’s a Loculus? Think about it. The Seven Wonders were built to protect the Loculi. When we found the Colossus, he tried to kill us. What if the statue of Zeus came to life, too?”

      “So it went after somebody who tried to take its Loculus, stabbed him, then went back to being a statue?” Cass asked. “Who would try to take a Loculus? Who would even know what it was?”

      “Another Select, I guess,” I said with a shrug.

      “So Zeus the statue came to life and went after the thief,” Aly said. “He actually transformed into Zeus the god. And he chased the thief until he caught up to him. After killing the thief, Zeus turned back into a statue.”

      Cass gave her a dubious smile. “Okay, that’s one possibility. What about the other Wonders?”

      “Well, there’s the Lighthouse at Pharos,” she said, “but that’s in Alexandria, which is a big bustling city—too exposed. The Temple of Artemis is in a big tourist area—Ephesus, Turkey. We’ve been to the Pyramids, and we know the Massa cleared out of there. I think Zeus is our best shot. Look, the question is not Is this convincing? The question is Would the Massa think this is convincing? I’m betting yes. I’m betting they have this thing staked out.”

      Before she finished the sentence, I could hear footsteps on the stairs.

      We