Sara shrugged. “It gets worse.”
Her father made a how-could-it-get-worse face. He took a burst from his inhaler, timing it in the way that only came from long experience with breathing difficulties.
“You see I cast a protective spell, to be safe while I was looking for him. So I lit my candles and made this really nice circle with my Athame. Anyway, when I was really—you know—into it, almost ready, I knocked over a candle, and the curtains caught fire.”
“Sara—” Jim caught himself, took deliberate breaths, as the door to Owen Sentor’s office opened. “Hello, Owen,” he said, raising his head.
“Jim,” Owen nodded, grim-faced. “Please come in.” He held open the door to his cluttered office. Owen motioned for them to sit on his old corduroy couch. “I’ll get right to the point,” he explained. “I’m asking Sara to take some time off—”
“Suspended? Are you—?”
Her father put a hand on her arm, shushing her.
“Sara, you need help. Professional help. When you’ve gotten it, we’ll talk about how you might become part of the community again.” Owen looked at her. “I’m sorry, Sara, but we’ve done what we can. Now it’s up to you. Do you have anything to say?”
Sara stood. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at her dean. “May the wrath of mighty Poseidon, the earth-shaker, make your days long and filled with shame.” She raised her middle finger as she walked out his door.
Jim raised his inhaler to his mouth again.
CHAPTER TWO
The old oak table was messy but the rest looked okay. Which was something—what kind a shrink had his office over a Chinese takeout place that smelled like fermenting fish sauce? At least that’s what Sara was thinking when she walked into Abe Stein’s office. She sank into his worn, cherry-colored leather chair, wondering if he was as weird as she was. He was big, like a bear with a beard, she thought. A wise old bear that didn’t care how he looked. And everything about him, even his face, was kind of wrinkly—yeah, he looked more like a shaggy bear than a psychiatrist. Which was a plus, as far as she was concerned. It wouldn’t hurt if he got a new sport coat. She could see where his pipe—at least she assumed it was a pipe since he had the charred, chewed-on things strewn all over his desk—had burned a hole in the pocket of his tweed jacket.
The bear shrink just sat there, staring at her. What was he waiting for, she wondered? Did he think she’d pitch a fit or something? She could wait, too. It might be a good way to go, actually. The only use she had for a shrink was if he could get her in touch with Theseus, which definitely wasn’t part of any head-shrinker’s program. Un-unh. Never. She wondered if even Zeus, the king of heaven and earth, could move a shrink. Probably not. She’d bet he could zap one with a lightning bolt, though. Or turn him to stone. Yeah, that would be good.
He raised his pipe.
“Isn’t there some kind of no smoking deal?” Sarah asked, pulling her nose ring, wondering if he’d wince or shift his butt. Nothing.
“My landlord lives in Hong Kong.”
She wanted to smile. Smoky the shrink. Instead, she shrugged, who cares? When it was lit, Dr. Stein threw the match into a big stone bowl. She could already smell his nasty smoke.
“What happened at school?” he eventually asked.
Well, he got right to it, she had to give him that. And his voice was soft and friendly. Unless it was some kind of shrink trick. Sara looked him in the eye. “There’s danger. I called on the Oracle of Apollo, the keeper of truth, to reach Theseus. I need his help.”
“What kind of danger?”
“The Beast is rising. Only Theseus can stop him.”
Abe took that in. “And the fire?”
“It’s way too scary, what’s been going on. So I had to make my magic circle, cast a protective spell. Anyway, I was really into it, and I accidentally knocked over a candle with my Athame.” All of this said matter-of-fact. When she saw that he was confused, she took her Athame out of her canvas bag, showing him the double-edged dagger.
He nodded, thanks. Then, after a beat, “You know, two times I’ve set fires here in the office.” Abe smiled, remembering. “Without meaning to.”
“No kidding?” She leaned in, interested in this. “If you lie, I’m outta here.”
“Really. I’m serious. I don’t practice magic. But, as you can see, I’m a pipe smoker. What I’ll do is, I’ll light my pipe, then toss the match in the wastebasket, or in the ashtray. Every now and then, I think the match is out, and it isn’t. Next thing I know, my desk is on fire, or smoke is pluming out of the waste basket.”
Sara smiled, just barely, for the first time. “That’s why you have that big old bowl of an ashtray, huh?”
“Exactly.” He nodded again, plainly enjoying her quickness.
“How can we get this over with?” she asked then, taking advantage of his good mood.
“That depends.” Abe sat forward, taking her question seriously. “Why are you here?”
Her eyebrows rose, followed by her eyes. “Gimme a break.”
“Okay. You’re here because your father made you come. And he made you come because your school said you had to have treatment before you would be re-admitted.”
“So far so good.” This guy was smart, and tricky. But he seemed to like her, she could tell. Which surprised her a lot. People didn’t usually like her too well. Her dad said she needed to make a better first impression. What he really meant was she should lose the spiked collar. She fingered a spike, thinking about it.
“I propose another alternative,” Abe interrupted her musing. “I suggest that you consider the possibility that I could actually help you.”
“With what?”
“What would you like help with?”
Sara just snorted.
Abe frowned. “I’m not kidding.”
“No fucking way.” Her face tightened, sorry she’d let that slip.
He waited.
She better say something, get this back on track. What worried her most was that he would get in her way. Slow her down. Try and help with something he’d never, ever get. She hoped he’d give up on talking and just give her some medicine, which she’d never take, and ask to see her once a week. She could manage that. “Help me how?”
“What kind of help do you want?”
She decided to get it over with. Wake him up. “Mister, how about you help me fight the Beast? He’s rising. He’ll kill soon. I need a hero. I need more power. I need Theseus. Can you help me find him? Can you reach Poseidon, or Apollo? Huh? You up to that?” Shit. That ought to blow him off.
“Tell me more,” he said softly.
Tricky bear shrink. Okay. Let’s see. You want more—chew on this, shrinko. Sara closed her eyes, mumbling softly. She could smell the Beast; she could feel the scary things, coming on. Sara let them come, then speaking louder so he could hear, “Wild, shaggy Centaurs ravage the women at the wedding feast of their Lapith friends. Drunken, rampaging Maenads take Pentheus for a wild beast and rip him limb from limb. His mother, Abave, tears off his head. Seven maids and seven boys, Helene children, are given each great year, a sacrifice to the Minotaur in Crete. Furies walk in darkness, with bat’s wings, writhing snakes for hair and eyes that weep tears of blood. The Beast is rising. He’ll kill soon. No one will listen. Not Apollo, bearer of light, not Poseidon, the horse-father, nor even all-knowing