by Rick Riordan
Mimas crashed face-first into the nearest doorway. He turned over just as the stone face of Panic cracked off the wall above him and toppled down for a one-ton kiss.
The giant’s cry was cut short. His body went still. Then he disintegrated into a twenty-foot pile of ash.
Annabeth stared at Piper. ‘What just happened?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Piper, you were amazing, but those fiery spirits you released –’
‘The makhai.’
‘How does that help us find the cure we’re looking for?’
‘I don’t know. They said I could summon them when the time comes. Maybe Artemis and Apollo can explain –’
A section of the wall calved like a glacier.
Annabeth stumbled and almost slipped on the giant’s severed ear. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘I’m working on it,’ Piper said.
‘And, uh, I think this ear is your spoil of war.’
‘Gross.’
‘Would make a lovely shield.’
‘Shut up, Chase.’ Piper stared at the second doorway, which still had the face of Fear above it. ‘Thank you, brothers, for helping to kill the giant. I need one more favour – an escape. And, believe me, I am properly terrified. I offer you this, uh, lovely ear as a sacrifice.’
The stone face made no answer. Another section of the wall peeled away. A starburst of cracks appeared in the ceiling.
Piper grabbed Annabeth’s hand. ‘We’re going through that doorway. If this works, we might find ourselves back on the surface.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
Piper looked up at the face of Fear. ‘Let’s find out.’
The room collapsed around them as they plunged into the dark.
XXI
Reyna
AT LEAST THEY DIDN’T END UP ON ANOTHER CRUISE SHIP.
The jump from Portugal had landed them in the middle of the Atlantic, where Reyna had spent her whole day on the lido deck of the Azores Queen, shooing little kids off the Athena Parthenos, which they seemed to think was a waterslide.
Unfortunately, the next jump brought Reyna home.
They appeared ten feet in the air, hovering over a restaurant courtyard that Reyna recognized. She and Nico dropped onto a large birdcage, which promptly broke, dumping them into a cluster of potted ferns along with three very alarmed parrots. Coach Hedge hit the canopy over a bar. The Athena Parthenos landed on her feet with a THUMP, flattening a patio table and flipping a dark green umbrella, which settled onto the Nike statue in Athena’s hand, so the goddess of wisdom looked like she was holding a tropical drink.
‘Gah!’ Coach Hedge yelled. The canopy ripped and he fell behind the bar with a crash of bottles and glasses. The satyr recovered well. He popped up with a dozen miniature plastic swords in his hair, grabbed the soda gun and served himself a drink.
‘I like it!’ He tossed a wedge of pineapple into his mouth. ‘But next time, kid, can we land on the floor and not ten feet above it?’
Nico dragged himself out of the ferns. He collapsed into the nearest chair and waved off a blue parrot that was trying to land on his head. After the fight with Lycaon, Nico had discarded his shredded aviator jacket. His black skull-pattern T-shirt wasn’t in much better shape. Reyna had stitched up the gashes on his biceps, which gave Nico a slightly creepy Frankenstein look, but the cuts were still swollen and red. Unlike bites, werewolf claw marks wouldn’t transmit lycanthropy, but Reyna knew firsthand that they healed slowly and burned like acid.
‘I’ve gotta sleep.’ Nico looked up in a daze. ‘Are we safe?’
Reyna scanned the courtyard. The place seemed deserted, though she didn’t understand why. This time of night, it should’ve been packed. Above them, the evening sky glowed a murky terracotta, the same colour as the building’s walls. Ringing the atrium, the second-storey balconies were empty except for potted azaleas hanging from the white metal railings. Behind a wall of glass doors, the restaurant’s interior was dark. The only sound was the fountain gurgling forlornly and the occasional squawk of a disgruntled parrot.
‘This is Barrachina,’ Reyna said.
‘What kind of bear?’ Hedge opened a jar of maraschino cherries and chugged them down.
‘It’s a famous restaurant,’ Reyna said, ‘in the middle of Old San Juan. They invented the piña colada here, back in the 1960s, I think.’
Nico pitched out of his chair, curled up on the floor and started snoring.
Coach Hedge belched. ‘Well, it looks like we’re staying for a while. If they haven’t invented any new drinks since the sixties, they’re overdue. I’ll get to work!’
While Hedge rummaged behind the bar, Reyna whistled for Aurum and Argentum. After their fight with the werewolves, the dogs looked a little worse for wear, but Reyna placed them on guard duty. She checked the street entrance to the atrium. The decorative ironwork gates were locked. A sign in Spanish and English announced that the restaurant was closed for a private party. That seemed odd, since the place was deserted. At the bottom of the sign were embossed initials: HTK. These bothered Reyna, though she wasn’t sure why.
She peered through the gates. Calle Fortaleza was unusually quiet. The blue cobblestone pavement was free of traffic and pedestrians. The pastel-coloured shop fronts were closed and dark. Was it Sunday? Or some sort of holiday? Reyna’s unease grew.
Behind her, Coach Hedge whistled happily as he set up a row of blenders. The parrots roosted on the shoulders of the Athena Parthenos. Reyna wondered whether the Greeks would be offended if their sacred statue arrived covered in tropical bird poop.
Of all the places Reyna could have ended up … San Juan.
Maybe it was a coincidence, but she feared not. Puerto Rico wasn’t really on the way from Europe to New York. It was much too far south.
Besides, Reyna had been lending Nico her strength for days now. Perhaps she’d influenced him subconsciously. He was drawn to painful thoughts, fear, darkness. And Reyna’s darkest, most painful memory was San Juan. Her biggest fear? Coming back here.
Her dogs picked up on her agitation. They prowled the courtyard, snarling at shadows. Poor Argentum turned in circles, trying to aim his sideways head so he could see out of his one ruby eye.
Reyna tried to concentrate on positive memories. She’d missed the sound of the little coquí frogs, singing around the neighbourhood like a chorus of popping bottle caps. She’d missed the smell of the ocean, the blossoming magnolias and citrus trees, the fresh-baked bread from the local panaderías. Even the humidity felt comfortable and familiar – like the scented air from a dryer vent.
Part of her wanted to open the gates and explore the city. She wanted to visit the Plaza de Armas, where the old men played dominos and the coffee kiosk sold espresso so strong it made your ears pop. She wanted to stroll down her old street, Calle San Jose, counting and naming the stray cats, making up a story for each one, the way she used to do with her sister. She wanted to break into Barrachina’s kitchen and cook up some real mofongo with fried plantains and bacon and garlic – a taste that would always remind her of Sunday afternoons, when she and Hylla could briefly escape the house and, if they were lucky, eat here in the kitchen, where the staff knew them and took pity on them.
On the other hand, Reyna wanted to leave immediately. She wanted to wake up Nico, no matter how tired he was, and force him to shadow-travel out of here – anywhere but San Juan.
Being so close to her old house made Reyna feel ratcheted tight like a catapult winch.
She glanced at Nico. Despite the warm night, he shivered on the tile floor. She pulled a blanket out of her pack and covered him up.
Reyna no longer felt self-conscious about wanting to protect him. For better or worse, they shared a connection now. Each time they shadow-travelled, his exhaustion and torment washed over her and she understood him a little better.
Nico was devastatingly alone. He’d lost his big sister Bianca. He’d pushed away all other demigo
ds who’d tried to get close to him. His experiences at Camp Half-Blood, in the Labyrinth and in Tartarus had left him scarred, afraid to trust anyone.
Reyna doubted she could change his feelings, but she wanted Nico to have support. All heroes deserved that. It was the whole point of the Twelfth Legion. You joined forces to fight for a higher cause. You weren’t alone. You made friends and earned respect. Even when you mustered out, you had a place in the community. No demigod should have to suffer alone the way Nico did.
Tonight was 25 July. Seven more days until 1 August. In theory, that was plenty of time to reach Long Island. Once they completed their mission, if they completed their mission, Reyna would make sure Nico was recognized for his bravery.
She slipped off her backpack. She tried to place it under Nico’s head as a makeshift pillow, but her fingers passed right through him as if he were a shadow. She recoiled her hand.
Cold with dread, she tried again. This time, she was able to lift his neck and slide the pillow under. His skin felt cool, but otherwise normal.
Had she been hallucinating?
Nico had expended so much energy travelling through shadows … perhaps he was starting to fade permanently. If he kept pushing himself to the limit for seven more days …
The sound of a blender startled her out of her thoughts.
‘You want a smoothie?’ asked the coach. ‘This one is pineapple, mango, orange and banana, buried under a mound of shaved coconut. I call it the Hercules!’
‘I – I’m all right, thanks.’ She glanced up at the balconies ringing the atrium. It still didn’t seem right to her that the restaurant was empty. A private party. HTK. ‘Coach, I think I’ll scout the second floor. I don’t like –’
A wisp of movement caught her eye. The balcony on the right – a dark shape. Above that, at the edge of the roof, several more silhouettes appeared against the orange clouds.
Reyna drew her sword, but it was too late.
A flash of silver, a faint whoosh, and the point of a needle buried itself in her neck. Her vision blurred. Her limbs turned to spaghetti. She collapsed next to Nico.
As her eyes dimmed, she saw her dogs running towards her, but they froze in mid-bark and toppled over.
At the bar, the coach yelled, ‘Hey!’
Another whoosh. The coach collapsed with a silver dart in his neck.
Reyna tried to say, Nico, wake up. Her voice wouldn’t work. Her body had been deactivated as completely as her metal dogs had.
Dark figures lined the rooftop. Half a dozen leaped into the courtyard, silent and graceful.
One leaned over Reyna. She could only make out a hazy smudge of grey.
A muffled voice said, ‘Take her.’
A cloth sack was wrestled over her head. Reyna wondered dimly if this was how she would die – without even a fight.
Then it didn’t matter. Several pairs of rough hands lifted her like an unwieldy piece of furniture and she drifted into unconsciousness.
XXII
Reyna
THE ANSWER CAME TO HER before she was fully conscious.
The initials on the sign at Barrachina: HTK.
‘Not funny,’ Reyna muttered to herself. ‘Not remotely funny.’
Years ago, Lupa had taught her how to sleep lightly, wake up alert and be ready to attack. Now, as her senses returned, she took stock of her situation.
The cloth sack still covered her head, but it didn’t seem to be cinched around her neck. She was tied to a hard chair – wood, by the feel of it. Cords were tight against the ribs. Her hands were bound behind her, but her legs were free at the ankles.
Either her captors were sloppy, or they hadn’t expected her to wake up so quickly.
Reyna wriggled her fingers and toes. Whatever tranquilizer they’d used, the effects had worn off.
Somewhere in front of her, footsteps echoed down a corridor. The sound got closer. Reyna let her muscles go slack. She rested her chin against her chest.
A lock clicked. A door creaked open. Judging from the acoustics, Reyna was in a small room with brick or concrete walls: maybe a basement or a cell. One person entered the room.
Reyna calculated the distance. No more than five feet.
She surged upward, spinning so the chair legs smashed against her captor’s body. The force broke the chair. Her captor fell with a pained grunt.
Shouts from the corridor. More footsteps.
Reyna shook the cloth sack off her head. She dropped into a backward roll, pulling her bound hands under her legs so her arms were in front of her. Her captor – a teen girl in grey camouflage – lay dazed on the floor, a knife at her belt.
Reyna grabbed the knife and straddled her, pressing the blade against her captor’s throat.
Three more girls crowded the doorway. Two drew knives. The third nocked an arrow in her bow.
For a moment, everyone froze.
Her hostage’s carotid artery pulsed under the blade. Wisely, the girl made no attempt to move.
Reyna ran scenarios on how she could overcome the three in the doorway. All of them wore grey camouflage T-shirts, faded black jeans, black athletic shoes and utility belts as if they were going camping or hiking … or hunting.
‘You’re the Hunters of Artemis,’ Reyna realized.
‘Take it easy,’ said the girl with the bow. Her ginger hair was shaved on the sides, long on top. She had the build of a professional wrestler. ‘You’ve got the wrong impression.’
The girl on the floor exhaled, but Reyna knew that trick – trying to loosen an enemy’s hold. Reyna pressed the knife tighter against the girl’s throat.
‘You’ve got the wrong impression,’ Reyna said, ‘if you think you can attack me and take me captive. Where are my friends?’
‘Unharmed, right where you left them,’ the ginger girl promised. ‘Look, it’s three to one and your hands are tied.’
‘You’re right,’ Reyna growled. ‘Get another six of you in here and it might be a fair fight. I demand to see your lieutenant, Thalia Grace.’
The ginger girl blinked. Her comrades gripped their knives uneasily.
On the floor, Reyna’s hostage began to shake. Reyna thought she might be having a fit. Then she realized the girl was laughing.
‘Something funny?’ Reyna asked.
The girl’s voice was a gravelly whisper. ‘Jason told me you were good. He didn’t say how good.’
Reyna focused more carefully on her hostage. The girl looked about sixteen, with choppy black hair and startling blue eyes. Across her forehead glinted a circlet of silver.
‘You’re Thalia?’
‘And I’d be happy to explain,’ Thalia said, ‘if you’d kindly not cut my throat.’
The Hunters guided her through a maze of corridors. The walls were concrete blocks painted army green, devoid of windows. The only light came from dim fluorescents spaced every twenty feet. The passages twisted, turned and doubled back, but the ginger-haired Hunter, Phoebe, took the lead. She seemed to know where she was going.
Thalia Grace limped along, holding her ribs where Reyna had hit her with the chair. The Hunter must’ve been in pain, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.
‘Again, my apologies for abducting you.’ Thalia didn’t sound very sorry. ‘This lair is secret. The Amazons have certain protocols –’
‘The Amazons. You work for them?’
‘With them,’ Thalia corrected. ‘We have a mutual understanding. Sometimes the Amazons send recruits our way. Sometimes, if we come across girls who don’t wish to be maidens forever, we send them to the Amazons. The Amazons do not have such vows.’
One of the other Hunters snorted in disgust. ‘Keeping male slaves in collars and orange jumpsuits. I’d rather keep a pack of dogs any day.’
‘Their males aren’t slaves, Celyn,’ Thalia chided. ‘Merely subservient.’ She glanced at Reyna. ‘The Amazons and Hunters don’t see eye to eye on everything, but since Gaia began to stir we have been cooperating closely. With Camp
Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood at each other’s throats, well … someone has to deal with all the monsters. Our forces are spread across the entire continent.’
Reyna massaged the rope marks on her wrists. ‘I thought you told Jason you knew nothing of Camp Jupiter.’
‘That was true then. But those days are over, thanks to Hera’s scheming.’ Thalia’s expression turned serious. ‘How is my brother?’
‘When I left him in Epirus, he was fine.’ Reyna told her what she knew.
She found Thalia’s eyes distracting: electric blue, intense and alert, so much like Jason’s. Otherwise the siblings looked nothing alike. Thalia’s hair was choppy and dark. Her jeans were tattered, held together with safety pins. She wore metal chains around her neck and wrists, and her grey camo shirt sported a badge that read PUNK IS NOT DEAD. YOU ARE.
Reyna had always thought of Jason Grace as the all-American boy. Thalia looked more like the girl who robbed all-American boys at knifepoint in an alley.
‘I hope he’s still well,’ Thalia mused. ‘A few nights ago I dreamed about our mother. It … wasn’t pleasant. Then I got Nico’s message in my dreams – about Orion hunting you. That was even less pleasant.’
‘That’s why you’re here. You got Nico’s message.’
‘Well, we didn’t rush to Puerto Rico for a vacation. This is one of the Amazons’ most secure strongholds. We took a gamble that we’d be able to intercept you.’
‘Intercept us … how? And why?’
In front of them, Phoebe stopped. The corridor dead-ended at a set of metal doors. Phoebe tapped on them with the butt of her knife – a complicated series of knocks like Morse code.
Thalia rubbed her bruised ribs. ‘I’ll have to leave you here. The Hunters are patrolling the old city, keeping a lookout for Orion. I need to get back to the front lines.’ She held out her hand expectantly. ‘My knife, please?’
Reyna handed it back. ‘What about my own weapons?’
‘They’ll be returned when you leave. I know it seems silly – the kidnapping and blindfolding and whatnot – but the Amazons take their security seriously. Last month they had an incident at their main centre in Seattle. Maybe you heard about it. A girl named Hazel Levesque stole a horse.’
The Hunter Celyn grinned. ‘Naomi and I saw the security footage. Legendary.’
‘Epic,’ agreed the third Hunter.
‘At any rate,’ Thalia said, ‘we’re keeping an eye on Nico and the satyr. Unauthorized males aren’t allowed anywhere near this place, but we left them a note so they wouldn’t worry.’
From her belt, Thalia unfolded a piece of paper. She handed it to Reyna. It was a photocopy of a handwritten note:
IOU one Roman praetor.
She will be returned safely.
Sit tight.
Otherwise you’ll be killed.
XOX, the Hunters of Artemis
Reyna handed back the letter. ‘Right. That won’t worry them at all.’
Phoebe grinned. ‘It’s cool. I covered your Athena Parthenos with this new camouflage netting I designed. It should keep monsters – even Orion – from finding it. Besides, if my guess is right, Orion isn’t tracking the statue as much as he’s tracking you.’