by Rick Riordan
‘Coach,’ Reyna scolded, ‘not helping.’
‘Hey, just sayin’. Personally, I wish we could stay in Évora longer. Good food, good money and so far no sign of these figurative wolves –’
Reyna’s dogs sprang to their feet.
In the distance, howls pierced the air. Before Nico could stand, wolves appeared from every direction – huge black beasts leaping from the roofs, surrounding their encampment.
The largest of them padded forward. The alpha wolf stood on his haunches and began to change. His forelegs grew into arms. His snout shrank into a pointy nose. His grey fur morphed into a cloak of woven animal pelts. He became a tall, wiry man with a haggard face and glowing red eyes. A crown of finger bones circled his greasy black hair.
‘Ah, little satyr …’ The man grinned, revealing pointed fangs. ‘Your wish is granted! You will stay in Évora forever, because, sadly for you, my figurative wolves are literally wolves.’
XVI
Nico
‘You’re not Orion,’ Nico blurted.
A stupid comment, but it was the first thing that came to his mind.
The man before him clearly was not a hunter giant. He wasn’t tall enough. He didn’t have dragon legs. He didn’t carry a bow or quiver, and he didn’t have the headlamp eyes Reyna had described from her dream.
The grey man laughed. ‘Indeed not. Orion has merely employed me to assist him in his hunt. I am –’
‘Lycaon,’ Reyna interrupted. ‘The first werewolf.’
The man gave her a mock bow. ‘Reyna Ramírez-Arellano, praetor of Rome. One of Lupa’s whelps! I’m pleased you recognize me. No doubt, I am the stuff of your nightmares.’
‘The stuff of my indigestion, perhaps.’ From her belt pouch, Reyna produced a foldable camping knife. She flicked it open and the wolves snarled, backing away. ‘I never travel without a silver weapon.’
Lycaon bared his teeth. ‘Would you keep a dozen wolves and their king at bay with a pocketknife? I heard you were brave, filia Romana. I did not realize you were foolhardy.’
Reyna’s dogs crouched, ready to spring. The coach gripped his baseball bat, though for once he didn’t look anxious to swing.
Nico reached for the hilt of his sword.
‘Don’t bother,’ muttered Coach Hedge. ‘These guys are only hurt by silver or fire. I remember them from Pikes Peak. They’re annoying.’
‘And I remember you, Gleeson Hedge.’ The werewolf’s eyes glowed lava red. ‘My pack will be delighted to have goat meat for dinner.’
Hedge snorted. ‘Bring it on, mangy boy. The Hunters of Artemis are on their way right now, just like last time! That’s a temple of Diana over there, you idiot. You’re on their home turf!’
Again the wolves snarled and widened their circle. Some glanced nervously towards the rooftops.
Lycaon only glared at the coach. ‘A nice try, but I’m afraid that temple has been misnamed. I passed through here during Roman times. It was actually dedicated to the Emperor Augustus. Typical demigod vanity. Regardless, I’ve been much more careful since our last encounter. If the Hunters were anywhere close by, I would know.’
Nico tried to think of an escape plan. They were surrounded and outnumbered. Their only effective weapon was a pocketknife. The sceptre of Diocletian was gone. The Athena Parthenos was thirty feet above them at the top of the temple, and even if they could reach it they couldn’t shadow-travel until they actually had shadows. The sun wouldn’t set for hours.
He hardly felt brave, but he stepped forward. ‘So you’ve got us. What are you waiting for?’
Lycaon studied him like a new type of meat in a butcher’s display case. ‘Nico di Angelo … son of Hades. I’ve heard of you. I’m sorry I can’t kill you promptly, but I promised my employer Orion that I would detain you until he arrives. No worries. He should be here in a few moments. Once he’s done with you, I shall spill your blood and mark this place as my territory for ages to come!’
Nico gritted his teeth. ‘Demigod blood. The blood of Olympus.’
‘Of course!’ Lycaon said. ‘Spilled upon the ground, especially sacred ground, demigod blood has many uses. With the proper incantations, it can awaken monsters or even gods. It can cause new life to spring up or make a place barren for generations. Alas, your blood will not wake Gaia herself. That honour is reserved for your friends aboard the Argo II. But fear not. Your death will be almost as painful as theirs.’
The grass started dying around Nico’s feet. The marigold beds withered. Barren ground, he thought. Sacred ground.
He remembered the thousands of skeletons in the Chapel of Bones. He recalled what Hades had said about this public square, where the Inquisition had burned hundreds of people alive.
This was an ancient city. How many dead lay in the ground beneath his feet?
‘Coach,’ he said, ‘you can climb?’
Hedge scoffed. ‘I’m half goat. Of course I can climb!’
‘Get up to the statue and secure the rigging. Make a rope ladder and drop it down for us.’
‘Uh, but the pack of wolves –’
‘Reyna,’ Nico said, ‘you and your dogs will have to cover our retreat.’
The praetor nodded grimly. ‘Understood.’
Lycaon howled with laughter. ‘Retreat to where, son of Hades? There is no escape. You cannot kill us!’
‘Maybe not,’ Nico said. ‘But I can slow you down.’
He spread his hands and the ground erupted.
Nico hadn’t expected it to work so well. He had pulled bone fragments from the earth before. He’d animated rat skeletons and unearthed the odd human skull. Nothing prepared him for the wall of bones that burst skyward – hundreds of femurs, ribs and fibulas entangling the wolves, forming a spiky briar patch of human remains.
Most of the wolves were hopelessly trapped. Some writhed and gnashed their teeth, trying to free themselves from their haphazard cages. Lycaon himself was immobilized in a cocoon of rib bones, but that didn’t stop him from screaming curses.
‘You worthless child!’ he roared. ‘I will rip the flesh from your limbs!’
‘Coach, go!’ Nico said.
The satyr sprinted towards the temple. He made the top of the podium in a single leap and scrambled up the left pillar.
Two wolves broke free from the thicket of bones. Reyna threw her knife and impaled one in the neck. Her dogs pounced on the other. Aurum’s fangs and claws slipped harmlessly off the wolf’s hide, but Argentum brought the beast down.
Argentum’s head was still bent sideways from the fight in Pompeii. His left ruby eye was still missing, but he managed to sink his fangs into the wolf’s scruff. The wolf dissolved into a puddle of shadow.
Thank goodness for silver dogs, Nico thought.
Reyna drew her sword. She scooped a handful of silver coins from Hedge’s baseball cap, grabbed duct tape from the coach’s supply bag and began taping coins around her blade. The girl was nothing if not inventive.
‘Go!’ she told Nico. ‘I’ll cover you!’
The wolves struggled, causing the bone thicket to crack and crumble. Lycaon freed his right arm and began smashing through his prison of ribcages.
‘I will flay you alive!’ he promised. ‘I will add your pelt to my cloak!’
Nico ran, pausing just long enough to grab Reyna’s silver pocketknife from the ground.
He wasn’t a mountain goat, but he found a set of stairs at the back of the temple and raced to the top. He reached the base of the columns and squinted up at Coach Hedge, who was precariously perched at the feet of the Athena Parthenos, unravelling ropes and knotting a ladder.
‘Hurry!’ Nico yelled.
‘Oh, really?’ the coach called down. ‘I thought we had tons of time!’
The last thing Nico needed was satyr sarcasm. Down in the square, more wolves broke free of their bone restraints. Reyna swatted them aside with her modified duct-tape-coin-sword, but a handful of change wasn’t going to hold back a pack of werewolv
es for long. Aurum snarled and snapped in frustration, unable to hurt the enemy. Argentum did his best, sinking his claws into the throat of another wolf, but the silver dog was already damaged. Soon he’d be hopelessly outnumbered.
Lycaon freed both his arms. He started pulling his legs from their ribcage restraints. There were only a few seconds until he would be loose.
Nico was out of tricks. Summoning that wall of bones had drained him. It would take all his remaining energy to shadow-travel – assuming he could even find a shadow to travel into.
A shadow.
He looked at the silver pocketknife in his hand. An idea came to him – possibly the stupidest, craziest idea he’d had since he thought, Hey, I’ll get Percy to swim in the River Styx! He’ll love me for that!
‘Reyna, get up here!’ he yelled.
She slammed another wolf in the head and ran. In mid-stride, she flicked her sword, which elongated into a javelin, then used it to launch herself up like a pole-vaulter. She landed next to Nico.
‘What’s the plan?’ she asked, not even out of breath.
‘Show-off,’ he grumbled.
A knotted rope fell from above.
‘Climb, ya silly non-goats!’ Hedge yelled.
‘Go,’ Nico told her. ‘Once you’re up there, hang on tight to the rope.’
‘Nico –’
‘Do it!’
Her javelin shrank back into a sword. Reyna sheathed it and began to climb, scaling the column despite her armour and her supplies.
Down in the plaza, Aurum and Argentum were nowhere to be seen. Either they’d retreated or they’d been destroyed.
Lycaon broke free of his bone cage with a triumphant howl. ‘You will suffer, son of Hades!’
What else is new? Nico thought.
He palmed the pocketknife. ‘Come get me, you mutt! Or do you have to stay like a good dog until your master shows up?’
Lycaon sprang through the air, his claws extended, his fangs bared. Nico wrapped his free hand around the rope and concentrated, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck.
As the wolf king fell on him, Nico thrust the silver knife into Lycaon’s chest. All around the temple, wolves howled as one.
The wolf king sank his claws into Nico’s arms. His fangs stopped less than an inch from Nico’s face. Nico ignored his own pain and jabbed the pocketknife to the hilt between Lycaon’s ribs.
‘Be useful, dog,’ he snarled. ‘Back to the shadows.’
Lycaon’s eyes rolled up in his head. He dissolved into a pool of inky darkness.
Then several things happened at once. The outraged pack of wolves surged forward. From a nearby rooftop, a booming voice yelled, ‘STOP THEM!’
Nico heard the unmistakable sound of a large bow being drawn taut.
Then he melted into the pool of Lycaon’s shadow, taking his friends and the Athena Parthenos with him – slipping into cold ether with no idea where he would emerge.
XVII
Piper
Piper couldn’t believe how hard it was to find deadly poison.
All morning she and Frank had scoured the port of Pylos. Frank allowed only Piper to come with him, thinking her charmspeak might be useful if they ran into his shape-shifting relatives.
As it turned out, her sword was more in demand. So far, they’d slain a Laistrygonian ogre in the bakery, battled a giant warthog in the public square and defeated a flock of Stymphalian birds with some well-aimed vegetables from Piper’s cornucopia.
She was glad for the work. It kept her from dwelling on her conversation with her mother the night before – that bleak glimpse of the future Aphrodite had made her promise not to share …
Meanwhile, Piper’s biggest challenge in Pylos was the ads plastered all over town for her dad’s new movie. The posters were in Greek, but Piper knew what they said: TRISTAN MCLEAN IS JAKE STEEL: SIGNED IN BLOOD.
Gods, what a horrible title. She wished her father had never taken on the Jake Steel franchise, but it had become one of his most popular roles. There he was on the poster, his shirt ripped open to reveal perfect abs (gross, Dad!), an AK-47 in each hand, a rakish smile on his chiselled face.
Halfway across the world, in the smallest, most out-of-the-way town imaginable, there was her dad. It made Piper feel sad, disoriented, homesick and annoyed all at once. Life went on. So did Hollywood. While her dad pretended to save the world, Piper and her friends actually had to. In eight more days, unless Piper could pull off the plan Aphrodite had explained … well, there wouldn’t be any more movies, or theatres, or people.
Around one in the afternoon, Piper finally put her charmspeak to work. She spoke with an Ancient Greek ghost in a Laundromat (on a one-to-ten scale for weird conversations, definitely an eleven) and got directions to an ancient stronghold where the shape-shifting descendants of Periclymenus supposedly hung out.
After trudging across the island in the afternoon heat, they found the cave perched halfway up a beachside cliff. Frank insisted that Piper wait for him at the bottom while he checked it out.
Piper wasn’t happy about that, but she stood obediently on the beach, squinting up at the cave entrance and hoping she hadn’t guided Frank into a death trap.
Behind her, a stretch of white sand hugged the foot of the hills. Sunbathers sprawled on blankets. Little kids splashed in the waves. The blue sea glittered invitingly.
Piper wished she could surf those waters. She’d promised to teach Hazel and Annabeth someday, if they ever came out to Malibu … if Malibu still existed after 1 August.
She glanced up at the cliff’s summit. The ruins of an old castle clung to the ridge. Piper wasn’t sure if that was part of the shape-changers’ hideout or not. Nothing moved on the parapets. The entrance of the cave sat about seventy feet down the cliff face – a circle of black in the chalky yellow rock like the hole of a giant pencil sharpener.
Nestor’s Cave, the Laundromat ghost had called it. Supposedly the ancient king of Pylos had stashed his treasure there in times of crisis. The ghost also claimed that Hermes had once hidden the stolen cattle of Apollo in that cave.
Cows.
Piper shuddered. When she was little, her dad had driven her past a meat-processing plant in Chino. The smell had been enough to turn her into a vegetarian. Ever since, just the thought of cows made her ill. Her experiences with Hera the cow queen, the katoblepones of Venice and the pictures of creepy death cows in the House of Hades hadn’t helped.
Piper was just starting to think, Frank’s been gone too long – when he appeared at the cave entrance. Next to him stood a tall grey-haired man in a white linen suit and a pale yellow tie. The older man pressed a small shiny object – like a stone or a piece of glass – into Frank’s hands. He and Frank exchanged a few words. Frank nodded gravely. Then the man turned into a seagull and flew away.
Frank picked his way down the trail until he reached Piper.
‘I found them,’ he said.
‘I noticed. You okay?’
He stared at the seagull as it flew towards the horizon.
Frank’s close-cropped hair pointed forward like an arrow, making his gaze even more intense. His Roman badges – mural crown, centurion, praetor – glittered on his shirt collar. On his forearm, the SPQR tattoo with the crossed spears of Mars stood out darkly in the full sunlight.
He looked good in his new outfit. The giant warthog had slimed his old clothes pretty badly, so Piper had taken him for some emergency shopping in Pylos. Now he wore new black jeans, soft leather boots and a dark green Henley shirt that fitted him snugly. He’d been self-conscious about the shirt. He was used to hiding his bulk in baggy clothes, but Piper assured him he didn’t have to worry about that any more. Since his growth spurt in Venice, he’d grown into his bulkiness just fine.
You haven’t changed, Frank, she’d told him. You’re just more you.
It was a good thing Frank Zhang was still so sweet and soft-spoken. Otherwise he would’ve been a scary guy.
‘Frank?’
she prompted gently.
‘Yeah, sorry.’ He focused on her. ‘My, uh … cousins, I guess you’d call them … they’ve been living here for generations, all descended from Periclymenus the Argonaut. I told them my story, how the Zhang family had gone from Greece to Rome to China to Canada. I told them about the legionnaire ghost I saw in the House of Hades, urging me to come to Pylos. They … they didn’t seem surprised. They said it’s happened before, long-lost relatives coming home.’
Piper heard the wistfulness in his voice. ‘You were expecting something different.’
He shrugged. ‘A bigger welcome. Some party balloons. I’m not sure. My grandmother told me I would close the circle – bring our family honour and all that. But my cousins here … they acted kind of cold and distant, like they didn’t want me around. I don’t think they liked that I’m a son of Mars. Honestly, I don’t think they liked that I’m Chinese, either.’
Piper glared into the sky. The seagull was long gone, which was probably a good thing. She would have been tempted to shoot it out of the air with a glazed ham. ‘If your cousins feel that way, they’re idiots. They don’t know how great you are.’
Frank shuffled from foot to foot. ‘They got a little more friendly when I told them I was just passing through. They gave me a going-away present.’
He opened his hand. In his palm gleamed a metallic vial no bigger than an eyedropper.
Piper resisted the urge to step away. ‘Is that the poison?’
Frank nodded. ‘They call it Pylosian mint. Apparently the plant sprang from the blood of a nymph who died on a mountain near here, back in ancient times. I didn’t ask for details.’
The vial was so tiny … Piper worried there wouldn’t be enough. Normally she didn’t wish for more deadly poison. Nor was she sure how it would help them make the so-called physician’s cure that Nike had mentioned. But, if the cure could really cheat death, Piper wanted to brew a six-pack – one dose for each of her friends.
Frank rolled the vial around in his palm. ‘I wish Vitellius Reticulus were here.’
Piper wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. ‘Ridiculous who?’
