The House of Hades hoo-4

by Rick Riordan

  Annabeth tried to steady her breathing. The voices sounded vaguely human, but that meant nothing. She assumed anything in Tartarus was their enemy. She didn’t know how the monsters could have failed to spot them already. Besides, monsters could smell demigods—especially powerful ones like Percy, son of Poseidon. Annabeth doubted that hiding behind a boulder would do any good when the monsters caught their scent.

  Still, as the monsters got nearer, their voices didn’t change in tone. Their uneven footsteps—scrap, clump, scrap, clump—didn’t get any faster.

  “Soon?” one of them asked in a raspy voice, as if she’d been gargling in the Phlegethon.

  “Oh my gods!” said another voice. This one sounded much younger and much more human, like a teenaged mortal girl getting exasperated with her friends at the mall. For some reason, she sounded familiar to Annabeth. “You guys are totally annoying! I told you, it’s like three days from here.”

  Percy gripped Annabeth’s wrist. He looked at her with alarm, as if he recognized the mall girl’s voice too.

  There was a chorus of growling and grumbling. The creatures—maybe half a dozen, Annabeth guessed—had paused just on the other side of the boulder, but still they gave no indication that they’d caught the demigods’ scent. Annabeth wondered if demigods didn’t smell the same in Tartarus, or if the other scents here were so powerful, they masked a demigod’s aura.

  “I wonder,” said a third voice, gravelly and ancient like the first, “if perhaps you do not know the way, young one.”

  “Oh, shut your fang hole, Serephone,” said the mall girl. “When’s the last time you escaped to the mortal world? I was there a couple of years ago. I know the way! Besides, I understand what we’re facing up there. You don’t have a clue!”

  “The Earth Mother did not make you boss!” shrieked a fourth voice.

  More hissing, scuffling, and feral moans—like giant alley cats fighting. At last the one called Serephone yelled, “Enough!”

  The scuffling died down.

  “We will follow for now,” Serephone said. “But if you do not lead us well, if we find you have lied about the summons of Gaea—”

  “I don’t lie!” snapped the mall girl. “Believe me, I’ve got good reason to get into this battle. I have some enemies to devour, and you’ll feast on the blood of heroes. Just leave one special morsel for me—the one named Percy Jackson.”

  Annabeth fought down a snarl of her own. She forgot about her fear. She wanted to jump over the boulder and slash the monsters to dust with her knife…except she didn’t have it anymore.

  “Believe me,” said the mall girl. “Gaea has called us, and we’re going to have so much fun. Before this war is over, mortals and demigods will tremble at the sound of my name—Kelli!”

  Annabeth almost yelped aloud. She glanced at Percy. Even in the red light of the Phlegethon, his face seemed waxy.

  Empousai, she mouthed. Vampires.

  Percy nodded grimly.

  She remembered Kelli. Two years ago, at Percy’s freshman orientation, he and their friend Rachel Dare had been attacked by empousai disguised as cheerleaders. One of them had been Kelli. Later, the same empousa had attacked them in Daedalus’s workshop. Annabeth had stabbed her in the back and sent her…here. To Tartarus.

  The creatures shuffled off, their voices getting fainter. Annabeth crept to the edge of the boulder and risked a glimpse. Sure enough, five women staggered along on mismatched legs—mechanical bronze on the left, shaggy and cloven-hooved on the right. Their hair was made of fire, their skin as white as bone. Most of them wore tattered Ancient Greek dresses, except for the one in the lead, Kelli, who wore a burned and torn blouse with a short pleated skirt…her cheerleader’s outfit.

  Annabeth gritted her teeth. She had faced a lot of bad monsters over the years, but she hated empousai more than most.

  In addition to their nasty claws and fangs, they had a powerful ability to manipulate the Mist. They could change shape and charmspeak, tricking mortals into letting down their guard. Men were especially susceptible. The empousa’s favorite tactic was to make a guy fall in love with her, then drink his blood and devour his flesh. Not a great first date.

  Kelli had almost killed Percy. She had manipulated Annabeth’s oldest friend, Luke, urging him to commit darker and darker deeds in the name of Kronos.

  Annabeth really wished she still had her dagger.

  Percy rose. “They’re heading for the Doors of Death,” he murmured. “You know what that means?”

  Annabeth didn’t want to think about it, but sadly, this squad of flesh-eating horror-show women might be the closest thing to good luck they were going to get in Tartarus.

  “Yeah,” she said. “We need to follow them.”

  LEO SPENT THE NIGHT WRESTLING with a forty-foot-tall Athena.

  Ever since they’d brought the statue aboard, Leo had been obsessed with figuring out how it worked. He was sure it had primo powers. There had to be a secret switch or a pressure plate or something.

  He was supposed to be sleeping, but he just couldn’t. He spent hours crawling over the statue, which took up most of the lower deck. Athena’s feet stuck into sick bay, so you had to squeeze past her ivory toes if you wanted some Advil. Her body ran the length of the port corridor, her outstretched hand jutting into the engine room, offering the life-sized figure of Nike that stood in her palm, like, Here, have some Victory! Athena’s serene face took up most of the aft pegasus stables, which were fortunately unoccupied. If Leo were a magic horse, he wouldn’t have wanted to live in a stall with an oversized goddess of wisdom staring at him.

  The statue was wedged tight in the corridor, so Leo had to climb over the top and wriggle under her limbs, searching for levers and buttons.

  As usual, he found nothing.

  He’d done some research on the statue. He knew it was made from a hollow wooden frame covered in ivory and gold, which explained why it was so light. It was in pretty good shape, considering it was more than two thousand years old, had been pillaged from Athens, toted to Rome, and secretly stored in a spider’s cavern for most of the past two millennia. Magic must’ve kept it intact, Leo figured, combined with really good craftsmanship.

  Annabeth had said…well, he tried not to think about Annabeth. He still felt guilty about her and Percy falling into Tartarus. Leo knew it was his fault. He should have gotten everyone safely on board the Argo II before he started securing the statue. He should have realized the cavern floor was unstable.

  Still, moping around wasn’t going to get Percy and Annabeth back. He had to concentrate on fixing the problems he could fix.

  Anyway, Annabeth had said the statue was the key to defeating Gaea. It could heal the rift between Greek and Roman demigods. Leo figured there had to be more to it than just symbolism. Maybe Athena’s eyes shot lasers, or the snake behind her shield could spit poison. Or maybe the smaller figure of Nike came to life and busted out some ninja moves.

  Leo could think of all kinds of fun things the statue might do if he had designed it, but the more he examined it, the more frustrated he got. The Athena Parthenos radiated magic. Even he could feel that. But it didn’t seem to do anything except look impressive.

  The ship careened to one side, taking evasive maneuvers. Leo resisted the urge to run to the helm. Jason, Piper, and Frank were on duty with Hazel now. They could handle whatever was going on. Besides, Hazel had insisted on taking the wheel to guide them through the secret pass that the magic goddess had told her about.

  Leo hoped Hazel was right about the long detour north. He didn’t trust this Hecate lady. He didn’t see why such a creepy goddess would suddenly decide to be helpful.

  Of course, he didn’t trust magic in general. That’s why he was having so much trouble with the Athena Parthenos. It had no moving parts. Whatever it did, it apparently operated on pure sorcery…and Leo didn’t appreciate that. He wanted it to make sense, like a machine.

  Finally he got too exhausted to think s
traight. He curled up with a blanket in the engine room and listened to the soothing hum of the generators. Buford the mechanical table sat in the corner on sleep mode, making little steamy snores: Shhh, pfft, shh, pfft.

  Leo liked his quarters okay, but he felt safest here in the heart of the ship—in a room filled with mechanisms he knew how to control. Besides, maybe if he spent more time close to the Athena Parthenos, he would eventually soak in its secrets.

  “It’s you or me, Big Lady,” he murmured as he pulled the blanket up to his chin. “You’re gonna cooperate eventually.”

  He closed his eyes and slept. Unfortunately, that meant dreams.

  He was running for his life through his mother’s old workshop, where she’d died in a fire when Leo was eight.

  He wasn’t sure what was chasing him, but he sensed it closing fast—something large and dark and full of hate.

  He stumbled into workbenches, knocked over toolboxes, and tripped on electrical cords. He spotted the exit and sprinted toward it, but a figure loomed in front of him—a woman in robes of dry swirling earth, her face covered in a veil of dust.

  Where are you going, little hero? Gaea asked. Stay, and meet my favorite son.

  Leo darted to the left, but the Earth Goddess’s laughter followed him.

  The night your mother died, I warned you. I said the Fates would not allow me to kill you then. But now you have chosen your path. Your death is near, Leo Valdez.

  He ran into a drafting table—his mother’s old workstation. The wall behind it was decorated with Leo’s crayon drawings. He sobbed in desperation and turned, but the thing pursuing him now stood in his path—a colossal being wrapped in shadows, its shape vaguely humanoid, its head almost scraping the ceiling twenty feet above.

  Leo’s hands burst into flame. He blasted the giant, but the darkness consumed his fire. Leo reached for his tool belt. The pockets were sewn shut. He tried to speak—to say anything that would save his life—but he couldn’t make a sound, as if the air had been stolen from his lungs.

  My son will not allow any fires tonight, Gaea said from the depths of the warehouse. He is the void that consumes all magic, the cold that consumes all fire, the silence that consumes all speech.

  Leo wanted to shout: And I’m the dude that’s all out of here!

  His voice didn’t work, so he used his feet. He dashed to the right, ducking under the shadowy giant’s grasping hands, and burst through the nearest doorway.

  Suddenly, he found himself at Camp Half-Blood, except the camp was in ruins. The cabins were charred husks. Burned fields smoldered in the moonlight. The dining pavilion had collapsed into a pile of white rubble, and the Big House was on fire, its windows glowing like demon eyes.

  Leo kept running, sure the shadow giant was still behind him.

  He wove around the bodies of Greek and Roman demigods. He wanted to check if they were alive. He wanted to help them. But somehow he knew he was running out of time.

  He jogged toward the only living people he saw—a group of Romans standing at the volleyball pit. Two centurions leaned casually on their javelins, chatting with a tall skinny blond guy in a purple toga. Leo stumbled. It was that freak Octavian, the augur from Camp Jupiter, who was always screaming for war.

  Octavian turned to face him, but he seemed to be in a trance. His features were slack, his eyes closed. When he spoke, it was in Gaea’s voice: This cannot be prevented. The Romans move east from New York. They advance on your camp, and nothing can slow them down.

  Leo was tempted to punch Octavian in the face. Instead he kept running.

  He climbed Half-Blood Hill. At the summit, lightning had splintered the giant pine tree.

  He faltered to a stop. The back of the hill was shorn away. Beyond it, the entire world was gone. Leo saw nothing but clouds far below—a rolling silver carpet under the dark sky.

  A sharp voice said, “Well?”

  Leo flinched.

  At the shattered pine tree, a woman knelt at a cave entrance that had cracked open between the tree’s roots.

  The woman wasn’t Gaea. She looked more like a living Athena Parthenos, with the same golden robes and bare ivory arms. When she rose, Leo almost stumbled off the edge of the world.

  Her face was regally beautiful, with high cheekbones, large dark eyes, and braided licorice-colored hair piled in a fancy Greek hairdo, set with a spiral of emeralds and diamonds so that it reminded Leo of a Christmas tree. Her expression radiated pure hatred. Her lip curled. Her nose wrinkled.

  “The tinkerer god’s child,” she sneered. “You are no threat, but I suppose my vengeance must start somewhere. Make your choice.”

  Leo tried to speak, but he was about to crawl out of his skin with panic. Between this hate queen and the giant chasing him, he had no idea what to do.

  “He’ll be here soon,” the woman warned. “My dark friend will not give you the luxury of a choice. It’s the cliff or the cave, boy!”

  Suddenly Leo understood what she meant. He was cornered. He could jump off the cliff, but that was suicide. Even if there was land under those clouds, he would die in the fall, or maybe he would just keep falling forever.

  But the cave… He stared at the dark opening between the tree roots. It smelled of rot and death. He heard bodies shuffling inside, voices whispering in the shadows.

  The cave was the home of the dead. If he went down there, he would never come back.

  “Yes,” the woman said. Around her neck hung a strange bronze-and-emerald pendant, like a circular labyrinth. Her eyes were so angry, Leo finally understood why mad was a word for crazy. This lady had been driven nuts by hatred. “The House of Hades awaits. You will be the first puny rodent to die in my maze. You have only one chance to escape, Leo Valdez. Take it.”

  She gestured toward the cliff.

  “You’re bonkers,” he managed.

  That was the wrong thing to say. She seized his wrist. “Perhaps I should kill you now, before my dark friend arrives?”

  Steps shook the hillside. The giant was coming, wrapped in shadows, huge and heavy and bent on murder.

  “Have you heard of dying in a dream, boy?” the woman asked. “It is possible, at the hands of a sorceress!”

  Leo’s arm started to smoke. The woman’s touch was acid. He tried to free himself, but her grip was like steel.

  He opened his mouth to scream. The massive shape of the giant loomed over him, obscured by layers of black smoke.

  The giant raised his fist, and a voice cut through the dream.

  “Leo!” Jason was shaking his shoulder. “Hey, man, why are you hugging Nike?”

  Leo’s eyes fluttered open. His arms were wrapped around the human-sized statue in Athena’s hand. He must have been thrashing in his sleep. He clung to the victory goddess like he used to cling to his pillow when he had nightmares as a kid. (Man, that had been so embarrassing in the foster homes.)

  He disentangled himself and sat up, rubbing his face.

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “We were just cuddling. Um, what’s going on?”

  Jason didn’t tease him. That’s one thing Leo appreciated about his friend. Jason’s ice-blue eyes were level and serious. The little scar on his mouth twitched like it always did when he had bad news to share.

  “We made it through the mountains,” he said. “We’re almost to Bologna. You should join us in the mess hall. Nico has new information.”

  LEO HAD DESIGNED the mess hall’s walls to show real-time scenes from Camp Half-Blood. At first he had thought that was a pretty awesome idea. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  The scenes from back home—the campfire sing-alongs, dinners at the pavilion, volleyball games outside the Big House—just seemed to make his friends sad. The farther they got from Long Island, the worse it got. The time zones kept changing, making Leo feel the distance every time he looked at the walls. Here in Italy the sun had just come up. Back at Camp Half-Blood it was the middle of the night. Torches sputtered at the cabin doorways. Moonlight glit
tered on the waves of Long Island Sound. The beach was covered in footprints, as if a big crowd had just left.

  With a start, Leo realized that yesterday—last night, whatever—had been the Fourth of July. They’d missed Camp Half-Blood’s annual party at the beach with awesome fireworks prepared by Leo’s siblings in Cabin Nine.

  He decided not to mention that to the crew, but he hoped their buddies back home had had a good celebration. They needed something to keep their spirits up, too.

  He remembered the images he’d seen in his dream—the camp in ruins, littered with bodies; Octavian standing at the volleyball pit, casually talking in Gaea’s voice.

  He stared down at his eggs and bacon. He wished he could turn off the wall videos.

  “So,” Jason said, “now that we’re here…”

  He sat at the head of the table, kind of by default. Since they’d lost Annabeth, Jason had done his best to act as the group’s leader. Having been praetor back at Camp Jupiter, he was probably used to that; but Leo could tell his friend was stressed. His eyes were more sunken than usual. His blond hair was uncharacteristically messy, like he’d forgotten to comb it.

  Leo glanced at the others around the table. Hazel was bleary-eyed, too, but of course she’d been up all night guiding the ship through the mountains. Her curly cinnamon-colored hair was tied back in a bandana, which gave her a commando look that Leo found kind of hot—and then immediately felt guilty about.

  Next to her sat her boyfriend Frank Zhang, dressed in black workout pants and a Roman tourist T-shirt that said CIAO! (was that even a word?). Frank’s old centurion badge was pinned to his shirt, despite the fact that the demigods of the Argo II were now Public Enemies Numbers 1 through 7 back at Camp Jupiter. His grim expression just reinforced his unfortunate resemblance to a sumo wrestler. Then there was Hazel’s half brother, Nico di Angelo. Dang, that kid gave Leo the freaky-deakies. He sat back in his leather aviator jacket, his black T-shirt and jeans, that wicked silver skull ring on his finger, and the Stygian sword at his side. His tufts of black hair stuck up in curls like baby bat wings. His eyes were sad and kind of empty, as if he’d stared into the depths of Tartarus—which he had.