The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1)(4)

She nodded. “You don’t look like a god.”

“I’m not at my best,” I admitted. “My father, Zeus, has exiled me from Olympus. And who are you?”

She smelled faintly of apple pie, which was surprising, since she looked so grubby. Part of me wanted to find a fresh towel, clean her face, and give her money for a hot meal. Part of me wanted to fend her off with a chair in case she decided to bite me. She reminded me of the strays my sister was always adopting: dogs, panthers, homeless maidens, small dragons.

“Name is Meg,” she said.

“Short for Megara? Or Margaret?”

“Margaret. But don’t ever call me Margaret.”

“And are you a demigod, Meg?”

She pushed up her glasses. “Why would you think that?”

Again she didn’t seem surprised by the question. I sensed she had heard the term demigod before.

“Well,” I said, “you obviously have some power. You chased off those hooligans with rotten fruit. Perhaps you have banana-kinesis? Or you can control garbage? I once knew a Roman goddess, Cloacina, who presided over the city’s sewer system. Perhaps you’re related…?”

Meg pouted. I got the impression I might have said something wrong, though I couldn’t imagine what.

“I think I’ll just take your money,” Meg said. “Go on. Get out of here.”

“No, wait!” Desperation crept into my voice. “Please, I—I may need a bit of assistance.”

I felt ridiculous, of course. Me—the god of prophecy, plague, archery, healing, music, and several other things I couldn’t remember at the moment—asking a colorfully dressed street urchin for help. But I had no one else. If this child chose to take my money and kick me into the cruel winter streets, I didn’t think I could stop her.

“Say I believe you…” Meg’s voice took on a singsong tone, as if she were about to announce the rules of the game: I’ll be the princess, and you’ll be the scullery maid. “Say I decide to help. What then?”

Good question, I thought. “We…we are in Manhattan?”

“Mm-hmm.” She twirled and did a playful skip-kick. “Hell’s Kitchen.”

It seemed wrong for a child to say Hell’s Kitchen. Then again, it seemed wrong for a child to live in an alley and have garbage fights with thugs.

I considered walking to the Empire State Building. That was the modern gateway to Mount Olympus, but I doubted the guards would let me up to the secret six hundredth floor. Zeus would not make it so easy.

Perhaps I could find my old friend Chiron the centaur. He had a training camp on Long Island. He could offer me shelter and guidance. But that would be a dangerous journey. A defenseless god makes for a juicy target. Any monster along the way would cheerfully disembowel me. Jealous spirits and minor gods might also welcome the opportunity. Then there was Cade and Mikey’s mysterious “boss.” I had no idea who he was, or whether he had other, worse minions to send against me.

Even if I made it to Long Island, my new mortal eyes might not be able to find Chiron’s camp in its magically camouflaged valley. I needed a guide to get me there—someone experienced and close by….

“I have an idea.” I stood as straight as my injuries allowed. It wasn’t easy to look confident with a bloody nose and coffee grounds dripping off my clothes. “I know someone who might help. He lives on the Upper East Side. Take me to him, and I shall reward you.”

Meg made a sound between a sneeze and a laugh. “Reward me with what?” She danced around, plucking twenty-dollar bills from the trash. “I’m already taking all your money.”

“Hey!”

She tossed me my wallet, now empty except for Lester Papadopoulos’s junior driver’s license.

Meg sang, “I’ve got your money, I’ve got your money.”

I stifled a growl. “Listen, child, I won’t be mortal forever. Someday I will become a god again. Then I will reward those who helped me—and punish those who didn’t.”

She put her hands on her hips. “How do you know what will happen? Have you ever been mortal before?”

“Yes, actually. Twice! Both times, my punishment only lasted a few years at most!”

“Oh, yeah? And how did you get back to being all goddy or whatever?”

“Goddy is not a word,” I pointed out, though my poetic sensibilities were already thinking of ways I might use it. “Usually Zeus requires me to work as a slave for some important demigod. This fellow uptown I mentioned, for instance. He’d be perfect! I do whatever tasks my new master requires for a few years. As long as I behave, I am allowed back to Olympus. Right now I just have to recover my strength and figure out—”

“How do you know for sure which demigod?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Which demigod you’re supposed to serve, dummy.”

“I…uh. Well, it’s usually obvious. I just sort of run into them. That’s why I want to get to the Upper East Side. My new master will claim my service and—”

“I’m Meg McCaffrey!” Meg blew me a raspberry. “And I claim your service!”

Overhead, thunder rumbled in the gray sky. The sound echoed through the city canyons like divine laughter.