The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5)(16)

“So you break us out of our cells,” I guessed, “and lead us to this vault.”

“That’s the idea.” Lu’s expression turned grim. “Of course, the fasces is guarded by…well, something terrible.”

“What?” Meg asked.

Lu’s hesitation scared me worse than any monster she might have named. “Let’s deal with that later. One impossible thing at a time.”

Yet again I found myself agreeing with the Gaul. This worried me.

“Okay, then,” she said. “Lester, after you push me off the roof, you and Meg get to Camp Half-Blood as fast as you can, find a demigod team to infiltrate the tunnels. Nero’s people won’t be far behind you.”

“But we don’t have a car.”

“Ah. Almost forgot.” Lu glanced down at her belt as if she wanted to grab something, then realized her hands were full of weapons. “Sapling, reach into my pouch.”

Meg opened the small leather bag. She gasped at whatever she saw inside, then pulled it out tightly clutched in her hand, not letting me see.

“Really?” She bounced up and down with excitement. “I get to?”

Lu chuckled. “Why not? Special occasion.”

“Yay!” Meg slipped whatever it was into one of her gardening pouches.

I felt like I’d missed something important. “Um, what—?”

“Enough chat,” Lu said. “Ready? Run!”

I was not ready, but I’d gotten used to being told to run. My body reacted for me, and Meg and I burst through the door.

We scrambled over the silver tar surface, dodging air vents and stumbling on loose bricks. I got into my role with depressing ease. Running for my life, terrified and helpless? Over the last six months, I’d rehearsed that plenty.

Lu bellowed and charged after us. Twin crossbow bolts whistled past my ear. She was really selling the whole “murderous Gaul” thing. My heart leaped into my throat as if I were actually in mortal danger.

Too quickly, I reached the edge of the roof. Nothing but a waist-high lip of brick separated me from a hundred-foot drop into the alley below. I turned and screamed as Lu’s blade slashed toward my face.

I arched backward—not fast enough. Her blade sliced a thin line across my forehead.

Meg materialized, screaming with rage. She blocked the Gaul’s next strike and forced her to turn. Lu dropped her crossbow and summoned her second blade, and the two dimachaeri went at it in a full-bore dramatic interpretation of kung-fu Cuisinarts.

I stumbled, too stunned to feel pain. I wondered why warm rain was trickling into my eyes. Then I wiped it away, looked at my fingers, and realized, Nope, that’s not rain. Rain wasn’t usually bright red.

Meg’s swords flashed, driving the big Gaul back. Lu kicked her in the gut and sent her reeling.

My thoughts were sluggish, pushing through a syrupy haze of shock, but I seemed to remember I had a role in this drama. What was I supposed to do after the running and the cowering?

Oh, yes. I was supposed to throw Lu off the roof.

A giggle bubbled up in my lungs. I couldn’t see with the blood in my eyes. My hands and feet felt like water balloons—wobbly and warm and about to burst. But, sure, no problem. I would just throw a huge dual-sword-wielding warrior off the roof.

I staggered forward.

Lu thrust with her left blade, stabbing Meg in the thigh. Meg yelped and stumbled, crossing her swords just in time to catch Lu’s next strike, which would have cleaved her head in two.

Wait a second. This fight couldn’t be an act. Pure rage lit the Gaul’s eyes.

Lu had deceived us, and Meg was in real danger.

Fury swelled inside me. A flood of heat burned away the haze and filled me with godly power. I bellowed like one of Poseidon’s sacred bulls at the altar. (And let me tell you, those bulls did not go gently to the slaughter.) I barreled toward Luguselwa, who turned, wide-eyed, but had no time to defend herself. I tackled her around the waist, lifted her over my head as easily as if she were a medicine ball, and tossed her off the side of the building.

I overdid it. Rather than dropping into the alley, she sailed over the rooftops of the next block and disappeared. A half second later, a distant metallic clunk echoed from the canyon of First Avenue, followed by the angry weep-weep-weep of a car alarm.

My strength evaporated. I wobbled and fell to my knees, blood trickling down my face.

Meg stumbled over to me. Her new white leggings were soaked through from the wound on her thigh.

“Your head,” she murmured.

“I know. Your leg.”

She fumbled through her gardening pouches until she found two rolls of gauze. We did our best to mummify each other and stop the bleeding. Meg’s fingers trembled. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I didn’t mean to throw Lu so far. I just—I thought she was really trying to kill you.”

Meg peered in the direction of First Avenue. “It’s fine. She’s tough. She’s—she’s probably fine.”

“But—”

“No time to talk. Come on.”

She grabbed my waist and pulled me up. We somehow made it back inside, then managed to navigate the scaffolds and ladders to get out of the hollow apartment building. As we limped to the nearest intersection, my heartbeat flumped irregularly, like a trout on the floorboards of a boat. (Ugh. I had Poseidon on the brain now.)