The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5)(68)

“I’m an exception!” I kissed the top of Nico’s head in delight.

“Please don’t do that.”

“Okay! Who else is here? Tell me! Tell me!” I felt like he was guiding me toward my own birthday party, and I was dying to know the guest list. Also, I felt like I was dying!

“Um, well…”

We’d arrived at a set of heavy mahogany sliding doors.

Nico dragged one open and the setting sun nearly blinded me. “Here we are now.”

A wide terrace ran along the entire side of the building, providing multimillion-dollar views of the Hudson River and New Jersey cliffs beyond, tinged burgundy in the sunset.

The scene on the terrace was even more chaotic than the one in the conference room. Pegasi swooped through the air like giant seagulls, occasionally landing on the deck to unload new demigod reinforcements in orange Camp Half-Blood shirts. Nasty-looking Celestial bronze harpoon turrets lined the rails, but most of them had been blown-up or crushed. Lounge chairs were on fire. Our friends from camp were engaged in close-quarters fighting with dozens of Nero’s forces: a few of the older demigod kids from Nero’s Imperial Household, a squad of Germani, mortal security guards, and even a few cynocephali—wolf-headed warriors with nasty claws and rabid, slavering mouths.

Against the wall stood a line of potted trees, similar to in the throne room. Their dryads had risen up to fight alongside Camp Half-Blood against Nero’s oppression.

“Come, sisters!” cried a ficus spirit, brandishing a pointy stick. “We have nothing to lose but our potting soil!”

In the center of the chaos, Chiron himself clopped back and forth, his white stallion lower half draped with extra quivers, weapons, shields, and water bottles, like a combination demigod soccer mom and minivan. He wielded his bow as well as I ever could have (though that comment should be considered strictly off the record) while shouting encouragement and directions to his young charges. “Dennis, try not to kill enemy demigods or mortals! Okay, well, from now on, then! Evette, watch your left flank! Ben—whoa, watch out there, Ben!”

This last comment was directed at a young man in a hand-powered wheelchair, his muscular upper body clad in a racing shirt, his driving gloves studded with spikes. His wild black hair flew in every direction, and as he turned, blades jutted from the rims of his wheels, mowing down anyone who dared to get close. His last one-eighty had almost caught Chiron’s back legs, but fortunately the old centaur was nimble.

“Sorry!” Ben grinned, seeming not sorry at all, then he wheeled himself straight into a pack of cynocephali.

“Dad!” Kayla came racing toward me. “Oh, gods, what happened to you? Nico, where’s Will?”

“That’s a great question,” Nico said. “Kayla, can you take Apollo while I go look?”

“Yeah, go!”

Nico raced off while Kayla dragged me to the safest corner she could find. She propped me in the only intact chaise longue and began rummaging through her med pack.

I had a lovely view of the sunset and the carnage in progress. I wondered if I could get one of Nero’s servants to bring me a fancy drink decorated with a tiny umbrella. I started to giggle again, though what was left of my common sense whispered, Stop it. Stop it. This is not funny.

Kayla frowned, clearly worried by my mirth. She dabbed some menthol-scented healing ointment on my busted nose. “Oh, Dad. I’m afraid you’re going to have a scar.”

“I know.” I giggled. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Kayla managed a weak smile. “You, too. Been a crazy afternoon. Nico and those trogs infiltrated the building from below. The rest of us hit the tower on several levels at once, overwhelmed their security. The Hermes cabin disarmed a lot of the traps and turrets and whatnot, but we’ve still got fierce fighting pretty much everywhere.”

“Are we winning?” I asked.

A Germanus screamed as Sherman Yang, head counselor of Ares cabin, threw him off the side of the building.

“Hard to tell,” Kayla said. “Chiron told the newbies this was a field trip. Like a training exercise. They gotta learn sooner or later.”

I scanned the terrace. Many of those first-time campers, some no older than eleven or twelve, were fighting wide-eyed alongside their cabinmates, trying to imitate whatever their counselors were doing. They seemed so very young, but then again, they were demigods. They’d probably already survived numerous terrifying events in their short lives. And Kayla was right—adventures would not wait for them to be ready. They had to jump in, sooner better than later.

“Rosamie!” Chiron called. “Sword higher, dear!”

The young girl grinned and lifted her blade, intercepting the strike of a security guard’s baton. She smacked her foe across the face with the flat of her blade. “Do we have field trips every week? This is cool!”

Chiron gave her a pained smile, then continued shooting down enemies.

Kayla bandaged my face as best she could—wrapping white gauze around my nose and making me go cross-eyed. I imagined I looked like the Partially Invisible Man, which made me giggle again.

Kayla grimaced. “Okay, we gotta clear your head. Drink this.” She lifted a vial to my lips.

“Nectar?”

“Definitely not nectar.”

The taste exploded in my mouth. Immediately, I realized what she was giving me and why: Mountain Dew, the glowing-lime-green elixir of perfect sobriety. I don’t know what effect it has on mortals, but ask any supernatural entity and they will tell you, Mountain Dew’s combination of sweetness, caffeine, and otherworldly je-ne-sais-quoi-peut-être-radioactif taste is enough to bring complete focus and seriousness to any god. My eyesight cleared. My giddiness evaporated. I had zero desire to giggle. A grim sense of danger and impending death gripped my heart. Mountain Dew is the equivalent of the enslaved servant who would ride behind the emperor during his triumphal parades, whispering, Remember, you are mortal, and you will die to keep him from getting a big head.