The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5)(9)

She jogged to the corner of the alley. Lu and I sloshed along behind her. The signs on the nearest corner informed us that we were at Lexington and Seventy-Fifth.

Meg grinned. “See?”

“See what?” I said. “What are you…?”

Her meaning hit me like an Amtrak quiet car. “Oh, no,” I said. “No, they’ve done enough for us. I won’t put them in any more danger, especially if Nero is after us.”

“But last time you were totally fine with—”

“Meg, no!”

Lu looked back and forth between us. “What are you talking about?”

I wanted to stick my head in my backpack and scream. Six months ago, I’d had no qualms about hitting up an old friend who lived a few blocks from here. But now…after all the trouble and heartbreak I’d brought to every place that had harbored me…No. I could not do that again.

“How about this?” I drew the Arrow of Dodona from my quiver. “We’ll ask my prophetic friend. Surely it has a better idea—perhaps access to last-minute hotel deals!”

I lifted the projectile in my trembling fingers. “O great Arrow of Dodona—”

“Is he talking to that arrow?” Lu asked Meg.

“He talks to inanimate objects,” Meg told her. “Humor him.”

“We need your advice!” I said, suppressing the urge to kick Meg in the shin. “Where should we go for shelter?”

The arrow’s voice buzzed in my brain: DIDST THOU CALLEST ME THY FRIEND? It sounded pleased.

“Uh, yes.” I gave my companions a thumbs-up. “We need a place to hide out and regroup—somewhere nearby, but away from Nero’s surveillance cameras and whatnot.”

THE EMPEROR’S WHATNOT IS FORMIDABLE INDEED, the arrow agreed. BUT THOU ALREADY KNOWEST THE ANSWER TO THY QUESTION, O LESTER. SEEKEST THOU THE PLACE OF THE SEVEN-LAYER DIP.

With that, the projectile fell silent.

I groaned in misery. The arrow’s message was perfectly clear. Oh, for the yummy seven-layer dip of our hostess! Oh, for the comfort of that cozy apartment! But it wasn’t right. I couldn’t.…

“What did it say?” Meg demanded.

I tried to think of an alternative, but I was so tired I couldn’t even lie.

“Fine,” I said. “We go to Percy Jackson’s place.”





“HELLO, MRS. JACKSON! IS PERCY HOME?”

I shivered and dripped on her welcome mat, my two equally bedraggled companions behind me.

For a heartbeat, Sally Jackson remained frozen in her doorway, a smile on her face, as if she’d been expecting a delivery of flowers or cookies. We were not that.

Her driftwood-brown hair was tinseled with more gray than it was six months ago. She wore tattered jeans, a loose green blouse, and a blob of applesauce on the top of her bare left foot. She was not pregnant anymore, which probably explained the sound of the giggling baby inside her apartment.

Her surprise passed quickly. Since she’d raised a demigod, she’d doubtless had lots of experience with the unexpected. “Apollo! Meg! And—” She sized up our gigantic tattooed, mohawked train conductor. “Hello! You poor things. Come in and dry off.”

The Jackson living room was as cozy as I remembered. The smell of baking mozzarella and tomatoes wafted from the kitchen. Jazz played on an old-fashioned turntable—ah, Wynton Marsalis! Several comfy sofas and chairs were available to plop upon. I scanned the room for Percy Jackson but found only a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, rumpled khakis, oven mitts, and a pink dress shirt covered by a bright-yellow apron splattered with tomato sauce. He was bouncing a giggly baby on his hip. The child’s yellow onesie pajamas matched the man’s apron so perfectly, I wondered if they’d come as a set.

I’m sure the chef and baby made for an adorable, heartwarming scene. Unfortunately, I’d grown up on stories about Titans and gods who cooked and/or ate their children, so I was perhaps not quite as charmed as I might have been.

“There is a man in your apartment,” I informed Mrs. Jackson.

Sally laughed. “This is my husband, Paul. Excuse me a sec. I’ll be right back.” She dashed toward the bathroom.

“Hi!” Paul smiled at us. “This is Estelle.”

Estelle giggled and drooled as if her own name was the funniest joke in the universe. She had Percy’s sea-green eyes and clearly, her mother’s good nature. She also had wisps of black and silver hair like Paul, which I had never seen on a baby. She would be the world’s first salt-and-pepper toddler. All in all, it seemed Estelle had inherited a good genetic package.

“Hello.” I wasn’t sure whether to address Paul, Estelle, or whatever was cooking in the kitchen, which smelled delicious. “Er, not to be rude, but we were hoping to— Oh, thanks, Mrs. Jackson.”

Sally had emerged from the bathroom and was now busily wrapping Meg, Lu, and me in fluffy turquoise bath towels.

“We were hoping to see Percy,” I finished.

Estelle squealed with delight. She seemed to like the name Percy.

“I’d like to see him, too,” Sally said. “But he’s on his way to the West Coast. With Annabeth. They left a few days ago.”

She pointed to a framed picture on the nearest end table. In the photo, my old friends Percy and Annabeth sat side by side in the Jackson family’s dented Prius, both of them smiling out the driver’s-side window. In the backseat was our mutual satyr friend Grover Underwood, mugging for the camera—eyes crossed, tongue stuck out sideways, hands flashing peace signs. Annabeth leaned into Percy, her arms wrapped around his neck like she was about to kiss him or possibly choke him. Behind the wheel, Percy gave the camera a big thumbs-up. He seemed to be telling me directly, We’re outta here! You have fun with your quests or whatever!