The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(58)

“I tried to leave it alone,” she muttered. In the glow of the streetlamps, the wisps of pink hair that had escaped her cap seemed to float around her head like cotton candy. “After what we saw in the tomb—Bobby and the others, after you described what we’re facing tomorrow—”

“Lavinia, please—”

“I can’t fall into line like a good soldier. Me locking shields and marching off to die with everybody else? That’s not going to help anybody.”

“But—”

“It’s best you don’t ask.” Her growl was almost as intimidating as Peaches’s. “And it’s definitely best that you not say anything to anybody about tonight. Now, c’mon.”

The rest of the way back, she ignored my questions. She seemed to have a dark bubble-gum-scented cloud hanging over her head. She got me safely past the sentries, under the wall, and back to the coffee shop before she slipped away into the dark without even a good-bye.

Perhaps I should have stopped her. Raised the alarm. Gotten her arrested. But what good would that have done? It seemed to me Lavinia had never been comfortable in the legion. After all, she spent much of her time looking for secret exits and hidden trails out of the valley. Now she’d finally snapped.

I had a sinking feeling that I would never see her again. She’d be on the next bus to Portland with a few dozen fauns, and as much as I wanted to be angry about that, I could only feel sad. In her place, would I have done any differently?

When I got back to our guest room, Meg was passed out, snoring, her glasses dangling from her fingers, bedsheets wadded around her feet. I tucked her in as best I could. If she was having any bad dreams about her peach spirit friend plotting with the local dryads only a few miles away, I couldn’t tell. Tomorrow I’d have to decide what to say to her. Tonight, I’d let her sleep.

I crawled into my own cot, sure that I’d be tossing and turning until morning.

Instead, I passed out immediately.


When I woke, the early morning sunlight was in my face. Meg’s cot was empty. I realized I’d slept like the dead—no dreams, no visions. That did not comfort me. When the nightmares go silent, that usually means something else is coming—something even worse.

I dressed and gathered my supplies, trying not to think about how tired I was, or how much my gut hurt. Then I grabbed a muffin and a coffee from Bombilo and went out to find my friends. Today, one way or another, the fate of New Rome would be decided.





In my pickup truck

With my dogs and my weapons

And this fool, Lester

REYNA AND MEG WERE waiting for me at the camp’s front gates, though I barely recognized the former. In place of her praetor’s regalia, she wore blue running shoes and skinny jeans, a long-sleeved copper tee, and a maroon sweater wrap. With her hair pulled back in a braided whip and her face lightly brushed with makeup, she could’ve passed for one of the many thousands of Bay Area college students that nobody would think twice about. I supposed that was the point.

“What?” she asked me.

I realized I’d been staring. “Nothing.”

Meg snorted. She was dressed in her usual green dress, yellow leggings, and red high-tops, so she could blend in with the many thousands of Bay Area first graders—except for her twelve-year-old’s height, her gardening belt, and the pink button pinned to her collar that displayed a stylized unicorn’s head with crossed bones underneath. I wondered if she’d bought it in a New Rome gift shop or somehow gotten it specially made. Either possibility was unsettling.

Reyna spread her hands. “I do have civilian clothes, Apollo. Even with the Mist helping to obscure things, walking through San Francisco in full legionnaire armor can attract some funny looks.”

“No. Yeah. You look great. I mean good.” Why were my palms sweating? “I mean, can we go now?”

Reyna put two fingers in her mouth and let loose a taxi-cab whistle so shrill it cleared out my eustachian tubes. From inside the fort, her two metal greyhounds came running, barking like small-weapons fire.

“Oh, good,” I said, trying to suppress my panic-and-run instinct. “Your dogs are coming.”

Reyna smirked. “Well, they’d get upset if I drove to San Francisco without them.”

“Drove?” I was about to say In what? when I heard a honk from the direction of the city. A battered bright red Chevy four-by-four rumbled down a road usually reserved for marching legionnaires and elephants.

At the wheel was Hazel Levesque, with Frank Zhang riding shotgun.

They pulled up next to us. The vehicle had barely stopped moving when Aurum and Argentum leaped into the bed of the truck, their metal tongues lolling and tails wagging.

Hazel climbed out of the cab. “All gassed up, Praetor.”

“Thank you, Centurion.” Reyna smiled. “How are the driving lessons coming along?”

“Good! I didn’t even run into Terminus this time.”

“Progress,” Reyna agreed.

Frank came around from the passenger’s side. “Yep, Hazel will be ready for public roads in no time.”

I had many things to ask: Where did they keep this truck? Was there a gas station in New Rome? Why had I been hiking so much if it was possible to drive?

Meg beat me to the real question: “Do I get to ride in back with the dogs?”