The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(59)

“No, ma’am,” said Reyna. “You’ll sit in the cab with your seat belt on.”

“Aw.” Meg ran off to pet the dogs.

Frank gave Reyna a bear hug (without turning into a bear). “Be careful out there, all right?”

Reyna didn’t seem to know what to do with this show of affection. Her arms went stiff. Then she awkwardly patted her fellow praetor on the back.

“You too,” she said. “Any word on the strike force?”

“They left before dawn,” Frank said. “Kahale felt good about it, but…” He shrugged, as if to say their anti-yacht commando mission was now in the hands of the gods. Which, as a former god, I can tell you was not reassuring.

Reyna turned to Hazel. “And the zombie pickets?”

“Ready,” Hazel said. “If Tarquin’s hordes come from the same direction as before, they’re in for some nasty surprises. I also set traps along the other approaches to the city. Hopefully we can stop them before they’re in hand-to-hand range so…”

She hesitated, apparently unwilling to finish her sentence. I thought I understood. So we don’t have to see their faces. If the legion had to confront a wave of undead comrades, it would be much better to destroy them at a distance, without the anguish of having to recognize former friends.

“I just wish…” Hazel shook her head. “Well, I still worry Tarquin has something else planned. I should be able to figure it out, but…” She tapped her forehead as if she wanted to reset her brain. I could sympathize.

“You’ve done plenty,” Frank assured her. “If they throw surprises at us, we’ll adapt.”

Reyna nodded. “Okay, then, we’re off. Don’t forget to stock the catapults.”

“Of course,” Frank said.

“And double-check with the quartermaster about those flaming barricades.”

“Of course.”

“And—” Reyna stopped herself. “You know what you’re doing. Sorry.”

Frank grinned. “Just bring us whatever we need to summon that godly help. We’ll keep the camp in one piece until you get back.”

Hazel studied Reyna’s outfit with concern. “Your sword’s in the truck. Don’t you want to take a shield or something?”

“Nah. I’ve got my cloak. It’ll turn aside most weapons.” Reyna brushed the collar of her sweater wrap. Instantly it unfurled into her usual purple cape.

Frank’s smile faded. “Does my cloak do that?”

“See you, guys!” Reyna climbed behind the wheel.

“Wait, does my cloak deflect weapons?” Frank called after us. “Does mine turn into a sweater wrap?”

As we pulled away, I could see Frank Zhang in the rearview mirror, intently studying the stitching of his cape.


Our first challenge of the morning: merging onto the Bay Bridge.

Getting out of Camp Jupiter had been no problem. A well-hidden dirt road led from the valley up into the hills, eventually depositing us on the residential streets of East Oakland. From there we took Highway 24 until it merged with Interstate 580. Then the real fun began.

The morning commuters had apparently not gotten word that we were on a vital mission to save the greater metropolitan area. They stubbornly refused to get out of our way. Perhaps we should have taken public transportation, but I doubted they let killer dog automatons ride the BART trains.

Reyna tapped her fingers on the wheel, mumbling along to Tego Calderón lyrics on the truck’s ancient CD player. I enjoyed reggaeton as much as the next Greek god, but it was perhaps not the music I would’ve chosen to soothe my nerves on the morning of a quest. I found it a bit too peppy for my pre-combat jitters.

Sitting between us, Meg rummaged through the seeds in her gardener’s belt. During our battle in the tomb, she’d told us, lots of packages had opened and gotten mixed up. Now she was trying to figure out which seeds were which. This meant she would occasionally hold up a seed and stare at it until it burst into its mature form—dandelion, tomato, eggplant, sunflower. Soon the cab smelled like the gardening section at Home Depot.

I had not told Meg about seeing Peaches. I wasn’t even sure how to start the conversation. Hey, did you know your karpos is holding clandestine meetings with the fauns and crabgrasses in People’s Park?

The longer I waited to say something, the harder it became. I told myself it wasn’t a good idea to distract Meg during an important quest. I wanted to honor Lavinia’s wishes that I not blab. True, I hadn’t seen Lavinia that morning before we left, but maybe her plans weren’t as nefarious as I thought. Maybe she wasn’t actually halfway to Oregon by now.

In reality, I didn’t speak because I was a coward. I was afraid to enrage the two dangerous young women I rode with, one of whom could have me ripped apart by a pair of metal greyhounds, while the other could cause cabbages to grow out of my nose.

We inched our way across the bridge, Reyna finger-tapping to the beat of “El Que Sabe, Sabe.” He who knows, knows. I was 75 percent sure there was no hidden message in Reyna’s choice of songs.

“When we get there,” she said, “we’ll have to park at the base of the hill and hike up. The area around Sutro Tower is restricted.”

“You’ve decided the tower itself is our target,” I said, “not Mount Sutro behind it?”