The Tyrant's Tomb (The Trials of Apollo, #4)(60)

“Can’t be sure, obviously. But I double-checked Thalia’s list of trouble spots. The tower was on there.”

I waited for her to elaborate. “Thalia’s what?”

Reyna blinked. “Didn’t I tell you about that? So, Thalia and the Hunters of Artemis, you know, they keep a running list of places where they’ve seen unusual monstrous activity, stuff they can’t quite explain. Sutro Tower is one of them. Thalia sent me her list of locations for the Bay Area so Camp Jupiter can keep an eye on them.”

“How many trouble spots?” Meg asked. “Can we visit all of them?”

Reyna nudged her playfully. “I like your spirit, Killer, but there are dozens in San Francisco alone. We—I mean the legion—we try to keep an eye on them all, but it’s a lot. Especially recently…”

With the battles, I thought. And the deaths.

I wondered about the small hesitation in Reyna’s voice when she said we and then clarified that she meant the legion. I wondered what other we’s Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano felt part of. Certainly I had never imagined her in civilian clothes, driving a battered pickup truck, taking her metal greyhounds for a hike. And she’d been in touch with Thalia Grace, my sister’s lieutenant, leader of the Hunters of Artemis.

I hated the way that made me feel jealous.

“How do you know Thalia?” I tried to sound nonchalant. Judging from Meg’s cross-eyed look, I failed miserably.

Reyna didn’t seem to notice. She changed lanes, trying to make headway through the traffic. In the back, Aurum and Argentum barked with joy, thrilling in the adventure.

“Thalia and I fought Orion together in Puerto Rico,” she said. “The Amazons and Hunters both lost a lot of good women. That sort of thing…shared experience…Anyway, yeah, we’ve kept in touch.”

“How? The communication lines are all down.”

“Letters,” she said.

“Letters…” I seemed to remember those, back from around the days of vellum and wax seals. “You mean when you write something by hand on paper, put it in an envelope, stick a stamp on it—”

“And mail it. Right. I mean, it can be weeks or months between letters, but Thalia’s a good pen pal.”

I tried to fathom that. Many descriptions came to mind when I thought about Thalia Grace. Pen pal was not one of them.

“Where do you even mail the letters to?” I asked. “The Hunters are constantly on the move.”

“They have a PO box in Wyoming and—Why are we talking about this?”

Meg pinched a seed between her fingers. A geranium exploded into bloom. “Is that where your dogs went? Searching for Thalia?”

I didn’t see how she’d made that connection, but Reyna nodded.

“Just after you arrived,” Reyna said, “I wrote Thalia about…you know, Jason. I knew it was a long shot that she’d get the message in time, so I sent Aurum and Argentum out looking for her, too, in case the Hunters were in the area. No luck.”

I imagined what could happen if Thalia received Reyna’s letter. Would she come charging into Camp Jupiter at the head of the Hunters, ready to help us fight the emperors and Tarquin’s undead hordes? Or would she turn her wrath on me? Thalia had already bailed me out of trouble once, in Indianapolis. By way of thanks, I’d gotten her brother killed in Santa Barbara. I doubted anyone would object if a stray Hunter’s arrow found me as its target during the fighting. I shivered, thankful for the slowness of the US Postal Service.

We made our way past Treasure Island, the anchor of the Bay Bridge midway between Oakland and San Francisco. I thought about Caligula’s fleet, which would be passing this island later tonight, ready to unload its troops, and if necessary, its arsenal of Greek fire bombs on the unsuspecting East Bay. I cursed the slowness of the US Postal Service.

“So,” I said, making a second attempt at nonchalance, “are you and Thalia, er…?”

Reyna raised an eyebrow. “Involved romantically?”

“Well, I just…I mean…Um…”

Oh, very smooth, Apollo. Have I mentioned I was once the god of poetry?

Reyna rolled her eyes. “If I had a denarius for every time I got that question…Aside from the fact that Thalia is in the Hunters, and thus sworn to celibacy…Why does a strong friendship always have to progress to romance? Thalia’s an excellent friend. Why would I risk messing that up?”

“Uh—”

“That was a rhetorical question,” Reyna added. “I do not need a response.”

“I know what rhetorical means.” I made a mental note to double-check the word’s definition with Socrates the next time I was in Greece. Then I remembered Socrates was dead. “I only thought—”

“I love this song,” Meg interrupted. “Turn it up!”

I doubted Meg had the slightest interest in Tego Calderón, but her intervention may have saved my life. Reyna cranked up the volume, thus ending my attempt at death by casual conversation.

We stayed silent the rest of the way into the city, listening to Tego Calderón singing “Punto y Aparte” and Reyna’s greyhounds jubilantly barking like semiauto clips discharged on New Year’s Eve.





Stick my godly face