The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(105)

I thought about what awaited us in the north. Aside from what we’d gleaned aboard Caligula’s yacht – that his attack during the new moon had not gone well – we didn’t know what was going on at Camp Jupiter, or whether Leo Valdez was still there or flying back to Indianapolis. All we knew was that Caligula, now without his stallion and his sorceress, was sailing to the Bay Area to deal with Camp Jupiter personally. We had to get there first.

‘We will be fine,’ I said, trying to convince myself. ‘We’ve wrested three Oracles from the Triumvirate. Now, aside from Delphi itself, only one source of prophecy remains: the Sibylline Books … or rather, what Ella the harpy is trying to reconstruct of them from memory.’

Grover frowned. ‘Yeah. Ella. Tyson’s girlfriend.’

He sounded confused, as if it made no sense that a Cyclops would have a harpy girlfriend, much less one with a photographic memory who had somehow become our only link to books of prophecy that had burned up centuries before.

Very little of our situation made sense, but I was a former Olympian. I was used to incoherency.

‘Thanks, Grover.’ Meg gave the satyr a hug and kissed him on the cheek, which was certainly more gratitude than she’d ever shown me.

‘You bet,’ Grover said. ‘Thank you, Meg. You …’ He gulped. ‘You’ve been a great friend. I liked talking plants with you.’

‘I was also there,’ I said.

Grover smiled sheepishly. He got to his feet and clicked together the chest straps of his backpack. ‘Sleep well, you guys. And good luck. I have a feeling I’ll see you again before … Yeah.’

Before I ascend into the heavens and regain my immortal throne?

Before we all die in some miserable fashion at the hands of the Triumvirate?

I wasn’t sure. But after Grover left I felt an empty place in my chest, as if the hole I’d poked with the Arrow of Dodona were growing deeper and wider. I unlaced the sandals of Caligula and tossed them away.

I slept miserably and had a miserable dream.

I lay at the bottom of a cold, dark river. Above me floated a woman in black silky robes – the goddess Styx, the living incarnation of the infernal waters.

‘More broken promises,’ she hissed.

A sob built in my throat. I did not need the reminder.

‘Jason Grace is dead,’ she continued. ‘And the young pandos.’

Crest! I wanted to scream. He had a name!

‘Do you begin to feel the folly of your rash vow upon my waters?’ asked Styx. ‘There will be more deaths. My wrath will spare no one close to you until amends are made. Enjoy your time as a mortal, Apollo!’

Water began filling my lungs, as if my body had just now remembered it needed oxygen.

I woke up gasping.

Dawn was breaking over the desert. I was hugging my ukulele so tightly it had left gouge marks on my forearms and bruised my chest. Meg’s sleeping bag was empty, but before I could look for her, she scrambled down the hill towards me – a strange, excited light in her eyes.

‘Apollo, get up,’ she said. ‘You need to see this!’





46


Second prize: road trip

With Bon Jovi on cassette

First prize: please, don’t ask





The McCaffrey mansion had been reborn.

Or rather, regrown.

Overnight, desert hardwoods had sprouted and grown at incredible speed, forming the beams and floors of a multilevel stilt house much like the old one. Heavy vines had emerged from the stone ruins, weaving together the walls and ceilings, leaving room for windows and skylights shaded by awnings made of wisteria.

The biggest difference in the new house: the great room had been built in a horseshoe shape around the Cistern, leaving the ash grove open to the sky.

‘We hope you like it,’ said Aloe Vera, taking us on a tour. ‘We all got together and decided it was the least we could do.’

The interior was cool and comfortable, with fountains and running water in every room provided by living root pipes from subterranean springs. Blooming cacti and Joshua trees decorated the spaces. Massive branches had shaped themselves into furniture. Even Dr McCaffrey’s old work desk had been lovingly recreated.

Meg sniffled, blinking furiously.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Aloe Vera. ‘I hope you’re not allergic to the house!’

‘No, this place is amazing.’ Meg threw herself into Aloe’s arms, ignoring the dryad’s many pointy bits.

‘Wow,’ I said. (Meg’s poetry must have been rubbing off on me.) ‘How many nature spirits did it take to accomplish this?’

Aloe shrugged modestly. ‘Every dryad in the Mojave Desert wanted to help. You saved us all! And you restored the Meliai.’ She gave Meg a gooey kiss on the cheek. ‘Your father would be so proud. You have completed his work.’

Meg blinked back tears. ‘I just wish …’

She didn’t need to finish. We all knew how many lives had not been saved.

‘Will you stay?’ Aloe asked. ‘Aeithales is your home.’

Meg gazed across the desert vista. I was terrified she would say yes. Her final command to me would be to continue my quests by myself, and this time she would mean it. Why shouldn’t she? She had found her home. She had friends here, including seven very powerful dryads who would hail her and bring her enchiladas every morning. She could become the protector of Southern California, far from Nero’s grasp. She might find peace.