The Burning Maze (The Trials of Apollo #3)(48)

You can imagine how difficult this was for me to say. The words simply had not been in the vocabulary of Apollo. I half hoped the collected dryads, satyrs and demigods would rush to reassure me that I was blameless. They did not.

I forged on. ‘Caligula’s goal has always been the same: to make himself a god. He saw his ancestors immortalized after their deaths: Julius, Augustus, even disgusting old Tiberius. But Caligula didn’t want to wait for death. He was the first Roman emperor who wanted to be a living god.’

Piper looked up from playing with the baby satyr. ‘Caligula kind of is a minor god now, right? You said he and the two other emperors have been around for thousands of years. So he got what he wanted.’

‘Partly,’ I agreed. ‘But being a minor anything isn’t enough for Caligula. He always dreamed of replacing one of the Olympians. He toyed with the idea of becoming the new Jupiter or Mars. In the end, he set his sights on being –’ I swallowed the sour taste from my mouth – ‘the new me.’

Coach Hedge scratched his goatee. (Hmm. If a goat wears a goatee, is it a man-tee?) ‘So, what? Caligula kills you, puts on a Hi, I’m Apollo! name tag, and walks into Olympus hoping nobody notices?’

‘It would be worse than killing me,’ I said. ‘He would consume my essence, along with the essence of Helios, to make himself the new sun god.’

Prickly Pear bristled. ‘The other Olympians would just allow this?’

‘The Olympians,’ I said bitterly, ‘allowed Zeus to strip me of my powers and toss me to earth. They’ve done half of Caligula’s job for him. They won’t interfere. As usual, they’ll expect heroes to set things right. If Caligula does become the new sun god, I will be gone. Permanently gone. That’s what Medea has been preparing for with the Burning Maze. It’s a giant cooking pot for sun-god soup.’

Meg wrinkled her nose. ‘Gross.’

For once, I was in total agreement with her.

Standing in the shadows, Joshua Tree crossed his arms. ‘So the fires of Helios – that’s what’s killing our land?’

I spread my hands. ‘Well, humans aren’t helping. But on top of the usual pollution and climate change, yes, the Burning Maze was the tipping point. Everything that’s left of the Titan Helios is now coursing through this section of the Labyrinth under Southern California, slowly turning the top side into a fiery wasteland.’

Agave touched the side of her scarred face. When she looked up at me, her stare was as pointed as her collar. ‘If Medea succeeds, will all the power go into Caligula? Will the maze stop burning and killing us?’

I had never considered cacti a particularly vicious life-form, but, as the other dryads studied me, I could imagine them tying me up with a ribbon and a large card that said FOR CALIGULA, FROM NATURE and dropping me on the emperor’s doorstep.

‘Guys, that won’t help,’ Grover said. ‘Caligula’s responsible for what’s happening to us right now. He doesn’t care about nature spirits. You really want to give him the full power of a sun god?’

The dryads muttered in reluctant agreement. I made a mental note to send Grover a nice card on Goat Appreciation Day.

‘So what do we do?’ asked Mellie. ‘I don’t want my son growing up in a burning wasteland.’

Meg took off her glasses. ‘We kill Caligula.’

It was jarring, hearing a twelve-year-old girl speak so matter-of-factly about assassination. Even more jarring, I was tempted to agree with her.

‘Meg,’ I said, ‘that may not be possible. You remember Commodus. He was the weakest of the three emperors, and the best we could do was force him out of Indianapolis. Caligula will be much more powerful, more deeply entrenched.’

‘Don’t care,’ she muttered. ‘He hurt my dad. He did … all this.’ She gestured around at the old cistern.

‘What do you mean all this?’ Joshua asked.

Meg shot a look at me as if to say, Your turn.

Once again, I explained what I had seen in Meg’s memories – Aeithales as it had once been, the legal and financial pressure Caligula must have used to shut down Phillip McCaffrey’s work, the way Meg and her father had been forced to flee just before the house was firebombed.

Joshua frowned. ‘I remember a saguaro named Hercules from the first greenhouse. One of the few who survived the house fire. Old, tough dryad, always in pain from his burns, but he kept clinging to life. He used to talk about a little girl who lived in the house. He said he was waiting for her to return.’ Joshua turned to Meg in amazement. ‘That was you?’

Meg brushed a tear from her cheek. ‘He didn’t make it?’

Josh shook his head. ‘He died a few years ago. I’m sorry.’

Agave took Meg’s hand. ‘Your father was a great hero,’ she said. ‘Clearly, he was doing his best to help plants.’

‘He was a … botanist,’ Meg said, pronouncing the word as if she’d just remembered it.

The dryads lowered their heads. Hedge and Grover removed their hats.

‘I wonder what your dad’s big project was,’ Piper said, ‘with those glowing seeds. What did Medea call you … a descendant of Plemnaeus?’

The dryads let out a collective gasp.

‘Plemnaeus?’ asked Reba. ‘The Plemnaeus? Even in Argentina, we know of him!’