The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus #5)(36)

‘S-sorry, Coach.’ Nico blinked, trying to get his bearings. ‘What’s going on?’

He didn’t see any immediate threat. They were camped on a sunny lawn in the middle of a public square. Beds of orange marigolds bloomed all around them. Reyna was sleeping curled up, with her two metal dogs at her feet. A stone’s throw away, little kids played tag around a white marble fountain. At a nearby pavement café, half a dozen people sipped coffee in the shade of patio umbrellas. A few delivery vans were parked along the edges of the square, but there was no traffic. The only pedestrians were a few families, probably locals, enjoying a warm afternoon.

The square itself was paved with cobblestones, edged with white stucco buildings and lemon trees. In the centre stood the well-preserved shell of a Roman temple. Its square base stretched maybe fifty feet wide and ten feet tall, with an intact facade of Corinthian columns rising another twenty-five feet. And at the top of the colonnade …

Nico’s mouth went dry. ‘Oh, Styx.’

The Athena Parthenos lay sideways along the tops of the columns like a nightclub singer sprawled across a piano. Lengthwise, she fitted almost perfectly, but with Nike in her extended hand she was a bit too wide. She looked like she might topple forward at any moment.

‘What is she doing up there?’ Nico asked.

‘You tell me.’ Hedge rubbed his bruised nose. ‘That’s where we appeared. Almost fell to our deaths, but luckily I’ve got nimble hooves. You were unconscious, hanging in your harness like a tangled paratrooper until we managed to get you down.’

Nico tried to picture that, then decided he’d rather not. ‘Is this Spain?’

‘Portugal,’ Hedge said. ‘You overshot. By the way, Reyna speaks Spanish; she does not speak Portuguese. Anyway, while you were asleep, we figured out this city is Évora. Good news: it’s a sleepy little place. Nobody’s bothered us. Nobody seems to notice the giant Athena sleeping on top of the Roman temple, which is called the Temple of Diana, in case you were wondering. And people here appreciate my street performances! I’ve made about sixteen euros.’

He picked up his baseball cap, which jangled with coins.

Nico felt ill. ‘Street performances?’

‘A little singing,’ the coach said. ‘A little martial arts. Some interpretive dance.’

‘Wow.’

‘I know! The Portuguese have taste. Anyway, I supposed this was a decent place to lie low for a couple of days.’

Nico stared at him. ‘A couple of days?’

‘Hey, kid, we didn’t have much choice. In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been working yourself to death with all that shadow-jumping. We tried to wake you up last night. No dice.’

‘So I’ve been asleep for –’

‘About thirty-six hours. You needed it.’

Nico was glad he was sitting down. Otherwise he would’ve fallen down. He could’ve sworn he’d only slept a few minutes, but as his drowsiness faded he realized he felt more clear-headed and rested than he had in weeks, maybe since before he went looking for the Doors of Death.

His stomach growled. Coach Hedge raised his eyebrows.

‘You must be hungry,’ said the satyr. ‘Either that, or your stomach speaks hedgehog. That was quite a statement in hedgehog.’

‘Food would be good,’ Nico agreed. ‘But first, what’s the bad news … I mean, aside from the statue being sideways? You said we had trouble.’

‘Oh, right.’ The coach pointed to a gated archway at the corner of the square. Standing in the shadows was a glowing, vaguely human figure outlined in grey flames. The spirit’s features were indistinct, but it seemed to be beckoning to Nico.

‘Burning Man showed up a few minutes ago,’ said Coach Hedge. ‘He doesn’t get any closer. When I tried to go over there, he disappeared. Not sure if he’s a threat, but he seems to be asking for you.’

Nico assumed it was a trap. Most things were.

But Coach Hedge promised he could guard Reyna for a little longer and, on the off chance the spirit had something useful to say, Nico decided it was worth the risk.

He unsheathed his Stygian iron blade and approached the archway.

Normally ghosts didn’t scare him. (Assuming, of course, Gaia hadn’t encased them in shells of stone and turned them into killing machines. That had been a new one for him.)

After his experience with Minos, Nico realized that most spectres held only as much power as you allowed them to have. They pried into your mind, using fear or anger or longing to influence you. Nico had learned to shield himself. Sometimes he could even turn the tables and bend ghosts to his will.

As he approached the fiery grey apparition, he was fairly sure it was a garden-variety wraith – a lost soul who had died in pain. Shouldn’t be a problem.

Still, Nico took nothing for granted. He remembered Croatia all too well. He’d gone into that situation smug and confident, only to have his feet swept out from under him, literally and emotionally. First Jason Grace had grabbed him and flown him over a wall. Then the god Favonius had dissolved him into wind. And as for that arrogant thug, Cupid …

Nico clenched his sword. Sharing his secret crush hadn’t been the worst of it. Eventually he might have done that, in his own time, in his own way. But being forced to talk about Percy, being bullied and harassed and strong-armed simply for Cupid’s amusement …