The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus #5)(37)

Tendrils of darkness were now spreading out from his feet, killing all the weeds between the cobblestones. Nico tried to rein in his anger.

When he reached the ghost, he saw it wore a monk’s habit – sandals, woollen robes and a wooden cross around his neck. Grey flames swirled around him – burning his sleeves, blistering his face, turning his eyebrows to ashes. He seemed to be stuck in the moment of his immolation, like a black-and-white video on a permanent loop.

‘You were burned alive,’ Nico sensed. ‘Probably in the Middle Ages?’

The ghost’s face distorted in a silent scream of agony, but his eyes looked bored, even a little annoyed, as if the scream was just an automatic reflex he couldn’t control.

‘What do you want of me?’ Nico asked.

The ghost gestured for Nico to follow. It turned and walked through the open gateway. Nico glanced back at Coach Hedge. The satyr just made a shooing gesture like, Go. Do your Underworld thing.

Nico trailed the ghost through the streets of Évora.

They zigzagged through narrow cobblestone walkways, past courtyards with potted hibiscus trees and white stucco buildings with butterscotch trim and wrought-iron balconies. No one noticed the ghost, but the locals looked askance at Nico. A young girl with a fox terrier crossed the street to avoid him. Her dog growled, the hair on its back standing straight up like a dorsal fin.

The ghost led Nico to another public square, anchored at one end by a large square church with whitewashed walls and limestone arches. The ghost passed through the portico and disappeared inside.

Nico hesitated. He had nothing against churches, but this one radiated death. Inside would be tombs, or perhaps something less pleasant …

He ducked through the doorway. His eyes were drawn to a side chapel, lit from within by eerie golden light. Carved over the door was a Portuguese inscription. Nico didn’t speak the language, but he remembered his childhood Italian well enough to glean the general meaning: We, the bones that are here, await yours.

‘Cheery,’ he muttered.

He entered the chapel. At the far end stood an altar, where the fiery wraith knelt in prayer, but Nico was more interested in the room itself. The walls were constructed of bones and skulls – thousands upon thousands, cemented together. Columns of bones held up a vaulted ceiling decorated with images of death. On one wall, like coats on a coat rack, hung the desiccated, skeletal remains of two people – an adult and a small child.

‘A beautiful room, isn’t it?’

Nico turned. A year ago, he would’ve jumped out of his skin if his father suddenly appeared next to him. Now, Nico was able to control his heart rate, along with his desire to knee his father in the groin and run away.

Like the wraith, Hades was dressed in the habit of a Franciscan monk, which Nico found vaguely disturbing. His black robes were tied at the waist with a simple white cord. His cowl was pushed back, revealing dark hair shorn close to the scalp and eyes that glittered like frozen tar. The god’s expression was calm and content, as if he’d just come home from a lovely evening strolling through the Fields of Punishment, enjoying the screams of the damned.

‘Getting some redecorating ideas?’ Nico asked. ‘Maybe you could do your dining room in mediaeval monk skulls.’

Hades arched an eyebrow. ‘I can never tell when you’re joking.’

‘Why are you here, Father? How are you here?’

Hades traced his fingers along the nearest column, leaving bleached white marks on the old bones. ‘You’re a hard mortal to find, my son. For several days I’ve been searching. When the sceptre of Diocletian exploded … well, that got my attention.’

Nico felt a flush of shame. Then he felt angry for feeling ashamed. ‘Breaking the sceptre wasn’t my fault. We were about to be overrun –’

‘Oh, the sceptre isn’t important. A relic that old, I’m surprised you got two uses out of it. The explosion simply gave me some clarity. It allowed me to pinpoint your location. I was hoping to speak to you in Pompeii, but it is so … well, Roman. This chapel was the first place where my presence was strong enough that I could appear to you as myself – by which I mean Hades, god of the dead, not split with that other manifestation.’

Hades breathed in the stale dank air. ‘I am very drawn to this place. The remains of five thousand monks were used to build the Chapel of Bones. It serves as a reminder that life is short and death is eternal. I feel focused here. Even so, I only have a few moments.’

Story of our relationship, Nico thought. You only ever have a few moments.

‘So tell me, Father. What do you want?’

Hades clasped his hands together in the sleeves of his robe. ‘Can you entertain the notion that I might be here to help you, not simply because I want something?’

Nico almost laughed, but his chest felt too hollow. ‘I can entertain the notion that you might be here for multiple reasons.’

The god frowned. ‘I suppose that’s fair enough. You seek information about Gaia’s hunter. His name is Orion.’

Nico hesitated. He wasn’t used to getting a direct answer, without games or riddles or quests. ‘Orion. Like the constellation. Wasn’t he … a friend of Artemis?’

‘He was,’ Hades said. ‘A giant born to oppose the twins, Apollo and Artemis, but, much like Artemis, Orion rejected his destiny. He sought to live on his own terms. First he tried to live among mortals as a huntsman for the king of Khios. He, ah, ran into some trouble with the king’s daughter. The king had Orion blinded and exiled.’