The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(135)

“Seven minutes now,” Pasiphaë lamented. “If only we had more time! So many indignities I’d like you to suffer.”

That was it, Hazel realized. She had to run the gauntlet. She had to make the maze more dangerous, more spectacular—make Pasiphaë focus on the traps rather than the direction the Labyrinth was leading.

“Leo, we’re going to jump,” Hazel said.

“But—”

“It’s not as far as it looks. Go!” She grabbed his hand and they launched themselves across the pit. When they landed, Hazel looked back and saw no pit at all—just a three-inch crack in the floor.

“Come on!” she urged.

They ran as the voice of Pasiphaë droned on. “Oh, dear, no. You’ll never survive that way. Six minutes.”

The ceiling above them cracked apart. Gale the weasel squeaked in alarm, but Hazel imagined a new tunnel leading off to the left—a tunnel even more dangerous, going the wrong direction. The Mist softened under her will. The tunnel appeared, and they dashed to one side.

Pasiphaë sighed with disappointment. “You really aren’t very good at this, my dear.”

But Hazel felt a spark of hope. She’d created a tunnel. She’d driven a small wedge into the magic fabric of the Labyrinth.

The floor collapsed under them. Hazel jumped to one side, dragging Leo with her. She imagined another tunnel, veering back the way they’d come, but full of poisonous gas. The maze obliged.

“Leo, hold your breath,” she warned.

They plunged through the toxic fog. Hazel’s eyes felt like they were being rinsed in pepper juice, but she kept running.

“Five minutes,” Pasiphaë said. “Alas! If only I could watch you suffer longer.”

They burst into a corridor with fresh air. Leo coughed. “If only she would shut up.”

They ducked under a bronze garrote wire. Hazel imagined the tunnel curving back toward Pasiphaë, ever so slightly. The Mist bent to her will.

The walls of the tunnel began to close in on either side. Hazel didn’t try to stop them. She made them close faster, shaking the floor and cracking the ceiling. She and Leo ran for their lives, following the curve as it brought them closer to what she hoped was the center of the room.

“A pity,” said Pasiphaë. “I wish I could kill you and your friends in the elevator, but Gaea has insisted that two of you must be kept alive until the Feast of Hope, when your blood will be put to good use! Ah, well. I will have to find other victims for my Labyrinth. You two have been second-rate failures.”

Hazel and Leo stumbled to a stop. In front of them stretched a chasm so wide, Hazel couldn’t see the other side. From somewhere below in the darkness came the sound of hissing—thousands and thousands of snakes.

Hazel was tempted to retreat, but the tunnel was closing behind them, leaving them stranded on a tiny ledge. Gale the weasel paced across Hazel’s shoulders and farted with anxiety.

“Okay, okay,” Leo muttered. “The walls are moving parts. They gotta be mechanical. Give me a second.”

“No, Leo,” Hazel said. “There’s no way back.”

“But—”

“Hold my hand,” she said. “On three.”

“But—”

“Three!”

“What?”

Hazel leaped into the pit, pulling Leo with her. She tried to ignore his screaming and the flatulent weasel clinging to her neck. She bent all her will into redirecting the magic of the Labyrinth.

Pasiphaë laughed with delight, knowing that any moment they would be crushed or bitten to death in a pit of snakes.

Instead, Hazel imagined a chute in the darkness, just to their left. She twisted in midair and fell toward it. She and Leo hit the chute hard and slid into the cavern, landing right on top of Pasiphaë.

“Ack!” The sorceress’s head smacked against the floor as Leo sat down hard on her chest.

For a moment, the three of them and the weasel were a pile of sprawling bodies and flailing limbs. Hazel tried to draw her sword, but Pasiphaë managed to extricate herself first. The sorceress backed away, her hairdo bent sideways like a collapsed cake. Her dress was smeared with grease stains from Leo’s tool belt.

“You miserable wretches!” she howled.

The maze was gone. A few feet away, Clytius stood with his back to them, watching the Doors of Death. By Hazel’s calculation, they had about thirty seconds until their friends arrived. Hazel felt exhausted from her run through the maze while controlling the Mist, but she needed to pull off one more trick.

She had successfully made Pasiphaë see what she most desired. Now Hazel had to make the sorceress see what she most feared.

“You must really hate demigods,” Hazel said, trying to mimic Pasiphaë’s cruel smile. “We always get the best of you, don’t we, Pasiphaë?”

“Nonsense!” screamed Pasiphaë. “I will tear you apart! I will—”

“We’re always pulling the rug out from under your feet,” Hazel sympathized. “Your husband betrayed you. Theseus killed the Minotaur and stole your daughter Ariadne. Now two second-rate failures have turned your own maze against you. But you knew it would come to this, didn’t you? You always fall in the end.”

“I am immortal!” Pasiphaë wailed. She took a step back, fingering her necklace. “You cannot stand against me!”