The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(62)

“No need,” Reyna said, studying Rachel Dare. “Do you bring weapons?”

Rachel shrugged. “I hit Kronos in the eye with this hairbrush once. Otherwise, no.”

The Romans didn’t seem to know what to make of that. The mortal didn’t sound like she was kidding.

“And your friend?” Reyna nodded to the satyr. “I thought you were coming alone.”

“This is Grover Underwood,” Rachel said. “He’s a leader of the Council.”

“What council?” Octavian demanded.

“Cloven Elders, man.” Grover’s voice was high and reedy, as if he were terrified, but Jason suspected the satyr had more steel than he let on. “Seriously, don’t you Romans have nature and trees and stuff? I’ve got some news you need to hear. Plus, I’m a card-carrying protector. I’m here to, you know, protect Rachel.”

Reyna looked like she was trying not to smile. “But no weapons?”

“Just the pipes.” Grover’s expression became wistful. “Percy always said my cover of ‘Born to be Wild’ should count as a dangerous weapon, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

Octavian sneered. “Another friend of Percy Jackson. That’s all I need to hear.”

Reyna held up her hand for silence. Her gold and silver dogs sniffed the air, but they remained calm and attentive at her side.

“So far, our guests speak the truth,” Reyna said. “Be warned, Rachel and Grover, if you start to lie, this conversation will not go well for you. Say what you came to say.”

From her jeans pocket, Rachel dug out a piece of paper like a napkin. “A message. From Annabeth.”

Jason wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Annabeth was in Tartarus. She couldn’t send anyone a note on a napkin.

Maybe I’ve hit the water and died, his subconscious said. This isn’t a real vision. It’s some sort of after-death hallucination.

But the dream seemed very real. He could feel the wind sweeping across the roof. He could smell the storm. Lightning flickered over the Empire State Building, making the Romans’ armor flash.

Reyna took the note. As she read it, her eyebrows crept higher. Her mouth parted in shock. Finally, she looked up at Rachel. “Is this a joke?”

“I wish,” Rachel said. “They’re really in Tartarus.”

“But how—”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “The note appeared in the sacrificial fire at our dining pavilion. That’s Annabeth’s handwriting. She asks for you by name.”

Octavian stirred. “Tartarus? What do you mean?”

Reyna handed him the letter.

Octavian muttered as he read: “Rome, Arachne, Athena—Athena Parthenos?” He looked around in outrage, as if waiting for someone to contradict what he was reading. “A Greek trick! Greeks are infamous for their tricks!”

Reyna took back the note. “Why ask this of me?”

Rachel smiled. “Because Annabeth is wise. She believes you can do this, Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano.”

Jason felt like he’d been slapped. Nobody ever used Reyna’s full name. She hated telling anyone what it was. The only time Jason had ever said it aloud, just trying to pronounce it correctly, she’d given him a murderous look. That was the name of a little girl in San Juan, she told him. I left it behind when I left Puerto Rico.

Reyna scowled. “How did you—”

“Uh,” Grover Underwood interrupted. “You mean your initials are RA-RA?”

Reyna’s hand drifted toward her dagger.

“But that’s not important!” the satyr said quickly. “Look, we wouldn’t have risked coming here if we didn’t trust Annabeth’s instincts. A Roman leader returning the most important Greek statue to Camp Half-Blood—she knows that could prevent a war.”

“This isn’t a trick,” Rachel added. “We’re not lying. Ask your dogs.”

The metallic greyhounds didn’t react. Reyna stroked Aurum’s head thoughtfully. “The Athena Parthenos…so the legend is true.”

“Reyna!” Octavian cried. “You can’t seriously be considering this! Even if the statue still exists, you see what they’re doing. We’re on the verge of attacking them—destroying the stupid Greeks once and for all—and they concoct this stupid errand to divert your attention. They want to send you to your death!”

The other Romans muttered, glaring at their visitors. Jason remembered how persuasive Octavian could be, and he was winning the officers to his side.

Rachel Dare faced the augur. “Octavian, son of Apollo, you should take this more seriously. Even Romans respected your father’s Oracle of Delphi.”

“Ha!” Octavian said. “You’re the Oracle of Delphi? Right. And I’m the Emperor Nero!”

“At least Nero could play music,” Grover muttered.

Octavian balled his fists.

Suddenly the wind shifted. It swirled around the Romans with a hissing sound, like a nest of snakes. Rachel Dare glowed in a green aura, as if hit by a soft emerald spotlight. Then the wind faded and the aura was gone.

The sneer melted from Octavian’s face. The Romans rustled uneasily.

“It’s your decision,” Rachel said, as if nothing had happened. “I have no specific prophecy to offer you, but I can see glimpses of the future. I see the Athena Parthenos on Half-Blood Hill. I see her bringing it.” She pointed at Reyna. “Also, Ella has been murmuring lines from your Sibylline Books—”