The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(8)

“I’ll succeed,” Hazel promised. “And Hecate? I’m not choosing one of your paths. I’m making my own.”

The goddess arched her eyebrows. Her polecat writhed, and her dog snarled.

“We’re going to find a way to stop Gaea,” Hazel said. “We’re going to rescue our friends from Tartarus. We’re going keep the crew and the ship together, and we’re going to stop Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood from going to war. We’re going to do it all.”

The storm howled, the black walls of the funnel cloud swirling faster.

“Interesting,” Hecate said, as if Hazel were an unexpected result in a science experiment. “That would be magic worth seeing.”

A wave of darkness blotted out the world. When Hazel’s sight returned, the storm, the goddess, and her minions were gone. Hazel stood on the hillside in the morning sunlight, alone in the ruins except for Arion, who paced next to her, nickering impatiently.

“I agree,” Hazel told the horse. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What happened?” Leo asked as Hazel climbed aboard the Argo II.

Hazel’s hands still shook from her talk with the goddess. She glanced over the rail and saw the dust of Arion’s wake stretching across the hills of Italy. She had hoped her friend would stay, but couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from this place as fast as possible.

The countryside sparkled as the summer sun hit the morning dew. On the hill, the old ruins stood white and silent—no sign of ancient paths, or goddesses, or farting weasels.

“Hazel?” Nico asked.

Her knees buckled. Nico and Leo grabbed her arms and helped her to the steps of the foredeck. She felt embarrassed, collapsing like some fairy-tale damsel, but her energy was gone. The memory of those glowing scenes at the crossroads filled her with dread.

“I met Hecate,” she managed.

She didn’t tell them everything. She remembered what Nico had said: Their courage is already stretched to the limit. But she told them about the secret northern pass through the mountains, and the detour Hecate described that could take them to Epirus.

When she was done, Nico took her hand. His eyes were full of concern. “Hazel, you met Hecate at a crossroads. That’s…that’s something many demigods don’t survive. And the ones who do survive are never the same. Are you sure you’re—”

“I’m fine,” she insisted.

But she knew she wasn’t. She remembered how bold and angry she’d felt, telling the goddess she’d find her own path and succeed at everything. Now her boast seemed ridiculous. Her courage had abandoned her.

“What if Hecate is tricking us?” Leo asked. “This route could be a trap.”

Hazel shook her head. “If it was a trap, I think Hecate would’ve made the northern route sound tempting. Believe me, she didn’t.”

Leo pulled a calculator out of his tool belt and punched in some numbers. “That’s…something like three hundred miles out of our way to get to Venice. Then we’d have to backtrack down the Adriatic. And you said something about baloney dwarfs?”

“Dwarfs in Bologna,” Hazel said. “I guess Bologna is a city. But why we have to find dwarfs there…I have no idea. Some sort of treasure to help us with the quest.”

“Huh,” Leo said. “I mean, I’m all about treasure, but—”

“It’s our best option.” Nico helped Hazel to her feet. “We have to make up for lost time, travel as fast as we can. Percy’s and Annabeth’s lives might depend on it.”

“Fast?” Leo grinned. “I can do fast.”

He hurried to the console and started flipping switches.

Nico took Hazel’s arm and guided her out of earshot. “What else did Hecate say? Anything about—”

“I can’t.” Hazel cut him off. The images she’d seen had almost overwhelmed her: Percy and Annabeth helpless at the feet of those black metal doors, the dark giant looming over them, Hazel herself trapped in a glowing maze of light, unable to help.

You must defeat the witch, Hecate had said. You alone can defeat her. Unless you manage that…

The end, Hazel thought. All gateways closed. All hope extinguished.

Nico had warned her. He’d communed with the dead, heard them whispering hints about their future. Two children of the Underworld would enter the House of Hades. They would face an impossible foe. Only one of them would make it to the Doors of Death.

Hazel couldn’t meet her brother’s eyes.

“I’ll tell you later,” she promised, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “Right now, we should rest while we can. Tonight, we cross the Apennines.”

NINE DAYS.

As she fell, Annabeth thought about Hesiod, the old Greek poet who’d speculated it would take nine days to fall from earth to Tartarus.

She hoped Hesiod was wrong. She’d lost track of how long she and Percy had been falling—hours? A day? It felt like an eternity. They’d been holding hands ever since they dropped into the chasm. Now Percy pulled her close, hugging her tight as they tumbled through absolute darkness.

Wind whistled in Annabeth’s ears. The air grew hotter and damper, as if they were plummeting into the throat of a massive dragon. Her recently broken ankle throbbed, though she couldn’t tell if it was still wrapped in spiderwebs.