The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo, #5)

by Rick Riordan

faced an angry famine spirit at the World’s Largest Fork in Springfield, Missouri (I did not get a selfie),

My young companion had grown taller in the months that I’d known her, but she was still compact enough to prop her red high-tops comfortably on the seatback in front of her. Comfortable for her, I mean, not for me or the other passengers. Meg hadn’t changed her shoes since our run around the racetrack, and they looked and smelled like the back end of a horse.

She looked almost her age: a sixth grader entering the circle of hell known as puberty.

After six months in this miserable mortal body, I was approaching my endgame.

Besides, he’s just sitting there.” “He’s sitting there suspiciously!”

The Roman writer Pliny claimed that wearing a live baby amphisbaena around your neck could assure you a safe pregnancy. (Not helpful.)

Meg would probably scold me for overreacting. (I’m sorry, Meg, but those eyes were glowing, not gleaming.)

“The son of Hades, cavern-runners’ friend, Must show the secret way unto the throne. On Nero’s own your lives do now depend.”

I was saved from an awkward conversation, and the amphisbaena was saved from his wife killing him, when two crossbow bolts flew across the coach and killed him instead, pinning the poor snake’s necks against the back wall.

O son of Zeus the final challenge face. The tow’r of Nero two alone ascend. Dislodge the beast that hast usurped thy place.

I squirmed in my seat. Oh, why had I thought about the bathroom? I really needed to go now.

Mount Olympus, home of Zeus, aka Big Daddy Lightning Bolt.

SEEKEST THOU THE PLACE OF THE SEVEN-LAYER DIP. With that, the projectile fell silent. I groaned in misery. The arrow’s message was perfectly clear. Oh, for the yummy seven-layer dip of our hostess! Oh, for the comfort of that cozy apartment! But it wasn’t right. I couldn’t.… “What did it say?” Meg demanded. I tried to think of an alternative, but I was so tired I couldn’t even lie. “Fine,” I said. “We go to Percy Jackson’s place.”

“Hi!” Paul smiled at us. “This is Estelle.” Estelle giggled and drooled as if her own name was the funniest joke in the universe. She had Percy’s sea-green eyes and clearly, her mother’s good nature. She also had wisps of black and silver hair like Paul, which I had never seen on a baby. She would be the world’s first salt-and-pepper toddler. All in all, it seemed Estelle had inherited a good genetic package.

Paul seemed like a caring husband, a loving father, a kind stepfather. In my own experience, such a creature was harder to find than an albino unicorn or three-winged griffin. As for baby Estelle, her good nature and sense of wonder rose to the level of superpowers. If this child grew up to be as perceptive and charismatic as she appeared to be now, she would rule the world. I decided not to tell Zeus about her.

Darn you, Paul and Sally, and your cute baby, too! How could I repay them for providing me this temporary refuge? I felt like I owed them the same thing I owed Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood, the Waystation and the Cistern, Piper and Frank and Hazel and Leo and, yes, especially Jason Grace. I owed them everything. How could I not?

Sally Jackson sat down and smiled. “Well, this is nice.” Shockingly, she sounded sincere. “We don’t have guests often. Now, let’s eat, and you can tell us who or what is trying to kill you this time.”

When Sally looked at me and said, “You poor dear,” I almost lost it again. I wanted to cry on her shoulder. I wanted Paul to dress me in a yellow onesie and rock me until I fell asleep.

Outside, rain lashed the windows. Lightning boomed as if Zeus were warning me not to get too comfortable with these kindly surrogate parents.

“But now,” Sally said, sitting back again, “you’re more…human, I suppose.” There was that word again: human, which not long ago I would have considered a terrible insult. Now, every time I heard it, I thought of Jason Grace’s admonition: Remember what it’s like to be human.

“Listen here, small Lester—”

I wondered why warm rain was trickling into my eyes. Then I wiped it away, looked at my fingers, and realized, Nope, that’s not rain. Rain wasn’t usually bright red.

New York could not burn. Little Estelle Blofis had to grow up free to giggle and dominate the planet.

You know that meme with the honey bear and the caption honey, he gay? Yes, I created that. And in Ganymede’s case, it was hardly news.

“He’s stolen our eye!” cried Tempest. “We can’t see!” “I have not!” I yelped. “It’s disgusting!” Meg whooped with pleasure. “THIS. IS. SO. COOL!”

“He will crush our eye,” Anger cried, “if we don’t recite our verses!” “I will not!” “We will all die!” Wasp said. “He is crazy!” “I AM NOT!” “Fine, you win!” Tempest howled.

You know the type. You’re a god. Your little brother pesters Dad to make him a god, too, even though being a god is supposed to be your thing. You have a nice chariot pulled by fiery horses. Your little brother insists on getting his own chariot pulled by leopards. You lay waste to the Greek armies at Troy. Your little brother decides to invade India. Pretty typical stuff.

He said he had an emergency meeting with a cat and a severed head, whatever that means.”

Python was right that I couldn’t see the whole board. I didn’t understand the rules. I just wanted to sweep the pieces away and shout, I’m going home!

“William Andrew Solace,” Nico said, “do you have something to confess?”

But if you trust your friend Lululemon—” “Luguselwa,” Meg growled. “Whatever.

Malcolm paced the cabin, frowning at various wall maps and bookshelves. “I could do some research,” he offered. “We could come up with a solid intelligence dossier and a plan of attack.” “That—that would be amazing!” “It’ll take us about four weeks. Maybe three, if we push it. When do you have to leave?” I exited the cabin in tears.

GROVE, PERNICIOUS LESTER! THINKEST THOU I SHOULDST BE WELCOMED THERE, MY QUEST

The sunshine was pleasant without being too warm. (Yes, I used to be a sun god. Now I am a temperature wimp.)

Meg patted his leafy wings. “Maybe I’ve gotten stronger. But when I go back to the palace, will it be enough? Can I remember to be who I am now and not…who I was then?” I didn’t think she expected an answer. But it occurred to me that perhaps I should be asking myself the same question.

Change is a fragile thing. It requires time and distance.

This was a big deal for Argus, since he had a hundred sets of eyes all over his body. (I had not actually counted them, nor had I asked if he ever got black eyes on his posterior from sitting too long.)

Nico sighed. “I’m guessing that was a Star Wars reference. My boyfriend is a Star Wars geek of the worst kind.” “Okay, Signor Myth-o-magic. If you would just watch the original trilogy…” Will looked at the rest of us for support and found nothing but blank expressions. “Nobody? Oh, my gods. You people are hopeless.”

“But your art!” Meg said. Rachel’s expression tightened. “Art can be made again. People can’t. Keep moving!”

I shivered. “And we have a deadline. If we don’t surrender to Nero by tonight…” I made the explode-y hands gesture.

would have even summoned the Gray Sisters again, except I doubted their taxi would appear on a crane jib, and if it did, I suspected the sisters would instantly fall in love with Nico and Will because they were so cute together.

two was the best number for children, because after two, your children outnumbered you.

wrinkled his nose. “Fine.” He set down his pack and stripped off his linen overshirt, leaving just his tank top. I still had no idea what he was doing, though the girls didn’t seem to mind letting him do his thing.

I couldn’t hear the words, but from their facial expressions and hand gestures, I got the gist: Will: Worry, worry, worry. Nico: Calm down, probably won’t die. Will: Worry. Trogs. Dangerous. Yikes. Nico: Trogs good. Nice hats. Or something along those lines.

Rachel, looking relieved, announced that she, too, was overwhelmed with honor and would be happy to share her portion. I looked at Meg’s bowl, which was already empty. “Did you actually—?” “What?” Her expression was unreadable behind the netting of her beekeeper’s hat. “Nothing.”

attracted some strange looks from other pedestrians, which was fair since we were still dripping wet and smelled like a troglodyte’s armpit. Nevertheless, this being New York, most people ignored us.

“Elevator nine to your right,” he announced. I almost thanked him. Then I thought better of it.

One young man, who had obviously lost a bet, was massaging the emperor’s feet.

outside. Finally, as my fear and queasiness got the best of me, I discovered the joys of vomiting into a high-end toilet with a heated seat and multiple self-cleaning options.