The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus Book 4) (13 page)

L
ATER, SHE MADE A RESOLUTION:
never
EVER
sleep in Tartarus.

Demigod dreams were always bad. Even in the safety of her bunk at camp, she’d had horrible nightmares. In Tartarus, they were a thousand times more vivid.

First, she was a little girl again, struggling to climb Half-Blood Hill. Luke Castellan held her hand, pulling her along. Their satyr guide Grover Underwood pranced nervously at the summit, yelling, ‘Hurry! Hurry!’

Thalia Grace stood behind them, holding back an army of hellhounds with her terror-invoking shield,
Aegis
.

From the top of the hill, Annabeth could see the camp in the valley below – the warm lights of the cabins, the possibility of sanctuary. She stumbled, twisting her ankle, and Luke scooped her up to carry her. When they looked back, the monsters were only a few yards away – dozens of them surrounding Thalia.

‘Go!’ Thalia yelled. ‘I’ll hold them off.’

She brandished her spear, and forked lightning slashed through the monsters’ ranks, but as the hellhounds fell more took their place.

‘We have to run!’ Grover cried.

He led the way into camp. Luke followed, with Annabeth crying, beating at his chest and screaming that they couldn’t leave Thalia alone. But it was too late.

The scene shifted.

Annabeth was older, climbing to the summit of Half-Blood Hill. Where Thalia had made her last stand, a tall pine tree now rose. Overhead a storm was raging.

Thunder shook the valley. A blast of lightning split the tree down to its roots, opening a smoking crevice. In the darkness below stood Reyna, the praetor of New Rome. Her cloak was the colour of blood fresh from a vein. Her gold armour glinted. She stared up, her face regal and distant, and spoke directly into Annabeth’s mind.

You have done well
, Reyna said, but the voice was Athena’s.
The rest of my journey must be on the wings of Rome.

The praetor’s dark eyes turned as grey as storm clouds.

I must stand here
, Reyna told her.
The Roman must bring me.

The hill shook. The ground rippled as the grass became folds of silk – the dress of a massive goddess. Gaia rose over Camp Half-Blood – her sleeping face as large as a mountain.

Hellhounds poured over the hills. Giants, six-armed
Earthborn
and wild Cyclopes charged from the beach, tearing down the dining pavilion, setting fire to the cabins and the Big House.

Hurry
, said the voice of Athena.
The message must be sent.

The ground split at Annabeth’s feet and she fell into darkness.

Her eyes flew open. She cried out, grasping Percy’s arms. She was still in Tartarus, at the shrine of
Hermes
.

‘It’s okay,’ Percy promised. ‘Bad dreams?’

Her body tingled with dread. ‘Is it – is it my turn to watch?’

‘No, no. We’re good. I let you sleep.’

‘Percy!’

‘Hey, it’s fine. Besides, I was too excited to sleep. Look.’

Bob the Titan sat cross-legged by the altar, happily munching a piece of pizza.

Annabeth rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was still dreaming. ‘Is that … pepperoni?’

‘Burnt offerings,’ Percy said. ‘Sacrifices to Hermes from the mortal world, I guess. They appeared in a cloud of smoke. We’ve got half a hot dog, some grapes, a plate of roast beef and a package of peanut M&M’s.’

‘M&M’s for Bob!’ Bob said happily. ‘Uh, that okay?’

Annabeth didn’t protest. Percy brought her the plate of roast beef, and she wolfed it down. She’d never tasted anything so good. The brisket was still hot, with exactly the same spicy sweet glaze as the barbecue at Camp Half-Blood.

‘I know,’ said Percy, reading her expression. ‘I think it
is
from Camp Half-Blood.’

The idea made Annabeth giddy with homesickness. At every meal, the campers would burn a portion of their food to honour their godly parents. The smoke supposedly pleased the gods, but Annabeth had never thought about where the food
went when it was burned. Maybe the offerings reappeared on the gods’ altars in Olympus … or even here in the middle of Tartarus.

‘Peanut M&M’s,’ Annabeth said. ‘Connor Stoll always burned a pack for his dad at dinner.’

She thought about sitting in the dining pavilion, watching the sunset over Long Island Sound. That was the first place she and Percy had truly kissed. Her eyes smarted.

Percy put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Hey, this is
good
. Actual food from home, right?’

She nodded. They finished eating in silence.

Bob chomped down the last of his M&M’s. ‘Should go now. They will be here in a few minutes.’

‘A few
minutes
?’ Annabeth reached for her dagger, then remembered she didn’t have it.

‘Yes … well, I
think
minutes …’ Bob scratched his silvery hair. ‘Time is hard in Tartarus. Not the same.’

Percy crept to the edge of the crater. He peered back the way they’d come. ‘I don’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean much. Bob, which giants are we talking about? Which Titans?’

Bob grunted. ‘Not sure of names. Six, maybe seven. I can sense them.’

‘
Six or seven?
’ Annabeth wasn’t sure her barbecue would stay down. ‘And can they sense
you
?’

‘Don’t know.’ Bob smiled. ‘Bob is different! But they can smell demigods, yes. You two smell very strong. Good strong. Like … hmm. Like buttery bread!’

‘Buttery bread,’ Annabeth said. ‘Well, that’s great.’

Percy climbed back to the altar. ‘Is it possible to kill a giant in Tartarus? I mean, since we don’t have a god to help us?’

He looked at Annabeth as if she actually had an answer.

‘Percy, I don’t know. Travelling in Tartarus, fighting monsters here … it’s never been done before. Maybe Bob could help us kill a giant? Maybe a Titan would count as a god? I just don’t know.’

‘Yeah,’ Percy said. ‘Okay.’

She could see the worry in his eyes. For years, he’d depended on her for answers. Now, when he needed her most, she couldn’t help. She hated being so clueless, but nothing she’d ever learned at camp had prepared her for Tartarus. There was only one thing she was sure of: they had to keep moving. They couldn’t be caught by six or seven hostile immortals.

She stood, still disoriented from her nightmares. Bob started cleaning up, collecting their trash in a little pile, using his squirt bottle to wipe off the altar.

‘Where to now?’ Annabeth asked.

Percy pointed at the stormy wall of darkness. ‘Bob says that way. Apparently the Doors of Death –’

‘You
told
him?’ Annabeth didn’t mean it to come out so harsh, but Percy winced.

‘While you were asleep,’ he admitted. ‘Annabeth, Bob can help. We need a guide.’

‘Bob helps!’ Bob agreed. ‘Into the Dark Lands. The Doors of Death … hmm, walking straight to them would be bad. Too many monsters gathered there. Even Bob could not sweep that many. They would kill Percy and Annabeth in about two
seconds.’ The Titan frowned. ‘I
think
seconds. Time is hard in Tartarus.’

‘Right,’ Annabeth grumbled. ‘So is there another way?’

‘Hiding,’ said Bob. ‘The Death Mist could hide you.’

‘Oh …’ Annabeth suddenly felt very small in the shadow of the Titan. ‘Uh, what is Death Mist?’

‘It is dangerous,’ Bob said. ‘But if the lady will give you Death Mist it might hide you. If we can avoid Night. The lady is
very
close to Night. That is bad.’

‘The lady,’ Percy repeated.

‘Yes.’ Bob pointed ahead of them into the inky blackness. ‘We should go.’

Percy glanced at Annabeth, obviously hoping for guidance, but she had none. She was thinking about her nightmare – Thalia’s tree splintered by lightning, Gaia rising on the hillside and unleashing her monsters on Camp Half-Blood.

‘Okay, then,’ Percy said. ‘I guess we’ll see a lady about some Death Mist.’

‘Wait,’ Annabeth said.

Her mind was buzzing. She thought of her dream about Luke and Thalia. She recalled the stories Luke had told her about his father, Hermes – god of travellers, guide to the spirits of the dead, god of communication.

She stared at the black altar.

‘Annabeth?’ Percy sounded concerned.

She walked to the pile of trash and picked out a reasonably clean paper napkin.

She remembered her vision of Reyna, standing in the
smoking crevice beneath the ruins of Thalia’s pine tree, speaking with the voice of Athena:

I must stand here. The Roman must bring me.

Hurry. The message must be sent.

‘Bob,’ she said, ‘offerings burned in the mortal world appear on this altar, right?’

Bob frowned uncomfortably, like he wasn’t ready for a pop quiz. ‘Yes?’

‘So what happens if I burn something on the altar here?’

‘Uh …’

‘That’s all right,’ Annabeth said. ‘You don’t know. Nobody knows, because it’s never been done.’

There was a chance, she thought, just the slimmest chance that an offering burned on this altar might appear at Camp Half-Blood.

Doubtful, but if it
did
work …

‘Annabeth?’ Percy said again. ‘You’re planning something. You’ve got that
I’m planning something
look.’

‘I don’t have an
I’m planning something
look.’

‘Yeah, you totally do. Your eyebrows knit and your lips press together and –’

‘Do you have a pen?’ she asked him.

‘You’re kidding, right?’ He brought out
Riptide
.

‘Yes, but can you actually write with it?’

‘I – I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘Never tried.’

He uncapped the pen. As usual, it sprang into a full-sized sword. Annabeth had watched him do this hundreds of times. Normally when he fought, Percy simply discarded the cap. It always appeared in his pocket later, as needed. When he
touched the cap to the point of the sword, it would turn back into a ballpoint pen.

‘What if you touch the cap to the other end of the sword?’ Annabeth said. ‘Like where you’d put the cap if you were actually going to write with the pen.’

‘Uh …’ Percy looked doubtful, but he touched the cap to the hilt of the sword. Riptide shrank back into a ballpoint pen, but now the writing point was exposed.

‘May I?’ Annabeth plucked it from his hand. She flattened the napkin against the altar and began to write. Riptide’s ink glowed Celestial bronze.

‘What are you doing?’ Percy asked.

‘Sending a message,’ Annabeth said. ‘I just hope Rachel gets it.’

‘Rachel?’ Percy asked. ‘You mean
our
Rachel? Oracle of Delphi Rachel?’

‘That’s the one.’ Annabeth suppressed a smile.

Whenever she brought up Rachel’s name, Percy got nervous. At one point, Rachel had been interested in dating Percy. That was ancient history. Rachel and Annabeth were good friends now. But Annabeth didn’t mind making Percy a little uneasy. You had to keep your boyfriend on his toes.

Annabeth finished her note and folded the napkin. On the outside, she wrote:

Connor,

Give this to Rachel. Not a prank. Don’t be a moron.

 

Love,
Annabeth

 

She took a deep breath. She was asking Rachel Dare to do something ridiculously dangerous, but it was the only way she could think of to communicate with the Romans – the only way that might avoid bloodshed.

‘Now I just need to burn it,’ she said. ‘Anybody got a match?’

The point of Bob’s spear shot from his broom handle. It sparked against the altar and erupted in silvery fire.

‘Uh, thanks.’ Annabeth lit the napkin and set it on the altar. She watched it crumble to ash and wondered if she was crazy. Could the smoke really make it out of Tartarus?

‘We should go now,’ Bob advised. ‘Really, really go. Before we are killed.’

Annabeth stared at the wall of blackness in front of them. Somewhere in there was a lady who dispensed a Death Mist that
might
hide them from monsters – a plan recommended by a Titan, one of their bitterest enemies. Another dose of weirdness to explode her brain.

‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m ready.’

A
NNABETH LITERALLY STUMBLED
over the second Titan.

After entering the storm front, they plodded on for what seemed like hours, relying on the light of Percy’s Celestial bronze blade, and on Bob, who glowed faintly in the dark like some sort of crazy janitor angel.

Annabeth could only see about five feet in front of her. In a strange way, the Dark Lands reminded her of San Francisco, where her dad lived – on those summer afternoons when the fog bank rolled in like cold, wet packing material and swallowed Pacific Heights. Except here in Tartarus, the fog was made of ink.

Rocks loomed out of nowhere. Pits appeared at their feet, and Annabeth barely avoided falling in. Monstrous roars echoed in the gloom, but Annabeth couldn’t tell where they came from. All she could be certain of was that the terrain was still sloping down.

Down
seemed to be the only direction allowed in Tartarus. If Annabeth backtracked even a step, she felt tired and heavy,
as if gravity were increasing to discourage her. Assuming that the entire pit
was
the body of Tartarus, Annabeth had a nasty feeling they were marching straight down his throat.

She was so preoccupied with that thought she didn’t notice the ledge until it was too late.

Percy yelled, ‘Whoa!’ He grabbed for her arm, but she was already falling.

Fortunately, it was only a shallow depression. Most of it was filled with a monster blister. She had a soft landing on a warm bouncy surface and was feeling lucky – until she opened her eyes and found herself staring through a glowing gold membrane at another, much larger face.

She screamed and flailed, toppling sideways off the mound. Her heart did a hundred jumping jacks.

Percy helped her to her feet. ‘You okay?’

She didn’t trust herself to answer. If she opened her mouth, she might scream again, and that would be undignified. She was a daughter of Athena, not some shrill girlie victim in a horror movie.

But gods of Olympus … Curled in the membrane bubble in front of her was a fully formed Titan in golden armour, his skin the colour of polished pennies. His eyes were closed, but he scowled so deeply he appeared to be on the verge of a bloodcurdling war cry. Even through the blister, Annabeth could feel the heat radiating from his body.

‘
Hyperion
,’ Percy said. ‘I hate that guy.’

Annabeth’s shoulder suddenly ached from an old wound. During the Battle of Manhattan, Percy had fought this Titan
at the Reservoir – water against fire. It had been the first time Percy had summoned a hurricane – which wasn’t something Annabeth would ever forget. ‘I thought Grover turned this guy into a maple tree.’

‘Yeah,’ Percy agreed. ‘Maybe the maple tree died, and he wound up back here?’

Annabeth remembered how Hyperion had summoned fiery explosions and how many satyrs and
nymphs
he’d destroyed before Percy and Grover stopped him.

She was about to suggest that they burst Hyperion’s bubble before he woke up. He looked ready to pop out at any moment and start charbroiling everything in his path.

Then she glanced at Bob. The silvery Titan was studying Hyperion with a frown of concentration – maybe recognition. Their faces looked so much alike …

Annabeth bit back a curse. Of course they looked alike. Hyperion was his
brother
. Hyperion was the Titan lord of the east. Iapetus, Bob, was the lord of the west. Take away Bob’s broom and his janitor’s clothes, put him in armour and cut his hair, change his colour scheme from silver to gold, and Iapetus would have been almost indistinguishable from Hyperion.

‘Bob,’ she said, ‘we should go.’

‘Gold, not silver,’ Bob murmured. ‘But he looks like me.’

‘Bob,’ Percy said. ‘Hey, buddy, over here.’

The Titan reluctantly turned.

‘Am I your friend?’ Percy asked.

‘Yes.’ Bob sounded dangerously uncertain. ‘We are friends.’

‘You know that some monsters are good,’ Percy said. ‘And some are bad.’

‘Hmm,’ Bob said. ‘Like … the pretty ghost ladies who serve Persephone are good. Exploding zombies are bad.’

‘Right,’ Percy said. ‘And some mortals are good, and some are bad. Well, the same thing is true for Titans.’

‘Titans …’ Bob loomed over them, glowering. Annabeth was pretty sure her boyfriend had just made a big mistake.

‘That’s what you are,’ Percy said calmly. ‘Bob the Titan. You’re good. You’re awesome, in fact. But some Titans are not. This guy here, Hyperion, is full-on bad. He tried to kill me … tried to kill a lot of people.’

Bob blinked his silver eyes. ‘But he looks … his face is so –’

‘He looks like you,’ Percy agreed. ‘He’s a Titan, like you. But he’s not good like you are.’

‘Bob is good.’ His fingers tightened on his broom handle. ‘Yes. There is always at least one good one – monsters, Titans, giants.’

‘Uh …’ Percy grimaced. ‘Well, I’m not sure about the giants.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Bob nodded earnestly.

Annabeth sensed they’d already been in this place too long. Their pursuers would be closing in.

‘We should go,’ she urged. ‘What do we do about …?’

‘Bob,’ Percy said, ‘it’s your call. Hyperion is your kind. We could leave him alone, but if he wakes up –’

Bob’s broom-spear swept into motion. If he’d been aiming at Annabeth or Percy, they would’ve been cut in half. Instead,
Bob slashed through the monstrous blister, which burst in a geyser of hot golden mud.

Annabeth wiped the Titan sludge out of her eyes. Where Hyperion had been, there was nothing but a smoking crater.

‘Hyperion is a bad Titan,’ Bob announced, his expression grim. ‘Now he can’t hurt my friends. He will have to re-form somewhere else in Tartarus. Hopefully it will take a long time.’

The Titan’s eyes seemed brighter than usual, as if he were about to cry quicksilver.

‘Thank you, Bob,’ Percy said.

How was he keeping his cool? The way he talked to Bob left Annabeth awestruck … and maybe a little uneasy, too. If Percy had been serious about leaving the choice to Bob, then she didn’t like how much he trusted the Titan. If he’d been manipulating Bob into making that choice … well, then, Annabeth was stunned that Percy could be so calculating.

He met her eyes, but she couldn’t read his expression. That bothered her, too.

‘We’d better keep going,’ he said.

She and Percy followed Bob, the golden mud flecks from Hyperion’s burst bubble glowing on his janitor’s uniform.