The Dark Prophecy

“Maybe a few.” Thalia’s tone was carefully nonchalant. “But you’ve gotten to see more this week than most non-Hunters ever do. You should feel lucky.”

I stared down the alley, thinking of that first New York alley I’d fallen into as Lester Papadopoulos. So much had changed since then, yet I was no closer to being a god. In fact, the memory of being a god seemed more distant than ever. “Yes,” I grumbled. “Very lucky.”

“Come on.” Thalia offered me a hand. “Commodus won’t wait long before he launches a reprisal. Let’s get our elephant friend back to the Waystation.”

Belching stinky smoke

What gene pool did you come from?

Wait. What? (Insert scream)

AS IT TURNED OUT, getting an elephant into the Waystation was not as hard as I’d imagined.

I’d had visions of trying to cram Livia up a ladder chute, or renting a helicopter to drop her through the roof hatch into the griffin nests. But as soon as we arrived at the side of the building, bricks rumbled and rearranged themselves, creating a wide archway and a gentle downward ramp.

Livia tromped inside without hesitation. At the bottom of the corridor, we found a perfect elephant stable with high ceilings, ample stacks of hay, slatted windows to let in the sunlight, a stream wending through the middle of the room, and a big-screen television turned to Hephaestus-TV’s Elephant Channel, showing The Real Elephants of the African Veld. (I did not know Hephaestus-TV had such a channel. It must have been included in the premium bundle, which I didn’t subscribe to.) Best of all, there was not a gladiator or a set of elephant armor in sight.

Livia huffed in approval.

“I’m glad you like it, my friend.” I dismounted, followed by Thalia. “Now enjoy yourself while we go find our hosts.”

Livia waded into the stream and rolled onto her side, giving herself a trunk shower. She looked so content I was tempted to join her, but I had less pleasant matters to attend to.

“Come on,” Thalia said. “I know the way.”

I didn’t see how. The Waystation shifted and changed so much, it shouldn’t have been possible for anyone to learn their way around. But true to her word, Thalia led me up several flights of stairs, through a gymnasium I’d never seen, and back to the main hall, where a crowd had gathered.

Josephine and Emmie knelt by the sofa where Georgina lay shaking, crying, and giggling. Emmie tried to get the little girl to drink some water. Jo dabbed Georgie’s face with a washcloth. Next to them stood the Throne of Mnemosyne, but I couldn’t tell whether they had tried to use it yet. Certainly, Georgie appeared no better.

Over at Josephine’s workstation, Leo was inside Festus’s chest cavity, using a welding torch. The dragon had curled up as tightly as possible, but he still took up a third of the room. The side of his rib cage was propped open like the hood of a Mack truck. Leo’s legs stuck out, sparks showering the floor around him. Festus didn’t seem concerned by this invasive surgery. Deep in his throat, he made a low, clattering purr.

Calypso looked fully recovered from yesterday’s jaunt to the zoo. She dashed around the room, bringing food, drink, and medical supplies to the rescued prisoners. Some of the folks we’d freed made themselves right at home, helping themselves to the pantry, rummaging through cabinets with such familiarity I suspected they’d been longtime residents at the Waystation before being captured.

The two emaciated boys sat at the dining table, trying to pace themselves as they chewed pieces of fresh bread. Hunter Kowalski, the silver-haired girl, stood in a tight circle with the other Hunters of Artemis as they muttered together and cast suspicious glances at Lityerses. The Cornhusker sat in a recliner in the corner, facing the wall, his wounded leg now properly bandaged.

Sssssarah the dracaena had discovered the kitchen. She stood at the counter, holding a basket of fresh henhouse eggs, swallowing each whole, one after the other.

Tall, Dark & Jimmy was up in the griffin roost, making friends with Heloise and Abelard. The griffins allowed him to scratch under their beaks—a sign of great trust, especially since they were guarding an egg in their nest (and no doubt worried that Sssssarah might see it). Sadly, Jimmy had put on clothes. He now wore a caramel-brown business suit with an open-collared dress shirt. I didn’t know where he’d found such a nice outfit to fit his massive frame. Perhaps the Waystation supplied clothing as easily as it supplied elephant habitats.

The rest of the freed prisoners milled around, nibbling on bread and cheese, staring in awe at the stained-glass ceiling and occasionally flinching at loud noises, which was completely normal for those suffering from Post-Commodus Stress Disorder. Headless Agamethus floated among the newcomers, offering them his Magic 8 Ball, which I suppose was his idea of schmoozing.

Meg McCaffrey had changed into a different green dress and jeans, which completely threw off her usual stoplight color scheme. She walked over to me, punched me in the arm, then stood next to me as if we were waiting for a bus.

“Why did you hit me?” I asked.

“Saying hello.”

“Ah…Meg, this is Thalia Grace.”

I wondered if Meg would hit her hello as well, but Meg simply reached across and shook Thalia’s hand. “Hi.”

Thalia smiled. “A pleasure, Meg. I’ve heard you’re quite a swordswoman.”

Meg squinted through her grimy glasses. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Lady Artemis has been watching you. She keeps an eye on all promising young women warriors.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “You can tell my beloved sister to back off. Meg is my demigod companion.”

“Master,” Meg corrected.

“Same difference.”

Thalia laughed. “Well, if you two will excuse me, I’d better go check on my Hunters before they kill Lityerses.” The lieutenant marched off.

“Speaking of that…” Meg pointed toward the wounded son of Midas. “Why’d you bring him here?”

The Cornhusker hadn’t moved. He stared at the wall, facing away from the crowd as if intentionally inviting a knife in the back. Even from across the room, waves of hopelessness and defeat seemed to radiate from him.

“You said it yourself,” I told Meg. “Everything living deserves a chance to grow.”

“Hmph. Chia seeds don’t work for evil emperors. They don’t try to kill your friends.”

I realized Peaches was nowhere to be seen. “Is your karpos all right?”

“He’s okay. Went away for a while…” She waved vaguely at the air, indicating that magical land where peach spirits go when they are not devouring their enemies or screaming PEACHES! “You actually trust Lit?”

Meg’s tone was harsh, but her lower lip trembled. She lifted her chin as if preparing for a punch—the same way Lityerses had looked when the emperor betrayed him, the same way the goddess Demeter had looked, ages ago, standing in front of Zeus’s throne, her voice full of pain and disbelief: Will you actually let Hades get away with kidnapping my daughter Persephone?

Meg was asking if we could trust Lityerses. But her real question was much larger: Could she trust anyone? Was there anyone in the world—family, friend, or Lester—who would ever truly have her back?