The Tower of Nero

For the benefit of his skeleton bull, he pointed at Nero and said, “Kill that one.”

The bull charged. The followers of Nero went crazy. Germani rushed the creature like linebackers going after a wide receiver, desperate to stop it before it reached the dais. The cynocephali howled and bounded in our direction. The imperial demigods faltered, looking at each other for direction like, Who do we attack? The bull? The emo kid? Dad? Each other? (This is the problem when you raise your children to be paranoid murderers.)

“Vercorix!” Nero shrieked, his voice a half-octave higher than usual. He leaped onto his couch, madly punching buttons on his Sassanid gas remote control and apparently deciding that it was not, in fact, his Sassanid gas remote control. “Bring me the other controls! Hurry!”

Halfway to the bull, Vercorix stumbled and reversed course for the coffee table, perhaps wondering why he’d taken this promotion and why Nero couldn’t fetch his own stupid remotes.

Meg tugged at my arm, shaking me from my stupor. “Get up!”

She dragged me out of the path of a cynocephalus, who landed next to us on all fours, snarling and slavering. Before I could decide whether to fight him with my bare hands or my bad breath, Nico leaped between us, his sword already in motion. He slashed the wolf-man into dust and dog fur.

“Hey, guys.” Nico’s swollen eye made him look even fiercer than usual. “You should probably find some weapons.”

I tried to remember how to speak. “How did you—? Wait, let me guess. Rachel sent you.”

“Yup.”

Our reunion was interrupted by the second wolf-headed warrior, who loped toward us more cautiously than his fallen comrade, edging sideways and looking for an opening. Nico fended him off with his sword and his scary cowboy hat, but I had a feeling we’d be getting more company soon.

Nero himself was still screaming on his sofa while Vercorix fumbled with the tray of remote controls. A few feet away from us, the Germani were piling on top of the skeleton bull. Some of the imperial demigods ran to help them, but three of the more devious members of the family were hanging back, eyeing us, no doubt pondering the best way to kill us so they could get a gold star from Daddy on their weekly chore chart.

“What about the Sassanid gas?” I asked Nico.

“Trogs still working on that.”

I muttered a curse that would not have been appropriate for the ears of a youngster like Meg, except that Meg had taught me this particular curse.

“Has Camp Half-Blood evacuated?” Meg asked. I was relieved to hear her join the conversation. It made me feel like she was still one of us.

Nico shook his head. “No. They’re fighting against Nero’s forces on every floor. We warned everyone about the gas, but they won’t leave until you guys leave.”

I felt a surge of gratitude and exasperation. Those stupid, beautiful Greek demigods, those brave, wonderful fools. I wanted to punch them all and then give them a big hug.

The cynocephalus lunged.

“Go!” Nico told us.

I sprinted toward the entrance where I’d dropped my supplies, Meg right beside me.

A Germanus flew overhead, kicked into oblivion by the bull. The zombie monster was about twenty feet from the emperor’s dais now, struggling to make it to the goal line, but it was losing momentum under the weight of a dozen bodies. The three devious demigods were now prowling in our direction, paralleling our course toward the front of the room.

By the time I reached my possessions, I was gasping and sweating like I’d just run a marathon. I scooped up my ukulele, nocked an arrow in my bow, and aimed at the approaching demigods, but two of them had disappeared. Perhaps they’d taken cover behind the columns? I fired at the only demigod still visible—Aemillia, was it?—but either I was weak and slow, or she was exceptionally well trained. She dodged my shot and kept coming.

“What about weapons for you?” I asked Meg, nocking another arrow.

She chin-pointed toward her foster sibling. “I’ll take hers. You concentrate on Nero.”

Off she ran in her silk dress and sandals like she was about to lay waste to a black-tie event.

Nico was still dueling with the wolf-dude. The zombie bull finally collapsed under the weight of Team Nero, meaning it wouldn’t be long before the Germani came looking for new targets to tackle.

Vercorix tripped and fell as he reached the emperor’s sofa, spilling the entire tray of remote controls across the cushions.

“That one! That one!” Nero yelled unhelpfully, pointing to all of them.

I took aim at Nero’s chest. I was thinking how good it would feel to make this shot when someone leaped out of nowhere and stabbed me in the ribs.

Clever Apollo! I had found one of the missing demigods.

It was one of Nero’s older boys—Lucius, perhaps? I would have apologized for not remembering his name, but since he had just driven a dagger into my side and now had me locked in a death embrace, I decided we could dispense with formalities. My vision swam. My lungs refused to fill with air.

Across the room, Meg fought bare-handed against Aemillia and the third missing demigod, who had apparently also been waiting in ambush.

Lucius drove his knife in deeper. I struggled, sensing with detached medical interest that my ribs had done their job. They’d deflected the blade from my vital organs, which was great except for the excruciating pain of having a knife embedded between my skin and rib cage, and the massive amount of blood now soaking through my shirt.

I couldn’t shake Lucius. He was too strong, too close. In desperation, I yanked back my fist and gave him a big thumbs-up right in the eye.

He screamed and staggered away. Eye injuries—the absolute worst. I’m a medical god and they even make me squeamish.

I didn’t have the strength to nock another arrow. I stumbled, trying to stay conscious as I slipped in my own blood. It’s always a fun time when Apollo goes to war.

Through the haze of agony, I saw Nero smiling triumphantly, holding aloft a remote control. “Finally!”

No, I prayed. Zeus, Artemis, Leto, anybody. NO!

I couldn’t stop the emperor. Meg was too far away, barely holding her own against her two siblings. The bull had been battered into a pile of bones. Nico had dispatched the wolf-man but now faced a line of angry Germani between him and the throne.

“It’s over!” Nero gloated. “Death to my enemies!”

And he pushed the button.

DEATH TO MY ENEMIES WAS AN EXCELLENT battle cry. A true classic, delivered with conviction!

Some of the drama was lost, however, when Nero pushed the button and the shades on the windows began to lower.

The emperor uttered a curse—perhaps one Meg had taught him—and dove into his sofa cushions, looking for the correct correct remote.

Meg had disarmed Aemillia, as she’d promised, and was now swinging her borrowed sword while more and more of her foster siblings encircled her, anxious to have a part in taking her down.

Nico waded through the Germani. They outnumbered him more than ten to one, but they quickly developed a healthy respect for his Stygian iron blade. Even barbarians can master a steep learning curve if it is sharp and painful enough. Nico couldn’t last forever against so many, though, especially since their spears had a longer reach and Nico could only see through his right eye. Vercorix barked at his men, ordering them to surround di Angelo. Unfortunately, the grizzled lieutenant seemed much better at mustering his forces than he was at delivering remote controls.