Upon closer inspection, I saw how badly damaged the hearse was. Aside from numerous eucalyptus-scented dents and scratches, the front end had crumpled going through the guardrail. It now resembled Flaco Jiménez’s accordion after I took a baseball bat to it. (Sorry, Flaco, but you played so well I got jealous, and the accordion had to die.)

“We can carry the coffin,” Lavinia suggested. “The four of us.”

Another angry screech cut through the evening air. It sounded closer this time—somewhere just north of the highway.

“We’ll never make it,” I said, “not climbing all the way back up to the Caldecott Tunnel.”

“There’s another way,” Lavinia said. “Secret entrance to camp. A lot closer.”

“I like close,” Meg said.

“Thing is,” said Lavinia, “I’m supposed to be on guard duty right now. My shift is about to end. I’m not sure how long my partner can cover for me. So when we get to the camp, let me do the talking about where and how we met.”

Don shuddered. “If anyone finds out Lavinia skipped sentry duty again—”

“Again?” I asked.

“Shut up, Don,” Lavinia said.

On one hand, Lavinia’s troubles seemed trivial compared to, say, dying and getting eaten by a ghoul. On the other hand, I knew that Roman-legion punishments could be harsh. They often involved whips, chains, and rabid live animals, much like an Ozzy Osbourne concert circa 1980.

“You must really like this Poison Oak,” I decided.

Lavinia grunted. She scooped up her manubalista bolt and shook it at me threateningly. “I help you, you help me. That’s the deal.”

Meg spoke for me: “Deal. How fast can we run with a coffin?”

Not very fast, as it turned out.

After grabbing the rest of our things from the hearse, Meg and I took the back end of Jason’s coffin. Lavinia and Don took the front. We did a clumsy pallbearer jog along the shoreline, me glancing nervously at the treetops, hoping no more ghouls would rain from the sky.

Lavinia promised us that the secret entrance was just across the lake. The problem was, it was across the lake, which meant that, not being able to pall-bear on water, we had to lug Jason’s casket roughly a quarter mile around the shore.

“Oh, come on,” Lavinia said when I complained. “We ran over here from the beach to help you guys. The least you can do is run back with us.”

“Yes,” I said, “but this coffin is heavy.”

“I’m with him,” Don agreed.

Lavinia snorted. “You guys should try marching twenty miles in full legionnaire gear.”

“No, thanks,” I muttered.

Meg said nothing. Despite her drained complexion and labored breathing, she shouldered her side of the coffin without complaint—probably just to make me feel bad.

Finally we reached the picnic beach. A sign at the trailhead read:

LAKE TEMESCAL

SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK

Typical of mortals: they warn you about drowning, but not about flesh-devouring ghouls.

Lavinia marched us to a small stone building that offered restrooms and a changing area. On the exterior back wall, half-hidden behind blackberry bushes, stood a nondescript metal door, which Lavinia kicked open. Inside, a concrete shaft sloped down into the darkness.

“I suppose the mortals don’t know about this,” I guessed.

Don giggled. “Nah, dude, they think it’s a generator room or something. Even most of the legionnaires don’t know about it. Only the cool ones like Lavinia.”

“You’re not getting out of helping, Don,” said Lavinia. “Let’s set down the coffin for a second.”

I said a silent prayer of thanks. My shoulders ached. My back was slick with sweat. I was reminded of the time Hera made me lug a solid-gold throne around her Olympian living room until she found exactly the right spot for it. Ugh, that goddess.

Lavinia pulled a pack of bubble gum from the pocket of her jeans. She stuffed three pieces in her mouth, then offered some to me and Meg.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“Sure,” said Meg.

“Sure!” said Don.

Lavinia jerked the bubble gum pack out of his reach. “Don, you know bubble gum doesn’t agree with you. Last time, you were hugging the toilet for days.”

Don pouted. “But it tastes good.”

Lavinia peered into the tunnel, her jaw working furiously at the gum. “It’s too narrow to carry the coffin with four people. I’ll lead the way. Don, you and Apollo”—she frowned as if she still couldn’t believe that was my name—“each take one end.”

“Just the two of us?” I protested.

“What he said!” Don agreed.

“Just carry it like a sofa,” said Lavinia, as if that was supposed to mean something to me. “And you—what’s your name? Peg?”

“Meg,” said Meg.

“Is there anything you don’t need to bring?” asked Lavinia. “Like…that poster-board thing under your arm—is that a school project?”

Meg must have been incredibly tired, because she didn’t scowl or hit Lavinia or cause geraniums to grow out of her ears. She just turned sideways, shielding Jason’s diorama with her body. “No. This is important.”

“Okay.” Lavinia scratched her eyebrow, which, like her hair, was frosted pink. “Just stay in back, I guess. Guard our retreat. This door can’t be locked, which means—”

As if on cue, from the far side of the lake came the loudest howl yet, filled with rage, as if the ghoul had discovered the dust and vulture diaper of its fallen comrade.

“Let’s go!” Lavinia said.

I began to revise my impression of our pink-haired friend. For a skittish baby giraffe, she could be very bossy.

We descended single-file into the passage, me carrying the back of the coffin, Don the front.

Lavinia’s gum scented the stale air, so the tunnel smelled like moldy cotton candy. Every time Lavinia or Meg popped a bubble, I flinched. My fingers quickly began to ache from the weight of the casket.

“How much farther?” I asked.

“We’re barely inside the tunnel,” Lavinia said.

“So…not far, then?”

“Maybe a quarter mile.”

I tried for a grunt of manly endurance. It came out as more of a snivel.

“Guys,” Meg said behind me, “we need to move faster.”

“You see something?” Don asked.

“Not yet,” Meg said. “Just a feeling.”

Feelings. I hated those.

Our weapons provided the only light. The gold fittings of the manubalista slung across Lavinia’s back cast a ghostly halo around her pink hair. The glow of Meg’s swords threw our elongated shadows across either wall, so we seemed to be walking in the midst of a spectral crowd. Whenever Don looked over his shoulder, his rainbow-tinted lenses seemed to float in the dark like patches of oil on water.

My hands and forearms burned from strain, but Don didn’t seem to be having any trouble. I was determined not to weep for mercy before the faun did.

The path widened and leveled out. I chose to take that as a good sign, though neither Meg nor Lavinia offered to help carry the casket.