tapped her fingers on the wheel, mumbling along to Tego Calderón lyrics on the truck’s ancient CD player. I enjoyed reggaeton as much as the next Greek god, but it was perhaps not the music I would’ve chosen to soothe my nerves on the morning of a quest. I found it a bit too peppy for my pre-combat jitters.
Sitting between us, Meg rummaged through the seeds in her gardener’s belt. During our battle in the tomb, she’d told us, lots of packages had opened and gotten mixed up. Now she was trying to figure out which seeds were which. This meant she would occasionally hold up a seed and stare at it until it burst into its mature form—dandelion, tomato, eggplant, sunflower. Soon the cab smelled like the gardening section at Home Depot.
I had not told Meg about seeing Peaches. I wasn’t even sure how to start the conversation. Hey, did you know your karpos is holding clandestine meetings with the fauns and crabgrasses in People’s Park?
The longer I waited to say something, the harder it became. I told myself it wasn’t a good idea to distract Meg during an important quest. I wanted to honor Lavinia’s wishes that I not blab. True, I hadn’t seen Lavinia that morning before we left, but maybe her plans weren’t as nefarious as I thought. Maybe she wasn’t actually halfway to Oregon by now.
In reality, I didn’t speak because I was a coward. I was afraid to enrage the two dangerous young women I rode with, one of whom could have me ripped apart by a pair of metal greyhounds, while the other could cause cabbages to grow out of my nose.
We inched our way across the bridge, Reyna finger-tapping to the beat of “El Que Sabe, Sabe.” He who knows, knows. I was 75 percent sure there was no hidden message in Reyna’s choice of songs.
“When we get there,” she said, “we’ll have to park at the base of the hill and hike up. The area around Sutro Tower is restricted.”
“You’ve decided the tower itself is our target,” I said, “not Mount Sutro behind it?”
“Can’t be sure, obviously. But I double-checked Thalia’s list of trouble spots. The tower was on there.”
I waited for her to elaborate. “Thalia’s what?”
Reyna blinked. “Didn’t I tell you about that? So, Thalia and the Hunters of Artemis, you know, they keep a running list of places where they’ve seen unusual monstrous activity, stuff they can’t quite explain. Sutro Tower is one of them. Thalia sent me her list of locations for the Bay Area so Camp Jupiter can keep an eye on them.”
“How many trouble spots?” Meg asked. “Can we visit all of them?”
Reyna nudged her playfully. “I like your spirit, Killer, but there are dozens in San Francisco alone. We—I mean the legion—we try to keep an eye on them all, but it’s a lot. Especially recently…”
With the battles, I thought. And the deaths.
I wondered about the small hesitation in Reyna’s voice when she said we and then clarified that she meant the legion. I wondered what other we’s Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano felt part of. Certainly I had never imagined her in civilian clothes, driving a battered pickup truck, taking her metal greyhounds for a hike. And she’d been in touch with Thalia Grace, my sister’s lieutenant, leader of the Hunters of Artemis.
I hated the way that made me feel jealous.
“How do you know Thalia?” I tried to sound nonchalant. Judging from Meg’s cross-eyed look, I failed miserably.
Reyna didn’t seem to notice. She changed lanes, trying to make headway through the traffic. In the back, Aurum and Argentum barked with joy, thrilling in the adventure.
“Thalia and I fought Orion together in Puerto Rico,” she said. “The Amazons and Hunters both lost a lot of good women. That sort of thing…shared experience…Anyway, yeah, we’ve kept in touch.”
“How? The communication lines are all down.”
“Letters,” she said.
“Letters…” I seemed to remember those, back from around the days of vellum and wax seals. “You mean when you write something by hand on paper, put it in an envelope, stick a stamp on it—”
“And mail it. Right. I mean, it can be weeks or months between letters, but Thalia’s a good pen pal.”
I tried to fathom that. Many descriptions came to mind when I thought about Thalia Grace. Pen pal was not one of them.
“Where do you even mail the letters to?” I asked. “The Hunters are constantly on the move.”
“They have a PO box in Wyoming and—Why are we talking