might have similar ideas. Or—and I feared this was most likely—once he finished torturing me, he might surrender me to Python to seal their alliance. No doubt my old reptilian enemy would enjoy swallowing me whole, letting me die in his belly over the course of many excruciating days of digestion. So, there was that to look forward to.
“Wh-what reason would make Nero wait?” I asked.
Apparently, I was picking up Troglodytish, because my voice was punctuated by clicks and squeaks.
Rachel traced curlicues in the soot—waves, perhaps, or a line of people’s heads. “You said Camp Half-Blood was standing by to help?”
“Yes…Kayla and Austin told me they would remain on alert. Chiron should be back at camp soon as well. But an attack on Nero’s tower would be doomed. The whole point of our surrender—”
“Is to distract the emperor from what Nico, Will, and I will be doing, hopefully, with the trogs’ help: disabling the Greek-fire vats. But you’ll need to give Nero another incentive to keep him from pushing that button the minute you surrender. Otherwise we’ll never have time to sabotage his doomsday weapon, no matter how fast the trogs can run or dig.”
I understood what she was suggesting. The five-lined skink of reality began its slow, painful slide down my esophagus.
“You want to alert Camp Half-Blood,” I said. “Have them initiate an attack anyway. Despite the risks.”
“I don’t want any of this,” she said. “But it’s the only way. It’ll have to be carefully timed. You and Meg surrender. We get to work with the troglodytes. Camp Half-Blood musters for an attack. But if Nero thinks the entire camp is coming to him—”
“That would be worth waiting for. To take out the entire population of Camp Half-Blood while he destroys the city, all in one terrible firestorm.” I swallowed. “I could just bluff. I could claim reinforcements are coming.”
“No,” Rachel said. “It has to be real. Nero has Python on his side. Python would know.”
I didn’t bother asking her how. The monster might not have been able to see through Rachel’s eyes yet, but I remembered all too well how his voice had sounded speaking through her mouth. They were connected. And that connection was getting stronger.
I was reluctant to consider the details of such an insane plan, but I found myself asking, “How would you alert the camp?”
Rachel gave me a thin smile. “I can use cell phones. I don’t normally carry one, but I’m not a demigod. Assuming I make it back to the surface, where cell phones actually, you know, work, I can buy a cheap one. Chiron has a crappy old computer in the Big House. He hardly ever uses it, but he knows to look for messages or e-mails in emergency situations. I’m pretty sure I can get his attention. Assuming he’s there.”
She sounded so calm, which just made me feel more agitated.
“Rachel, I’m scared,” I admitted. “It was one thing thinking about putting myself in danger. But the entire camp? Everyone?”
Strangely, this comment seemed to please her.
She took my hand. “I know, Apollo. And the fact that you’re worried about other people? That’s beautiful. But you’ll have to trust me. That secret path to the throne…the thing I am supposed to show you? I’m pretty sure this is it. This is how we make things right.”
Make things right.
What would such an ending even look like?
Six months ago, when I first plummeted to Manhattan, the answer had seemed obvious. I would return to Mount Olympus, my immortality restored, and everything would be great. After being Lester for a few more months, I might have added that destroying the Triumvirate and freeing the ancient Oracles would also be good…but mostly because that was the path back to my godhood. Now, after all the sacrifices I had seen, the pain suffered by so many…what could possibly make things right?
No amount of success would bring back Jason, or Dakota, or Don, or Crest, or Money Maker, or Heloise, or the many other heroes who had fallen. We could not undo those tragedies.
Mortals and gods had one thing in common: we were notoriously nostalgic for “the good old days.” We were always looking back to some magical golden time before everything went bad. I remembered sitting with Socrates, back around 425 BCE, and griping to each other about how the younger generations were ruining civilization.
As an immortal, of course, I should have known that there never were any “good old days.” The problems humans face never really