The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,90
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.