The Burning Maze

“I’ve always hated that name. What does it mean, anyway? Satyr Killer? Blood Drinker?”
“Booties,” I said.

Dryads eat enchiladas?’
He looked offended. ‘Of course! You expect them just to eat fertilizer?’
‘Well … yes.’
‘Stereotyping,’ he muttered

Is anything worse than realizing you might agree with your father?

You will get to the Tiber alive. You will start to jive. That’s what the prophecy said back in Indiana, right? It will make sense once we get there. You’re going to beat the Triumvirate.”

I blinked. “Is that an order?”

“It’s a promise.”

I wished she hadn’t put it that way. I could almost hear the goddess Styx laughing, her voice echoing from the cold cargo hold where the son of Jupiter now rested in his coffin.

The thought made me angry. Meg was right. I would defeat the emperors. I would free Delphi from Python’s grasp. I would not allow those who had sacrificed themselves to do so for nothing.

Perhaps this quest had ended on a suspended fourth chord. We still had much to do.

But from now on, I would be more than Lester. I would be more than an observer.

I would be Apollo.

I would remember.

We rumbled into the sky—heading for Camp Jupiter and a rendezvous with Reyna, the daughter of Bellona.

I didn’t know how I would find Tarquin’s tomb, or who the soundless god was supposed to be. I didn’t know how we would stop Caligula from attacking the damaged Roman camp. But none of that bothered me as much as what had happened to us already—so many lives destroyed, a hero’s coffin rattling in the cargo hold, three emperors who were all still alive, ready to wreak more havoc on everyone and everything I cared about.

I found myself crying.

It was ridiculous. Gods don’t cry. But as I looked at Jason’s diorama in the seat next to me, all I could think about was that he would never get to see his carefully labeled plans finished. As I held my ukulele, I could only picture Crest playing his last chord with broken fingers.

Piper’s smile was as faint as fog. “You’re settling in Indianapolis. Me, in Tahlequah. We’re really going places, huh?”

Leo turned to us. “Go on, you guys. Take…take Jason home. Do right by him. You’ll find Camp Jupiter still there.”

From the window of the plane, the last I saw of Piper and Leo, Coach and Mellie, they were huddled on the tarmac, plotting their journey east with their bronze dragon and their yellow Pinto.

Leo looked like he’d been struck repeatedly. (And I knew. I had seen him struck repeatedly.) He brushed the tears from his face. He stared at the cargo hold, then at the diorama in my hands.

“I didn’t…I couldn’t even say good-bye,” he murmured.

Piper shook her head. “Me neither. It happened so fast. He just—”

“He did what Jason always did,” Leo said. “He saved the day.”

Leo Valdez climbed down and jogged toward us. Whatever adventures he may have had, he seemed to have come through with his curly black hair, his impish smile, and his small, elfish frame intact. He wore a purple T-shirt with gold words in Latin: MY COHORT WENT TO NEW ROME AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT.

“The party can now start!” he announced. “There’s my peeps!”

I didn’t know what to say. We all just stood there, stunned, as Leo gave us hugs.

“Man, what’s up with you guys?” he asked. “Somebody hit you with a flash grenade? So, I got good news and bad news from New Rome, but first…” He scanned our faces. He expression began to crumble. “Where’s Jason?”

“The plane is for you two,” Piper said. “And…Jason. Like I said, my dad had enough flight time and fuel credit for one last trip. I talked to him about sending Jason home; I mean…the home he had the longest, in the Bay Area, and how you guys could escort him up there….Dad agreed this was a much better use of the plane. We’re happy to drive.”

I looked at the diorama of Temple Hill—all the little Monopoly tokens carefully labeled in Jason’s hand. I read the label: APOLLO. I could hear Jason’s voice in my mind, saying my name, asking me for one favor: Whatever happens, when you get back to Olympus, when you’re a god again, remember. Remember what it’s like to be human.

This, I thought, was being human. Standing on the tarmac, watching mortals load the body of a friend and hero into the cargo hold, knowing that he would never be coming back. Saying good-bye to a grieving young woman who had done everything to help us, and knowing you could never repay her, never compensate her for all that she’d lost.

“Piper, I…” My voice seized up like the Sibyl’s.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Just get to Camp Jupiter safely. Let them give Jason the Roman burial he deserves. Stop Caligula.”

Her words weren’t bitter, as I might have expected. They were simply arid, like Palm Springs air—no judgment, just natural heat.

Piper was dressed in faded denim jeans and a green camo tank top. She’d cut her hair in a shorter, choppier style—probably because so much had been singed off anyway—which gave her an eerie resemblance to Thalia Grace. Her multicolored eyes picked up the gray of the tarmac, so she might have been mistaken for a child of Athena.

The display board she held was, of course, Jason’s diorama of Temple Hill at Camp Jupiter. Tucked under her arm were Jason’s two sketchbooks.