Leo felt like whinnying and stomping his hooves, too. He was hot and agitated and hungry. He felt like they’d prodded the poisonous snake about as much as they could and the snake was about strike back. He wanted to call it a day and return to the ship before that happened.
Unfortunately, when Frank mentioned Temple of Zeus and statue, Leo’s brain had made a connection. Against his better judgement, he shared it.
‘Hey, Percy,’ he said, ‘remember that statue of Nike in the museum? The one that was all in pieces?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Didn’t it used to stand here, at the Temple of Zeus? Feel free to tell me I’m wrong. I’d love to be wrong.’
Percy’s hand went to his pocket. He slipped out his pen, Riptide. ‘You’re right. So if Nike was anywhere … this would be a good spot.’
Frank scanned their surroundings. ‘I don’t see anything.’
‘What if we promoted, like, Adidas shoes?’ Percy wondered. ‘Would that make Nike mad enough to show up?’
Leo smiled nervously. Maybe he and Percy did share something else – a stupid sense of humour. ‘Yeah, I bet that would totally be against her sponsorship deal. THOSE ARE NOT THE OFFICIAL SHOES OF THE OLYMPICS! YOU WILL DIE NOW!’
Hazel rolled her eyes. ‘You’re both impossible.’
Behind Leo, a thunderous voice shook the ruins: ‘YOU WILL DIE NOW!’
Leo almost jumped out of his tool belt. He turned … and mentally kicked himself. He just had to invoke Adidas, the goddess of off-brand shoes.
Towering over him in a golden chariot, with a spear aimed at his heart, was the goddess Nike.
XI
Leo
THE GOLD WINGS WERE OVERKILL.
Leo could dig the chariot and the two white horses. He was okay with Nike’s glittering sleeveless dress (Calypso totally rocked that style, but that wasn’t relevant) and Nike’s piled-up braids of dark hair circled with a gilded laurel wreath.
Her expression was wide-eyed and a little crazy, like she’d just had twenty espressos and ridden a roller coaster, but that didn’t bother Leo. He could even deal with the gold-tipped spear pointed at his chest.
But those wings – they were polished gold, right down to the last feather. Leo could admire the intricate workmanship, but it was too much, too bright, too flashy. If her wings had been solar panels, Nike would’ve produced enough energy to power Miami.
‘Lady,’ he said, ‘could you fold your flappers, please? You’re giving me a sunburn.’
‘What?’ Nike’s head jerked towards him like a startled chicken’s. ‘Oh … my brilliant plumage. Very well. I suppose you can’t die in glory if you are blinded and burned.’
She tucked in her wings. The temperature dropped to a normal hundred-and-twenty-degree summer afternoon.
Leo glanced at his friends. Frank stood very still, sizing up the goddess. His backpack hadn’t yet morphed into a bow and quiver, which was probably prudent. He couldn’t have been too freaked out, because he’d avoided turning into a giant goldfish.
Hazel was having trouble with Arion. The roan stallion nickered and bucked, avoiding eye contact with the white horses pulling Nike’s chariot.
As for Percy, he held his magic ballpoint pen like he was trying to decide whether to bust out some sword moves or autograph Nike’s chariot.
Nobody stepped forward to talk. Leo kind of missed having Piper and Annabeth with them. They were good at the whole talking thing.
He decided somebody had better say something before they all died in glory.
‘So!’ He pointed his index fingers at Nike. ‘I didn’t get the briefing, and I’m pretty sure the information wasn’t covered in Frank’s pamphlet. Could you tell me what’s going on here?’
Nike’s wide-eyed stare unnerved him. Was Leo’s nose on fire? That happened sometimes when he got stressed.
‘We must have victory!’ the goddess shrieked. ‘The contest must be decided! You have come here to determine the winner, yes?’
Frank cleared his throat. ‘Are you Nike or Victoria?’
‘Argghh!’ The goddess clutched the side of her head. Her horses reared, causing Arion to do the same.
The goddess shuddered and split into two separate images, which reminded Leo – ridiculously – of when he used to lie on the floor in his apartment as a kid and play with the coiled doorstop on the skirting board. He would pull it back and let it fly: sproing! The stopper would shudder back and forth so fast it looked like it was splitting into two separate coils.
That’s what Nike looked like: a divine doorstop, splitting in two.
On the left was the first version: glittery sleeveless dress, dark hair circled with laurels, golden wings folded behind her. On the right was a different version, dressed for war in a Roman breastplate and greaves. Short auburn hair peeked out from the rim of a tall helmet. Her wings were feathery white, her dress purple, and the shaft of her spear was fixed with a plate-sized Roman insignia – a golden SPQR in a laurel wreath.