Not the safest plan, but at least Jason had the satisfaction of knowing that he could call an air strike on this noisy mob of dead guys if the situation got dicey. Of course, that was assuming he and his friends could get away. And assuming Leo’s doomsday candles didn’t go off by accident – Leo’s inventions sometimes did that – in which case the weather would get much hotter, with a ninety percent chance of fiery apocalypse.
‘Be careful down there,’ he told Piper and Annabeth.
Piper crept around the left side of the ridge. Annabeth went right. Jason pulled himself up with his walking stick and hobbled towards the ruins.
He flashed back to the last time he’d plunged into a mob of evil spirits, in the House of Hades. If it hadn’t been for Frank Zhang and Nico di Angelo …
Gods … Nico.
Over the past few days, every time Jason sacrificed a portion of a meal to Jupiter, he prayed to his dad to help Nico. That kid had gone through so much, and yet he had volunteered for the most difficult job: transporting the Athena Parthenos statue to Camp Half-Blood. If he didn’t succeed, the Roman and Greek demigods would slaughter each other. Then, no matter what happened in Greece, the Argo II would have no home to return to.
Jason passed through the palace’s ghostly gateway. He realized just in time that a section of mosaic floor in front of him was an illusion covering a ten-foot-deep excavation pit. He sidestepped it and continued into the courtyard.
The two levels of reality reminded him of the Titan stronghold on Mount Othrys – a disorienting maze of black marble walls that randomly melted into shadow and solidified again. At least during that fight Jason had had a hundred legionnaires at his side. Now all he had was an old man’s body, a stick and two friends in slinky dresses.
Forty feet ahead of him, Piper moved through the crowd, smiling and filling wineglasses for the ghostly revellers. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. So far the ghosts weren’t paying her any special attention. Hazel’s magic must have been working.
Over on the right, Annabeth collected empty plates and goblets. She wasn’t smiling.
Jason remembered the talk he’d had with Percy before leaving the ship.
Percy had stayed aboard to watch for threats from the sea, but he hadn’t liked the idea of Annabeth going on this expedition without him – especially since it would be the first time they were apart since returning from Tartarus.
He’d pulled Jason aside. ‘Hey, man … Annabeth would kill me if I suggested she needed anybody to protect her.’
Jason laughed. ‘Yeah, she would.’
‘But look out for her, okay?’
Jason squeezed his friend’s shoulder. ‘I’ll make sure she gets back to you safely.’
Now Jason wondered if he could keep that promise.
He reached the edge of the crowd.
A raspy voice cried, ‘IROS!’
Antinous, the ghoul with the arrow in his throat, was staring right at him. ‘Is that you, you old beggar?’
Hazel’s magic did its work. Cold air rippled across Jason’s face as the Mist subtly altered his appearance, showing the suitors what they expected to see.
‘That’s me!’ Jason said. ‘Iros!’
A dozen more ghosts turned towards him. Some scowled and gripped the hilts of their glowing purple swords. Too late, Jason wondered if Iros was an enemy of theirs, but he’d already committed to the part.
He hobbled forward, putting on his best cranky old man expression. ‘Guess I’m late to the party. I hope you saved me some food?’
One of the ghosts sneered in disgust. ‘Ungrateful old panhandler. Should I kill him, Antinous?’
Jason’s neck muscles tightened.
Antinous regarded him for three counts, then chuckled. ‘I’m in a good mood today. Come, Iros, join me at my table.’
Jason didn’t have much choice. He sat across from Antinous while more ghosts crowded around, leering as if they expected to see a particularly vicious arm-wrestling contest.
Up close, Antinous’s eyes were solid yellow. His lips stretched paper-thin over wolfish teeth. At first, Jason thought the ghoul’s curly dark hair was disintegrating. Then he realized a steady stream of dirt was trickling from Antinous’s scalp, spilling over his shoulders. Clods of mud filled the old sword gashes in the ghoul’s grey skin. More dirt spilled from the base of the arrow wound in his throat.
The power of Gaia, Jason thought. The earth is holding this guy together.
Antinous slid a golden goblet and a platter of food across the table. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here, Iros. But I suppose even a beggar can sue for retribution. Drink. Eat.’
Thick red liquid sloshed in the goblet. On the plate sat a steaming brown lump of mystery meat.