Page 25 of The Chalice of the Gods

“Must?”

“Should! Might. Could, if you happened to be so inclined. Please, O goddess!”

Hebe stomped her go-go boots, which now came up to her hips like waders. “You are all so—so yucky!”

She was shrinking before our eyes. Her minidress became a maxi dress, the paisley hem puddling around her ankles. Her cheeks filled out with baby fat.

“What is happening?” She shook her now-tiny fists. “I don’t like it!”

She looked younger than we were now—maybe seven years old. Her eyes kept their wrathful glare, but her voice had anI just sucked heliumsqueak that made it hard to take her seriously.

“Don’t look at me like that!” she cried, her lip quivering. “You’re a big dummy!”

But I couldn’t help staring. She shrank to kindergarten size, then became a toddler. Even Li’l Killer peeked out from her hiding place to watch.

Finally I understood Plan Chick.

Hebe always had to be the youngest one in the room. Her powers were reacting to the presence of the chick. As a goddess, she should have been able to stop the process, but I guess it caught her by surprise. Or maybe making herself older just went against her nature.

She fell over, unable to walk. She started to crawl toward me like she wanted to grab my ankles, but then she fell sideways, squirming, and began to bawl. The goddess of youth was now the youngest in the room: a cranky newborn with a bright red face.

“What just happened?” Grover asked.

Annabeth strolled over and picked up the baby, swaddling her in Hebe’s paisley dress. “Li’l Killer pulled juniority on Hebe.” Annabeth tickled the goddess’s chin. “But you are soadorable.”

Hebe squirmed and grunted. She tried to bite Annabeth’s finger, but she didn’t have any teeth.

“Now hold on,” Annabeth told the baby. “I know you’re fussy, but I’m sure you’re not making an age-based complaint, are you? The chickens wouldn’t like that.”

Baby Hebe became very still.

“Great,” Annabeth said. “Then here’s what I suggest. We agree that some young ages are justtooyoung. Then we remove Li’l Killer from the room so you can age yourself back up to at least elementary school. Then you accept our apology, put us back to our normal ages, tell us whatever you know about the chalice of the gods, and we all go our separate ways. Gurgle once for yes. Poop yourself for no.”

I had never wanted to hear yes so much in my life.

Hebe gurgled. It might have been just a random gurgle, but Annabeth seemed to accept it as a promise.

“Grover,” she said, “would you ask Li’l Killer to return to her pen, please?”

Grover made a couple of bleating noises. Li’l Killer peeped at us—probably saying,Thank you for the excitement and crumbs and blood—then trotted to the doors and wriggled through one of the beak holes the hens had made.

Judging from the clucking sounds outside, the hens welcomed the chick as a conquering hero. Then their cackling got fainter as they retreated to their pen. I suppose Li’l Killer had spread the word that we’d agreed upon a cease-fire.

Immediately, Hebe began to grow. Annabeth quickly set her down. We watched as the baby fast-forwarded into a kindergartner, then a fifth grader, and finally stood before us as the angriest-looking high schooler I’d ever seen.

“You three...” she growled.

“We apologize, Great Hebe,” Annabeth said. “And ask for sanctuary.”

“And information,” I added.

Annabeth elbowed me.

“Please,” I added.

The goddess fumed. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly we were our normal ages again.

“You’re lucky I like John Lennon,” the goddess muttered. “Sit, and I will tell you what I know. But you aren’t going to like it.”

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