Page 70 of Wrath of the Triple Goddess

Maybe I’d heard that story before, but it still sounded strange to me. I couldn’t imagine my dad as a bricklayer.

“I saw the city collapsing,” Annabeth continued. “Hecuba was dragged out, her family was killed…and the magic unraveled. It’s like the city’s reason for existing just stopped. I could feel every column cracking, every support beam collapsing. I wanted to save the city. All those homes, temples, palaces. But I couldn’t.” She gave me a despondent look. “You saw the people; I saw the buildings. Why is that?”

I didn’t answer right away. The obvious thing to say wasBecause you’re an architect-in-training!But I knew that wasn’t what she needed to hear. She’d been sitting with this vision for a while now and it was clearly bothering her.

“Maybe you saw what you needed to see,” I ventured. “A way to help Hecuba and us. You read people just fine, Wise Girl. Better than me. But architecture? Only one of us can do that.”

As if on cue, another tombstone sloughed off the side of the manse, crashing into the garden.

I frowned. “We’re not going to come up with a better plan to fix this place, are we?”

Annabeth shook her head. “We’ll have to use the torches to summon the dead.I’llhave to use the torches.”

“Hold on—”

She squeezed my hand. “You said it yourself. I’m the architect. But this place was built by ghosts. That’s the basis of Hecate’s power. I’m going to need help…from someone ghostly, who knows about building in Manhattan.”

I flashed back to the beginning of the week, when Annabeth and I had sat in her favorite cemetery near the School of Design. “You’re not serious.”

She didn’t need to reply. She was dead serious. (Ouch, bad choice of words.)

“I’ll do some research tomorrow at school,” she said. “But yeah…I think it’s my best shot.”

I didn’t like the way she saidmybest shot, like this was something I couldn’t help with. I thought about her vision of Troy—like the city’s reason for existing just stopped. I looked at the black iron trellis draped around Hecate’s front porch like a huge mourning veil. I imagined I could hear the shriek of a frightened child, pedaling away down Gramercy Park West as fast as she could.

“I think…” I took a deep breath. “I think something has been wrong with this place since long before we got here.”

I told Annabeth about the ghost I’d been seeing, the display in the library from Hecate’s defunct school, and the collection of broken eyeglasses.What Could Have Been.

Annabeth isn’t easy to surprise, but my words seemed to hit her like a spritz of Paralysis by Fancy Water.

“You’re saying…” She didn’t seem able to finish the thought.

“Something went wrong over a century ago,” I said. “Something that made Hecate close her school. Ever since, this place has been losing its reason to exist. I think Grover’s strawberry rampage just hurried things along. Hecate’s been keeping Hecuba and Gale like prisoners, scared of them escaping. She’s been pushing people away—maybe prospective students, like those four naiads.”

“Like SEJ,” Annabeth said.

I nodded. “I don’t know what happened exactly, but if we’re going to try rebuilding this place with the help of ghosts, then we need to figure it out. Which means I need to talk to SEJ. Sally Estelle Jackson.”

When Grover shook me awake, I felt like I’d been asleep for eight seconds.

Annabeth was already rushing out the door. She gave me a kiss. “Good luck.”

Then she kissed Grover on the forehead and told him the same thing. Five minutes later, I was out the door too with an incredible case of bed head and clothes covered in hellhound fur.

First stop: home. The apartment was empty, but it felt good to use a shower that didn’t spit fire. I changed clothes and walked over to the Cracked Teapot.

My mom was at her favorite table, sipping herbal tea and staring at her laptop.

“Percy!”

She always greeted me with such enthusiasm. It was nice, except when I remembered it was partly because she was surprised to find me still alive.

She gave me a hug. “Do you need any breakfast? They have scones today.”

This was a big selling point for my mom. Scones had never excited me, though. They always tasted like dehydrated muffin bricks.

“I’m good,” I said. “Just wanted to let you know what’s happening.”

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