Page 76 of Wrath of the Triple Goddess

“Right,” I said. “Sorry.”

Annabeth scanned the smashed cabinetry and dented appliances in the kitchen. “That history could be a problem. If this place has been deteriorating for over a century because Hecate can’t let go of the past, even an army of ghosts won’t be able to fix that. We can try repairs, but it’ll be like patching cracks in the walls when the support beams are failing.”

I assumed that was an architectural thing. I nodded like it made sense to me.

“One problem at a time,” I suggested. “Let’s get the dead to paint the cracks first. Then we’ll worry about the support beams.”

Annabeth chewed her lip. “That’s…really not how construction works, but I guess you’re right.” She held out her arms like a traffic cop. “So, I keep my arms outstretched to summon the dead and direct their work. When we’re done, I cross the torches in front of me. Sounds straightforward.”

Grover leaned over the table map. “I think this route here would have the fewest people coming back. Cut through, side street, side street. Then cross to Irving Place and head straight north.”

Leading the dead through dark alleys also did not sound like a best practice. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to argue with Grover when it came to finding paths through the wild. Besides, if I complained, I would dishonor the name of Alley Boy.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s goo up.”

Grover did the honors, anointing us with Gale’s yellow paste on our wrists and necks, which made us smell like burning polyester. Maybe ghosts were allergic to synthetic fabrics.

With apologies to Hecuba and Gale, we got the animals harnessed and leashed. Not that we didn’t trust Hecuba and Gale, but Nope was still trying to decide whether his leash was a toy, a meal, or something to pee on. We figured the grown-up pets might set a good example.

“I’ll get the torches for you,” I told Annabeth. Then I jogged up the stairs.

Annabeth was totally capable of getting the torches herself. But I wanted to hold them first just in case they electrocuted me, possessed me, or made me grow two extra faces. If that were going to happen to one of us, it should have been me, the guy who didn’t know a support beam from a laser beam.

Instead, the torches came off their plaque on the railing with no problem. They were nothing fancy, just two wooden batons with tar-soaked rags wrapped around the business end.

I glanced down at Annabeth, who was frowning at me.

I grinned and spun the torches in slow motion like Bruce Lee with nunchakus.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Bring those to me, Seaweed Brain. I’m not sure I trust you with flammable objects.”

Finally, we were ready to head out into the evening.

“Remember,” Grover said, “it’s only ten blocks or so, but the souls will be fighting us every step. Once we’ve got them, we need to make sure they stay on task. Not just Annabeth. All of us have to focus.”

Focuswas not my favorite word, being ADHD and all. Sure, I could focus on something important in an emergency, like an ax swinging toward my head. But focusing on an idea for fifteen minutes while under stress, while moving, and after having been told to focus? My mind’s natural tendency would be to wander and think about literally anything else: pizza, streetlights, grades, the many ways I could die walking ten-plus blocks.

I took one more look around the shattered great room. I felt like I was forgetting something important. Eels? No. Candy corn? No. Gladiator loincloth? No thank you.

“Okay,” I said. “I guess we’re good.”

File that statement underTop Ten Times Percy Was Wrong.

St. Mark’s Church looked different at night. It was on 10th Street near Second Avenue, across from a convenience store and an Urban Outfitters, but the church felt like it was in the middle of nowhere—an island of darkness behind its iron fence and wooded yard.

We passed the bench where Annabeth and I had talked on Monday. At the time, it had seemed like a nice place to hang out. Now it seemed like a nice place to get mugged or swarmed by angry spirits.

The gates were black and, like the Aeaea perfumery, decorated with Greek key designs. (Warning! Mythological mayhem inside!) We slipped through and into the cemetery.

More trees, grass, benches. I couldn’t see any headstones, but Annabeth assured me the ancient graves were there under the brick pathways, gnarled tree roots, and thick ivy. I believed her. The air felt ten degrees cooler. Ground fog clung to my ankles. I hadn’t been in a place this creepy since fifteen minutes ago, when we’d left Hecate’s.

Hecuba and Nope sniffed around, pulling my arms in different directions. The area probably smelled like a high-end buffet to them.

We had the place to ourselves. Out on the avenue, traffic flowed. Pedestrians went about their business. But the bustling mortal world seemed muted and far away, like we’d already crossed through a veil into the world of the dead. I didn’t like that idea.

“Pete?” I called into the gloom. “Where you at?”

Annabeth elbowed me. “Maybe let’s not call himPeteuntil we get to know him. His crypt is over there.”

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