Page 9 of Wrath of the Triple Goddess

“See?” Annabeth stepped back and studied the roofline. “I bet those gargoyles come to life.”

“Not taking that bet.”

My fingers twitched. I was tempted to grab my pen-sword from my pocket, but I didn’t think it would do me much good. If Hecate decided to attack us with gargoyles, tombstones, or evil shrubbery…Well, it was her front yard. She could do what she wanted.

I remembered my mom’s unsettled expression when I’d mentioned Gramercy Park. She was one of the rare mortals who could see through the Mist. I wondered if what had happened to her down here had anything to do with this half-invisible mansion.…

“You okay?” Annabeth asked. “Look, you don’t have to eat the grasshopper tlayudas—”

“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just…”

I struggled to complete the thought. I had a bad feeling. I wasn’t sure why. As usual, my ratio of answers to bad feelings was way out of balance.

Before I could find words, I heard the clopping of hooves on pavement. Either a horse carriage had veered off course from Central Park, or our friendly neighborhood satyr was running to join us.

“Hi!” Grover said breathlessly.

He’d accessorized his earlier outfit (minus the Crocs) with a massive rucksack over one shoulder, a walking stick, and a Day-Glo orange cap stitched with little dancing satyrs. I would have thought he was going on a camping trip, but since Grover lives in nature, I guess this was how he geared up for a week in the city, exploring the Great Indoors.

“I got bedrolls, a kerosene lantern, snacks—”

“Hold on,” I said. “You picked all that up in Central Park?”

“Rats!” he said.

“Rats.” I glanced at Annabeth for clarification, but she just shrugged.

“It’s great!” Grover promised. “Those guys collect everything. You know, reduce, reuse, recycle.…”

He looked like he was ready to launch into a lecture about the virtues of bartering with rodents. Then his eyes drifted up to the gargoyles on the roof. “Oh, wow.”

“I know, spooky,” Annabeth agreed.

Grover scratched his goatee. “I was going to say the one on the left looks like my Aunt Helena. But I guess that’s the same thing.” He beamed at us. “So, we ready for this?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” said Annabeth.

We followed the cranium-brick road to the front porch. Being under the wrought-iron latticework made me feel like I’d climbed into a torture cage for me and my closest friends. Maybe that was the effect Hecate’s architect had been going for.

The front door was divided into three wooden panels like a folding screen—each glossy black with a silver door knocker in the middle. Each knocker was an animal head—a horse, a lion, a dog—that I associated with Hecate and also with changing my pants.

Annabeth studied the panels. “Maybe it’s a test. We have to choose one.”

“Or maybe Hecate opens all of them at once,” I said, “and sings something in three-part harmony.”

Grover shuddered. “You have a dark imagination. How about we knock on all three together?”

“NO!” screamed all the knockers at once.

I’d like to tell you I was surprised, but talking door knockers was not the weirdest scenario I’d envisioned. At least they were small and nailed to the door. They probably couldn’t do worse than bite our fingers off.

“One of us always speaks the truth!” said the horse.

“One of us always lies!” said the lion.

I was about to say,Wait, I know this riddle!

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