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“When Naomi opens the door, tell her Grover sent you. And you need her help.”
“Okay...” Why were my hands trembling? Oh, right, I’d just had a wrestling match with Old Age. I was exhausted. Also, I was about to sneak into an Olympus palace uninvited, where several major gods were founding members of the We Hate Percy Jackson Club. “Then I just have to figure out how to get the cup to Ganymede.”
“Right.”
We pulled up in front of the Empire State Building.Wow, that was disappointingly fast.Looking at the black marble entrance, which I’d gone through too many times, I suddenly thought of another problem.
“What about the sentry guy at the front desk?” I asked. “He’s not going to let me go up to Olympus unannounced. Will the Yankees cap work on him?”
“Definitely not,” Grover said. “You’ll need a distraction. That’s me.”
He paid the cabbie and got out with his Hula-Hoop. I scooted out after him, lugging the chalice.
“When I start doing my thing,” Grover continued, “you slip around to the elevator banks and get to the six hundredth floor. Come on!”
I wasn’t sure what Grover’s “thing” was, but we’d been friends long enough that I figured I would know when the time was right. Grover could be super distracting when he wanted to be... and I was an expert on getting distracted.
I put on Annabeth’s cap. Even after I adjusted it to the biggest size, it didn’t fit my big head, but it still seemed to do its job. I looked down at my body and saw a vague smoky outline where Percy Jackson used to be. Suddenly I felt like I had termites swarming all over my skin. Annabeth had never told me that her hat generated a bad case of the creepy-crawlies. No wonder she only used it when she had to. Leave it to Athena to make a magical gift with a built-in disincentive.
Inside, the lobby was mostly empty. Ever since they’d moved the tourist lines over to the West 34th Street entrance a few years ago, the Fifth Avenue entrance was a lot calmer, and today it was too early for much foot traffic. The usual guards stood by the doors. A few office workers stumbled toward the elevators, but that was it.
The dark marble walls were probably supposed to feel majestic and grand, but they always reminded me too much of Mount Othrys, the Titans’ headquarters. All that gloomy stone closed in on me, weighing on my chest like a hug from Gary. I wondered if the Olympians had designed the building’s lobby that way on purpose, so when you got to the magical six hundredth floor and stepped out into the clouds, you would be dazzled by the gleaming towers and temples of Olympus. That seemed like a Zeus thing to do.See how much prettier we are? We must be the good guys!
To the right of the main reception desk, the sentry guy I’d dealt with before was kicking back, reading a book as usual. His appearance never seemed to change, and he always read really thick novels. To me, those were two indications that he might not be human.
His security-card lanyard dangled from the arm of his chair. I knew from past experience that I’d need the card to access the special god-evator, but even invisible, even if Grover provided a distraction, I didn’t see how I could grab it without the sentry guy noticing.
Then Grover stepped into the middle of the lobby and did his thing.
He pulled out his panpipes, yelled “Hey, folks!” and began to hula-hoop.
I knew satyrs could climb and caper. I did not know they were absolute demons at the Hula-Hoop. Grover shook his wool-maker. The sacred hoop of Ganymede lit up, flashing and sparkling as Grover moved it up and down his body, looping it around one leg, then the other. He put his panpipes to his lips and blasted out the chorus of “Get Lucky.”
The regular security guards’ mouths fell open. A commuter dropped a full cup of coffee on the floor. The sentry guy put down his book and rose from his chair.
Then I remembered I was supposed to be using this moment to do something other than stare at Grover.
As the sentry guy came around the reception desk, telling Grover, “Sir, you can’t perform in here,” I skirted around the edge of the lobby, cradling the chalice under one arm like a football. I grabbed the key card and made a dash for the elevators.
I mashed the Up button. I waited for what seemed like forever, sure that the sentry would chase me down, or alarms would go off and vicious harpies would appear to drag me to the dungeon. (Does the Empire State Building have a dungeon? Probably, right?)
Finally, the black-and-silver doors slid open. I slipped inside, inserted my stolen card, and hit the button for the six hundredth floor. Up I went, to the allegedly soothing sounds of “I Got You, Babe.”
I hoped Grover would be okay. I wasn’t sure what the penalty was for playing “Get Lucky” while hula-hooping in the Empire State Building’s lobby, but it was probably severe. Annabeth and Grover had done their best to help me. Now it was up to me. I couldn’t fail after all we’d been through. Could I?
The doors opened with a cheerfulding!that seemed to say,Why, yes, you absolutely can fail! Have a nice day!
I stepped out onto the floating stone bridge that connected the elevator bank to the city of Olympus. There it stood, just as I remembered: a severed mountaintop wreathed in clouds, domed palaces and terraced gardens carved into its steep sides—an entire unearthly city floating over Midtown likeNothing to see here; move along.
The chalice grew heavier in my arms. It seemed to tug me forward, as if sensing thirsty gods who needed a refill. I hoped I wasn’t going to have a Frodo moment, where I got to the threshold of Mount Brunch with my magic item and then, instead of handing it over, became visible, yelledHa-ha! The cup is mine!and drank the immortality-flavored Kool-Aid.
Zeus would probably make me the minor god of canapés. Annabeth would be so mad.
I shook off that thought.
Somewhere below in the mortal world, church bells were chiming, marking the hour of eight o’clock. That was an ungodly early hour for brunch, so I figured it was exactly when the gods would have it. I had to hurry. I took off down the path, leaping over gaps in the stone bridge and praying I could get the chalice to Ganymede before Zeus called for a round of demigod-tear mimosas.
Sprinting to Mount Olympus sounded cool and heroic, until I got halfway there and realized I still had like a quarter mile to run with a bowling-ball chalice. By the time I reached the other end of the bridge, I was sweating and gasping. I imagined somewhere Gary was laughing at me and reminiscing about how, when he was a kid, they ran barefoot uphill five miles to Olympus and they liked it.
