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Annabeth kept a straight face. “They’re fine. Just a little in awe. You are a goddess, after all.”
Hecate looked satisfied with that answer. “Well…I’m glad they have a sensible young woman to direct them, then. If I still had my school…” She hesitated, then sighed. “Never mind. It’s very important that the animalsnotbe allowed outside without their leashes. The accessories are ensorcelled to make sure my little troublemakers can’t escape them and go romping off on their own. If one of you were to open the door and let them out—”
“We won’t,” I promised, because I was not in the mood to see another demonstration of Hecate’s fiery three-headed death threats. I also didn’t want to be ensorcelled. That sounded painful.
“Good!” Hecate said cheerily. “Now let’s talk about Gale.”
I wasn’t ready for that conversation…not once I saw the raw chicken.
Gale had her own polecat playroom. The place was a forest of carpeted columns riddled with polecat-size holes so Gale had plenty of places to scamper, hide, and fart. A thick bed of cedar shavings on the floor partially covered up the aroma of intestinal distress, but it still smelled like Gale had made herself right at home. Along the back wall stood a row of combat dummies—the kind you’d see in a self-defense class, with pedestal bases, padded upper bodies, and rubber heads with crew cuts. The polecat had been hard at work attacking these. I could tell from the chewed-off noses, the ripped-open guts, and the claw marks where the dummies’ groins would have been.
All that I could have dealt with. A polecat has to have her fun. But I almost lost it when Hecate showed us Gale’s food supply.
The red-enameled refrigerator opened to reveal a row of chicken carcasses hanging on meat hooks. As soon as Gale saw them, she jumped from Hecate’s shoulder and began chittering excitedly, running circles around Hecate’s feet.
“Silly girl.” The goddess chuckled. “Wait for me to set it up.”
Hecate removed a chicken carcass from the refrigerator and walked over to a large meat hook hanging by a chain from the ceiling. She impaled the chicken and let it swing.
Horror set in as I realized that the polecat was supposed to leap onto it.…But it was six feet in the air. No way could Gale…
The polecat leaped up like a fuzzy rocket and sank her fangs into the chicken’s left thigh. She clawed her way onto the swinging poultry, then disappeared inside its, er, cavity. Growling, shredding, and slurping sounds issued from the chicken’s chest. Then, with a terribler-r-rip, Gale’s head punched through the chicken’s rib cage. Her eyes gleamed with pleasure. Her teeth were bloody, her fur coated with chicken flesh and fat.
“Oh,” Grover said in a weak falsetto. “I was hoping she ate mouse-flavored biscuits or something, but, um…”
But instead, we got the monster fromAlien.
Even Annabeth looked a little freaked out, and she was the least freak-out-able of the three of us.
“Uh…” she said, which sounded like a noise you might make right before your lunch comes up. “How often does she do this?”
“Breakfast and dinner,” said Hecate with a pleased-mother smile. “She doesn’t eat the whole thing, obviously.”
I looked at the polecat, who had dived back into the carcass and was making it shake as flesh and fat dribbled out the bottom. “Wow.”
Hecate frowned at me. “The best part of a meal is playing with your food, Percy Jackson. Surely you know this.”
I thought about when I used to make castles with mashed potatoes and peas when I was a little dude. Then I thought about all the monsters who had toyed with me before trying to eat me for dinner.
“True,” I said. “So we let her chew on it for a while, and then…”
Gale dropped from the chicken, chittered at me a few times just to show off her fangs, then started grooming herself like a cat. I suddenly understood why her coat looked so glossy—a good conditioning with chicken fat.
“Then you clean up!” Hecate snapped her fingers, causing the carcass to dissolve in a burst of dust. “Easy!” I noted that she’d left gross little bits of food on the floor for us to take care of.
Grover tried to snap his fingers. It was a trick he’d never really mastered. Even if he could have, I suspected he wouldn’t have been able to magic away dead chickens. We were in for some fun work with Gale’s leftovers.
“Now,” Hecate said, “it’s important that you use the proper terminology when talking about Gale. She getsveryupset if you call her any other type of mustelid. Whatever you do, never call her a weasel.”
Gale jumped and squeaked as if someone had stuck a pin in her butt. Her eyes turned bright red. Steam came out of her ears. I was fairly certain most polecats did not do this.
“Of—of course,” Grover stammered. “Everyone knows polecats are much larger than weasels. Also, polecats have a black mask of fur that extends all the way to their nose!”
“Everyone knows that,” I agreed.
“She’s also not a ferret,” Hecate said. “Or a mink. Or a vole. And definitely not a skunk.”
Gale hissed in outrage.
