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“Don’t worry,” Annabeth said. “We’ll figure it out.”
I was glad we wouldn’t be making that detour. I imagined dragging my army of ghosts into Home Depot and asking where we could find drywall and plaster.
The thought distracted me. I tripped on a crack. The torches guttered. The ghosts swarmed me.
“Percy!” Annabeth’s voice shocked me back into focus.
I raised the torches higher. The ghosts retreated, whispering insults. Stuyvesant’s face was only a swirl of soot, but I was pretty sure he was leering at me.
“That was close,” Annabeth said. “Just keep going. You’re doing great.”
I staggered on as more and more spirits joined our procession. Traffic sounds became soft and damp like noises heard underwater. Pedestrians parted around us in slow motion, ignoring the torches and angry dead people.
Gale barked, helpfully urging me to pick up the pace. The smell of burning polyester was fading as the magic salve on my skin dried out and crumbled off my neck and wrists.
“It’s fine,” Annabeth told me. “It’s all fine.”
Proof positive that things were not fine.
Just get to the manse, I told myself.
I repeated those words so often they started to lose meaning. I hallucinated that Hecate was dancing in front of me, coaxing me to follow her. Her face split into three fiery guises—the horse, the lion, and the dog. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what they symbolized. I just knew I couldn’t meet their eyes.
I was approaching my final crossroads, like Hecate’s school did in 1914. I remembered what Hecate had said at our first meeting:I devour those who waver before me.She wouldn’t help me choose a path. She would just watch to see which version of failure I picked.
At my side, the ghost of Peter Stuyvesant laughed softly. His peg leg had no substance, but it made an otherworldlyclunkwhenever it struck the pavement.
“Percy, almost there,” Annabeth said. “Look.”
We’d made it to the north end of Irving Place. Ahead of us stretched Gramercy Park West. On our left, only half a block away, rose the gray facade of the manse.
I could do this.
My legs were as heavy as cast iron, but a surge of anger gave me strength. Hecate didn’t reward hesitation? Fine.
I growled—probably saying something really inappropriate in Hellhound—and marched straight ahead through the hallucinatory vision of Hecate.
We made it to the mansion’s gate.
Annabeth and Grover hurried to either side of me. They braced my arms, and together we lurched up the cranium-stone path. The torch flames guttered again, cooling to a dark red. Somehow, we made it to the front porch.
The ghosts milled about the yard, waiting for orders or a chance to kill us. They reminded me of large, angry, spectral garden gnomes, which fit right in with the manse’s vibe.
“My turn,” Annabeth said.
Brave words, but she still looked exhausted. I wasn’t any better. We’d barely managed to transfer the torches before. If we tried now, I was afraid we’d end up setting ourselves on fire, burning down the manse, and then getting eaten by garden ghouls.
I forced a few words from my dry throat. “How about…together?”
Grover started to object, but Hecuba’s bark cut him off. Gale added a few urgent chirps.
I got the message without a translation.Whatever you’re going to do, do it now!
The ghosts were getting restless. They had reached my chosen destination. Now what? Maybe could they rip us into bite-size pieces? Meanwhile, Nope, oblivious to our danger, was trying to chomp the end of Stuyvesant’s shadow sword.
“Okay,” Annabeth said. “Together.”
She put her arm around my waist. She reached out for the torch in my right hand.
