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The most disturbing thing was that I could distinguish the voice of each eel.
The door knockers cheered them on. “Go, my eels of doom!” “Go, my seventeen snakes of the apocalypse!” “KEY LIME PIE!”
Each eel was encased in a sheath of water. They zipped through the air as easily as if they were in the open sea. Was this Poseidon’s doing? Hecate’s magic? Some unholy union of the two? I had no idea. I guessed moray eels could pick up all sorts of tricks from living in Hecate’s mansion and having their mucus scraped to make potions.
They wove through the ghostly crowd, boring holes in the chests of Star Wars characters and Disney Princesses alike. They seemed to know better than to kill the mortals, but getting slammed in the face by a sixty-pound eel could put down even the hardiest New York taxi driver.
I felt a spark of optimism. Maybe we could turn the tide!
My hopefulness didn’t last long.
The eels had no better luck banishing the spirits than we did: They could cause chaos. They could knock delivery drivers unconscious. Yet the dead simply rose again in columns of gray dust and looked for new hosts.
Annabeth fell to one knee. She held the torches aloft and yelled “BACK!” with as much energy as she could muster, but she was losing strength.
Grover had done too good a job attracting the possessed families of trick-or-treaters. They were now chasing him along the sidewalk across the street, trying to surround him. He played a few more bars of theGhostbusterstheme song, yelled “Help!” then continued to play. As slow as the possessed mortals were, I doubted my friend could evade them much longer. Hecuba and Nope panted as they leaped from ghoul to ghoul. So much body-slamming and kissing took a lot of energy. Gale burrowed through the trash ghosts, eating all the rotten fruit she could find, but they hardly seemed to notice.
I had to change tactics. Maybe if I struck off the head of this ghostly army…
“Pete!” I yelled. “Get your ghosts off my lawn!”
I figured my buddy Geras, the god of old age, would approve of my cranky shouting. I also suspected I might not be seeing Geras again, since I was likely to die right now in my prime. (Also, if this was my prime, that was a whole’nother level of sad.)
Officer Stuyvesant turned his horse in my direction. His ax-murderer jack-o’-lantern mask grinned…because that’s all it could do. He raised his rapier/baton and clopped toward me in a leisurely fashion. He was in no hurry. The longer we living beings fought, the weaker we got.
I sliced and kicked and punched my way toward the horseman. Each time a ghost touched me, I lost more strength. Their emotions and memories washed over me. I saw myself racked by pain on my deathbed. I felt a coarse noose being slipped over my neck while a crowd jeered. A musket ball ripped through my padded woolen doublet, piercing my chest, and blood soaked through my clothes. Good times in ye olde New Amsterdam.
I must have sliced through enough costumed ghouls to fill a discount Halloween warehouse. They just kept coming. My Celestial bronze blade didn’t seem to do anything but make them angrier.
I searched for some kind of water source I could use.…Sprinklers? Sewer lines? But I was already too weak. A sword, stubbornness, and cranky comments would have to do.
Behind me I heard Annabeth yelling at ghosts to back off. At least that meant she was still conscious. The Moray Eel Aerial Squadron zoomed around the yard, causing damage and consternation among the ghouls. Grover kept piping his theme song.
I could do this. I waded through the dead. My teeth chattered. My feet felt like ice blocks.
’Twas a mistake to summon me, Stuyvesant’s voice whispered in my mind.On this night, of all nights. Witchcraft and devilry. Thinking you could control us with my mother’s torches. She is the queen of abominations. Her servants must all burn.
I’d heard of earworms, but his voice was more like a brain-eel. (Apologies to my moray friends.) It locked its jaws around my cerebellum and refused to let go. I didn’t understand everything Pete said. His accent was antique, his English heavily skewed, but there was something very New York about his tone: hard, disdainful, unimpressed. I could easily imagine him banging on a car hood and yelling,Watch where yer going! I’m haunting here!
I kept marching toward him, my sword raised. As I got closer, I could see the police officer’s eyes, glassy and unresponsive behind the jack-o’-lantern mask. I tried to reach out to the horse’s mind, urging him to throw his rider. Usually horses like me—it’s a Poseidon thing. But this one wasn’t interested, maybe because he was currently possessed.
Manhattan has become a monstrosity, Stuyvesant said.This is my mother’s legacy. Crossroads have ever been her domain, and all her roads lead to evil!
Clearly the dude had some issues to work through, but I imagined he would see therapy as another form of witchcraft.
Stuyvesant swept his rapier at my head. I met the blade with Riptide, but I was more exhausted than I realized, or maybe Stuyvesant was just too strong. My sword flew out of my hand.
I faltered, barely avoiding another rapier slice.
“Percy!” Annabeth yelled. Her voice sounded miles away.
The ghosts piled on top of me, dragging me down with sheer numbers. I fell backward onto the cranium-stone path, looking up at the black horse now towering above me.
Die, said Stuyvesant’s voice in my head.Join us in the grave.
His horse reared, then brought down both front hooves to crush my face.
Turns out dying has a theme song. It’s called “Strawberry Fields Forever.”
