WIXLIB

not to get into that. “Now, if you’llexcuse us, we have a suitcase to repairand my friend is in dire need of a pair ofpants.”I tried to step around her. Sheblocked my path.“You can’t go yet, dear! We haven’twelcomed you to Indiana!” From herpurse, she drew a smartphone. Thescreen glowed as if a call were alreadyin progress.“It’s him, all right,” she said into thephone. “Everybody, come on over.Apollo is here!”My lungs shriveled in my chest.In the old days, I would haveexpected to be recognized as soon as Iarrived in a town. Of course the locals

would rush to welcome me. They wouldsing and dance and throw flowers. Theywould immediately begin constructing anew temple.But as Lester Papadopoulos, I didnot warrant such treatment. I lookednothing like my former glorious self. Theidea that the Indianans might recognizeme despite my tangled hair, acne, andflab was both insulting and terrifying.What if they erected a statue of me in mypresent form—a giant golden Lester inthe center of their city? The other godswould never let me hear the end of it!“Madam,” I said, “I’m afraid youhave mistaken me—”“Don’t be modest!” The womantossed her phone and purse aside. She

grabbed my forearm with the strength ofa weightlifter. “Our master will bedelighted to have you in custody. Andplease call me Nanette.”Calypso charged. Either she wishedto defend me (unlikely), or she was not afan of the name Nanette. She punched thewoman in the face.This by itself did not surprise me.Having lost her immortal powers,Calypso was in the process of trying tomaster other skills. So far, she’d failedat swords, polearms, shurikens, whips,and improvisational comedy. (Isympathized with her frustration.) Today,she’d decided to try fisticuffs.What surprised me was the loudCRACK her fist made against Nanette’s

face—the sound of finger bonesbreaking.“Ow!” Calypso stumbled away,clutching her hand.Nanette’s head slid backward. Shereleased me to try to grab her own face,but it was too late. Her head toppled offher shoulders. It clanged against thepavement and rolled sideways, the eyesstill blinking, the purple lips twitching.Its base was smooth stainless steel.Attached to it were ragged strips of ducttape stuck with hair and bobby pins.“Holy Hephaestus!” Leo ran toCalypso’s side. “Lady, you broke mygirlfriend’s hand with your face. Whatare you, an automaton?”“No, dear,” said decapitated

Nanette. Her muffled voice didn’t comefrom the stainless-steel head on thesidewalk. It emanated from somewhereinside her dress. Just above her collar,where her neck used to be, anoutcropping of fine blond hair wastangled with bobby pins. “And I mustsay, hitting me wasn’t very polite.”Belatedly, I realized the metal headhad been a disguise. Just as satyrscovered their hooves with human shoes,this creature passed for mortal bypretending to have a human face. Itsvoice came from its gut area, whichmeant My knees trembled.“A blemmyae,” I said.Nanette chuckled. Her bulging

midsection writhed under thehoneysuckle cloth. She ripped open herblouse—something a politeMidwesterner would never think ofdoing—and revealed her true face.Where a woman’s brassiere wouldhave been, two enormous bulging eyesblinked at me. From her sternumprotruded a large shiny nose. Across herabdomen curled a hideous mouth—glistening orange lips, teeth like a spreadof blank white playing cards.“Yes, dear,” the face said. “And I’marresting you in the name of theTriumvirate!”Up and down Washington Street,pleasant-looking pedestrians turned andbegan marching in our direction.

Headless guys and galsNot loving the Midwest vibeOh, look—a cheese ghostGEE, APOLLO, you may be thinking,why didn’t you simply pull out yourbow and shoot her? Or charm her witha song from your combat ukulele?True, I had both those items slungacross my back along with my quiver.Sadly, even the best demigod weaponsrequire something called maintenance.My children Kayla and Austin had

explained this to me before I left CampHalf-Blood. I couldn’t just pull my bowand quiver out of thin air as I used towhen I was a god. I could no longerwish my ukulele into my hands andexpect it to be perfectly in tune.My weapons and my musicalinstrument were carefully wrapped inblankets. Otherwise flying through thewet winter skies would’ve warped thebow, ruined the arrows, and playedHades with the strings of my ukulele. Toget them out now would require severalminutes that I did not have.Also, I doubted they would do memuch good against blemmyae.I hadn’t dealt with their kind sincethe time of Julius Caesar, and I would’ve

been happy to go another two thousandyears without seeing one.How could a god of poetry andmusic be effective against a specieswhose ears were wedged under theirarmpits? Nor did the blemmyae fear orrespect archery. They were sturdy meleefighters with thick skin. They were evenresistant to most forms of disease, whichmeant they never called on me formedical help nor feared my plaguearrows. Worst of all, they werehumorless and unimaginative. They hadno interest in the future, so they saw nouse for Oracles or prophecies.In short, you could not create a raceless sympathetic to an attractive,multitalented god like me. (And believe

me, Ares had tried. Those eighteenthcentury Hessian mercenaries he cookedup? Ugh. George Washington and I hadthe worst time with them.)“Leo,” I said, “activate the dragon.”“I just put him into sleep cycle.”“Hurry!”Leo fumbled with the suitcase’sbuttons. Nothing happened. “I told you,man. Even if Festus weren’tmalfunctioning, he’s really hard to wakeup once he’s asleep.”Wonderful, I thought. Calypsohunched over her broken hand, mutteringMinoan obscenities. Leo shivered in hisunderwear. And I well, I was Lester.On top of all that, instead of facing ourenemies with a large fire-breathing

automaton, we would now have to facethem with a barely portable piece ofmetal luggage.I wheeled on the blemmyae.“BEGONE, foul Nanette!” I tried tomuster my old godly wrath voice. “Layhands upon my divine person again andyou shall be DESTROYED!”Back when I was a god, that threatwould have been enough to make entirearmies wet their camouflage pants.Nanette just blinked her cow-browneyes.“Don’t fuss, now,” she said. Her lipswere grotesquely hypnotic, likewatching a surgical incision being usedas a puppet. “Besides, dearie, you’re nota god anymore.”

Why did people have to keepreminding me of that?More locals converged on ourposition. Two police officers trotteddown the steps of the statehouse. At thecorner of Senate Avenue, a trio ofsanitation workers abandoned theirgarbage truck and lumbered overwielding large metal trash cans. Fromthe other direction, a half dozen men inbusiness suits tromped across the capitollawn.Leo cursed. “Is everybody in thistown a metalhead? And I don’t mean thegood kind of metalhead.”“Relax, sweetie,” Nanette said.“Surrender and we won’t have to hurtyou much. That’s the emperor’s job!”

Despite her broken hand, Calypsoapparently didn’t feel like surrendering.With a defiant yell she charged Nanetteagain, this time launching a karate kicktoward the blemmyae’s giant nose.“Don’t!” I blurted out, too late.As I mentioned, blemmyae are sturdybeings. They’re difficult to hurt and evenmore difficult to kill. Calypso’s footconnected with its target, and her anklebent with a nasty pop. She collapsed,gurgling in pain.“Cal!” Leo ran to her side. “Backoff, chest-face!”“Language, dear,” Nanette chided.“Now I’m afraid I’ll have to stomp onyou.”She raised one patent leather pump,

but Leo was faster. He summoned aglobe of fire and threw it like a baseball,hitting Nanette right between her hugechest-level eyes. Flames washed overher, setting her eyebrows and flowerydress ablaze.As Nanette screamed and stumbled,Leo yelled, “Apollo, help me!”I realized I’d been standing there,frozen in shock—which would’ve beenfine if I’d been watching the sceneunfold from the safety of my throne onMount Olympus. Alas, I was very muchdown here in the trenches with the lesserbeings. I helped get Calypso to her feet(her one good foot, at least). We slungher arms over our shoulders (with lots ofscreaming from Calypso when I

accidentally grabbed her broken hand)and began hobbling away.Thirty feet across the lawn, Leosuddenly stopped. “I forgot Festus!”“Leave him,” I snapped.“What?”“We can’t manage him and Calypso!We’ll come back later. The blemmyaemight just ignore him.”“But if they figure out how to openhim,” Leo fretted, “if they hurt him—”“MARRRGGGGH!” Behind us,Nanette ripped off the shreds of herburning dress. From the waist down,shaggy blond fur covered her body, notunlike a satyr. Her eyebrows smoldered,but otherwise her face looked unhurt.She spat ashes from her mouth and

glared in our direction. “That was notnice! GET THEM!”The businessmen were almost on topof us, eliminating any hope that we couldmake it back to Festus without gettingcaught.We chose the only heroic optionavailable: we ran.I hadn’t felt so encumbered since mythree-legged death race with MegMcCaffrey back at Camp Half-Blood.Calypso tried to help, kicking along likea pogo stick between Leo and me, butwhenever she jostled her broken foot orhand, she yelped and sagged against us.“S-sorry, guys,” she muttered, herface beaded with sweat. “Guess I’m notmeant to be a melee fighter.”

“Neither am I,” I admitted. “PerhapsLeo can hold them off while—”“Hey, don’t look at me,” Leogrumbled. “I’m just a repair guy who canthrow the occasional fireball. Ourfighter is stuck back there in suitcasemode.”“Hobble faster,” I suggested.We reached the street alive onlybecause the blemmyae moved so slowly.I suppose I would, too, if I werebalancing a fake metal head on my, er,head, but even without their disguises,the blemmyae were not as swift as theywere strong. Their terrible depthperception made them walk withexaggerated caution, as if the groundwere a multilayered hologram. If only

we could out-hobble them “Good morning!” A police officerappeared on our right, his firearmdrawn. “Halt or I will shoot! Thankyou!”Leo pulled a stoppered glass bottlefrom his tool belt. He tossed it at theofficer’s feet and green flames explodedaround him. The officer dropped his gun.He began tearing off his burning uniform,revealing a chest-face with shaggypectoral eyebrows and a belly beard inneed of a shave.“Phew,” Leo said. “I was hoping hewas a blemmyae. That was my only vialof Greek fire, guys. And I can’t keepsummoning fireballs unless I want topass out, so—”

“We need to find cover,” saidCalypso.Sensible advice, but cover did notseem to be an Indiana concept. Thestreets were wide and straight, thelandscape flat, the crowds sparse, thesight lines endless.We turned onto South Capitol. Iglanced over my shoulder and saw themob of smiling fake-headed localsgaining on us. A construction workerstopped to rip the fender off a Fordpickup, then rejoined the parade, hisnew chrome club slung over hisshoulder.Meanwhile, the regular mortals—atleast, those who did not seem interestedin killing us at the moment—went about

their business, making phone calls,waiting at traffic lights, sipping coffee innearby cafés, completely ignoring us. Atone corner, sitting on a milk crate, aheavily blanketed homeless man askedme for change. I resisted the urge to tellhim that change was coming up fastbehind us, carrying assorted weapons.My heart pounded. My legs shook. Ihated having a mortal body. Iexperienced so many bothersome things,like fear, cold, nausea, and the impulseto whimper Please don’t kill me! If onlyCalypso hadn’t broken her ankle wemight have moved faster, but wecouldn’t very well leave her behind. Notthat I particularly liked Calypso, mindyou, but I’d already convinced Leo to

abandon his dragon. I didn’t want topush my luck.“There!” said the sorceress. Shepointed with her chin to what lookedlike a service alley behind a hotel.I shuddered, remembering my firstday in New York as LesterPapadopoulos. “What if it’s a dead end?The last time I found myself in a deadend alley, things did not go well.”“Let’s try,” Leo said. “We might beable to hide in there, or I dunno.”I dunno sounded like a sketchy planB, but I had nothing better to offer.Good news: the alley was not a deadend. I could clearly see an exit at the farend of the block. Bad news: the loadingbays along the back of the hotel were

locked, giving us nowhere to hide, andthe opposite wall of the alley was linedwith Dumpsters. Oh, Dumpsters! How Ihated them!Leo sighed. “I guess we could jumpin—”“No!” I snapped. “Never again!”We struggled through the alley as fastas we could. I tried to calm my nervesby silently composing a sonnet aboutvarious ways a wrathful god coulddestroy Dumpsters. I became soengrossed I didn’t notice what was infront of us until Calypso gasped.Leo halted. “What the—? Hijo.”The apparition glowed with a faintginger light. He wore a traditionalchiton, sandals, and a sheathed sword,

like a Greek warrior in the prime oflife except for the fact that he had beendecapitated. Unlike the blemmyae,however, this person obviously had oncebeen human. Ethereal blood trickledfrom his severed neck, splattering hisluminous orange tunic.“It’s a cheese-colored ghost,” Leosaid.The spirit raised one hand,beckoning us forward.Not being born a mortal, I had noparticular fear of the dead. You’ve seenone tormented soul, you’ve seen themall. But something about this ghostunsettled me. He stirred a distantmemory, a feeling of guilt fromthousands of years ago .

Behind us, the voices of theblemmyae grew louder. I heard themcalling out “Morning!” and “Excuseme!” and “Lovely day!” to their fellowIndianans.“What do we do?” Calypso asked.“Follow the ghost,” I said.“What?” Leo yelped.“We follow the cheese-coloredghost. As you’re always saying: Vayacon queso.”“That was a joke, ese.”The orange spirit beckoned again,then floated toward the end of the alley.Behind us, a man’s voice shouted,“There you are! Lovely weather, isn’tit?”I turned in time to see a truck fender

spiraling toward us.“Down!” I tackled Calypso and Leo,provoking more screams of agony fromthe sorceress. The truck fender sailedover our heads and slammed into aDumpster, sending up a festive explosionof garbage confetti.We struggled to our feet. Calypsowas shivering, no longer complainingabout the pain. I was fairly sure she wasgoing into shock.Leo pulled a staple gun from his toolbelt. “You guys go ahead. I’ll hold themoff as long as I can.”“What are you going to do?” Idemanded. “Sort and collate them?”“I’m going to throw things at them!”Leo snapped. “Unless you’ve got a

better idea?”“B-both of you stop,” Calypsostammered. “We d-don’t leave anyonebehind. Now walk. Left, right, left,right.”We emerged from the alley into awide-open circular plaza. Oh, whycouldn’t Indianans build a proper citywith narrow, twisting streets, plenty ofdark corners, and perhaps someconveniently placed bombproofbunkers?In the middle of a ring-shaped drivestood a fountain surrounded by dormantflower beds. To the north rose the twintowers of another hotel. To the southloomed an older, grander building ofredbrick and granite—perhaps a

Victorian-era train station. On one sideof the edifice, a clock tower soaredroughly two hundred feet into the sky.Above the main entrance, under a marblearchway, a colossal rose windowgleamed in a frame of green copper, likea stained-glass version of the dartboardwe used for our weekly game night onMount Olympus.That thought made me heartsick withnostalgia. I would’ve given anything tobe back home for game night, even if itmeant listening to Athena gloat about herScrabble scores.I scanned the plaza. Our ghostlyguide seemed to have disappeared.Why had he brought us here? Shouldwe try the hotel? The train station?

Those questions became moot whenthe blemmyae surrounded us.The mob burst out of the alley behindus. A police car swerved into theroundabout next to the train station. Abulldozer pulled into the hotel’sdriveway, the operator waving andcalling out cheerfully, “Hello! I’m goingto bulldoze you!”All exits from the plaza were quicklyblocked.A line of sweat freeze-dried againstmy neck. An annoying whine filled myears, which I realized was my ownsubvocalized whimpering of Pleasedon’t kill me, please don’t kill me.I won’t die here, I promised myself.I’m much too important to bite it in

Indiana.But my trembling legs and chatteringteeth seemed to disagree.“Who has an idea?” I asked mycompatriots. “Please, any brilliant idea.”Calypso looked like her mostbrilliant idea at the moment was tryingnot to throw up. Leo hefted his staplegun, which didn’t seem to frighten theblemmyae.From the midst of the mob, our oldfriend Nanette emerged, her chest-facegrinning. Her patent leather pumpsclashed terribly with her blond leg fur.“Gosh darn it, dears, you’ve made me abit miffed.”She grabbed the nearest street signand single-handedly ripped it out of the

ground. “Now, please hold still, won’tyou? I’m just going to smash your headswith this.”

My last performanceSome old lady drops the micAnd kills everyoneI WAS ABOUT TO INITIATE DefensePlan Omega—falling to my knees andbegging for mercy—when Leo saved mefrom that embarrassment.“Bulldozer,” he whispered.“Is that a code word?” I asked.“No. I’m going to sneak over to thebulldozer. You two distract themetalheads.”

He shifted Calypso’s weight to me.“Are you crazy?” she hissed.Leo shot her an urgent look, likeTrust me! Distract them!Then he took a careful stepsideways.“Oh!” Nanette beamed. “Are youvolunteering to die first, short demigod?You did hit me with fire, so that makessense.”Whatever Leo had in mind, Iimagined his plan would fail if he beganarguing with Nanette about his height.(Leo was a bit sensitive about beingcalled short.) Fortunately, I have anatural talent for focusing everyone’sattention on me.“I volunteer for death!” I shouted.

The entire mob turned to look at me.I silently cursed my choice of words. Ishould have volunteered for somethingeasier, like baking a pie or postexecution clean-up duty.I often speak without the benefit offorethought. Usually it works out.Sometimes it leads to improvisationalmasterpieces, like the Renaissance orthe Beat movement. I had to hope thiswould be one of those times.“But first,” I said, “hear my plea, O,merciful blemmyae!

prophecy—” “You’re the one who’s been having visions,” Calypso reminded me. “You said your friend Meg would be here.” Just hearing Meg’s name gave me a twinge of pain. “That doesn’t mean I can pinpoint her location with my mind! Zeus has revoked my access to GPS!” “GPS?” Calypso asked. “Godly positioning systems.”