Untitled Part 28
THE BLAST DOORS WERE A NICE TOUCH.
I'd found my way back to the throne room level with no problem. The elevators cooperated. The halls were eerily quiet. This time, no one greeted me in the antechamber.
Where the ornamental golden doors had stood before, the entrance to Nero's inner sanctum was now sealed by massive panels of titanium and Imperial gold. Hephaestus would have salivated at the sight – so much beautiful metalwork, inscribed with sorcerous charms of protection worthy of Hecate. All to keep one slimy emperor safe in his panic room.
Finding no doorbell, I rapped my knuckles on the titanium: Shave and a haircut...
No one gave the proper response, because barbarians. Instead, at the upper left-hand corner of the wall, a security camera light blinked from red to green.
'Good.' Nero's voice crackled from a speaker in the ceiling. 'You're alone. Smart boy.'
I could have got offended by his boy comment, but there was so much else to feel offended by that I figured I'd better pace myself. The doors rumbled, parting just enough for me to squeeze through. They closed behind me.
I scanned the room for Meg. She was nowhere in sight, which made me want to smack a Nero.
The room was mostly unchanged. At the foot of Nero's dais, the Persian rugs had been replaced to get rid of those annoying bloodstains from Luguselwa's double amputation. The servants had been cleared out. Forming a semicircle behind Nero's throne were a dozen Germani, some looking like they'd served as target practice for Camp Half-Blood's 'field trip'. Where Lu and Gunther had stood before, at the emperor's right hand, a new Germanus had taken their place. He had a stark white beard, a deep vertical scar on the side of his face and armour stitched from shaggy pelts that would have won him no friends in the animal-rights community.
Rows of Imperial-gold bars had been lowered over all the windows, making the entire throne room feel appropriately like a cage. Enslaved dryads hovered nervously near their potted plants. The children of the Imperial Household – only seven of them, now – stood next to each plant with burning torches in their hands. Since Nero had raised them to be despicable, I supposed they would burn the dryads if I didn't cooperate.
My hand rested against my jeans pocket, where I'd tucked Meg's golden rings. I was relieved that at least she wasn't standing with her siblings. I was glad young Cassius had run away from this place. I wondered where the other three missing adoptees had gone – if they'd been captured or had fallen in battle to Camp Half-Blood. I tried not to feel any satisfaction at the thought, but it was difficult.
'Hello!' Nero sounded genuinely happy to see me. He reclined on his couch, popping grapes in his mouth from a silver platter at his side. 'Weapons on the floor, please.'
'Where is Meg?' I demanded.
'Meg ...?' Nero feigned confusion. He scanned the line of his torch-bearing children. 'Meg. Let's see ... where did I leave her? Which one is Meg?'
The other demigods gave him forced smiles, perhaps not sure if Dear Old Dad was joking.
'She's close,' Nero assured me, his expression hardening. 'But, first, weapons on the floor. I am taking no chances that you will harm my daughter.'
'You –' I was so angry I couldn't finish the sentence.
How could someone twist the truth with such brazenness, telling you the exact opposite of what was clear and obvious, and still sound like they believed what they were saying? How could you defend against lies that were so blatant and brash they should have required no challenge?
I put down my bow and quivers. I doubted they would matter. Nero wouldn't have let me into his presence if he thought they were a threat.
'And the ukulele,' he said. 'And the backpack.'
Oh, he was good.
I set these next to my quivers.
I realized that even if I tried something – even if I could throw flames at Nero or shoot him in the face or Apollosmash his horrible purple love seat – it wouldn't matter if his fasces was still intact. He looked completely at ease, as if he knew he was invulnerable.
All my bad behaviour would do is hurt others. The dryads would burn. If the demigods refused to burn them, then Nero would have the Germani punish the demigods. And if the Germani hesitated to carry out his orders ... Well, after what had happened to Luguselwa, I doubted any of the guards would dare challenge Nero. The emperor held everyone in this room in a web of fear and threats. But what about Meg? She was the only wild card I could hope to play.
As if reading my thoughts, Nero gave me a thin smile.
'Meg, my dear,' he called, 'it's safe to come forward.'
She appeared from behind one of the columns in the back of the room. Two cynocephali flanked her. The wolf-headed men did not touch her, but they walked beside her in such a tight orbit they reminded me of sheepdogs herding a wayward lamb.
Meg looked physically unhurt, though she'd been bathed to within an inch of her life. All the hard-earned grime, ash and dirt she'd accumulated on her way to the tower had been scrubbed away. Her pageboy haircut had been reshaped in a layered pixie style, parted in the middle, making Meg resemble the dryads a little too closely. And her clothes: gone was Sally Jackson's valentine dress. In its place, Meg wore a sleeveless purple gown, gathered at the waist by a golden cord. Her red high-tops had been exchanged for gold-corded sandals. The only thing that remained of her old look was her glasses, without which she couldn't see, but I was surprised Nero had let her keep even those.
My heart broke. Meg looked elegant, older and quite beautiful. She also looked utterly, completely no longer herself. Nero had tried to strip away everything she had been, every choice she'd made, and replace her with someone else – a proper young lady of the Imperial Household.
Her foster siblings watched her approach with undisguised loathing and jealousy.
'There you are!' Nero said with delight. 'Come join me, dear.'
Meg met my eyes. I tried to transmit how concerned and anguished I felt for her, but her expression remained carefully neutral. She made her way towards Nero, each step cautious, as if the slightest false step or betrayal of emotion might cause invisible mines to explode around her.
Nero patted the cushions next to him, but Meg stopped at the base of the dais. I chose to take this as a hopeful sign.
Nero's face tightened with displeasure, but he masked it quickly, no doubt deciding, like the professional abusive villain he was, not to exert more pressure than was necessary, to keep the line taut without breaking it.
'And so here we are!' He spread his arms to take in this special occasion. 'Lester, it's a shame you ruined our fireworks display. We could have been down in the parlour right now with our guests, watching a lovely sunset as the city burned. We could've had canapés and cake. But no matter. We still have so much to celebrate! Meg is home!'
He turned to the white-bearded Germanus. 'Vercorix, bring me the remote control, would you?' He gestured vaguely to the coffee table, where a black lacquered tray was piled with tech gadgets.
Vercorix lumbered over and picked one.
'No, that's for the television,' said Nero. 'No, that's the DVR. Yes, that's the one, I think.'
Panic swelled in my throat as I realized what Nero wanted: the control for releasing his Sassanid gas. Naturally, he would keep it with his TV remotes.
'Stop!' I yelled. 'You said Meg would decide.'
Meg's eyes widened. Apparently, she hadn't heard Nero's plan. She looked back and forth between us, as if worried which of us might attack her first. Watching her inner turmoil made me want to weep.
Nero smirked. 'Well, of course she will! Meg, my dear, you know the situation. Apollo has failed you yet again. His plans are in ruins. He has sacrificed his allies' lives to make it this far –'
'That's not true!' I said.
Nero raised an eyebrow. 'No? When I warned you that this tower was a death trap for your demigod friends, did you rush down to save them? Did you hurry them out of the building? I gave you ample time. No. You used them. You let them keep fighting to distract my guards, so you could sneak up here and try to reclaim your precious immortality.'
'I – What? I didn't –'
Nero swept his fruit platter off the sofa. It clattered across the floor. Grapes rolled everywhere. Everyone in the throne room flinched, including me ... and this was obviously Nero's intention. He was a master at theatrics. He knew how to work a crowd, keep us on our toes.
He invested his voice with so much righteous indignation, even I wondered if I should believe him. 'You are a user, Apollo! You always have been. You leave a wake of ruined lives wherever you go. Hyacinthus. Daphne. Marsyas. Koronis. And your own Oracles: Trophonius, Herophile, the Cumaean Sibyl.' He turned to Meg. 'You've seen this with your own eyes, my dear. You know what I mean. Oh, Lester, I've been living among mortals for thousands of years. You know how many lives I've destroyed? None! I've raised a family of orphans.' He gestured at his adopted children, some of whom winced as if he might throw a platter of grapes at them. 'I've given them luxury, security, love! I've employed thousands. I've improved the world! But you, Apollo, you've been on Earth barely six months. How many lives have you wrecked in that time? How many have died trying to defend you? That poor griffin, Heloise. The dryad, Money Maker. Crest the pandos. And, of course, Jason Grace.'
'Don't you dare ,' I snarled.
Nero spread his hands. 'Should I go on? The deaths at Camp Jupiter: Don, Dakota. The parents of that poor little girl Julia. All for what? Because you want to be a god again. You've whined and complained across this country and back again. So I ask you: are you worthy of being a god?'
He had done his homework. It wasn't like Nero to remember the names of so many people he didn't care about. But this was an important scene. He was putting on a performance for all of us, especially Meg.
'You're twisting everything into lies!' I said. 'Just like you always have for Meg and your other poor children.'
I shouldn't have called them poor . The seven torchbearers glared at me with disdain. Clearly, they didn't want my pity. Meg's expression remained blank, but her eyes slid away from me and fixed on the patterns in the carpet. That probably wasn't a good sign.
Nero chuckled. 'Oh, Apollo, Apollo ... You want to lecture me about my poor children ? How have you treated yours?'
He began rattling off a list of my parenting failures, which were many, but I only half listened.
I wondered how much time had passed since I'd seen Screech-Bling. How long could I keep Nero talking, and would it be enough for the trogs to disable the poison gas, or at least clear the building?
Whatever the case, with those blast doors sealed and the windows barred, Meg and I were on our own. We would have to save each other, because no one else would. I had to believe we were still a team.
'And even now,' Nero continued, 'your children are fighting and dying below, while you are here.' He shook his head in disgust. 'I tell you what. Let's set aside the issue of fumigating my tower for the moment.' He placed the remote control next to him on the sofa, somehow making it seem like an incredibly generous concession that he would wait a few more minutes before gassing all my friends to death.
He turned to Meg. 'My dear, you can choose, as I promised. Which of our nature spirits should have the honour of killing this pathetic former god? We will make him fight his own battle for once.'
Meg stared at Nero as if he'd just spoken backwards. 'I ... I can't ...'
She wrung her fingers where her gold rings used to be. I wanted to give them back to her so badly, but I was afraid even to breathe. Meg seemed to be teetering on the edge of an abyss. I feared any change in the room – the slightest vibration in the floor, a shift in the light, a cough or a sigh – might push her over.
'You can't choose?' Nero asked, his voice dripping with sympathy. 'I understand. We have so many dryads here, and they all deserve vengeance. After all, their species has only one natural predator: the Olympian gods.' He scowled at me. 'Meg is right! We will not choose. Apollo, in the name of Daphne, and all the other dryads whom you have tormented over the centuries ... I decree that all our dryad friends will be allowed to tear you apart. Let's see how you defend yourself when you don't have any demigods to hide behind!'
He snapped his fingers. The dryads didn't seem too excited about tearing me apart, but the children of the Imperial Household held their torches closer to their potted trees, and something in the dryads seemed to break, flooding them with desperation, horror and rage.
They may have preferred to attack Nero, but since they couldn't, they did what he asked. They attacked me.
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