As was so often the case with Hephaestus’s children, Harley was tinkering with some mechanical device, moving the springs and gears around. I didn’t really care what it was, but I asked Harley about it, hoping to win the boy’s goodwill.
“It’s a beacon,” he said, adjusting a knob. “For lost people.”
“You mean the teams in the Labyrinth?”
“No. You guys are on your own. This is for Leo.”
“Leo Valdez.”
Harley squinted at the device. “Sometimes, if you can’t find your way back, a beacon can help. Just got to find the right frequency.”
“And…how long have you been working on this?”
“Since he disappeared. Now I gotta concentrate. Can’t stop the race.” He turned his back on me and walked off.
I stared after him in amazement. For six months, the boy had been working on a beacon to help his missing brother Leo. I wondered if anyone would work so hard to bring me back home to Olympus. I very much doubted it.
I stood forlornly in a corner of the pavilion and ate a sandwich. I watched the sun wane in the winter sky and I thought about my chariot, my poor horses stuck in their stables with no one to take them out for a ride.
Of course, even without my help, other forces would keep the cosmos chugging along. Many different belief systems powered the revolution of the planets and stars. Wolves would still chase Sol across the sky. Ra would continue his daily journey in his sun barque. Tonatiuh would keep running on his surplus blood from human sacrifices back in the Aztec days. And that other thing—science—would still generate gravity and quantum physics and whatever.
Nevertheless, I felt like I wasn’t doing my part, standing around waiting for a three-legged race.
Even Kayla and Austin were too distracted to talk with me. Kayla had told Austin about our experience rescuing Sherman Yang from the woods, but Austin was more interested in swabbing out his saxophone.
“We can tell Chiron at dinner,” he mumbled with a reed in his mouth. “Nobody’s going to listen until the race is over, and we’ll be staying out of the woods anyway. Besides, if I can play the right tune in the Labyrinth…” He got a gleam in his eyes. “Ooh. Come here, Kayla. I have an idea.”
He steered her away and left me alone again.
I understood Austin’s enthusiasm, of course. His saxophone skills were so formidable, I was certain he would become the foremost jazz instrumentalist of his generation, and if you think it’s easy to get half a million views on YouTube playing jazz saxophone, think again. Still, his musical career was not going to happen if the force in the woods destroyed us all.
As a last resort (a very last resort), I sought out Meg McCaffrey.
I spotted her at one of the braziers, talking with Julia Feingold and Alice Miyazawa. Or rather, the Hermes girls were talking while Meg devoured a cheeseburger. I marveled that Demeter—the queen of grains, fruits, and vegetables—could have a daughter who was such an unrepentant carnivore.
Then again, Persephone was the same way. You’ll hear stories about the goddess of springtime being all sweetness and daffodils and nibbling on pomegranate seeds, but I’m telling you, that girl was frightening when she attacked a mound of pork spareribs.
I strode over to Meg’s side. The Hermes girls stepped back as if I were a snake handler. I found this reaction pleasing.
“Hello,” I said. “What are we talking about?”
Meg wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “These two wanna know our plans for the race.”
“I’m sure they do.” I plucked a small magnetic listening device from Meg’s coat sleeve and tossed it back to Alice.
Alice smiled sheepishly. “Can’t blame us for trying.”
“No, of course not,” I said. “In the same spirit, I hope you won’t mind what I did to your shoes. Have a good race!”
The girls shuffled off nervously, checking the soles of their sneakers.
Meg looked at me with something resembling respect. “What did you do to them?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Half the trick to being a god is knowing how to bluff.”
She snorted. “So what’s our top secret plan? Wait. Let me guess. You don’t have one.”
“You’re learning. Honestly, I meant to come up with one, but I got sidetracked. We have a problem.”
“Sure do.” From her coat pocket, she pulled two loops of bronze, like resistance bands of braided metal. “You’ve seen these? They wrap around our legs. Once they’re on, they stay on until the race is over. No way to get them off. I hate restraints.”
“I agree.” I was tempted to add especially when I am tied to a small child named Meg, but my natural diplomacy won out. “However, I was referring to a different problem.”
I told her about the incident during archery, when Sherman had almost been lured into the forest.
Meg removed her cat-eye glasses. Without the lenses, her dark irises looked softer and warmer, like tiny plots of planting soil. “You think something in the woods is calling to people?”
“I think something in the woods is answering people. In ancient times, there was an Oracle—”