Chapter 15

Alex's legs felt like soggy spaghetti. But he defeated one seemingly unkillable beast before. What were two or three more?

"Send them away," Alex asked. "Hal, can you make them leave?"

The old man frowned. The first monster said: "If I do that, we won't be able to talk."

The second monster picked up in the same voice: "Besides, any escape strategy you can think of, someone else has already tried."

The third monster said: "There is no point in private talks."

Alex paced, as restless as the monsters. "Do they know what we're saying? I mean, do they just speak, or do they understand the words?"

The first leucrota made a high-pitched whine. Then it imitated Alex's voice: "Do they understand the words?"

His stomach churned. It had mimicked his voice perfectly, even down to his NY accent.

The second monster spoke for Hal: "The creatures are intelligent, the way dogs are intelligent. They comprehend emotions and a few simple phrases. They can lure their prey by crying things like 'Help!' But I'm not sure how much human speech they really understand. It doesn't matter. You can't fool them."

Send them away," Alex said. "You have a computer. Type what you want to say. If I'm going to die at sunset, I don't want those things staring at me all day."

Hal hesitated. Then he turned to the monsters and stared at them in silence. After a few moments, the leucrotae snarled. They stalked out of the enclosure and the back panel closed behind them.

Hal looked at Alex. He spread his hands as if apologizing, or asking a question.

Alex didn't ask anything.

It was an odd feeling, waiting to die. Normally, when he'd fought monsters, he had about two seconds to figure out a plan. The threat was immediate. He lived or died instantly. Now he had all day trapped in a room with nothing to do, knowing that at sunset those cage bars would rise and he'd be trampled to death and torn apart by monsters that couldn't be killed with any weapon. Then Halcyon Green would eat his Snickers bars.

The suspense was almost worse than an attack.

Part of Alex was tempted to knock out the old man with a punch and feed him to his drapes. Then at least he couldn't help the monsters lure any more demigods to their deaths. But Alex couldn't make himself do it. Hal was so frail and pathetic. Besides, his curse wasn't his fault. He'd been trapped in this room for decades, forced to depend on monsters for his voice and his survival, forced to watch other demigods die, all because he'd saved a girl's life. What kind of justice was that?

He was still angry with Hal for luring us here, but he could understand why he'd lost hope after so many years. If anybody deserved a punch across the head, it was Apollo — and all the other deadbeat parent Olympian gods, for that matter.

Alex took inventory of Hal's prison apartment. The bookshelves were stuffed with everything from ancient history to thriller novels.

You're welcome to read anything, Hal typed on his computer. Just please not my diary. It's personal.

He put his hand protectively on a battered green leather book next to his keyboard.

"No problem," Alex said. He doubted any of the books would help him, and he couldn't imagine Hal had anything interesting to write about in his diary, being stuck in this room for most of his life.

He showed Alex the computer's Internet browser. Great. They could order pizza and watch the monsters eat the delivery guy. Not very helpful. He supposed he could've e-mailed someone for help, except he didn't have anyone to contact, and he'd never used e-mail. He didn't even carry phones, because, according to his Dad, when demigods use technology, it attracts monsters like blood attracts sharks.

Alex moved on to the bathroom. It was pretty clean considering how long Hal had lived here. He had two spare sets of snakeskin clothes, apparently just hand-washed, hanging from the rod above the bathtub. His medicine cabinet was stocked with scavenged supplies — toiletries, medicines, toothbrushes, first-aid gear, ambrosia, and nectar. He tried not to think about where all this had come from as he searched but didn't see anything that could defeat the leucrotae.

He slammed a drawer shut in frustration. "I don't understand! Why did that owl bring me here? Did the other demigods come here because of it?"

Hal frowned. He motioned for Alex to follow him back to his computer. He hunched over the keyboard and typed: What owl?

Alex didn't see any point in keeping it a secret. He told him how we'd followed a glowing Diet Coke-dispensing owl into the city, and how it had pointed him to this house. He also told him of its collar.

Hal looked baffled. He typed: I've heard of that owl, but I don't know why she would bring you here. The other demigods were attracted to the mansion because of the treasure. I assumed you were, too.

So the owl was a she. "Treasure?" Alex asked.

Hal got up and showed him his walk-in closet. It was full of more supplies collected from unfortunate demigods — coats much too small for Hal, some old-fashioned wood-and-pitch torches, dented pieces of armour, and a few Celestial bronze swords that were bent and broken. Such a waste, Alex thought.

Hal rearranged boxes of books, shoes, a few bars of gold, and a small basket full of diamonds that he didn't seem interested in. He unearthed a two-foot-square metal floor safe and gestured at it like: Ta-da.

"Can you open it?" Alex asked.

Hal shook his head.

"Do you know what's inside?" He asked again.

Again, Hal shook his head.

"It's trapped?" Alex guessed. Hal nodded emphatically, then traced a finger across his neck.

Demigods have tried to open this before, and Hal typed in a warning. There's a curse on the handle. Whoever touches it gets burned to a pile of ashes.

Alex snorted. Judging from Hal's pale face, he'd seen it happen before.

"Might as well try my luck," He turned to the old man. "You could maybe hide in the bathtub. Put some wet towels over your face. It might protect you."

Hal shifted uneasily. The snakeskin fabric of his suit rippled as if it were still alive, trying to swallow something unpleasant. Emotions played across his face — fear, doubt, but mostly shame. Alex guessed he couldn't stand the idea of cowering in a bathtub while a kid risked his life. Or maybe there was a little demigod spirit left in him after all. Hal gestured at the safe like: Go ahead.

Alex touched the combination lock, feeling the engravings. Now, one would think: how the hell was he supposed to open the safe? You see, for a few days now, Alex had been trying to recreate what happened with the Chimera, but to no avail.

He did, however, discover he could do something almost as cool as opening a pit to Tartarus or whatever. If he focused enough, he could control shadows like an extension of his body.

Until now, he'd only tried to do simple things: creating snake-like shadowy hands, and using them to fetch a glass of water. He could feel what those hands felt.

Alex touched the safe again. He concentrated so hard he felt like he was deadlifting five hundred pounds. His pulse quickened. A line of sweat trickled down his nose. Finally, he felt the shadows inside the safe moving. He could sense the lock and its mechanisms, and the poison canister was ready to break as soon as he hit the third number.

He told that to Hal, and judging from the old man's wide eyes, this was news to him.

Alex continued to focus, putting the shadow to work. Metal groaned, tumblers clicked, and the bolts popped back. Carefully avoiding the handle, he pried open the door with his fingertips and extracted an unbroken vial of green liquid.

Hal exhaled.

He patted Alex's shoulder, which he probably shouldn't have done while Alex was holding a tube of deadly poison.

The young demigod looked into the safe, and some of his enthusiasm faded. "That's it?"

He reached in and pulled out a bracelet. It didn't look like much, just a row of polished silver links. Alex latched it around his wrist. Nothing happened.

He scowled. "Is this supposed to—"

Hal clapped his hands to get Alex's attention. Suddenly his eyes looked almost as crazy as his hair. He gesticulated wildly, but Alex had no idea what he was trying to say. Finally, he stamped his snakeskin boot in frustration and led him back to the main room.

He sat at his computer and started to type. Alex glanced at the clock on his desk. Maybe time travelled faster in the house, or maybe time just flies when you're waiting to die, but it was already past noon. His day was half over.

Hal showed Alex the short novel he'd written: You're the ones!! You actually got the treasure!! I can't believe it!! That safe has been sealed since before I was born!! Apollo told me my curse would end when the owner of the treasure claimed it!! If you're the owner—

There was more, with plenty more exclamation points, but Alex didn't bother reading and said, "Hold it. I've never seen this bracelet. How could I be the owner? And if your curse is supposed to end now, does that mean the monsters are gone?"

A clack, clack, clack from the hallway answered that question.

He frowned at Hal. "Do you have your voice back?"

Hal opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His shoulders slumped.

"Maybe Apollo meant him going to rescue you," Alex suggested.

Hal typed a new sentence: Or maybe I die today.

"Thank you, Mr. Optimimism," Alex said. "I thought you could tell the future. You don't know what will happen?"

Hal typed: I can't look. It's too dangerous. You can see what happened to me the last time I tried to use my powers.

"Sure," Alex grumbled. "Don't take the risk. You might mess up this nice life you've got here."

Alex knew that was mean, but the old man's cowardice annoyed him. He'd let the gods use him as a punching bag for too long. It was time he fought back, preferably before Alex became the leucrotae's next meal.

Hal lowered his head. His chest was shaking, and Alex realized he was crying silently.

Alex winced regretfully before speaking. "Okay, sorry. But I'm not giving up. Maybe this bracelet is the answer. It's got to have a special power."

The old man took a shaky breath. He turned to his keyboard and typed: It's silver. Even if it turns into a weapon, the monsters can't be hurt by any metal.

Biting his thumbnail in frustration, Alex kept thinking.

He studied the empty enclosure, the metal panel through which the monsters had exited. If the room door wouldn't open again, and the window was covered by man-eating acid drapes, then that panel might be their only exit. He couldn't use metal weapons. He had a vial of poison, but if he was right about that stuff, it would kill everyone in the room as soon as it dispersed. He ran through another dozen ideas in his head, quickly rejecting them all.

"We'll have to find a different kind of weapon," Alex decided. "Hal, let me borrow your computer."

Hal looked doubtful, but he gave him his seat.

Alex stared at the screen. Honestly, he'd never used computers much — his dad didn't let him, and now he knew why. Technology attracts monsters, but he was already surrounded by them. He thought about his mother. Being a goddess and all, maybe that meant she could control the Internet. He could really use a divine Google hit right about now.

"Just once, Mom," Alex muttered to the screen, "cut me some slack. Show me there's an upside to being your son."

A bunch of ideas buzzed in the back of his head. He wanted to search for 'Greek Weapons', so he typed a capital G. The first suggestion made his mouth open.

Hal nudged Alex's shoulder and opened his diary, using an old pen to write in a small blank spot amidst thousands of words: This is it, this is our way out!