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chapter sixty-seven. ☄︎. *. ⋆
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NONE OF USwere too eager to travel after that, so we decided to wait until morning. Grover, Percy, and I crashed in the living room. They let me have the couch, so I guess chivalry isn't dead. I was a lot more comfortable than I had been in past nights, on a bedroll in the maze; but it didn't make my nightmares any better.
I dreamed I was with Luke, walking through the dark palace on top of Mount Tam. It was a real building now—not some half-finished illusion like I'd seen last winter. Green fires burned in braziers along the walls. The floor was polished black marble. A cold wind blew down the hallway, and above us through the open ceiling, the sky swirled with gray storm clouds.
Luke was dressed for battle. He wore camouflage pants, a white T-shirt, and a bronze breastplate, but his sword, Backbiter, wasn't at his side—only an empty scabbard. We walked into a large courtyard where dozens of warriors and dracaenae were preparing for war. When they saw him, the demigods rose to attention. They beat their swords against their shields.
"Issss it time, my lord?" a dracaena asked.
"Soon," Luke promised. "Continue your work."
"My lord," a voice said behind him. An empousa dressed in a cheerleader's uniform was smiling at him. Her eyes flickered—sometimes dark brown, sometimes pure red. Her hair was braided down her back and seemed to catch the light of the torches, as if it were anxious to turn back into pure flame.
"You have a visitor," she told Luke. She stepped aside, and even Luke seemed stunned by what he saw.
The monster Kampê towered above him. Her snakes hissed around her legs. Animal heads growled at her waist. Her swords were drawn, shimmering with poison, and with her bat wings extended, she took up the entire corridor.
"You." Luke's voice sounded a little shaky. "I told you to stay on Alcatraz."
Kampê's eyelids blinked sideways like a reptile's. She spoke in that weird rumbling language, but this time I understood, somewhere in the back of my mind: I come to serve. Give me revenge.
"You're a jailor," Luke said. "Your job—"
I will have them dead. No one escapes me.
Luke hesitated. A line of sweat trickled down the side of his face. "Very well," he said. "You will go with us. You may carry Ariadne's string. It is a position of great honor."
Kampê hissed at the stars. She sheathed her swords and turned, pounding down the hallway on her enormous dragon legs.
"We should have left that one in Tartarus," Luke mumbled. "She is too chaotic. Too powerful."
