The Tyrant's Tomb

up randomly when I get upset. Still, they’re not meant to be spent. I think…I
have this gut feeling that Pluto wouldn’t like that. I don’t want to find out
what would happen if somebody tried.”
Meg pouted. “So you can’t give me even a small diamond? Like, just to
keep for fun?”
“Meg,” I chided.
“Or a ruby?”
“Meg.”
“Whatever.” Meg frowned at her unicorn shirt, no doubt thinking how
cool it would look decorated with several million dollars’ worth of precious
stones. “I just wanna fight stuff.”
“You’ll probably get your wish,” Hazel said. “But remember, tonight, the
idea is to explore and gather intel. We’ll need to be stealthy.”
“Yes, Meg,” I said. “Because, if you’ll recall, Apollo faces death in
Tarquin’s tomb. If I must face death, I would rather do so while hiding in the
shadows, and then sneak away from it without it ever knowing I was there.”
Meg looked exasperated, as if I’d suggested an unfair rule in freeze tag.
“Okay. I guess I can stealth.”
“Good,” Hazel said. “And, Lavinia, no chewing gum.”
“Give me some credit. I have very sneaky moves.” She wriggled her feet.
“Daughter of Terpsichore and all that.”
“Hmm,” Hazel said. “Okay, then. Everybody gather your supplies and
get some rest. We’ll meet on the Field of Mars at sundown.”
Resting should have been an easy assignment.
Meg went off to explore the camp (read: see the unicorns again), which
left me by myself in the café’s upstairs room. I lay in my cot, enjoying the
quiet, staring at Meg’s newly planted irises, which were now in full bloom in
the window box. Still, I couldn’t sleep.
My stomach wound throbbed. My head buzzed.
I thought of Hazel Levesque and how she’d credited Frank with washing
away her curse. Everyone deserved someone who could wash away their
curses by making them feel loved. But that was not my fate. Even my
greatest romances had caused more curses than they lifted.
Daphne. Hyacinthus.
And later, yes, the Cumaean Sibyl.