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The Tyrant's Tomb

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“What?” she demanded. “I got raised in an evil emperor’s palace. We

dated everything from the founding of Rome. AUC. Ab urbe condita, right?”

“My gods,” I said. “Good catch, Meg. 254 AUC would be…let’s see…

500 BCE. That’s pretty close to 495.”

Hazel’s fingers still hesitated over the concrete. “Close enough to risk

it?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to channel my inner Frank Zhang confidence. “Write

it as a date: Two hundred and fifty-four. C-C-L-I-V.”

Hazel did. The numbers glowed silver. The entire stone slab dissipated

into smoke, revealing steps leading down into darkness.

“Okay, then,” Hazel said. “I have a feeling the next part is going to be

harder. Follow me. Step only where I step. And don’t make any noise.”

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