The Tyrant's Tomb

Before meeting the praetors, she took me back to Bombilo’s so I could
wash up and change clothes. Afterward, we stopped by the legion mess hall
for food. Judging from the angle of the sun and the near-empty dining room,
I guessed it was late afternoon, between lunch and dinner, which meant I’d
been unconscious for almost a full day.
The day after tomorrow, then, would be April 8—the blood moon,
Lester’s birthday, the day two evil emperors and an undead king attacked
Camp Jupiter. On the bright side, the mess hall was serving fish sticks.
When I was done with my meal (here’s a culinary secret I discovered:
ketchup really enhances fries and fish sticks), Meg escorted me down the Via
Praetoria to legion headquarters.
Most of the Romans seemed to be off doing whatever Romans did in the
late afternoon: marching, digging trenches, playing Fortiusnitius…I wasn’t
really sure. The few legionnaires we passed stared at me as we walked by,
their conversations sputtering to a stop. I guessed word had spread about our
adventure in Tarquin’s tomb. Perhaps they’d heard that I had a slight turninginto-a-zombie
problem and they were waiting for me to scream for brains.
The thought made me shudder. My gut wound felt so much better at the
moment. I could walk without cringing. The sun was shining. I’d eaten a
good meal. How could I still be poisoned?
Denial is a powerful thing.
Unfortunately, I suspected Pranjal was right. He had only slowed down
the infection. My condition was beyond anything that camp healers, Greek
or Roman, could solve. I needed godly help—which was something Zeus
had expressly forbidden the other gods to give me.
The guards at the praetorium let us through immediately. Inside, Reyna
and Frank sat behind a long table laden with maps, books, daggers, and a
large jar of jelly beans. Against the back wall, in front of a purple curtain,
stood the legion’s golden eagle, humming with energy. Being so near to it
made the hairs on my arms stand up. I didn’t know how the praetors could
tolerate working here with that thing right behind them. Hadn’t they read the
medical journal articles about the effects of long-term exposure to
electromagnetic Roman standards?
Frank appeared ready for battle in his full armor. Reyna looked like she
was the one who’d just woken up. She wore her purple cloak hastily pulled
over a too-large PUERTO RICO FUERTE T-shirt, which I wondered if she’d slept
in—but that was none of my business. The left side of her hair was an