The Tyrant's Tomb

“One way to find out,” Meg said. “We go to this Sutro place. Can I feed
your dogs?”
Without waiting for permission, she grabbed the jelly bean jar and
popped it open.
Aurum and Argentum, having heard the magic words feed and dogs, did
not growl or tear Meg apart. They got up, moved to her side, and sat
watching her, their jeweled eyes sending the message Please, please, please.
Meg doled out a jelly bean for each dog, then ate two herself. Two for
the dogs, two for herself. Meg had achieved a major diplomatic
breakthrough.
“Meg’s right. Sutro is the place Tarquin’s minion mentioned,” I recalled.
“Presumably we’ll find the soundless god there.”
“Mount Sutro?” Reyna asked. “Or Sutro Tower? Did he say which?”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it the same place? I always just call that
area Sutro Hill.”
“Actually, the biggest hill is Mount Sutro,” said Reyna. “The giant
antenna is on a different hill right next to it. That’s Sutro Tower. I only know
this because Aurum and Argentum like to go hiking over there.”
The greyhounds turned their heads at the word hiking, then went back to
studying Meg’s hand in the jelly bean jar. I tried to imagine Reyna hiking
with her dogs just for fun. I wondered if Lavinia knew that was her pastime.
Maybe Lavinia was such a dedicated hiker because she was trying to outdo
the praetor, the same way she had her thinking spot high above Reyna’s.
Then I decided that trying to psychoanalyze my pink-haired, tap-dancing,
manubalista-wielding friend was probably a losing proposition.
“Is this Sutro place close?” Meg was slowly depleting all the green jelly
beans, which was giving her a different sort of green thumb than usual.
“It’s across the bay in San Francisco,” Reyna said. “The tower is
massive. You can see it from all over the Bay Area.”
“Weird place to keep someone,” Frank said. “But I guess no weirder than
under a carousel.”
I tried to remember if I’d ever been to Sutro Tower, or any of the other
various Sutro-labeled places in that vicinity. Nothing came to mind, but the
instructions from the Sibylline Books had left me deeply unsettled. The last
breath of a god was not an ingredient most ancient Roman temples kept in
their pantries. And cutting a god’s soul free really was not something
Romans were supposed to try without adult supervision.