The Tyrant's Tomb

die for collapsing my throne room on top of me. Very naughty trick. But this
McCaffrey child…I’m in such a good mood, I might let her flee for her life
and spread word of my great victory! That is, of course, if you cooperate and
explain”—he pointed at the cat—“the meaning of this.”
“It’s a cat,” I said.
So much for Tarquin’s good mood. He snarled, and another wave of pain
turned my spine to putty. Meg grabbed my arm before my face could hit the
carpet.
“Leave him alone!” she yelled at the king. “There’s no way I’m fleeing
anywhere.”
“Where are the Sibylline Books?” Tarquin demanded. “They are none of
these!” He gestured dismissively at the shelves, then glared at Aristophanes.
“And this creature will not speak! The harpy and the Cyclops who were
rewriting the prophecies—I can smell that they were here, but they are gone.
Where are they?”
I said a silent prayer of thanks for stubborn harpies. Ella and Tyson
must’ve still been waiting at Temple Hill for divine help that wasn’t coming.
Meg snorted. “You’re stupid for a king. The Books aren’t here. They’re
not even books.”
Tarquin regarded my small master, then turned to his zombies. “What
language is she speaking? Did that make sense to anyone?”
The zombies stared at him unhelpfully. The ghouls were too busy
reading about vultures and eating Great Expectations.
Tarquin faced me again. “What does the girl mean? Where are the
Books, and how are they not books?”
Again, my chest constricted. The words burst out of me: “Tyson.
Cyclops. Prophecies tattooed on his skin. He’s on Temple Hill with—”
“Quiet!” Meg ordered. My mouth clamped shut, but it was too late. The
words were out of the barn. Was that the right expression?
Tarquin tilted his skull. “The chair in the back room…Yes. Yes, I see
now. Ingenious! I will have to keep this harpy alive and watch her practice
her art. Prophecies on flesh? Oh, I can work with that!”
“You’ll never leave this place,” Hazel growled. “My troops are cleaning
up the last of your invaders. It’s just us now. And you’re about to rest in
pieces.”
Tarquin hissed a laugh. “Oh, my dear. Did you think that was the
invasion? Those troops were just my skirmishers, tasked with keeping you