The Tyrant's Tomb
“Terminus,” I protested, “you know very well who I am.”“Identification!”A cold slimy feeling spread outward from my Lemurian spice–bandagedgut. “Oh, you can’t mean—”“ID.”I wanted to protest this unnecessary cruelty. Alas, there is no arguingwith bureaucrats, traffic cops, or boundary gods. Struggling would just makethe pain last longer.Slumped in defeat, I pulled out my wallet. I produced the junior driver’slicense Zeus had provided me when I fell to earth. Name: LesterPapadopoulos. Age: Sixteen. State: New York. Photo: 100 percent eye acid.“Hand it over,” Terminus demanded.“You don’t—” I caught myself before I could say have hands. Terminuswas stubbornly delusional about his phantom appendages. I held up thedriver’s license for him to see. Frank leaned in, curious, then caught meglaring and backed away.“Very well, Lester,” Terminus crowed. “It’s unusual to have a mortalvisitor in our city—an extremely mortal visitor—but I suppose we can allowit. Here to shop for a new toga? Or perhaps some skinny jeans?”I swallowed back my bitterness. Is there anyone more vindictive than aminor god who finally gets to lord it over a major god?“May we pass?” I asked.“Any weapons to declare?”In better times, I would have answered, Only my killer personality. Alas,I was beyond even finding that ironic. The question did make me wonderwhat had happened to my ukulele, bow, and quiver, however. Perhaps theywere tucked under my cot? If the Romans had somehow lost my quiver,along with the talking prophetic Arrow of Dodona, I would have to buy thema thank-you gift.“No weapons,” I muttered.“Very well,” Terminus decided. “You may pass. And happy impendingbirthday, Lester.”“I…what?”“Move along! Next!”There was no one behind us, but Terminus shooed us into the city,yelling at the nonexistent crowd of visitors to stop pushing and form a singleline.
“Is your birthday coming up?” Frank asked as we continued.“Congratulations!”“It shouldn’t be.” I stared at my license. “April eighth, it says here. Thatcan’t be right. I was born on the seventh day of the seventh month. Ofcourse, the months were different back then. Let’s see, the month ofGamelion? But that was in the wintertime—”“How do gods celebrate, anyway?” Frank mused. “Are you seventeennow? Or four thousand and seventeen? Do you eat cake?”He sounded hopeful about that last part, as if imagining a monstrousgold-frosted confection with seventeen Roman candles on the top.I tried to calculate my correct day of birth. The effort made my headpound. Even when I’d had a godly memory, I hated keeping track of dates:the old lunar calendar, the Julian calendar, the Gregorian calendar, leap year,daylight savings time. Ugh. Couldn’t we just call every day Apolloday andbe done with it?Yet Zeus had definitely assigned me a new birthdate: April 8. Why?Seven was my sacred number. The date 4/8 had no sevens. The sum wasn’teven divisible by seven. Why would Zeus mark my birthday as four daysfrom now?I stopped in my tracks, as if my own legs had turned into a marblepedestal. In my dream, Caligula had insisted that his pandai finish their workby the time the blood moon rose in five days. If what I observed hadhappened last night…that meant there were only four days left from today,which would make doomsday April 8, Lester’s birthday.“What is it?” Frank asked. “Why is your face gray?”“I—I think my father left me a warning,” I said. “Or perhaps a threat?And Terminus just pointed it out to me.”“How can your birthday be a threat?”“I’m mortal now. Birthdays are always a threat.” I fought down a waveof anxiety. I wanted to turn and run, but there was nowhere to go—onlyforward into New Rome, to gather more unwelcome information about myimpending doom.“Lead on, Frank Zhang,” I said halfheartedly, slipping my license back inmy wallet. “Perhaps Tyson and Ella will have some answers.”New Rome…the likeliest city on earth to find Olympian gods lurking indisguise. (Followed closely by New York, then Cozumel during spring
- Page 8 and 9: CONTENTSTitle PageCopyrightDedicati
- Page 10 and 11: The Dark ProphecyThe words that mem
- Page 12 and 13: That turned out to be a good call.
- Page 14 and 15: Meg reclined in her seat, propped h
- Page 16 and 17: The hearse lurched as if we’d bee
- Page 18 and 19: Dude, this isn’t coolDude just tr
- Page 20 and 21: The ghoul hesitated. I’ve always
- Page 22 and 23: much alive. Perhaps if I managed tw
- Page 24 and 25: Lavinia gulped. “Yeah. Let’s ge
- Page 26 and 27: Lavinia’s face turned terra-cotta
- Page 28 and 29: Lavinia snorted. “You guys should
- Page 30 and 31: hair. The glow of Meg’s swords th
- Page 32 and 33: Ukulele song?No need to remove my g
- Page 34 and 35: The eurynomos screamed and lurched
- Page 36 and 37: “Hazel?” Lavinia called into th
- Page 38 and 39: looked normal—the gleaming white
- Page 40 and 41: Hi, everybody,Here’s a little tun
- Page 42 and 43: really supposed to be here?That fee
- Page 44 and 45: explain the many months of horrifyi
- Page 46 and 47: Sailing north to warWith my Shirley
- Page 48 and 49: “We’ve discussed this.” Calig
- Page 50 and 51: more comfortable. (Yes, I am sure.
- Page 52 and 53: Judging from the angle of the sun,
- Page 54 and 55: Nice stroll into townHappy birthday
- Page 56 and 57: “It’s the only way,” he agree
- Page 60 and 61: break. Don’t judge us.)When I was
- Page 62 and 63: It was too much. I put my hand agai
- Page 64 and 65: I liked. His gentle big brown eye a
- Page 66 and 67: gleamed under an LED magnifying lam
- Page 68 and 69: “Thanks,” I grumbled.Frank shif
- Page 70 and 71: “Yep, yep,” said Ella. “No re
- Page 72 and 73: his life force to a small piece of
- Page 74 and 75: Aha.“Come, my friends,” I said.
- Page 76 and 77: demigods. Iris-messages failed. Let
- Page 78 and 79: Sing it with me: Who’sAfraid of t
- Page 80 and 81: But, of course, I knew the answer.
- Page 82 and 83: “Thank you.” I looked up, but L
- Page 84 and 85: Dirt and bubble gumLavinia brought
- Page 86 and 87: out of mind? How could I have been
- Page 88 and 89: I blinked, still groggy, the smell
- Page 90 and 91: rose petals in her wake as she twir
- Page 92 and 93: I now have a planTo make a plan con
- Page 94 and 95: is on April eighth, yep. Farmer’s
- Page 96 and 97: unbelievable. On the other hand, no
- Page 98 and 99: “Ohhhh.” Several Lares nodded i
- Page 100 and 101: Romance disasterI’m poison for gu
- Page 102 and 103: “It’s always dark underground,
- Page 104 and 105: I remembered the day we had sat tog
- Page 106 and 107: curse, I couldn’t have taken it b
“Terminus,” I protested, “you know very well who I am.”
“Identification!”
A cold slimy feeling spread outward from my Lemurian spice–bandaged
gut. “Oh, you can’t mean—”
“ID.”
I wanted to protest this unnecessary cruelty. Alas, there is no arguing
with bureaucrats, traffic cops, or boundary gods. Struggling would just make
the pain last longer.
Slumped in defeat, I pulled out my wallet. I produced the junior driver’s
license Zeus had provided me when I fell to earth. Name: Lester
Papadopoulos. Age: Sixteen. State: New York. Photo: 100 percent eye acid.
“Hand it over,” Terminus demanded.
“You don’t—” I caught myself before I could say have hands. Terminus
was stubbornly delusional about his phantom appendages. I held up the
driver’s license for him to see. Frank leaned in, curious, then caught me
glaring and backed away.
“Very well, Lester,” Terminus crowed. “It’s unusual to have a mortal
visitor in our city—an extremely mortal visitor—but I suppose we can allow
it. Here to shop for a new toga? Or perhaps some skinny jeans?”
I swallowed back my bitterness. Is there anyone more vindictive than a
minor god who finally gets to lord it over a major god?
“May we pass?” I asked.
“Any weapons to declare?”
In better times, I would have answered, Only my killer personality. Alas,
I was beyond even finding that ironic. The question did make me wonder
what had happened to my ukulele, bow, and quiver, however. Perhaps they
were tucked under my cot? If the Romans had somehow lost my quiver,
along with the talking prophetic Arrow of Dodona, I would have to buy them
a thank-you gift.
“No weapons,” I muttered.
“Very well,” Terminus decided. “You may pass. And happy impending
birthday, Lester.”
“I…what?”
“Move along! Next!”
There was no one behind us, but Terminus shooed us into the city,
yelling at the nonexistent crowd of visitors to stop pushing and form a single
line.
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