The Mark of Athena

“There has to be a way,” Jason said.

Nobody volunteered any brilliant ideas.

Percy thought his stomach was sinking. Then he realized the entire ship was descending toward a big building like a palace.

Annabeth. Nico’s news was so horrible Percy had momentarily forgotten she was still in danger, which made him feel incredibly guilty.

“We’ll figure out the Tartarus problem later,” he said. “Is that the Emmanuel Building?”

Leo nodded. “Bacchus said something about the parking lot in back? Well, there it is. What now?”

Percy remembered his dream of the dark chamber, the evil buzzing voice of the monster called Her Ladyship. He remembered how shaken Annabeth had looked when she’d come back from Fort Sumter after her encounter with the spiders. Percy had begun to suspect what might be down in that shrine…literally, the mother of all spiders. If he was right, and Annabeth had been trapped down there alone with that creature for hours, her leg broken…At this point, he didn’t care if her quest was supposed to be solo or not.

“We have to get her out,” he said.

“Well, yeah,” Leo agreed. “But, uh…”

He looked like he wanted to say, What if we’re too late?

Wisely, he changed tack. “There’s a parking lot in the way.”

Percy looked at Coach Hedge. “Bacchus said something about breaking through. Coach, you still have ammo for those ballistae?”

The satyr grinned like a wild goat. “I thought you’d never ask.”

ANNABETH HAD REACHED HER TERROR LIMIT.

She’d been assaulted by chauvinist ghosts. She’d broken her ankle. She’d been chased across a chasm by an army of spiders. Now, in severe pain, with her ankle wrapped in boards and Bubble Wrap, and carrying no weapon except her dagger, she faced Arachne—a monstrous half-spider who wanted to kill her and make a commemorative tapestry about it.

In the last few hours, Annabeth had shivered, sweated, whimpered, and blinked back so many tears that her body simply gave up on being scared. Her mind said something like, Okay, sorry. I can’t be any more terrified than I already am.

So instead, Annabeth started to think.

The monstrous creature picked her way down from the top of the web-covered statue. She moved from strand to strand, hissing with pleasure, her four eyes glittering in the dark. Either she was not in a hurry, or she was slow.

Annabeth hoped she was slow.

Not that it mattered. Annabeth was in no condition to run, and she didn’t like her chances in combat. Arachne probably weighed several hundred pounds. Those barbed legs were perfect for capturing and killing prey. Besides, Arachne probably had other horrible powers—a poisonous bite, or web-slinging abilities like an Ancient Greek Spider-Man.

No. Combat was not the answer.

That left trickery and brains.

In the old legends, Arachne had gotten into trouble because of pride. She’d bragged about her tapestries being better than Athena’s, which had led to Mount Olympus’s first reality TV punishment program: So You Think You Can Weave Better Than a Goddess? Arachne had lost in a big way.

Annabeth knew something about being prideful. It was her fatal flaw as well. She often had to remind herself that she couldn’t do everything alone. She wasn’t always the best person for every job. Sometimes she got tunnel vision and forgot about what other people needed, even Percy. And she could get easily distracted talking about her favorite projects.

But could she use that weakness against the spider? Maybe if she stalled for time…though she wasn’t sure how stalling would help. Her friends wouldn’t be able to reach her, even if they knew where to go. The cavalry would not be coming. Still, stalling was better than dying.

She tried to keep her expression calm, which wasn’t easy with a broken ankle. She limped toward the nearest tapestry—a cityscape of Ancient Rome.

“Marvelous,” she said. “Tell me about this tapestry.”

Arachne’s lips curled over her mandibles. “Why do you care? You’re about to die.”

“Well, yes,” Annabeth said. “But the way you captured the light is amazing. Did you use real golden thread for the sunbeams?”

The weaving truly was stunning. Annabeth didn’t have to pretend to be impressed.

Arachne allowed herself a smug smile. “No, child. Not gold. I blended the colors, contrasting bright yellow with darker hues. That’s what gives it a three-dimensional effect.”

“Beautiful.” Annabeth’s mind split into two different levels: one carrying on the conversation, the other madly grasping for a scheme to survive. Nothing came to her. Arachne had been beaten only once—by Athena herself, and that had taken godly magic and incredible skill in a weaving contest.

“So…” she said. “Did you see this scene yourself?”

Arachne hissed, her mouth foaming in a not-very-attractive way. “You are trying to delay your death. It won’t work.”