Nero threw away the remote and picked up…oh, gods. The last controller. The last one is always the right one.
“Nico!” I yelled.
I had no chance of bringing Nero down. Instead, I fired at the Germanus who stood directly between the son of Hades and the throne, blasting the barbarian to nothingness.
Bless his fancy cowboy hat, Nico understood. He charged, breaking out of the ring of Germani and leaping straight for the emperor with all his remaining strength.
Nico’s downward slash should have cleaved Nero from head to devil tail, but with his free hand, the emperor grabbed the blade and stopped it cold. The Stygian iron hissed and smoked in his grip. Golden blood trickled from between his fingers. He yanked the blade away from Nico and tossed it across the room. Nico lunged at Nero’s throat, ready to choke him or make him into a Halloween skeleton. The emperor backhanded him with such force the son of Hades flew twenty feet and slammed into the nearest pillar.
“You fools cannot kill me!” Nero roared to the beat of the Bee Gees. “I am immortal!”
He clicked his remote. Nothing obvious happened, but the emperor screeched with delight. “That’s it! That’s the one! All your friends are dead now. HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!”
Meg screamed in outrage. She tried to break out of her circle of attackers, as Nico had done, but one of the demigods tripped her. She crashed face-first onto the carpet. Her borrowed sword clattered from her grip.
I wanted to run to her aid, but I knew I was too far away. Even if I shot the Arrow of Dodona, I couldn’t take down an entire group of demigods.
We had failed. In the tower below, our friends would now be choking to death—the entire camp wiped out with a single click of Nero’s remote.
The Germani hauled Nico to his feet and dragged him before the throne. The imperial demigods pointed their weapons at Meg, now prone and helpless.
“Excellent!” Nero beamed. “But first things first. Guards, kill Apollo!”
The Germani reinforcements barreled toward me.
I fumbled for my ukulele, desperately reviewing my repertoire for a song that would produce a stunning reversal of fortunes. “I Believe in Miracles”? “Make It Right”?
Behind me, a familiar voice roared, “STOP!”
The tone was so commanding even Nero’s guards and family members turned toward the broken blast doors.
On the threshold stood Will Solace, radiating brilliant light. At his left was Luguselwa, alive and well, her stumps now outfitted with daggers instead of silverware. At Will’s right was Rachel Elizabeth Dare, holding a large ax wrapped in a golden bundle of rods: the fasces of Nero.
“No one hits my boyfriend,” Will thundered. “And no one kills my dad!”
Nero’s guards made ready to attack, but the emperor cried, “EVERYONE FREEZE!”
His voice was so shrill, several of the Germani looked back to be sure he was the one who spoke.
The demigods of the imperial family did not look pleased. They’d been about to give Meg the Julius-Caesar-in-the-Senate treatment, but at Nero’s command, they stayed their weapons.
Rachel Dare scanned the room: the pollen-covered furniture and barbarians, the overgrown dryad trees, the pile of bull bones, the cracked windows and columns, the shades still going up and down on their own, the TVs blaring, the Bee Gees playing, the disco ball swirling.
“What have you guys been doing in here?” she muttered.
Will Solace strode confidently across the room, barking “Out of my way!” to the Germani. He marched straight to Nico and helped the son of Hades to his feet. Then he dragged Nico back to the entrance. No one tried to stop them.
The emperor inched backward on his dais. He put one hand behind him, as if to reassure himself that his sofa was still there in case he needed to faint dramatically. He ignored Will and Nico. His eyes were fixed on Rachel and the fasces.
“You.” Nero wagged his finger at my red-headed friend. “You’re the Pythia.”
Rachel hefted the fasces in her arms like a baby—a very heavy, pointy golden baby. “Rachel Elizabeth Dare,” she said. “And right now, I’m the girl holding your life in her hands.”
Nero licked his lips. He frowned, then grimaced, as if exercising his facial muscles for an onstage soliloquy. “You, ah, you all should be dead.”
He sounded both polite and vexed, as if chiding our comrades for not calling first before dropping by for dinner.
From behind Luguselwa, a smaller figure emerged: Screech-Bling, CEO of Troglodyte Inc., festooned with six new hats atop his tricorn. His grin was almost as bright as Will Solace.
“Gas traps are—CLICK—finicky!” he said. “Have to be sure the detonators are working.” He opened his hand and let four nine-volt batteries tumble to the floor.
Nero glared at his foster children as if to say, You had one job.
“And how exactly…?” Nero blinked and squinted. The glow of his own fasces seemed to hurt his eyes. “The leontocephaline…You couldn’t have defeated him.”
“I didn’t.” Lu stepped forward, allowing me a closer look at her new attachments. Someone—I guessed Will—had fixed her up with fresh bandages, more surgical tape, and better blades, giving her a low-budget Wolverine look. “I traded what the guardian required: my immortality.”
“But you don’t have…” Nero’s throat seemed to close up. A look of dread came over his face, which was like watching someone press on wet sand and expel water from the center.
I had to laugh. It was totally inappropriate, but it felt good.
“Lu has immortality,” I said, “because you’re immortal. The two of you have been connected for centuries.”
Nero’s eye twitched. “But that’s my eternal life! You can’t trade my life for my life!”
Lu shrugged. “It’s a little shady, I agree. But the leontocephaline seemed to find it…amusing.”
Nero stared at her in disbelief. “You would kill yourself just to kill me?”
“In a heartbeat,” Lu said. “But
