We Goo Up for Battle
I had swim practice that afternoon. Apparently, coaches don’t believe in giving the day off for Halloween. Big meanies. At one point, in the middle of practice, I remembered that, oh, right, we had invited our friends to the
manse tonight. I’d forgotten to ask Grover to cancel the party. Maybe Grover and Annabeth had already taken care of it. Or maybe I was holding on to the totally unrealistic hope that by the time the party rolled around, we would’ve fixed everything.
By the time I got back to Gramercy Park West, night was falling. Groups of little kids and their parents were wandering the streets, trick-or-treating at
stores and townhouses. I figured the older candy bandits and partygoers would wait until full dark. So would the real ghosts, ghouls, and whatever else we were able to summon from beyond the grave.
I found Annabeth, Grover, and the pets in Hecate’s kitchen. Annabeth had spread books and maps across a steel tabletop like she was planning a ground assault.
“Good, you made it,” she told me.
Not the warm greeting I’d been hoping for, but Annabeth got like that whenever she was in mastermind mode. She started juggling a thousand
factors in her head, preparing for every possible situation. Sometimes that made her see me as another asset for the plan rather than her boyfriend.
Once in a while, that was okay with me. As long as I was an asset and not a liability.
“Here’s what we’ve got.” She pointed at a city engineer’s schematic of Lower Manhattan. “Saint Mark’s Church in-the-Bowery. Like I figured, it’s got one of the nearest cemeteries. It’s also the burial place of Peter Stuyvesant—you know, the Dutch colonial officer? We’re trying to figure out the least-crowded route coming back.”
The idea of raiding a church graveyard on Halloween made me uneasy. It was bad enough having the Greek gods mad at me. I didn’t need to be on Jesus’s naughty list, too.
“What if Pete doesn’t want to help us?” I asked.
Annabeth frowned. “I’m not going to lie—by all accounts, Stuyvesant wasn’t a nice guy. He was hot-tempered, prejudiced, rude, kind of a dictator.”
“Wow. I’m sold.”
“But he’s also the guy who built up this part of New Amsterdam back in the 1600s, before it became New York under the British. His spirit is woven into the roots of the city. Plus, he was efficient. He got stuff done. If anyone can oversee a supernatural house repair in just one night, it’s him.”
“And it’s only a fifteen-minute walk from the manse,” Grover added. “We go in, get our spirits, and get out.”
“You make it sound like a bank heist,” I said.
Hecuba barked, nearly startling me out of my socks.
“Thanks, Hecuba.” Grover scratched her behind the ear. “She says she’ll be with us the whole way. She and Nope will do their best to herd the ghosts. Her advice is to stay focused on what you want from the spirits.
Keep your goal clearly in your mind. Otherwise, the dead will fade away, or worse, they’ll go berserk ….”
“Devour our souls, et cetera,” I guessed. “Good to know.”
Nope looked up at me with a big grin, like devouring souls sounded fun to him.
“Also, Gale made us this.” Annabeth pushed a mixing bowl toward me.
Inside were three pasty globs of yellow goo. Except for the color, they reminded me a little too much of our anti-beast-breath concoction from yesterday.
“Please don’t tell me we have to eat it,” I said. “I don’t need to see anybody else throwing up toenails.”
“It goes on our skin,” Annabeth said. “Should keep the dead at bay, at least for a while.”
“But that’s not enough to cover all three of us.”
Gale chittered for a few seconds, giving us her professional opinion.
Grover translated. “She says you don’t have to cover yourself. Magic lotion is like bug repellent. If you just dab your wrists and either side of your neck, it will do the job.”
I made a note to try that with repellent next time I was at camp. We had some epic-size mosquitos in the woods.
“Good work, Gale,” I said. “You really came through.” She preened, looking quite pleased with herself.
It was enough to make me feel almost confident. A few days ago, I could barely imagine surviving our twice-daily walks with the pets. Now Hecuba and Gale were our friends—part of our team.
“Thank you,” I told the animals. “It’s an honor to be summoning dead New Yorkers with you.”
“Nope!” said Nope.
“And you, buddy,” I agreed. “You’re going to terrify them with cuteness.” “Nope!” agreed the hellpuppy.
I looked at Annabeth’s map. I tried to stay positive as I thought about what we were going to do.
“I got some intel at school,” I said. “I saw the way Hecate uses her torches.”
I told them what I’d seen in the counselor’s office—how the goddess held her torches outstretched to summon the dead, then crossed her arms over her chest to turn the spirits to dust.
When I told them what I’d learned about my mom, Annabeth put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my gods. Sally as a witch?”
Grover nodded. “She would have crushed that.” Then he looked at me and added hastily, “But I’m glad you were born, of course.”
When I told them about Eudora’s past career, Hecuba’s ears went back.
She whined plaintively. Gale scrambled over to her and put her paws around the hellhound’s neck. It was kind of heartbreaking.
“You liked Eudora,” I guessed. Hecuba whimpered.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think Eudora liked you both, too. She misses you. And the school.”
Gale gave me a stern look, like, Dude, stop making my friend cry.
“Right,” I said. “Sorry.”
Annabeth scanned the smashed cabinetry and dented appliances in the kitchen. “That history could be a problem. If this place has been deteriorating for over a century because Hecate can’t let go of the past, even an army of ghosts won’t be able to fix that. We can try repairs, but it’ll be
like patching cracks in the walls when the support beams are failing.”
I assumed that was an architectural thing. I nodded like it made sense to me.
“One problem at a time,” I suggested. “Let’s get the dead to paint the cracks first. Then we’ll worry about the support beams.”
Annabeth chewed her lip. “That’s … really not how construction works, but I guess you’re right.” She held out her arms like a traffic cop. “So, I keep my arms outstretched to summon the dead and direct their work.
When we’re done, I cross the torches in front of me. Sounds straightforward.”
Grover leaned over the table map. “I think this route here would have the fewest people coming back. Cut through, side street, side street. Then cross
to Irving Place and head straight north.”
Leading the dead through dark alleys also did not sound like a best practice. On the other hand, I wasn’t going to argue with Grover when it came to finding paths through the wild. Besides, if I complained, I would dishonor
the name of Alley Boy.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s goo up.”
Grover did the honors, anointing us with Gale’s yellow paste on our wrists and necks, which made us smell like burning polyester. Maybe ghosts were allergic to synthetic fabrics.
With apologies to Hecuba and Gale, we got the animals harnessed and leashed. Not that we didn’t trust Hecuba and Gale, but Nope was still trying to decide whether his leash was a toy, a meal, or something to pee on. We figured the grown-up pets might set a good example.
“I’ll get the torches for you,” I told Annabeth. Then I jogged up the stairs.
Annabeth was totally capable of getting the torches herself. But I wanted to hold them first just in case they electrocuted me, possessed me, or made me grow two extra faces. If that were going to happen to one of us, it should
have been me, the guy who didn’t know a support beam from a laser beam. Instead, the torches came off their plaque on the railing with no problem.
They were nothing fancy, just two wooden batons with tar-soaked rags wrapped around the business end.
I glanced down at Annabeth, who was frowning at me.
I grinned and spun the torches in slow motion like Bruce Lee with nunchakus.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “Bring those to me, Seaweed Brain. I’m not sure I trust you with flammable objects.”
Finally, we were ready to head out into the evening.
“Remember,” Grover said, “it’s only ten blocks or so, but the souls will be fighting us every step. Once we’ve got them, we need to make sure they stay on task. Not just Annabeth. All of us have to focus.”
Focus was not my favorite word, being ADHD and all. Sure, I could focus on something important in an emergency, like an ax swinging toward my head. But focusing on an idea for fifteen minutes while under stress, while moving, and after having been told to focus? My mind’s natural tendency would be to wander and think about literally anything else: pizza, streetlights, grades, the many ways I could die walking ten-plus blocks.
I took one more look around the shattered great room. I felt like I was forgetting something important. Eels? No. Candy corn? No. Gladiator loincloth? No thank you.
“Okay,” I said. “I guess we’re good.”
File that statement under Top Ten Times Percy Was Wrong.
