I Play with Purple Fire
There should be a rule that goddesses can never come home before 8:00 a.m.
Hecate blazed into the mansion at exactly 5:32.
I knew this because when I shot awake to the sound of trumpets and roaring flames, I found the goddess stepping through a fiery portal into the great room. Behind her, just for an instant, I saw a glowing golden clock—
the one in Grand Central Station. The image of the clock hands set to such an offensive time was burned into my retinas.
Why Hecate had decided to portal from a train station just up the street, I had no idea. Maybe she liked the coffee at Café Grumpy.
“I HAVE RETURNED!” Hecate announced, as if we might have missed that fact. Her voice shook the living room.
We all reacted in our own particular ways. Annabeth got to her feet, rubbed her eyes, and bowed to the goddess like this was something she did every morning. I tried to rise, became entangled in my sleeping bag, and fell
sideways onto a coffee table. Grover leaped into the air like a startled cat.
As for the animals, Hecuba and Gale took things in stride. The hellhound stretched, shook herself, then plodded over to sniff Hecate and find out
where she’d been. The polecat climbed the goddess’s dress, settled around her shoulders, and let loose a welcome-home fart. Nope, who had never met the goddess, decided nope. He hid behind Annabeth’s legs.
Hecate looked like she’d had quite a Halloween. Something red was splattered on her orange gown—maybe wine, maybe blood, maybe I didn’t want to know. Confetti covered her shoulders like rainbow snow. An overflowing plastic jack-o’-lantern bucket hung from her wrist. When she bent down to pet Hecuba, Smarties and Reese’s Pieces spilled out.
She was also rocking her three-headed beast form, with some terrifying modifications. Someone had face-painted the horse’s visage to look like a Rainbow Pony. The lion’s head wore a cheap mask of some old politician’s face …. Give me a second. Richard Nixon. That’s the guy. The dog’s head
wasn’t in costume, but it grinned and panted and drooled like it had just run ten miles and needed a bowl of water.
Gale scurried down the goddess’s arm and burrowed into the candy bucket, probably looking for chicken carcasses.
Hecate straightened. She scanned the great room, looking for anything out of place. She zeroed in on the hellhound puppy cringing behind Annabeth.
Nothing escaped the keen gaze of the goddess. “Who is that?” she asked.
“This is Nope,” Annabeth said. “We found him abandoned in an alley. Hecuba was nice enough to adopt him.”
Hecate’s three heads all tilted in sync. “Hecuba was … nice?” Hecuba barked, a tone of challenge in her voice.
“No, of course,” Hecate said. “I’m just … surprised. Come here, little one.”
Nope cautiously slinked out from his safe space and padded over to the goddess. Hecate scratched behind his ear, which seemed to melt his fears.
He thumped his leg and peed happily on the carpet. “Nope!” he barked.
“What a good boy,” Hecate said.
Grover cleared his throat. “He, um, says he’ll call you Third Mom.”
“Awww,” Hecate said. “He’s trying to say Triple Mom. That’s so cute! Well, if Hecuba has adopted you, I am happy to have you in the family.”
Her form shimmered and changed into her at-home appearance: a single- faced, middle-aged lady in yoga pants and a T-shirt. She drifted through the room, running her fingers across the furniture. “So, Percy Jackson, did you have any difficulties?”
I’d been preparing for this conversation. But I’d been planning to have it when I was awake.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” I started. “I did want to ask—”
“Aha!” Hecate shouted, startling Gale out of the jack-o’-lantern. The goddess scooped up a plastic container from behind the couch—
somebody’s empty soda bottle from the party. Judging from the orange residue in the bottom, I figured it was Connor Stoll’s. He had a thing for Sunkist Zero Sugar.
“What is this?” Hecate demanded. “Trash?”
Her silhouette blazed with purple fire. Nope whimpered and hid behind Hecuba. Grover yelped. “We can explain!”
The goddess laughed. The flames died. “I’m kidding.”
She grinned mischievously. “You had some friends over? I would expect nothing less to celebrate my holiest of nights. Don’t worry about it.” The bottle turned to ash in her fingers. “But seriously, plastic containers aren’t good for the earth. You should use Celestial bronze or ceramic.”
“Got it.” I calmed my nerves by imagining kicking Connor in the pants. “Could I—?”
“My pets look happy,” Hecate continued. “The manse is in good condition. You remembered to feed the eels?”
I had a flashback to Janet and the boys doing the macarena the night before. “Of course,” I said. “The eels are good. I—”
“Then I am pleased!” Hecate announced. “You have earned my recommendation letter.”
She wasn’t making it easy for me to get a word in. With a flourish of her wrist, a scroll appeared in her hand. “I spent a long time writing this. I think you will love it.” She handed me the parchment.
Even before I opened it, I was relieved. If Hecate had taken the time to write anything, it was already better than the letter I’d gotten from Ganymede.
He’d given me a blank piece of paper that I had to fill in myself.
I opened the scroll. It was done in red ink, in cursive, which made it almost impossible for my dyslexic eyes to decipher. But I finally puzzled out:
To Whom It May Concern:
I recommend Percy Jackson for things. Sincerely,
Hecate, the Goddess of Three Forms, Lady of Witchcraft, Queen of the Darkness, Keeper of Mysteries, Ultimate Power over Ghosts and Spirits, Almighty Sovereign of the Shadows I could have argued that the signature was longer than the actual letter. Or that things could’ve meant a death sentence, torture, extra homework.
Instead, I said, “Thank you, Lady Hecate. But before we leave—”
“Oh, yes, I know,” she assured me. “Never fear! I will definitely be calling you for pet-sitting services in the future. Now, if there’s nothing else
…”
I glanced at Hecuba and Gale, who were staring at me like, Dude, you
promised. Even Grover and Annabeth were waiting for my cue. I got the feeling they wouldn’t blame me if I bowed out gracefully.
Then it occurred to me that, whether Hecate knew it or not, she was offering me another crossroads—a temptation just as dangerous as the strawberry milkshake. It would be too easy to leave now with my recommendation letter. It would be a hundred percent safer. It would also be wrong.
“There is something else,” I said. Hecate frowned. “Oh?”
“Everything is fine now,” I said, “but the week wasn’t fine. We owe you the truth.”
I told her the whole story—from the strawberry apocalypse, to finding Nope, to Hecuba’s shadow-world excursion, to Gale’s indentured servitude at the
perfume shops, to our Halloween hijinks with Peter “Burn the Heretics” Stuyvesant.
While I spoke, Hecate remained absolutely still. When I finished, she glanced to either side as if she’d found herself standing at her own
crossroads and, for once, had no idea where she was.
“That is”—she considered her words—“quite a story. I did not take you for a fool, Percy Jackson. Why would you confess this? Why should I not
incinerate you?”
“You could,” I agreed. “But the truth is, we didn’t take care of Hecuba and Gale. They took care of us. Hecuba needs more freedom. She needs your trust. Gale, too. She should be allowed to practice alchemy in her own lab.”
Gale squeaked.
“Right,” I said. “With assistants. With opposable thumbs.”
The purple flames flickered again around Hecate’s body. “You dare to make demands of me?”
Annabeth and Grover tensed. I got the feeling they were prepared to jump in front of me, to shield me from Hecate’s wrath. I couldn’t let it come to that.
Somehow, I held the goddess’s gaze. I didn’t even wet my pants. Because heroism.
“I’m trying to show you the best path,” I said. “Whether you take it … that’s up to you. But Grover drinking that strawberry potion and tearing up
the manse—in a way, it’s the best thing that could’ve happened. I think, on some level, you meant for it to happen. We got the pets back, but now we understand what they need. We repaired the mansion, but its foundation has been cracking for over a century. Our architect, Annabeth, figured that out.
You’ve got a ghost problem. Old regrets. Old grudges. We saw that last night when we met your son Pete.”
Hecate closed her eyes. Was that a tear tracing down the side of her nose?
“Peter was … not my best attempt at parenting.” Her expression hardened again. “But how dare you presume—”
“Just hear me out,” I pleaded. “We owed it to you to fix what we broke.
But the manse is still broken. I know how you can repair it. To make it worthy of you”—. gestured at the pets—“and your family. Consider it a request, not a demand.”
Hecate’s flaming aura remained at simmer. Her eyes seemed to drill into my soul, trying to figure out how I could be so brash as to talk to a goddess this way. It was not the first time a god had looked at me like that.
Finally, she barked out a brittle laugh.
“You have surprised me, Percy Jackson,” she said. “That does not happen often.”
She glanced at Nope, who was still hiding behind his dog mama, Hecuba.
“I suppose you have brought me a new family member,” the goddess conceded, “which means I owe you a boon in return. Speak, and I will
decide whether it is something I can grant, or whether I must feed you all to my eels.”
I told Hecate my idea.
