Raw Chicken Carcasses and Where to Find Them Hecate liked rules.
She had rules about feeding the pets, rules about walking them, rules about grooming them, and rules about how to follow the rules about the rules.
“These are Hecuba’s vitamins,” she said, standing in front of a cabinet lined with mason jars, each filled with what looked like chicken nuggets in
various colors—gray, gold, green, blue, and pink-and-white polka-dotted. “She gets two each morning out of each jar.”
“Each jar?” I asked.
It looked like too many vitamins, even for a hellhound-size stomach.
“Very important for her joints and fur,” Hecate insisted. “She doesn’t like them, but don’t let her refuse.”
Over in the corner of the den, Hecuba curled up on her doggie bed, which was the size of a bouncy house, put her face on her paws, and sighed heavily. I didn’t blame her. I was imagining how much time and work it would take every morning to coax her into eating forty Medicinal McNuggets.
“She can have two cups of kibble for breakfast and dinner,” Hecate continued. “No treats while I’m gone, or she’ll think she can take advantage of you.”
What she called kibble looked to me like a trash can full of rocks. The measuring scoop had been fashioned from a gallon milk jug. The kibble smoked like dry ice and gave off an odor like hot asphalt.
“Yum,” I said.
“She loves it,” Hecate insisted, then turned to her hellhound. “Don’t you, pwetty girl?”
Hecuba’s big bloodshot eyes seemed to send the message I hate my life.
“That’s my pwetty girl,” Hecate cooed. “Now, she gets walks twice a day, morning and evening. In here, you’ll find her supplies.”
She opened a closet door, revealing a box of extra-hefty forty-gallon
garden-waste bags that had been relabeled POOP BAGS FOR HECUBA. Hanging on the wall was an assortment of gigantic leashes—one pink, one yellow, one with daisies, and one with Hello Kitty designs.
“Just don’t take her any farther than Pennsylvania,” Hecate advised. “Pennsylvania?” Grover asked.
Hecate turned to Annabeth. “Are your friends a bit slow, or do they just have bad hearing?”
Annabeth kept a straight face. “They’re fine. Just a little in awe. You are a goddess, after all.”
Hecate looked satisfied with that answer. “Well … I’m glad they have a
sensible young woman to direct them, then. If I still had my school …” She hesitated, then sighed. “Never mind. It’s very important that the animals not be allowed outside without their leashes. The accessories are ensorcelled to make sure my little troublemakers can’t escape them and go romping off on their own. If one of you were to open the door and let them out—”
“We won’t,” I promised, because I was not in the mood to see another demonstration of Hecate’s fiery three-headed death threats. I also didn’t want to be ensorcelled. That sounded painful.
“Good!” Hecate said cheerily. “Now let’s talk about Gale.”
I wasn’t ready for that conversation … not once I saw the raw chicken.
Gale had her own polecat playroom. The place was a forest of carpeted columns riddled with polecat-size holes so Gale had plenty of places to
scamper, hide, and fart. A thick bed of cedar shavings on the floor partially covered up the aroma of intestinal distress, but it still smelled like Gale had made herself right at home. Along the back wall stood a row of combat
dummies—the kind you’d see in a self-defense class, with pedestal bases, padded upper bodies, and rubber heads with crew cuts. The polecat had been hard at work attacking these. I could tell from the chewed-off noses,
the ripped-open guts, and the claw marks where the dummies’ groins would have been.
All that I could have dealt with. A polecat has to have her fun. But I almost lost it when Hecate showed us Gale’s food supply.
The red-enameled refrigerator opened to reveal a row of chicken carcasses hanging on meat hooks. As soon as Gale saw them, she jumped from
Hecate’s shoulder and began chittering excitedly, running circles around Hecate’s feet.
“Silly girl.” The goddess chuckled. “Wait for me to set it up.”
Hecate removed a chicken carcass from the refrigerator and walked over to a large meat hook hanging by a chain from the ceiling. She impaled the chicken and let it swing.
Horror set in as I realized that the polecat was supposed to leap onto it
…. But it was six feet in the air. No way could Gale …
The polecat leaped up like a fuzzy rocket and sank her fangs into the chicken’s left thigh. She clawed her way onto the swinging poultry, then disappeared inside its, er, cavity. Growling, shredding, and slurping sounds issued from the chicken’s chest. Then, with a terrible r-r-rip, Gale’s head punched through the chicken’s rib cage. Her eyes gleamed with pleasure.
Her teeth were bloody, her fur coated with chicken flesh and fat.
“Oh,” Grover said in a weak falsetto. “I was hoping she ate mouse-flavored biscuits or something, but, um …”
But instead, we got the monster from Alien.
Even Annabeth looked a little freaked out, and she was the least freak-out- able of the three of us.
“Uh …” she said, which sounded like a noise you might make right before your lunch comes up. “How often does she do this?”
“Breakfast and dinner,” said Hecate with a pleased-mother smile. “She doesn’t eat the whole thing, obviously.”
I looked at the polecat, who had dived back into the carcass and was making it shake as flesh and fat dribbled out the bottom. “Wow.”
Hecate frowned at me. “The best part of a meal is playing with your food, Percy Jackson. Surely you know this.”
I thought about when I used to make castles with mashed potatoes and peas when I was a little dude. Then I thought about all the monsters who had toyed with me before trying to eat me for dinner.
“True,” I said. “So we let her chew on it for a while, and then …”
Gale dropped from the chicken, chittered at me a few times just to show off her fangs, then started grooming herself like a cat. I suddenly understood why her coat looked so glossy—a good conditioning with chicken fat.
“Then you clean up!” Hecate snapped her fingers, causing the carcass to
dissolve in a burst of dust. “Easy!” I noted that she’d left gross little bits of food on the floor for us to take care of.
Grover tried to snap his fingers. It was a trick he’d never really mastered.
Even if he could have, I suspected he wouldn’t have been able to magic away dead chickens. We were in for some fun work with Gale’s leftovers.
“Now,” Hecate said, “it’s important that you use the proper terminology when talking about Gale. She gets very upset if you call her any other type of mustelid. Whatever you do, never call her a weasel.”
Gale jumped and squeaked as if someone had stuck a pin in her butt. Her
eyes turned bright red. Steam came out of her ears. I was fairly certain most polecats did not do this.
“Of—of course,” Grover stammered. “Everyone knows polecats are much larger than weasels. Also, polecats have a black mask of fur that extends all the way to their nose!”
“Everyone knows that,” I agreed.
“She’s also not a ferret,” Hecate said. “Or a mink. Or a vole. And definitely not a skunk.”
Gale hissed in outrage.
“Nice polecat,” Annabeth said. “Definitely a polecat.”
Gale sniffed indignantly, then started playing with her nearest combat dummy. And when I say playing, I mean she leaped on its head and began to chew a hole in its face.
“Adorable,” I said.
“I know.” Hecate sighed contentedly. “I hate to leave them, even for a few days! But I trust they will be in good hands.” She looked at me, frowned, then gazed at Annabeth a bit more hopefully. “Gale’s harness is on the wall over there. She can go with you when you take Hecuba for walks.”
The harness was black leather with stainless steel spikes. Because Gale was metal.
Hecate showed us a few other highlights of the polecat cave: the cardboard box where Gale liked to sleep, next to the expensive polecat habitat that had come in the box but Gale wouldn’t even look at. There was a pallet of extra cedar shavings to spread on the floor as needed, a pooper-scooper, a grooming kit, and a polecat toothbrush with special bunny-flavored toothpaste.
Finally, Hecate led us back to the great room.
“What else …?” she mused. “Ah, yes, my symbols of power!”
She pointed to the crossed set of torches hanging from the balcony railing. “I am leaving you this set, but they should be used only in the event
of an extreme emergency. Is that clear?”
It was absolutely not clear. What were we supposed to do with a couple of torches? Did it count as an emergency if a Hyperborean giant came by and asked us for a light?
Since Hecate already thought I was an idiot, I figured the safest thing to do was nod. “Got it.”
“Good …” Hecate glanced at the stained-glass windows, which were darkening with the sunset. “I must be off. Tokyo Disneyland will be opening soon, and they’re holding a Spooky Boo! parade in my honor. Any questions? No? Good!”
She snapped her fingers once more. Her nightshirt and yoga pants transformed into an elaborate black evening gown, with black silk gloves, a diamond necklace, and a golden tiara in her thick black hair. She looked
like Dark Cinderella, ready to torture her wicked stepsisters, the prince, and the fairy godmother for not getting her a better carriage.
“The house keys are hanging by the front door on a keychain with little crossed torches,” she said. “Always lock up when you leave. I will see you at midnight on Friday. If all is in order, you will have your recommendation letter, Percy Jackson. If all is not in order …”
“I won’t need the recommendation letter,” I guessed. “Because I won’t have a future.”
She patted me on the cheek with her silk glove. “I knew you were smarter than you looked. Ta-ta!”
The goddess disappeared in a swirl of black soot.
I looked at Annabeth and Grover. I tried to think of something encouraging to say. Then I noticed Hecuba and Gale staring at us from the doorways of their respective rooms. Their eyes gleamed. They both grinned, baring their teeth as if thinking, Mom is gone. Now the fun begins.
