The Apocalypse Smells Like Strawberries Somewhere under the wreckage of the front door, the animal-headed knockers were moaning … in pain?
Since they were made of metal, I figured they could wait.
Inside, our campsite was smoldering. The blue smoke was coming from
some broken vials that had gotten mixed in with our now-shredded bedrolls.
The benches had been reduced to kindling. The piano was flipped upside down. On the side walls, the stained-glass windows had been smashed, revealing nothing behind them but brick walls. The stairs were littered with heaps of fur and splatters of pink that I really hoped weren’t blood.
“An attack?” I wondered aloud.
My heart dragged like an anchor. If we’d left Grover alone and he’d gotten besieged by a Hecate-hating horde of monsters, I would never forgive myself.
“I don’t think so.” Annabeth’s voice quavered as she snuffed out the
bedrolls with wet towels. “Those windows, the doors—everything looks like it was busted from the inside.”
I knelt by the stairs and picked up a tuft of hair. “This looks like goat fur. And this pink stuff …”
Annabeth came up next to me. She had a stronger stomach than I did. She dabbed her finger in the sticky liquid and sniffed it. “Strawberry.” We ran for the kitchen.
The place looked like the set of The Great Chainsaw Bake Off season finale. Hecate’s bubbling pots had been swept off the stove, splattering magical stew everywhere—painting the cabinets, encrusting the appliances, streaking the ceiling with multicolored chunks and goo. It smelled just as bad as it sounds.
Some of the goo must have been acidic. It steamed as it ate through the floor tiles. The refrigerator looked like someone had taken a wrecking ball to it. The oven door was ripped off its hinges. Vials and beakers from Hecate’s cabinets had been disgorged and shattered.
And lying in the middle of all this chaos was a mountain of hairy flesh, snoring with gusto, its two massive shaggy legs propped against the kitchen island, its moose-size hooves pointing toward the ceiling.
I edged backward. “What is that?”
“It’s …” Annabeth made a strangled yelp. “Oh, gods, Grover!”
I must have heard her wrong. Grover didn’t come in XXXL size. He didn’t shake buildings when he snored, and he would never disrespect a kitchen
full of food like this.
But when I stood alongside Fur Mountain, I realized that shreds of Grover’s shirt clung to its shoulders. Its body was enormous and almost entirely goatish, but if I squinted and used my imagination, I could almost make out Grover’s face—incredibly overinflated, as if he’d had the worst allergic reaction ever.
“Wh-what do we do?” I stammered.
I hoped Annabeth had a plan. Children of Athena always had a plan. But she looked as bewildered as I felt.
“Maybe we should get him to camp,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like …”
Fur Mountain groaned. His gut rumbled, and though it was ten times louder than usual, I recognized the warning sound.
“Hit the deck!” I ducked and covered as Fur Mountain unleashed the Belch Heard ’Round the World.
A strawberry-scented shock wave rolled across the kitchen, rattling
appliances and knocking over the few beakers that hadn’t yet been broken.
When I dared to look back up, Grover’s body had deflated to near-normal size. His upper half was mostly human again. His face popped back into shape like an anti-dent car hood, but he still seemed to be out cold.
Annabeth staggered to the nearest sink. She filled a cup and threw cold water in Grover’s face.
“BLAHHHHHH!” Grover’s eyes fluttered open. He tried to sit up, yelped in pain, and lay down again. “My head. Why is everything so bright? Why
—?”
He tented his hands over his mouth. His eyes widened. “Oh, no.”
Then he curled into a fetal position and began to cry.
“Hey, man …” I patted his shoulder. I couldn’t tell him everything was okay. Clearly it wasn’t. But I tried my best. “We’re here for you. Do you remember what happened?”
“The milkshake,” he whimpered.
I locked eyes with Annabeth. I’d kind of guessed, given the strawberry scent of this apocalyptic wasteland. Still … I had to fight the urge to yell, DUDE, YOU HAD ONE JOB! First, that wasn’t true. We’d left Grover in charge of an entire haunted house, and I’d known in the depths of my worst-case-scenario heart that the milkshake experiment was going to be a problem. Second, Grover already felt terrible enough.
“I didn’t mean to,” he sobbed. “I was moving it to the freezer like I was supposed to. Then the lid popped open, and that aroma … The next thing I knew …”
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Annabeth said, taking his arm. “No, the pets!” Grover yelped. “Check the pets!”
Annabeth cursed. I hadn’t thought of the pets either, but with the front doors busted open … Did that count as letting them out? I prayed Grover had left their leashes on so they would still be spellbound to stay in the house.
We left Grover and raced through the mansion, calling out for Gale and Hecuba. Maybe Hecuba was taking a nap. Maybe Gale was attacking her chicken carcasses. But I remembered how grumpy they’d looked when Hecate had talked about their accessories being ensorcelled to keep them inside, and how much they loved their walks.
No luck on the first floor. We bounded upstairs. The second floor seemed to have been spared any damage from Grover’s Goat Hulk rampage, but there was no sign of the pets.
Annabeth ran to check the back rooms.
I stopped at the moray tank. “Where’d they go? The hellhound and the polecat?”
I ate them, said Janet. “What?!”
She’s kidding, said Fortunato, because I guess moray eels are huge jokers.
As soon as the doors busted open, both ran out. Can we eat them when you bring them back?
“No!”
Can we eat the satyr?
“No!”
I rendezvoused with Annabeth at the entrance to the library. “Nothing,” she reported.
“The eels say Gale and Hecuba left. They’re in the wild.” I gestured vaguely toward Midtown, which is about as wild as it gets.
Annabeth took a deep breath. I guessed she was counting to ten, trying to find her Athena-Zen-logical-happy-place that would keep her from screaming. “First things first. Let’s check on Grover.”
Back in the kitchen, the satyr was slowly returning to normal. His left horn was still too big, curled like a nautilus shell. His right bicep was the size of a watermelon. He was splattered head to hoof with sticky pink goo, but
otherwise he looked like regular old Grover, now with ninety-five percent more strawberry flavor.
“How bad is it?” he asked.
I told him. There was no use sugarcoating it, especially since he was already sugarcoated.
He put his face in his hands and groaned. “I’ve ruined everything. And it’s only Tuesday!”
“We’ll figure it out,” Annabeth said, though she didn’t sound confident.
“Grover, we have to track down the animals. We’re going to need your talents for that. Can you stand?”
This was a smart move—enlisting Grover to help, making him feel like he was part of the solution. Why hadn’t I thought of it? Probably because I was so angry at him. I kept telling myself I shouldn’t blame my best friend for what had happened. I was the one who’d left him alone in the house, after all. Even Annabeth had contributed to the situation, by losing track of time at school. Still, despite these rationalizations, I was shaking with rage.
Annabeth must have seen it.
“Percy, why don’t you go get the leashes,” she said. “We’ll meet you at the front door.”
“Good idea,” I said, and off I went.
My brain was full of static. My hands felt numb. I didn’t realize I’d grabbed Gale’s harness until the spikes started biting into my palm. I snatched up Hecuba’s leash, then headed for the front door.
I remembered Hecate’s triple-headed form in the principal’s office. I’d been threatened by a lot of gods over the years. With Hecate it hit differently— beyond the usual Obey me now bluster. Maybe it was because Hecate had power over the Mist. Something about her made me doubt my own sanity.
Like perhaps all goddesses were supposed to have three
different faces at once. Perhaps toilets should be on the ceiling. Perhaps polecats were different than weasels.
I felt like if she punished me for wrecking her house and, even worse, losing her beloved pets, I wouldn’t just die. I would be dissolved, rewritten, erased from reality. I would doubt myself right out of existence. She could
control what mortals saw and what they thought. That was basically the same as controlling who they were.
The idea terrified me. It made me want to crawl into the eels’ tank and hide. I guess that’s why I felt so angry. I couldn’t let myself get dissolved into the Mist. And I definitely couldn’t let that happen to Grover or Annabeth.
There is nothing wrong with your sight. Hecate’s voice whispered in my mind, but I wasn’t sure if it was real, or a dream, or a haunted memory.
I stood in the shattered doorway, looking down the cranium-brick path toward Gramercy Park. For a moment, I saw that ghostly blue image on the bicycle again, fleeing as fast as a child could pedal.
There now. That’s better. Hecate’s laughter echoed through the foyer. How could she be laughing, I wondered, in the face of all this mess? Could she not see it?
“Percy?”
Annabeth touched my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my sneakers. “Yeah,” I said. “Uh, we ready?”
Annabeth pointed toward Grover, who was leaning against the wall, trembling like he had just thrown up.
“I—I can try,” he said. “I can—”
His knees buckled. I managed to catch him before he face-planted on the carpet.
“Whoa, okay,” I said. “You’re not going anywhere, G-man. You need to rest.”
“But the first twenty-four hours are critical,” he murmured, “in missing- animal cases. We need to … urgh.”
He slumped against me, all his energy sapped. He’d gone from being Fur Mountain, Destroyer of Worlds, to a paper satyr who weighed almost nothing in my arms.
“Let’s get you sitting down,” I said.
Then I remembered that all the furniture in the great room was broken. Our bedrolls were half-burned from magical chemicals.
Annabeth and I made a nest out of our spare clothes and eased Grover onto the floor.
“I’ll be okay in a minute,” he said. “I just …” He keeled over sideways and started to snore.
Annabeth and I stood over him. The house was quiet except for the cries of the buried door knockers and the eels in their tank, singing the Gollum song about fish in four-part harmony.
“Pretty sure Grover will recover,” Annabeth ventured.
“You think he’s right about the twenty-four-hour thing?” I asked.
She made a listless, one-shoulder shrug. “I don’t know. Sounds like something he heard on Unsolved Murders. But I do think we need to get out there.”
I stared down at Grover—a pitiful, strawberry-frosted lump of unhappiness, whimpering in his sleep. A cold feeling of certainty settled over me—the kind I usually get when I’m about to do something necessary and potentially fatal. I’d been wrong to leave Grover alone before and put him in this position. I needed to fix it.
“You stay with him,” I told Annabeth. “I’ll track down the pets, starting with Hecuba.”
Annabeth frowned. “Won’t you need help?”
I tried not to feel like she was doubting my abilities the way I was doubting my abilities.
“I’ll have help,” I assured her. “It’s time to use a hellhound to catch a hellhound. I’m calling in Mrs. O’Leary.”
