Page 29 of The Games Gods Play
I take a deep breath. Panic will get me nowhere. I need to think. What the hells had Hades said exactly? This test is cryptic, but there will be signs.
He meant something by that? Something more than just being an unhelpful ass?
Think, Lyra. What could he have been saying?
I single out the important words. Test. Cryptic. Signs.
My fingers are gripping the bowl so tightly, a rough edge rubs against my palm. I go to set it back down, but something niggles at me. Why would a god ever allow a blemish on one of their artifacts?
I run my fingers along the rough edge again and realize it wasn’t a mistake… There are tiny, raised bumps just along one edge. Crypticode!
I don’t dare glance in Hades’ direction as I run my fingers against the lip of the smooth marble bowl.
Please let me be right.
“What in Olympus’ name is she doing?” I think that’s Athena’s voice. I don’t turn to see.
Closing my eyes, I feel along the system of bumps, which are formed into dots and dashes a lot like Morse code. That little bell keeps going off as more champions find their tokens.
But I stay focused, reading the code on the bowl. Directions.
The rules said if you reach your god or goddess, you win the gifts. And presumably the token was one way to reach them at the finish line, so to speak. But the rules didn’t say you couldn’t find a way to your patron yourself.
I quickly set the bowl down and pick up another object, feeling around until I find the same pattern of small bumps. Every item in here must have the same directions on it—directions that make the hope wither in my chest like the hydrangeas after Demeter got upset.
I look up the path that is almost entirely stairs that wind and climb the mountainside into the heart of Olympus, and my hopeful heart drops back to the soles of my feet to be trampled.
Fuck me.
The gong resounds. “Five minutes. Gods and goddesses, leave to wait for your champions at the appointed location.”
I’ll never make it in time.
Out of nowhere, Hades appears at my side. “Go.”
I lift my chin and take a deep breath. I haven’t spent all my life tooling around the steep hills of San Francisco for nothing.
I grab his arm for balance while I strip the fancy heels from my feet. Then I throw them to the ground and take off running up the stairs.
15
You Better Work, Bitch
The stairs are steep and winding…and marble. Slick marble. In no time, my lungs and legs are burning hard, my breath so loud that I sound like the little engine that could struggling to chug up the mountain, and I keep slipping, too, which slows me down more.
Up ahead, a burst of movement catches my eye, but I’m busy watching the stairs to keep from tripping, so I don’t see what. I round the corner and have to leap back as a massive head rushes me with sharp-tooth-filled jaws. A trumpeting roar of challenge ricochets off the mountains all around as a hydra rises up, blocking the stairs, its seven heads writhing and snapping at one another, three of them focused on me.
I can practically feel Apollo’s chariot moving the sun through the sky faster. The time I have left to get to the top is ticking down. I can’t fight a monster even if I had a weapon on me, which I don’t.
The hydra stares at me, and I stare at it.
A silver butterfly flits behind one of the heads, and I gasp. The monster sways and snaps its jaws as it blocks my path, but it doesn’t attack. I watch the butterfly flutter in circles behind the giant beast. Wait. No. I watch the butterfly…through the beast.
Is this an illusion? Like the food or the gargoyle?
What am I supposed to do? I’m out of time.
Heart hammering, I take a deep breath, lower my gaze to my feet, and go. I sprint right at the hydra and yelp when yellowing, jagged teeth surround me as I plow into what should be its open maw. But the second I make contact, it disappears in a wisp of smoke and the stairs are clear.
