Page 188 of The Games Gods Play
Dex must have told her about the deal I offered…and about why.
I knew he’d be the godsdamned leak. Did he make some kind of deal with her? He is, after all, her champion.
When I say and do no more, she forms a disappointed pout before stalking past me and the others to the first of the spikes, where she picks up a large, clear, covered bowl filled with spiders. She takes the lid off and holds it under Boone’s head, catching the blood that’s dripping down as if he was only just killed minutes ago.
Revulsion is a slap to the face as the spiders immediately start growing. Athena dumps them into the glass maze below us, where they scuttle off, continuing to get bigger and bigger.
“Ooh, pretty,” Dex says, still in that odd voice.
I glance at his face, dark eyes glossy with fervor. What is going on with him?
Athena follows the spiders with a bowl of scorpions grown with Neve’s blood, then a bowl of bullet ants grown with Isabel’s blood, and finally a nest of hornets with Dae’s grandmother’s blood.
All these creatures go into the glass maze.
Athena doesn’t waste time with long explanations.
“Get out if you can. You may not use a relic of any kind to skip running the maze, just to survive it. If you can’t find your way out in an hour…” She points to a massive digital clock set to sixty minutes. “Then you’ll be left down there to suffocate or for the bugs to eat. The first champion out wins.”
92
Creepy As Fuck
At the snap of Athena’s fingers, I’m no longer standing on the platform. I’m in the pit of glass and rock—at the very bottom, probably, because the floor here is sandy, crunching beneath my shoes. The air is stale, unmoving. At least it feels like there’s air in here, though Athena did say “suffocate,” so I’m guessing it will only last so long.
The cheering of the crowd is more like a faint buzz in the background. Mostly, I hear the sound of my own breathing. None of the other champions are anywhere near me that I can tell. And I can’t use my pearls to get out faster. Pretty sure Athena added that rule just for me.
A noise like feet running—no, it’s more like feet scuttering over sand and rock—whizzes by. Maybe in the next tunnel, because nothing is here with me. Yet.
At another scuttering overhead, I look up to see at least ten different bugs crawling around the levels above, their many legs clicking against glass floors. I frown at the underside of the maze directly above my head. That glass looks scored. For us to run easier? Or for the bugs to?
A splatter of yellow goo from overhead has me scrambling back just in time to see the underside of Zai’s feet as he runs by with the Harpe of Perseus clutched in his white-knuckled hands.
Move, Lyra. He’s already trying to win. He’s already gotten up a level.
I hate that I have to think that way at all.
Right or left? I choose right, and only a short way in, the path turns to shadows as it twists and turns beneath the stadium, until the light is blocked completely. I’m about ten steps into the pitch black, navigating by touch, when they come.
Spiders.
Out of the darkness.
Which is when I run into a web. Already they’ve laid a trap that covers the entire width of the tunnel. I manage to swallow my yelp of surprise, but my touching the web sets them off. With a tapping and odd sort of squeaking that reminds me of my tarantula, I’m covered in spiders the size of my fists.
I can’t see, but they are all over me.
Thank you, Order of Thieves, for the torturous training that means bugs don’t bother me. I saw the kind of spiders Athena used. Nothing deadly. Painful at this size if they bite, probably, but my flesh won’t rot off.
Eyes and mouth closed, holding my breath, I form my hands into flat, closed-fingered blades and slide them along my arms, knocking them off me. A sudden sting of pain on my neck makes me flinch, and thank the gods this isn’t Artemis’ Labor with the fear, pain, and confusion overtaking me, because that would suck worse.
Forcing myself to move carefully, I knock that spider off, too. But then a second, less painful sting hits my ankle through my pantleg.
I frown. They shouldn’t be biting me. I’m not being antagonistic. I’m not wiggling, screaming, moving, or crushing them. These aren’t aggressive spiders.
I back up while I keep knocking them away. Another bite at my hip. And they keep coming. More and more of them. This is an attack.
Almost like it’s planned.
