ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
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ዘመኑ ባፈራው የቴክኖሎጂ ግብአት በመጠቀም ለህብረተሰባችን ስራ ለሁሉም በሚል ግብ የተሻለ የስራ አማራጭ፣ ለተሻለ ኑሮ፣ ለተሻለ የገበያ ትስስር ፣ ለተቀናጀ የገበያ ተደራሽነት ገዥን ከደንበኛ የማስተሳሰሪያ የቴክኖሎጂ አማራጭ ይዘን መተናል በሁሉም የስራ መስክ በሁሉም የስራ እርከን ስራ ለሚገኙ ባለሙያዎች እና ድርጅቶች የስራ አጋጣሚን መፍጠር
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San Francisco Spring 1995
District Attorney Carl Andrews was in a fury. "What the
hell is going on here?'' he demanded. "We have three doctors living together and working at the same hospital. One of them almost gets an entire hospital closed down, the second one kills a patient for a million dollars, and the third one is murdered."
Andrews stopped to take a deep breath. "And they're all women! Three goddam women doctors! The media is treating them like celebrities. They're all over the tube. 60 Minutes did a segment on them. Barbara Wal•ters did a special on them. I can't pick up a newspaper or magazine without seeing their pictures, or reading about them. Two to one, Hollywood is going to make a movie about them, and they'll turn the bitches into some kind of heroines! I wouldn't be surprised if the government put their faces on postage stamps, like Pres•ley. Well, by God, I won't have it!" He slammed a fist down against the photograph of a woman on the cover of Time magazine. The caption read: "Dr. Paige Taylor- Angel of Mercy or the Devil's Disciple?"
"Dr. Paige Taylor." The district attorney's voice was filled with disgust. He turned to Gus Venable, his chief prosecuting attorney. "I'm handing this trial over to you, Gus. I want a conviction. Murder One. The gas chamber." "Don't worry," Gus Venable said quietly. "I'll see to it."
Sitting in the courtroom watching Dr. Paige Taylor, Gus Venable thought: She's jury-proof. Then he smiled to himself. No one is jury-proof. She was tall and slen•der, with eyes that were a startling dark brown in her pale face. A disinterested observer would have dis•missed her as an attractive woman. A more observant one would have noticed something else-that all the different phases of her life coexisted in her. There was the happy excitement of the
child, superimposed onto the shy uncertainty of the adolescent and the wisdom and pain of the woman. There was a look of innocence about her. She's the kind of girl, Gus Venable thought cynically, a man would be proud to take home to his mother. If his mother had a taste for cold-blooded kill•ers.
There was an almost eerie sense of remoteness in her eyes, a look that said that Dr. Paige Taylor had retreated deep inside herself to a different place, a different time, far from the cold, sterile courtroom where she was trapped.
The trial was taking place in the venerable old San Francisco Hall of Justice on Bryant Street. The building, which housed the Superior Court and County Jail, was a forbidding-looking edifice, seven stories high, made of square gray stone. Visitors arriving at the courthouse were funneled through electronic security checkpoints. Upstairs,
on the third floor, was the Superior Court. In Courtroom 121, where murder trials were held, the judge's bench stood against the rear wall, with an Amer•ican flag behind it. To the left of the bench was the jury box, and in the center were two tables separated by an aisle, one for the prosecuting attorney, the other for the defense attorney.
The courtroom was packed with reporters and the type of spectators attracted to fatal highway accidents and murder trials. As murder trials went, this one was spectacular. Gus Venable, the prosecuting attorney, was a show in himself. He was a burly man, larger than life, with a mane of gray hair, a goatee, and the courtly manner of a Southern plantation owner. He had never been to the South. He had an air of vague bewilderment and the brain of a computer. His trademark, summer and winter, was a white suit, with an old-fashioned stiff-collar shirt.
Paige Taylor's attorney, Alan Penn, was Venable's opposite, a compact, energetic shark, who had built a reputation for racking up acquittals for his clients.
The two men had faced each other before, and their relationship was one of grudging respect and total mis•trust.
To Venable's surprise, Alan Penn had come to see him the week before the trial was to begin.
"I came here to do you a favor, Gus."
Beware of defense attorneys bearing gifts. "What did you have in mind, Alan?"
"Now understand-I haven't discussed this with my client
yet, but suppose-just suppose-I could per•suade her to plead guilty to a reduced charge and save the State the cost of a trial?"
"Are you asking me to plea-bargain?" "Yes."
Gus Venable reached down to his desk, searching for something. "I can't find my damn calendar. Do you know what the date is?"
"June first. Why?"
"For a minute there, I thought it must be Christmas
already, or you wouldn't be asking for a present like that." "Gus . . ."
Venable leaned forward in his chair. "You know, Alan, ordinarily, I'd be inclined to go along with you. Tell you the truth, I'd like to be in Alaska fishing right now. But the answer is no. You're defending a cold•blooded killer who murdered a helpless patient for his money. I'm demanding the death penalty."
"I think she's innocent, and I-"
Venable gave a short, explosive laugh. "No, you don't. And neither does anyone else. It's an open-and-shut case. Your client is as guilty as Cain."
"Not until the jury says so, Gus." "They will." He paused. "They will."
After Alan Penn left, Gus Venable sat there thinking about their conversation. Penn's coming to him was a sign of weakness. Penn knew there was no chance he could win the trial. Gus Venable thought about the irre•futable evidence he had, and the witnesses he was going to call, and he was satisfied.
There was no question about it. Dr. Paige Taylor was going to the gas chamber.
It had not been easy to impanel a jury. The case had occupied the headlines for months. The cold-blooded•ness of
the murder had created a tidal wave of anger.
The presiding judge was Vanessa Young, a tough, brilliant black jurist rumored to be the next nominee for the United States Supreme Court. She was not known for being patient with lawyers, and she had a quick temper. There was an adage among San Francisco trial lawyers: If your client is guilty, and you're looking for mercy, stay away from Judge Young's courtroom.
The day before the start of the trial, Judge Young had summoned the two attorneys to her chambers.
"We're going to set some ground rules, gentlemen. Because of the serious nature of this trial, I'm willing to make certain allowances to make sure that the defen•dant gets a fair trial. But I'm warning both of you not to try to take advantage of that. Is that clear?"
"Yes, your honor." "Yes, your honor."
Gus Venable was finishing his opening statement. "And so, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the State will prove-yes, prove beyond a reasonable doubt-that Dr. Paige Taylor killed her patient, John Cronin. And not only did she commit murder, she did it for money . . . a lot of money. She killed John Cronin for one million dollars.
"Believe me, after you've heard all the evidence, you will have no trouble in finding Dr. Paige Taylor guilty of murder in the first degree. Thank you."
The jury sat in silence, unmoved but expectant.
Gus Venable turned to the judge. "If it please your honor, I would like to call Gary Williams as the State's first witness."
When the witness was sworn in, Gus Venable said, "You're an orderly at Embarcadero County Hospital?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Were you working in Ward Three when John Cronin was brought in last year?"
"Yes."
"Can you tell us who the doctor in charge of his case was?"
"Dr. Taylor."
"How would you characterize the relationship be•tween Dr.
Taylor and John Cronin?"
"Objection!" Alan Penn was on his feet. "He's call•ing for a conclusion from the witness."
"Sustained."
"Let me phrase it another way. Did you ever hear any conversations between Dr. Taylor and John Cronin?"
"Oh, sure. I couldn't help it. I worked that ward all the time."
"Would you describe those conversations as friendly?" "No, sir."
"Really? Why do you say that?"
"Well, I remember the first day Mr. Cronin was brought in, and Dr. Taylor started to examine him, he said to keep her .
. ."He hesitated. "I don't know if I can repeat his language."
"Go ahead, Mr. Williams. I don't think there are any children in this courtroom."
"Well, he told her to keep her fucking hands off him." "He said that to Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Please tell the court what else you may have seen or heard."
"Well, he always called her 'that bitch.' He didn't want
her to go near him. Whenever she came into his room, he would say things like 'Here comes that bitch again!' and 'Tell that bitch to leave me alone' and 'Why don't they get me a real doctor?' "
Gus Venable paused to look over to where Dr. Taylor was seated. The jurors' eyes followed him. Venable shook his head, as though saddened, then turned back to the witness. "Did Mr. Cronin seem to you to be a man who wanted to give a million dollars to Dr. Taylor?"
Alan Penn was on his.feet again. "Objection! He's calling for an opinion again."
Judge Young said, "Overruled. The witness may an•swer the question."
Alan Penn looked at Paige Taylor and sank back in his seat.
"Hell, no. He hated her guts."
* * *
Dr. Arthur Kane was in the witness box. Gus Venable said, "Dr. Kane, you were the staff doctor in charge when it was discovered that John Cronin was mur..." He looked at Judge Young. "... killed by insu•lin being introduced into his IV. Is that correct?"
"It is."
"And you subsequently discovered that Dr. Taylor was responsible."
"That's correct."
"Dr. Kane, I'm going to show you the official hospi•tal death form signed by Dr. Taylor." He picked up a paper and handed it to Kane. "Would you read it aloud, please?"
Kane began to read. "John Cronin. Cause of Death: Respiratory arrest occurred as a complication of myocardial infarction occurring as a complication of pulmo•nary embolus.' "
"And in layman's language?"
"The report says that the patient died of a heart at•tack."
"And that paper is signed by Dr. Taylor?" "Yes."
"Dr. Kane, was that the true cause of John Cronin's death?"
"No. The insulin injection caused his death."
"So, Dr. Taylor administered a fatal dose of insulin and then falsified the report?"
"Yes."
"And you reported it to Dr. Wallace, the hospital administrator, who then reported it to the authorities?" "Yes. I felt it was my duty." His voice rang with righteous indignation. "I'm a doctor. I don't believe in taking the life of another human being under any circumstances."
The next witness called was John Cronin's widow. Hazel
Cronin was in her late thirties, with flaming red hair, and a voluptuous figure that her plain black dress failed to conceal.
Gus Venable said, "I know how painful this is for you,
Mrs. Cronin, but I must ask you to describe to the jury your relationship with your late husband."
The widow Cronin dabbed at her eyes with a large lace handkerchief. "John and I had a loving marriage. He was a
wonderful man. He often told me I had brought him the only real happiness he had ever known."
"How long were you married to John Cronin?"
"Two years, but John always said it was like two years in heaven."
"Mrs. Cronin, did your husband ever discuss Dr. Taylor
with you? Tell you what a great doctor he thought she was? Or how helpful she had been to him? Or how much he liked her?" "He never mentioned her."
"Never?"
"Never."
"Did John ever discuss cutting you and your brothers out of his will? '
"Absolutely not. He was the most generous man in the world. He always told me that there was nothing I couldn't
have, and that when he died ..." Her voice broke. "... that when he died, I would be a wealthy woman, and ..." She could not go on.
Judge Young said, "We'll have a fifteen-minute re•cess."
Seated in the back of the courtroom, Jason Curtis was filled with anger. He could not believe what the witnesses were saying about Paige. This is the woman I love, he thought. The woman I'm going to marry.
Immediately after Paige's arrest, Jason Curtis had gone to visit her in jail.
"We'll fight this," he assured her. "I'll get you the best criminal lawyer in the country." A name immedi•ately sprang to mind. Alan Penn. Jason had gone to see him.
"I've been following the case in the papers," Penn said. "The press has already tried and convicted her of murdering John Cronin for a bundle. What's more, she admits she killed him."
"I know her," Jason Curtis told him. "Believe me, there's no way Paige could have done what she did for money." "Since she admits she killed him," Penn said, "what we're dealing with here then is euthanasia. Mercy killings are against the law in California, as in most states, but there are a lot of mixed feelings about them. I can make a pretty good case for Florence Nightingale listening to a Higher Voice and all that shit, but the problem is that your lady love killed a patient who left her a million dollars in his
will. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Did she know
about the million before she killed him, or after?" "Paige didn't know a thing about the money," Jason said firmly.
Penn's tone was noncommittal. "Right. It was just a happy coincidence. The DA is calling for Murder One, and he wants the death penalty."
"Will you take the case?"
Penn hesitated. It was obvious that Jason Curtis be•lieved
in Dr. Taylor. The way Samson believed in Deli•lah. He looked at Jason and thought: I wonder if the poor son of a bitch had a haircut and doesn't know it.
Jason was waiting for an answer.
"I'll take the case, as long as you know it's all uphill. It's going to be a tough one to win."
Alan Penn's statement turned out to be overly opti•mistic.
When the trial resumed the following morning, Gus Venable called a string of new witnesses.
A nurse was on the stand. "I heard John Cronin say, 'I know I'll die on the operating table. You're going to kill me. I hope they get you for murder.' "
An attorney, Roderick Pelham, was on the stand. Gus Venable said, "When you told Dr. Taylor about the million dollars from John Cronin's estate, what did she say?" "She said something like 'It seems unethical. He was my patient.' "
"She admitted it was unethical?" "Yes."
"But she agreed to take the money?" "Oh, yes. Absolutely."
Alan Penn was cross-examining.
"Mr. Pelham, was Dr. Taylor expecting your visit?" "Why, no, I . . ."
"You didn't call her and say, 'John Cronin left you one million dollars'?"
"No. I ..."
"So when you told her, you were actually face-to-face with her?"
"Yes."
"In a position to see her reaction to the news?" "Yes."
"And when you told her about the money, how did she react?"
"Well-she-she seemed surprised, but ..." "Thank you, Mr. Pelham. That's all."
The trial was now in its fourth week. The spectators and press had found the prosecuting attorney and de•fense attorney fascinating to watch. Gus Venable was dressed in white and Alan Penn in black, and the two of them had moved around the courtroom like players in a deadly, choreographed game of chess, with Paige Taylor the sacrificial pawn.
Gus Venable was tying up the loose ends.
"If the court please, I would like to call Alma Rogers to the witness stand."
When his witness was sworn in, Venable said, "Mrs. Rogers, what is your occupation?"
"It's Miss Rogers."
"I do beg your pardon."
"I work at the Corniche Travel Agency."
"Your agency books tours to various countries and makes hotel reservations and handles other accommoda-i tions for your clients?"
"Yes, sir."
"I want you to take a look at the defendant. Have you ever seen her before?"
"Oh, yes. She came into our travel agency two or three years ago."
"And what did she want?"
"She said she was interested in a trip to London and Paris and, I believe, Venice."
"Did she ask about package tours?"
"Oh, no. She said she wanted everything first class-
plane, hotel. And I believe she was interested in charter•ing a yacht."
The courtroom was hushed. Gus Venable walked over to the prosecutor's table and held up some folders. "The police found these brochures in Dr. Taylor's apartment. These are travel itineraries to Paris and Lon•don and Venice, brochures for expensive hotels and airlines, and one listing the cost of chartering a private yacht."
There was a loud murmur from the courtroom.
The prosecutor had opened one of the brochures.
"Here are some of the yachts listed for charter," he read aloud. "The Christina O . . . twenty-six thousand dollars a week plus ship's expenses ... the Resolute Time, twenty-four thousand five hundred dollars a week ... the Lucky Dream, twenty-seven thousand three hundred dollars a week." He looked up. "There's a check mark after the Lucky Dream. Paige Taylor had already selected the
twenty-seven-thousand-three-hun-dred-a-week yacht. She just hadn't selected her victim yet.
"We'd like to have these marked Exhibit A." Venable turned to Alan Penn and smiled. Alan Penn looked at Paige. She was staring down at the table, her face pale. "Your witness."
Penn rose to his feet, stalling, thinking fast.
"How is the travel business these days, Miss Rog•ers?" "I beg your pardon?"
"I asked how business was. Is Corniche a large travel agency?"
"It's quite large, yes."
"I imagine a lot of people come in to inquire about trips."
"Oh, yes."
"Would you say five or six people a day?"
"Oh, no!" Her voice was indignant. "We talk to as many as fifty people a day about travel arrangements."
"Fifty people a day?" He sounded impressed. "And the day we're talking about was two or three years ago. If you multiply fifty by nine hundred days, that's roughly forty-five thousand people."
"I suppose so."
"And yet, out of all those people, you remembered Dr. Taylor. Why is that?"
"Well, she and her two friends were so excited about
taking a trip to Europe. I thought it was lovely. They were like schoolgirls. Oh, yes. I remember them very clearly, particularly because they didn't look like they could afford a yacht."
"I see. I suppose everyone who comes in and asks for a brochure goes away on a trip?"
"Well, of course not. But-"
"Dr. Taylor didn't actually book a trip, did she?" "Well, no. Not with us. She--"
"Nor with anyone else. She merely asked to see some brochures."
"Yes. She-"
"That's not the same as going to Paris or London, is it?" "Well, no, but-"
"Thank you. You may step down."
Venable turned to Judge Young. "I would like to call Dr. Benjamin Wallace to the stand. "
"Dr. Wallace, you're in charge of administration at Embarcadero County Hospital?"
"Yes."
"So, of course, you're familiar with Dr. Taylor and her work?"
"Yes, I am."
"Were you surprised to learn that Dr. Taylor was indicted for murder?"
Penn was on his feet. "Objection, your honor. Dr. Wallace's answer would be irrelevant."
"If I may explain," interrupted Venable. "It could be very relevant if you'll just let me "
"Well, let's see what develops," said Judge Young. "But no nonsense, Mr. Venable."
"Let me approach the question differently," contin•ued Venable. "Dr. Wallace, every physician is required to take the Hippocratic Oath, is that not so?"
"Yes."
"And part of that oath is"-the prosecutor read from a
paper in his hand-" 'that I shall abstain from every act of mischief or corruption'?"
"Yes."
"Was there anything Dr. Taylor did in the past that made you believe she was capable of breaking her Hippocratic Oath?"
"Objection." "Overruled." "Yes, there was."
"Please explain what it was."
"We had a patient who Dr. Taylor decided needed a blood transfusion. His family refused to grant permis•sion."
"And what happened?"
"Dr. Taylor went ahead and gave the patient the transfusion anyway." "Is that legal?"
"Absolutely not. Not without a court order." "And then what did Dr. Taylor do?" "She obtained the court order afterward, and changed the date on it."
"So she performed an illegal act, and falsified the hospital records to cover it up?"
"That is correct."
Alan Penn glanced over at Paige, furious. What the hell else has she kept from me? he wondered.
If the spectators were searching for any telltale sign of emotion on Paige Taylor's face, they were disap•pointed. Cold as ice, the foreman of the jury was thinking.
Gus Venable turned to the bench. "Your honor, as you know, one of the witnesses I had hoped to call is Dr. Lawrence Barker. Unfortunately, he is still suffer•ing from the effects of a stroke and is unable to be in this courtroom to testify. Instead I will now question some of the hospital staff who have worked with Dr. Barker."
Penn stood up. "I object. I don't see the relevance. Dr. Barker is not here, nor is Dr. Barker on trial here. If. . ."
Venable interrupted. "Your honor, I assure you that my
line of questioning is very relevant to the testimony we have just heard. It also has to do with the defendant's competency as a doctor."
Judge Young said skeptically, "We'll see. This is a courtroom, not a river. I won't stand for any fishing expeditions. You may call your witnesses."
"Thank you."
Gus Venable turned to the bailiff. "I would like to call Dr. Matthew Peterson."
An elegant-looking man in his sixties approached the
witness box. He was sworn in, and when he took his seat, Gus Venable said, "Dr. Peterson, how long have you worked at Embarcadero County Hospital?"
"Eight years."
"And what is your specialty?" "I'm a cardiac surgeon."
"And during the years you've been at Embarcadero County
Hospital, did you ever have occasion to work with Dr. Lawrence Barker?"
"Oh, yes. Many times."
"What was your opinion of him?"
"The same as everyone else's. Aside, possibly, from
DeBakey and Cooley, Dr. Barker is the best heart sur•geon in the world."
"Were you present in the operating room on the morn•ing
that Dr. Taylor operated on a patient named ..." He pretended to consult a slip of paper. "... Lance Kelly?"
The witness's tone changed. "Yes, I was there." "Would you describe what happened that morning?" Dr. Peterson said reluctantly, "Well, things started
to go wrong. We began losing the patient." "When you say 'losing the patient . . . ' " "His heart stopped. We were trying to bring him back, and ..."
"Had Dr. Barker been sent for?" "Yes."
"And did he come into the operating room while the operation was going on?"
"Toward the end. Yes. But it was too late to do anything. We were unable to revive the patient."
"And did Dr. Barker say anything to Dr. Taylor at that time?"
"Well, we were all pretty upset, and ..."
"I asked you if Dr. Barker said anything to Dr. Tay•lor." "Yes."
"And what did Dr. Barker say?"
There was a pause, and in the middle of the pause, there was a crack of thunder outside, like the voice of God. A
moment later, the storm broke, nailing raindrops to the roof of the courthouse.
"Dr. Barker said, 'You killed him.' "
The spectators were in an uproar. Judge Young slammed her gavel down. "That's enough! Do you peo•ple live in caves? One more outburst like that and you'll all be standing outside in the rain."
Gus Venable waited for the noise to die down. In the
hushed silence he said, "Are you sure that's what Dr. Barker said to Dr. Taylor? 'You killed him'?"
"Yes."
"And you have testified that Dr. Barker was a man whose medical opinion was valued?"
"Oh, yes."
"Thank you. That's all, doctor." He turned to Alan Penn. '' Your witness.''
Penn rose and approached the witness box.
"Dr. Peterson, I've never watched an operation, but I imagine there's enormous tension, especially when it's something as serious as a heart operation."
"There's a great deal of tension."
"At a time like that, how many people are in the room? Three or four?"
"Oh, no. Always half a dozen or more." "Really?"
"Yes. There are usually two surgeons, one assisting, sometimes two anesthesiologists, a scrub nurse, and at least one circulating nurse."
"I see. Then there must be a lot of noise and excite•ment going on. People calling out instructions and so on." "Yes."
"And I understand that it's a common practice for music to be playing during an operation."
"It is."
"When Dr. Barker came in and saw that Lance Kelly was dying, that probably added to the confusion."
"Well, everybody was pretty busy trying to save the patient."
"Making a lot of noise?"
"There was plenty of noise, yes."
"And yet, in all that confusion and noise, and over the music, you could hear Dr. Barker say that Dr. Taylor had killed the patient. With all that excitement, you could have been wrong, couldn't you?"
"No, sir. I could not be wrong." "What makes you so sure?"
Dr. Peterson sighed. "Because I was standing right next to Dr. Barker when he said it."
There was no graceful way out. "No more questions."
The case was falling apart, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was about to get worse.
Denise Berry took the witness stand.
"You're a nurse at Embarcadero County Hospital?" "Yes."
"How long have you worked there?" "Five years."
"During that time, did you ever hear any conversa•tions between Dr. Taylor and Dr. Barker?"
"Sure. Lots of times."
"Can you repeat some of them?"
Nurse Berry looked at Dr. Taylor and hesitated. "Well, Dr. Barker could be very sharp ..."
"I didn't ask you that, Nurse Berry. I asked you to tell us some specific things you heard him say to Dr. Taylor."
There was a long pause. "Well, one time he said she was incompetent, and ..."
Gus Venable put on a show of surprise. "You heard Dr. Barker say that Dr. Taylor was incompetent?"
"Yes, sir. But he was always ..."
"What other comments did you hear him make about Dr. Taylor?"
The witness was reluctant to speak. "I really can't remember."
"Miss Berry, you're under oath."
"Well, once I heard him say ..." The rest of the sentence was a mumble.
"We can't hear you. Speak up, please. You heard him say what?"
"He said he ... he wouldn't let Dr. Taylor operate on his dog."
There was a collective gasp frorn the courtroom. "But I'm sure he only meant ..."
"I think we can all assume that Dr. Barker meant what he said."
All eyes were fixed on Paige Taylor.
The prosecutor's case against Paige seemed over•whelming. Yet Alan Penn had the reputation of being a master magician in the courtroom. Now it was his turn to present the defendant's case. Could he pull an•other rabbit out of his hat?
Paige Taylor was on the witness stand, being ques•tioned
by Alan Penn. This was the moment everyone had been waiting for.
"John Cronin was a patient of yours, Dr. Taylor?" "Yes, he was."
"And what were your feelings toward him?" "I liked him. He knew how ill he was, but he was very courageous. He had surgery for a cardiac tumor." "You performed the heart surgery?"
"Yes."
"And what did you find during the operation?" "When we opened up his chest, we found that he had melanoma that had metastasized."
"In other words, cancer that had spread throughout his body."
"Yes. It had metastasized throughout the lymph glands." "Meaning that there was no hope for him? No heroic measures that could bring him back to health?"
"None."
"John Cronin was put on life-support systems?" "That's correct."
"Dr. Taylor, did you deliberately administer a fatal dose of insulin to end John Cronin's life?"
"I did."
There was a sudden buzz in the courtroom.
She's really a cool one, Gus Venable thought. She makes it sound as though she gave him a cup of tea.
"Would you tell the jury why you ended John Cronin's life?"
"Because he asked me to. He begged me to. He sent for me
in the middle of the night, in terrible pain. The medications we were giving him were no longer working." Her voice was steady. "He said he didn't warn to suffer anymore. His death was only a few days away He pleaded with me to end it for him. I did."
"Doctor, did you have any reluctance to let him die? Any feelings of guilt?"
Dr. Paige Taylor shook her head. "No. If you could have seen . . . There was simply no point to letting him go on suffering.'
"How did you administer the insulin?" "I injected it into his IV."
"And did that cause him any additional pain?"
"No. He simply drifted off to sleep."
Gus Venable was on his feet. "Objection! I think the defendant means he drifted off to his death! I-"
Judge Young slammed down her gavel. "Mr. Ven•able, you're out of order. You'll have your chance to cross-examine the witness. Sit down."
The prosecutor looked over at the jury, shook his head, and took his seat.
"Dr. Taylor, when you administered the insulin to John Cronin, were you aware that he had put you in his will for one million dollars?"
"No. I was stunned when I learned about it."
Her nose should be growing, Gus Venable thought.
"You never discussed money or gifts at any time, or asked John Cronin for anything?''
A faint flush came to her cheeks. "Never!" "But you were on friendly terms with him?"
"Yes. When a patient is that ill, the doctor-patient relationship changes. We discussed his business prob•lems and his family problems."
"But you had no reason to expect anything from him?" "No."
"He left that money to you because he had grown to respect you and trust you. Thank you, Dr. Taylor." Penn turned to Gus Venable. "Your witness."
As Penn returned to the defense table, Paige Taylor glanced toward the back of the courtroom. Jason was seated
there, trying to look encouraging. Next to him was Honey. A stranger was sitting next to Honey in the seat that Kat should have occupied. If she were still alive. But Kat is dead, Paige thought. I killed her, too.
Gus Venable rose and slowly shuffled over to the witness box. He glanced at the rows of press. Every seat was filled, and the reporters were all busily scrib•bling. I'm going to give you something to write about, Venable thought.
He stood in front of the defendant for a long moment, studying her. Then he said casually, "Dr. Taylor . . . was John Cronin the first patient you murdered at Embarcadero
County Hospital?''
Alan Penn was on his feet, furious. "Your honor, I-!"
Judge Young had already slammed her gavel down. "Objection sustained!" She turned to the two attorneys. "There will be a fifteen-minute recess. I want to see counsel in my chambers."
When the two attorneys were in her chambers, Judge Young turned to Gus Venable. "You did go to law school, didn't you, Gus?"
"I'm sorry, your honor. I-" "Did you see a tent out there?" "I beg your pardon?"
Her voice was a whiplash. "My courtroom is not a circus,
and I don't intend to let you turn it into one. How dare you ask an inflammatory question like that!"
"I apologize, your honor. I'll rephrase the question and-" "You'll do more than that!" Judge Young snapped. "You'll rephrase your attitude. I'm warning you, you pull one more stunt like that and I'll declare a mistrial."
"Yes, your honor."
When they returned to the courtroom, Judge Young said to the jury, "The jury will completely disregard the prosecutor's last question." She turned to the prose•cutor. "You may go on."
Gus Venable walked back to the witness box. "Dr. Taylor,
you must have been very surprised when you were informed that the man you murdered left you one million dollars."
Alan Penn was on his feet. "Objection!"
"Sustained." Judge Young turned to Venable. "You're trying my patience."
"I apologize, your honor." He turned back to the wit•ness. "You must have been on very friendly terms with your patient. I mean, it isn't every day that an almost complete stranger leaves us a million dollars, is it?"
Paige Taylor flushed slightly. "Our friendship was in the context of a doctor-patient relationship."
"Wasn't it a little more than that? A man doesn't cut his beloved wife and family out of his will and leave a million dollars to a stranger without some kind of persuasion. Those talks you claimed to have had with him about his business problems ..."
Judge Young leaned forward and said warningly, "Mr.
Venable ..." The prosecutor raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He turned back to the defen•dant. "So you and John Cronin had a friendly chat. He told you personal things about himself, and he liked you and respected you. Would you say that's a fair summation, doctor?"
"Yes."
"And for doing that he gave you a million dollars?"
Paige looked out at the courtroom. She said nothing. She had no answer.
Venable started to walk back toward the prosecutor's table, then suddenly turned to face the defendant again.
"Dr. Taylor, you testified earlier that you had no idea
that John Cronin was going to leave you any money, or that he was going to cut his family out of his will."
"That's correct."
"How much does a resident doctor make at Embar-cadero County Hospital?"
Alan Penn was on his feet. "Objection! I don't see..." "It's a proper question. The witness may answer." "Thirty-eight thousand dollars a year." Venable said
sympathetically, "That's not very much these days, is it? And out of that, there are deductions and taxes and living expenses. That wouldn't leave enough to take a luxury vacation trip, say, to London or Paris or Venice, would it?" "I suppose not."
"No. So you didn't plan to take a vacation like that, because you knew you couldn't afford it." "That's correct."
Alan Penn was on his feet again. "Your honor ..." Judge Young turned to the prosecutor. "Where is this leading, Mr. Venable?"
"I just want to establish that the defendant could not
plan a luxury trip without getting the money from someone." "She's already answered the question."
Alan Penn knew he had to do something. His heart wasn't in it, but he approached the witness box with all the good cheer of a man who had just won the lottery.
"Dr. Taylor, do you remember picking up these travel brochures?"
"Yes."
"Were you planning to go to Europe or to charter a yacht?" "Of course not. It was all sort of a joke, an impossible dream. My friends and I thought it would lift our spirits. We were very tired, and ... it seemed like a good idea at the time." Her voice trailed off.
Alan Penn glanced covertly at the jury. Their faces registered pure disbelief.
Gus Venable was questioning the defendant on
reex-amination. "Dr. Taylor, are you acquainted with Dr. Lawrence Barker?"
She had a sudden memory flash. I'm going to kill Lawrence Barker. I'll do it slowly. I'll let him suffer first. . . then I'll kill him. "Yes. I know Dr. Barker."
"In what connection?"
"Dr. Barker and I have often worked together during the past two years."
"Would you say that he's a competent doctor?"
Alan Penn jumped up from his chair. "I object, your honor. The witness ..."
But before he could finish or Judge Young could rule,
Paige answered, "He's more than competent. He's brilliant." Penn sank back in his chair, too stunned to speak.
"Would you care to elaborate on that?"
"Dr. Barker is one of the most renowned cardiovas•cular surgeons in the world. He has a large private practice, but he donates three days a week to Embarcadero County Hospital." "So you have a high regard for his judgment in medi•cal matters?"
"Yes."
"And do you feel he would be capable of judging another doctor's competence?"
Penn willed Paige to say I don't know. She hesitated. "Yes."
Gus Venable turned to the jury, "You've heard the
defendant testify that she had a high regard for Dr. Barker's medical judgment. I hope she listened carefully to Dr.
Barker's judgment about her competence ... or the lack of it."
Alan Penn was on his feet, furious. "Objection!" "Sustained."
But it was too late. The damage had been done.
During the next recess, Alan Penn pulled Jason into the men's room.
"What the hell have you gotten me into?" Penn de•manded angrily. "John Cronin hated her, Barker hated her. I insist on my clients telling me the truth, and the whole truth.
That's the only way I can help them. Well, I can't help her. Your lady friend has given me a snow job so deep I need skis. Every time she opens her mouth she puts a nail in her coffin. The fucking case is in free fall!"
That afternoon, Jason Curtis went to see Paige. "You have a visitor, Dr. Taylor."
Jason walked into Paige's cell. "Paige ..."
She turned to him, and she was fighting back tears. "It looks pretty bad, doesn't it?"
Jason forced a smile. "You know what the man said-'It's not over till it's over.' "
"Jason, you don't believe that I killed John Cronin for his money, do you? What I did, I did only to help him." "I believe you," Jason said quietly. "I love you."
He took her into his arms. I don't want to lose her, Jason thought. I can't. She's the best thing in my life. "Everything is going to be all right. I promised you we would be together forever.''
Paige held him close and thought, Nothing lasts for•ever. Nothing. How could everything have gone so wrong . . . so wrong . . . so wrong . . .
Book I
Chapter One
San Francisco ]uly 1990
Hunter, Kate." "Here."
"Taft, Betty Lou." "I'm here." "Taylor, Paige." "Here." They were the only women among the large group of incoming first-year residents gathered in the large, drab auditorium at Embarcadero County Hospital.
Embarcadero County was the oldest hospital in San Francisco, and one of the oldest in the country. During the
earthquake of 1989, God had played a joke on the residents of San Francisco and left the hospital standing.
It was an ugly complex, occupying more than three square blocks, with buildings of brick and stone, gray with years of accumulated grime.
Inside the front entrance of the main building was a large waiting room, with hard wooden benches for pa•tients and visitors. The walls were flaking from too many decades of coats of paint, and the corridors were worn and uneven from too many thousands of patients in wheelchairs and on crutches and walkers. The entire complex was coated with the stale patina of time.
Embarcadero County Hospital was a city within a city. There were over nine thousand people employed at the hospital, including four hundred staff physicians, one hundred and fifty part-time voluntary physicians, eight hundred residents, and three thousand nurses, plus the
technicians, unit aides, and other technical person•nel. The upper floors contained a complex of twelve operating rooms, central supply, a bone bank, central scheduling, three emergency wards, an AIDS ward, and over two thousand beds.
Now, on the first day of the arrival of the new resi•dents in July, Dr. Benjamin Wallace, the hospital ad•ministrator, rose to address them. Wallace was the quintessential politician, a tall, impressive-looking man with small skills and enough charm to have ingratiated his way up to his present position.
"I want to welcome all of you new resident doctors this morning. For the first two years of medical school, you worked with cadavers. In the last two years, you have worked with hospital patients under the supervi•sion of senior doctors. Now, it's you who are going to be responsible for your patients. It's an awesome responsibility, and it takes dedication and skill."
His eyes scanned the auditorium. "Some of you are planning
to go into surgery. Others of you will be going into internal medicine. Each group will be assigned to a senior resident who will explain the daily routine to you. From now on, everything you do could be a matter of life or death."
They were listening intently, hanging on every word.
"Embarcadero is a county hospital. That means we admit anyone who comes to our door. Most of the pa•tients are indigent. They come here because they can't afford a private hospital. Our emergency rooms are busy twenty-four hours a day. You're going to be overworked and underpaid. In a private hospital, your first year would consist of routine
scut work. In the second year, you would be allowed to hand a scalpel to the surgeon, and in your third year, you would be permitted to do some supervised minor surgery. Well, you can forget all that. Our motto here is 'Watch one, do one, teach one.'
"We're badly understaffed, and the quicker we can get you into the operating rooms, the better. Are there any questions?"
There were a million questions the new residents wanted to ask.
"None? Good. Your first day officially begins tomor•row. You will report to the main reception desk at five-thirty
tomorrow morning. Good luck!"
The briefing was over. There was a general exodus toward the doors and the low buzz of excited conversations. The three women found themselves standing to•gether.
"Where are all the other women?" "I think we're it." "It's a lot like medical school, huh? The boys' club. I have a feeling this place belongs to the Dark Ages." The
person talking was a flawlessly beautiful black woman, nearly six feet tall, large-boned, but intensely graceful.
Everything about her, her walk, her carriage, the cool, quizzical look she carried in her eyes, sent out a message of aloofness. "I'm Kate Hunter. They call me Kat."
"Paige Taylor." Young and friendly, intelligent-looking, self-assured.
They turned to the third woman.
"Betty Lou Taft. They call me Honey." She spoke with a
soft Southern accent. She had an open, guileless face, soft gray eyes, and a warm smile.
"Where are you from?" Kat asked. "Memphis, Tennessee."
They looked at Paige. She decided to give them the simple answer. "Boston."
"Minneapolis," Kat said. That's close enough, she thought. Paige said, "It looks like we're all a long way from home. Where are you staying?"
"I'm at a fleabag hotel," Kat said. "I haven't had a chance to look for a place to live."
Honey said, "Neither have I."
Paige brightened. "I looked at some apartments this
morning. One of them was terrific, but I can't afford it. It has three bedrooms ..."
They stared at one another. "If the three of us shared..." Kat said.
The apartment was in the Marina district, on Filbert Street. It was perfect for them. 3Br/2Ba, nu cpts, lndry,
prkg, utils pd. It was furnished in early Sears Roebuck, but it was neat and clean.
When the three women were through inspecting it, Honey
said, "I think it's lovely." "So do I!" Kat agreed.
They looked at Paige. "Let's take it."
They moved into the apartment that afternoon. The janitor helped them carry their luggage upstairs.
"So you're gonna work at the hospital," he said. "Nurses, huh?"
"Doctors," Kat corrected him.
He looked at her skeptically. "Doctors? You mean, like real doctors?"
"Yes, like real doctors," Paige told him.
He grunted. "Tell you the truth, if I needed medical attention, I don't think I'd want a woman examining my body." "We'll keep that in mind."
"Where's the television set?" Kat asked. "I don't see one."
"If you want one, you'll have to buy it. Enjoy the apartment, ladies-er, doctors." He chuckled.
They watched him leave.
Kat said, imitating his voice, "Nurses, eh?" She snorted. "Male chauvinist. Well, let's pick out our bed•rooms." "Any one of them is fine with me," Honey said softly.
They examined the three bedrooms. The master bed•room was larger than the other two.
Kat said, "Why don't you take it, Paige? You found this place."
Paige nodded. "All right."
They went to their respective rooms and began to unpack.
From her suitcase, Paige carefully removed a framed photograph of a man in his early thirties. He was attractive, wearing black-framed glasses that gave him a scholarly look. Paige put the photograph at her bedside, next to a bundle of letters.
Kat and Honey wandered in. "How about going out and getting some dinner?"
"I'm ready," Paige said.
Kat saw the photograph. "Who's that?"
Paige smiled. "That's the man I'm going to marry. He's a doctor who works for the World Health Organiza•tion. His name is Alfred Turner. He's working in Africa right now, but he's
coming to San Francisco so we can be together." "Lucky you," Honey said wistfully. "He looks nice." Paige looked at her. "Are you involved with any•one?" "No. I'm afraid I don't have much luck with men."
Kat said, "Maybe your luck will change at Embarcadero."
The three of them had dinner at Tarantino's, not far from their apartment building. During dinner they chat•ted about their backgrounds and lives, but there was a restraint to their conversation, a holding back. They were three strangers, probing, cautiously getting to know one another.
Honey spoke very little. There's a shyness about her,
Paige thought. She's vulnerable. Some man in Memphis probably broke her heart.
Paige looked at Kat. Self-confident. Great dignity. I like the way she speaks. You can tell she came from a good family.
Meanwhile, Kat was studying Paige. A rich girl who never
had to work for anything in her life. She's gotten by on her looks.
Honey was looking at the two of them. They're so confident, so sure of themselves. They're going to have an easy time of it.
They were all mistaken.
When they returned to their apartment, Paige was too
excited to sleep. She lay in bed, thinking about the future. Outside her window, in the street, there was the sound of a car crash, and then people shouting, and in Paige's mind it dissolved into the memory of African natives yelling and chanting, and guns being fired. She was transported back in time, to the small jungle village in East Africa, caught in the middle of a deadly tribal war.
Paige was terrified. "They're going to kill us!"
Her father took her in his arms. "They won't harm us, darling. We're here to help them. They know we're their friends."
And without warning, the chief of one of the tribes had burst into their hut. . . .
Honey lay in bed thinking, This is sure a long way from Memphis, Tennessee, Betty Lou. I guess I can never go back there. Never again. She could hear the sheriffs voice saying to her, "Out of respect for his family, we're going to list the death of the Reverend Douglas Lipton as a 'suicide for reasons unknown,' but I would suggest that you get the fuck out of this town fast, and stay out. "
Kat was staring out the window of her bedroom, listening to the sounds of the city. She could hear the raindrops
whispering, You made it. . . you made it. . . I showed them all they were wrong. You want to be a doctor? A black woman doctor? And the rejections from medical schools. "Thank you for sending us your appli•cation. Unfortunately our enrollment is complete at this time."
"In view of your background, perhaps we might sug•gest that you would be happier at a smaller university.''
She had top grades, but out of twenty-five schools she had applied to, only one had accepted her. The dean of the school had said, "In these days, it's nice to see someone who comes from a normal, decent back•ground."
If he had only known the terrible truth.
Chapter Two
At five-thirty the following morning, when the new residents checked in, members of the hospital staff were
standing by to guide them to their various assignments. Even at that early hour, the bedlam had begun.
The patients had been coming in all night, arriving in ambulances, and police cars, and on foot. The staff called them the "F and J's"-the flotsam and jetsam that streamed into the emergency rooms, broken and bleeding, victims of shootings and stabbings and auto•mobile accidents, the wounded in flesh and spirit, the homeless and the unwanted,
the ebb and flow of human•ity that streamed through the dark sewers of every large city.
There was a pervasive feeling of organized chaos, frenetic movements and shrill sounds and dozens of unexpected crises that all had to be attended to at once.
The new residents stood in a protective huddle, get•ting attuned to their new environment, listening to the arcane sounds around them.
Paige, Kat, and Honey were waiting in the corridor when a senior resident approached them. "Which one of you is Dr. Taft?"
Honey looked up and said, "I am."
The resident smiled and held out his hand. "It's an honor to meet you. I've been asked to look out for you. Our chief
of staff says that you have the highest medical school grades this hospital has ever seen. We're de•lighted to have you here."
Honey smiled, embarrassed. "Thank you."
Kat and Paige looked at Honey in astonishment. I wouldn't have guessed she was that brilliant, Paige thought. "You're planning to go into internal medicine, Dr. Taft?" "Yes."
The resident turned to Kat. "Dr. Hunter?" "Yes."
"You're interested in neurosurgery." "I am."
He consulted a list. "You'll be assigned to Dr. Lewis." The resident looked over at Paige. "Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes."
"You're going into cardiac surgery." "That's right."
"Fine. We'll assign you and Dr. Hunter to surgical rounds. You can report to the head nurse's office. Mar•garet Spencer. Down the hall."
"Thank you."
Paige looked at the others and took a deep breath. "Here I go! I wish us all luck!"
The head nurse, Margaret Spencer, was more a battle•ship than a woman, heavyset and stern-looking, with a brusque manner. She was busy behind the nurses' sta•tion when Paige
approached. "Excuse me ..."
Nurse Spencer looked up. "Yes?"
"I was told to report here. I'm Dr. Taylor."
Nurse Spencer consulted a sheet. "Just a moment." She walked through a door and returned a minute later with some scrubs and white coats.
"Here you are. The scrubs are to wear in the op•erating theater and on rounds. When you're doing rounds, you put a white coat over the scrubs."
"Thanks."
"Oh. And here." She reached down and handed Paige a metal tag that read "Paige Taylor, M.D." "Here's your name tag, doctor."
Paige held it in her hand and looked at it for a long time. Paige Taylor, M.D. She felt as though she had been handed the Medal of Honor. All the long hard years of work
and study were summed up in those brief words. Paige Taylor, M.D.
Nurse Spencer was watching her. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." Paige smiled. "I'm just fine, thank you. Where do I . . .?"
"Doctors' dressing room is down the corridor to the left. You'll be making rounds, so you'll want to change." "Thank you."
Paige walked down the corridor, amazed at the amount of activity around her. The corridor was crowded with doctors, nurses, technicians, and patients, hurrying to various destinations. The insistent chatter of the public address system added to the din.
"Dr. Keenan ... OR Three. ... Dr. Keenan . . . OR Three." "Dr. Talbot . . . Emergency Room One. Stat. Dr.
Talbot . . . Emergency Room One. Stat."
"Dr. Engel . . . Room 212. ... Dr. Engel . . . Room 212."
Paige approached a door marked doctors' dressing room and opened it. Inside there were a dozen doctors in various stages of undress. Two of them were totally naked. They turned to stare at Paige as the door opened.
"Oh! I... I'm sorry," Paige mumbled, and quickly closed
the door. She stood there, uncertain about what to do. A few
feet down the corridor, she saw a door marked nurses' dressing room. Paige walked over to it and opened the door. Inside, several nurses were changing into their uniforms.
One of them looked up. "Hello. Are you one of the new nurses?"
"No," Paige said tightly. "I'm not." She closed the door and walked back to the doctors' dressing room. She stood there a moment, then took a deep breath and entered. The conversation came to a stop.
One of the men said, "Sorry, honey. This room is for doctors."
"I'm a doctor," Paige said.
They turned to look at one another. "Oh? Well, er . . . welcome."
"Thank you." She hesitated a moment, then walked over to an empty locker. The men watched as she put her hospital
clothes into the locker. She looked at the men for a moment, then slowly started to unbutton her blouse.
The doctors stood there, not sure what to do. One of them said, "Maybe we should-er-give the little lady some privacy, gentlemen."
The little lady "Thank you," Paige said. She stood there, waiting, as the doctors finished dressing and left the room. Am I going to have to go through this every dayl she wondered.
In hospital rounds, there is a traditional formation that never varies. The attending physician is always in the lead, followed by the senior resident, then the other residents, and one or two medical students. The at•tending physician Paige had been assigned to was Dr. William Radnor. Paige and five other residents were gathered in the hallway, waiting to meet him.
In the group was a young Chinese doctor. He held out his hand. "Tom Chang," he said. "I hope you're all as nervous as I am."
Paige liked him immediately.
A man was approaching the group. "Good morn•ing," he said. "I'm Dr. Radnor." He was soft-spoken, with sparkling blue eyes. Each resident introduced him•self.
"This is your first day of rounds. I want you to pay close attention to everything you see and hear, but at the same time, it's important to appear relaxed."
Paige made a mental note. Pay close attention, but appear to be relaxed.
"If the patients see that you're tense, they're going to be tense, and they'll probably think they're dying of some disease you aren't telling them about."
Don't make patients tense.
"Remember, from now on, you're going to be re•sponsible for the lives of other human beings."
Now responsible for other lives. Oh, my God! The longer
Dr. Radnor talked, the more nervous Paige became, and by the time he was finished, her self-confidence had completely vanished. I'm not ready for this. she thought. I don't know what I'm doing. Who ever said I could be a doctor! What if I kill somebody!
Dr. Radnor was going on, "I will expect detailed notes on each one of your patients-lab work, blood, electrolytes, everything. Is that clear?"
There were murmurs of "Yes, doctor."
"There are always thirty to forty surgical patients here
at one time. It's your job to make sure that every•thing is properly organized for them. We'll start the morning rounds now. In the afternoon, we'll make the same rounds again."
It had all seemed so easy at medical school. Paige thought about the four years she had spent there. There had been one hundred and fifty students, and only fifteen women. She would never forget the first day of Gross Anatomy class. The students had walked into a large white tiled room with twenty tables lined up in rows, each table covered with a yellow sheet. Five students were assigned to each table.
The professor had said, "All right, pull back the sheets." And there, in front of Paige, was her first cadaver. She had been afraid that she would faint or be sick, but she felt strangely calm. The cadaver had been preserved, which somehow removed it one step from humanity.
In the beginning the students had been hushed and respectful in the anatomy laboratory. But, incredibly to
Paige, within a week, they were eating sandwiches dur•ing the
dissections, and making rude jokes. It was a form of
self-defense, a denial of their own mortality. They gave the corpses names, and treated them like old friends. Paige tried to force herself to act as casually as the other students, but she found it difficult. She looked at the cadaver she was working on, and thought: Here was a man with a home and a family. He went to an office every day, and once a year he took a vacation with his wife and children. He probably loved sports and enjoyed movies and plays, and he laughed and cried, and he watched his children grow up and he shared their joys and their sorrows, and he had big, wonderful dreams. I hope they all came true. ... A bittersweet sadness engulfed her because he was dead and she was alive.
In time, even to Paige, the dissections became routine. Open the chest, examine the ribs, lungs, pericar-dial sac covering the heart, the veins, arteries, and nerves.
Much of the first two years of medical school was spent memorizing long lists that the students referred to as the Organ Recital. First the cranial nerves: olfactory, optic, oculomotor, trochlear, trigeminal, abducens, fa•cial, auditory, glossopharyngeal, vagus, spinal, and hypoglossal.
The students used mnemonics to help them remem•ber. The classic one was "On old Olympus's towering tops, a French and German vended some tops." The modern male version was "Oh, oh, oh, to touch and feel a girl's vagina-such heaven."
The last two years of medical school were more inter•esting, with courses in internal medicine, surgery, pedi•atrics, and obstetrics, and they worked at the local hospital. I remember the time . . . Paige was thinking. "Dr. Taylor ..." The senior resident was staring at her. Paige came to with a start. The others were already halfway down the corridor.
"Coming," she said hastily.
The first stop was at a large, rectangular ward, with rows
of beds on both sides of the room, with a small stand next to each bed. Paige had expected to see cur•tains separating the beds, but here there was no privacy.
The first patient was an elderly man with a sallow
complexion. He was sound asleep, breathing heavily. Dr. Radnor walked over to the foot of the bed, studied the chart there, then went to the patient's side and gently touched his shoulder. "Mr. Potter?"
The patient opened his eyes. "Huh?"
"Good morning. I'm Dr. Radnor. I'm just checking to see how you're doing. Did you have a comfortable night?" "It was okay."
"Do you have any pain?" "Yeah. My chest hurts." "Let me take a look at it."
When he finished the examination, he said, "You're doing fine. I'll have the nurse give you something for the pain." "Thanks, doctor."
"We'll be back to see you this afternoon."
They moved away from the bed. Dr. Radnor turned to the residents. "Always try to ask questions that have a yes or no answer so the patient doesn't tire himself out. And reassure him about his progress. I want you to study his chart and make notes. We'll come back here this afternoon to see how he's doing. Keep a run•ning record of every patient's chief complaint, present illness, past illnesses, family history, and social history. Does he drink, smoke, etc.? When we make the rounds again, I'll expect a report on the progress of each pa•tient."
They moved on to the bed of the next patient, a man in his forties.
"Good morning, Mr. Rawlings." "Good morning, doctor."
"Are you feeling better this morning?"
"Not so good. I was up a lot last night. My stomach's hurting."
Dr. Radnor turned to the senior resident. "What did the proctoscopy show?"
"No sign of any problem."
"Give him a barium enema and an upper GI, stat." The senior resident made a note.
The resident standing next to Paige whispered in her ear, "I guess you know what stat stands for. 'Shake that ass, tootsie!' "
Dr. Radnor heard. " 'Stat' comes from the Latin, statim. Immediately."
In the years ahead, Paige was to hear it often.
The next patient was an elderly woman who had had a bypass operation.
"Good morning, Mrs. Turkel."
"How long are you going to keep me in here?"
"Not very long. The procedure was a success. You'll be going home soon."
And they moved on to the next patient.
The routine was repeated over and over, and the morning went by swiftly. They saw thirty patients. After each patient, the residents frantically scribbled notes, praying that they would be able to decipher them later.
One patient was a puzzle to Paige. She seemed to be in perfect health.
When they had moved away from her, Paige asked, "What's her problem, doctor?"
Dr. Radnor sighed. "She has no problem. She's a gomer. And for those of you who forgot what you were taught in medical school, gomer is an acronym for 'Get out of my emergency room!' Gomers are people who enjoy poor health. That's their hobby. I've admitted her six times in the last year."
They moved on to the last patient, an old woman on a respirator, who was in a coma.
"She's had a massive heart attack," Dr. Radnor ex•plained to the residents. "She's been in a coma for six weeks. Her vital signs are failing. There's nothing more we can do for her. We'll pull the plug this afternoon."
Paige looked at him in shock. "Pull the plug?"
Dr. Radnor said gently, "The hospital ethics commit•tee made the decision this morning. She's a vegetable. She's eighty-seven years old, and she's brain-dead. It's cruel to keep her alive, and it's breaking her family financially.
I'll see you all at rounds this afternoon."
They watched him walk away. Paige turned to look at the patient again. She was alive. In a few hours she will be dead. We'll pull the plug this afternoon.
That's murder! Paige thought.
Chapter Three
That afternoon, when the rounds were finished, the new residents gathered in the small upstairs lounge. The room held eight tables, an ancient black-and-white television set, and two vending ma•chines that dispensed stale sandwiches and bitter cof•fee.
The conversations at each table were almost identical.
One of the residents said, "Take a look at my throat, will you? Does it look raw to you?"
"I think I have a fever. I feel lousy."
"My abdomen is swollen and tender. I know I have appendicitis."
"I've got this crushing pain in my chest. I hope to God I'm not having a heart attack!"
Kat sat down at a table with Paige and Honey. "How did it go?" she asked.
Honey said, "I think it went all right."
They both looked at Paige. "I was tense, but I was
relaxed. I was nervous, but I stayed calm." She sighed. "It's been a long day. I'll be glad to get out of here and have some fun tonight."
"Me, too," Kat agreed. "Why don't we have dinner and then go see a movie?''
"Sounds great."
An orderly approached their table. "Dr. Taylor?" Paige looked up. "I'm Dr. Taylor."
"Dr. Wallace would like to see you in his office." The hospital administrator! What have I done? Paige wondered.
The orderly was waiting. "Dr. Taylor ..."
"I'm coming." She took a deep breath and got to her feet. "I'll see you later."
"This way, doctor."
Paige followed the orderly into an elevator and rode up to the fifth floor, where Dr. Wallace's office was located.
Benjamin Wallace was seated behind his desk. He glanced up as Paige walked in. "Good afternoon, Dr. Taylor."
"Good afternoon."
Wallace cleared his throat. "Well! Your first day and you've already made quite an impression!"
Paige looked at him, puzzled. "I . . .I don't under•stand."
"I hear you had a little problem in the doctors' dress•ing room this morning."
"Oh." So, that's what this is all about. Wallace looked at her and smiled. "I suppose I'll have to make some arrangements for you and the other girls."
"We're ..." We're not girls, Paige started to say. "We would appreciate that."
"Meanwhile, if you don't want to dress with the nurses
..."
"I'm not a nurse," Paige said firmly. "I'm a doc•tor." "Of course, of course. Well, we'll do something about accommodations for you, doctor."
"Thank you."
He handed Paige a sheet of paper. "Meanwhile, this is your schedule. You'll be on call for the next twenty-four hours, starting at six o'clock." He looked at his watch. "That's thirty minutes from now."
Paige was looking at him in astonishment. Her day had started at five-thirty that morning. "Twenty-four hours?" "Well, thirty-six, actually. Because you'll be starting rounds again in the morning."
Thirty-six hours! I wonder if I can handle this. She was soon to find out.
Paige went to look for Kat and Honey.
"I'm going to have to forget about dinner and a movie," Paige said. "I'm on a thirty-six-hour call."
Kat nodded. "We just got our bad news. I go on it tomorrow, and Honey goes on Wednesday."
"It won't be so bad," Paige said cheerfully. "I understand there's an on-call room to sleep in. I'm going to enjoy this."
She was wrong.
An orderly was leading Paige down a long corridor. "Dr. Wallace told me that I'll be on call for thirty-six hours," Paige said. "Do all the residents work those hours?"
"Only for the first three years," the orderly assured her.
Great!
"But you'll have plenty of chance to rest, doctor." "I will?"
"In here. This is the on-call room." He opened the door,
and Paige stepped inside. The room resembled a monk's cell in some poverty-stricken monastery. It contained nothing but a cot with a lumpy mattress, a cracked wash basin, and a bedside stand with a tele•phone on it. "You can sleep here between calls."
"Thanks."
The calls began as Paige was in the coffee shop, just starting to have her dinner. "Dr. Taylor . . . ER Three. ...
Dr. Taylor . . . ER Three."
"We have a patient with a fractured rib. . . ." "Mr. Henegan is complaining of chest pains. ..." "The patient in Ward Two has a headache. Is it all right to give him an
acetaminophen . . .?" At midnight, Paige had just managed to fall asleep
when she was awakened by the telephone. "Report to ER
One." It was a knife wound, and by the time Paige had taken care of it, it was one-thirty in the morning. At two-fifteen she was awakened again. "Dr. Taylor . . . Emergency Room Two. Stat." Paige said, groggily, "Right." What did he say it meant? Shake that ass, tootsie. She forced herself up and moved down the corridor to the emergency room.
A patient had been brought in with a broken leg. He was screaming with pain.
"Get an X-ray," Paige ordered. "And give him Demerol, fifty milligrams." She put her hand on the pa•tient's arm. "You're going to be fine. Try to relax."
Over the PA system, a metallic disembodied voice said, "Dr. Taylor . . . Ward Three. Stat."
Paige looked at the moaning patient, reluctant to leave him.
The voice came on again, "Dr. Taylor . . . Ward Three. Stat."
"Coming," Paige mumbled. She hurried out the door and down the corridor to Ward Three. A patient had vomited, aspirated, and was choking.
"He can't breathe," the nurse said.
"Suction him," Paige ordered. As she watched the patient begin to catch his breath, she heard her name again on the PA system. "Dr. Taylor . . . Ward Four. Ward Four." Paige shook her head and ran down to Ward Four, to a screaming patient with abdominal spasms. Paige gave him a quick examination. "It could be intestinal dysfunction. Get an ultrasound," Paige said.
By the time she returned to the patient with the broken
leg, the pain reliever had taken effect. She had him moved to the operating room and set the leg. As she was finishing, she heard her name again. "Dr. Taylor, report to Emergency Room Two. Stat."
"The stomach ulcer in Ward Four is having a pain. "
At 3:30 a.m.: "Dr. Taylor, the patient in Room 310 is hemorrhaging. "
There was a heart attack in one of the wards, and Paige
was nervously listening to the patient's heartbeat when she heard her name called over the PA system: "Dr. Taylor . . .
ER Two. Stat. ... Dr. Taylor . . . ER Two. Stat."
I must not panic, Paige thought. I've got to remain calm and cool. She panicked. Who was more important, the patient
she was examining, or the next patient? "You stay here,'' she said inanely. "I'll be right back.''
As Paige hurried toward ER Two, she heard her name called again. "Dr. Taylor . . . ER One. Stat. ... Dr. Taylor . . .
ER One. Stat."
Oh, my Godl Paige thought. She felt as though she were
caught up in the middle of some endless terrifying nightmare.
During what was left of the night, Paige was awak•ened to attend to a case of food poisoning, a broken arm, a hiatal hernia, and a fractured rib. By the time she stumbled back into the on-call room, she was so exhausted that she could hardly move. She crawled onto the little cot and had just started to doze off when the telephone rang again.
She reached out for it with her eyes closed. "H'lo "
"Dr. Taylor, we're waiting for you."
"Wha'?" She lay there, trying to remember where she was. "Your rounds are starting, doctor."
"My rounds?" This is some kind of bad joke, Paige thought. It's inhuman. They can't work anyone like thisl But they were
waiting for her.
Ten minutes later, Paige was making the rounds again, half asleep. She stumbled against Dr. Radnor. "Excuse me," she mumbled, "but I haven't had any sleep ..."
He patted her on the shoulder sympathetically. "You'll get used to it."
When Paige finally got off duty, she slept for fourteen straight hours.
The intense pressure and punishing hours proved to be too much for some of the residents, and they simply disappeared from the hospital. That's not going to hap•pen to me, Paige vowed.
The pressure was unrelenting. At the end of one of Paige's shifts, thirty-six grueling hours, she was so ex•hausted that she had no idea where she was. She stum•bled to the elevator and stood there, her mind numb.
Tom Chang came up to her. "Are you all right?" "Fine," Paige mumbled.
He grinned. "You look like hell."
"Thanks. Why do they do this to us?" Paige asked.
Chang shrugged. "The theory is that it keeps us in touch with our patients. If we go home and leave them, we don't know what's happening to them while we're gone."
Paige nodded. "That makes sense." It made no sense at all. "How can we take care of them if we're asleep on our feet?"
Chang shrugged again. "I don't make the rules. It's the
way all hospitals operate." He looked at Paige more closely. "Are you going to be able to make it home?"
Paige looked at him and said haughtily, "Of course." "Take care." Chang disappeared down the corridor. Paige
waited for the elevator to arrive. When it finally came, she was standing there, sound asleep.
Two days later, Paige was having breakfast with Kat.
"Do you want to hear a terrible confession?" Paige asked. "Sometimes when they wake me up at four o'clock in the morning to give somebody an aspirin, and I'm stumbling down the hall, half conscious, and I pass the rooms where all the patients are tucked in and having a good night's sleep, I
feel like banging on all the doors and yelling, 'Everybody wake up!' "
Kat held out her hand. "Join the club."
The patients came in all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors. They were frightened, brave, gentle, arrogant, demanding, considerate. They were human beings in pain.
Most of the doctors were dedicated people. As in any profession, there were good doctors and bad doctors. They were young and old, clumsy and adept, pleasant and nasty. A few of them, at one time or another, made sexual advances to Paige. Some were subtle and some were crude.
"Don't you ever feel lonely at night? I know that I do. I was wondering ..."
"These hours are murder, aren't they? Do you know what I find gives me energy? Good sex. Why don't we . . .?"
"My wife is out of town for a few days. I have a cabin near Carmel. This weekend we could ..."
And the patients.
"So you're my doctor, eh? You know what would cure me . .
.?"
"Come closer to the bed, baby. I want to see if those are real. "
Paige gritted her teeth and ignored them all. When Alfred and I are married, this will stop. And just the thought of Alfred gave her a glow. He would be re•turning from Africa soon. Soon.
At breakfast one morning before rounds, Paige and Kat talked about the sexual harassment they were expe•riencing.
"Most of the doctors behave like perfect gentlemen, but a few of them seem to think we're perks that go with the territory, and that we're there to service them," Kat said. "I don't think a week goes by but what one of the doctors
hits on me. 'Why don't you come over to my place for a drink? I've got some great CDs.' Or in the OR, when I'm assisting, the surgeon will brush his arm across my breast. One moron said to me, 'You know, whenever I order chicken, I like the dark meat."
Paige sighed. "They think they're flattering us by
treating us as sex objects. I'd rather they treated us as doctors."
"A lot of them don't even want us around. They either want to fuck us or they want to fuck us. You know, it's not fair.
Women are judged inferior until we prove ourselves, and men are judged superior until they prove what assholes they are." "It's the old boys' network," Paige said. "If there were
more of us, we could start a new girls' network."
* * *
Paige had heard of Arthur Kane. He was the subject of constant gossip around the hospital. His nickname was Dr. 007-licensed to kill. His solution to every problem was to operate, and he had a higher rate of operations than any other doctor at the hospital. He also had a higher mortality rate.
He was bald, short, hawk-nosed, with tobacco-stained teeth, and was grossly overweight. Incredibly, he fancied himself a ladies' man. He liked to refer to the new nurses and female residents as "fresh meat."
Paige Taylor was fresh meat. He saw her in the up•stairs lounge and sat down at her table, uninvited.
"I've been keeping an eye on you."
Paige looked up, startled. "I beg your pardon?"
"I'm Dr. Kane. My friends call me Arthur." There was a leer in his voice.
Paige wondered how many friends he had. "How are you getting along here?"
The question caught Paige off-guard. "I. . .all right, I think."
He leaned forward. "This is a big hospital. It's easy to get lost here. Do you know what I mean?"
Paige said warily, "Not exactly."
"You're too pretty to be just another face in the crowd.
If you want to get somewhere here, you need someone to help you. Someone who knows the ropes."
The conversation was getting more unpleasant by the minute.
"And you'd like to help me."
"Right." He bared his tobacco-stained teeth. "Why don't we discuss it at dinner?"
"There's nothing to discuss," Paige said. "I'm not interested."
Arthur Kane watched Paige get up and walk away, and there was a baleful expression on his face.
First-year surgical residents were on a two-month rotation schedule, alternating among obstetrics, ortho•pedics, urology, and surgery.
Paige learned that it was dangerous to go into a train•ing hospital in the summer for any serious illness, be•cause many of the staff doctors were on vacation and the patients were at the mercy of the inexperienced young residents.
Nearly all surgeons liked to have music in the op•erating room. One of the doctors was nicknamed Mozart and another Axl Rose because of their tastes in music.
For some reason, operations always seemed to make everyone hungry. They constantly discussed food. A surgeon would be in the middle of removing a gangre•nous gall bladder from a patient and say, "I had a great dinner last night at Bardelli's. Best Italian food in all of San Francisco."
"Have you eaten the crab cakes at the Cypress Club . . .?" "If you like good beef, try the House of Prime Rib over on Van Ness."
And meanwhile, a nurse would be mopping up the patient's blood and guts.
When they weren't talking about food, the doctors talked about baseball or football scores.
"Did you see the 49ers play last Sunday? I bet they miss
Joe Montana. He always came through for them in the last two minutes of a game."
And out would come a ruptured appendix.
Kafka, Paige thought. Kafka would have loved this.
At three in the morning, when Paige was asleep in the on-call room, she was awakened by the telephone.
A raspy voice said, "Dr. Taylor-Room 419-a heart attack
patient. You'll have to hurry!" The line went dead.
Paige sat on the edge of the bed, fighting sleep, and stumbled to her feet. You have to hurry. She went into the corridor, but there was no time to wait for an eleva•tor. She rushed up the stairs and ran down the fourth-floor corridor to Room 419, her heart pounding. She flung open the door and stood there, staring.
Room 419 was a storage room.
Kat Hunter was making her rounds with Dr. Richard Hutton. He was in his forties, brusque and fast. He spent no more than two or three minutes with each patient, scanning their
charts, then snapping out orders to the surgical residents in a machine-gun, staccato fashion.
"Check her hemoglobin and schedule surgery for tomorrow.
..."
"Keep a close eye on his temperature chart. "
"Cross-match four units of blood. "
"Remove these stitches. "
"Get some chest films. "
Kat and the other residents were busily making notes on everything, trying hard to keep up with him.
They approached a patient who had been in the hospi•tal a week and had had a battery of tests for a high fever, with no results.
When they were out in the corridor, Kat asked, "What's the matter with him?"
"It's a GOK," a resident said. "A God only knows. We've done X-rays, CAT scans, MRIs, spinal taps, liver biopsy. Everything. We don't know what's wrong with him."
They moved into a ward where a young patient, his head bandaged after an operation, was sleeping. As Dr. Hutton started to unwrap the head dressing, the patient woke up, startled. "What . . . what's going on?"
"Sit up," Dr. Hutton said curtly. The young man was trembling.
I'll never treat my patients that way, Kat vowed.
The next patient was a healthy-looking man in his seventies. As soon as Dr. Hutton approached the bed, the patient yelled, "Gonzo! I'm going to sue you, you dirty son of a bitch."
"Now, Mr. Sparolini . . ."
"Don't Mr. Sparolini me! You turned me into a fuck•ing eunuch."
That's an oxymoron, Kat thought.
"Mr. Sparolini, you agreed to have the vasectomy; and-" "It was my wife's idea. Damn bitch! Just wait till I get home."
They left him muttering to himself.
"What's his problem?" one of the residents asked.
"His problem is that he's a horny old goat. His young wife has six kids and she doesn't want any more."
The next patient was a little girl, ten years old. Dr. Hutton looked at her chart. "We're going to give you a shot to make the bad bugs go away."
A nurse filled a syringe and moved toward the little girl. "No!" she screamed. "You're going to hurt me!"
"This won't hurt, baby," the nurse assured her.
The words were a dark echo in Kat's mind.
This won't hurt, baby. ... It was the voice of her stepfather whispering to her in the scary dark. "This will feel good. Spread your legs. Come on, you
little bitch!" And he had pushed her legs apart and forced his male hardness into her and put his hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming with the pain. She was thirteen years old. After that night, his visits became a terrifying nightly ritual. "You're lucky you got a man like me to teach you how to fuck," he would tell her. "Do you know what a Kat is? A little pussy. And I want some." And he would fall on top of her and grab her, and no amount of crying or pleading would make him stop.
Kat had never known her father. Her mother was a cleaning woman who worked nights at an office building near their tiny apartment in Gary, Indiana. Kat's stepfa•ther was a huge man who had been injured in an accident at a steel mill, and he stayed home most of the time, drinking. At night, when Kat's mother left for work, he would go into Kat's room. "You say anything to your mother or brother, and I'll kill him," he told Kat. / can't let him hurt Mike, Kat thought. Her brother
was five years younger than she, and Kat adored him. She mothered him and protected him and fought his battles for him. He was the only bright spot in Kat's life.
One morning, terrified as Kat was by her stepfather's threats, she decided she had to tell her mother what was happening. Her mother would put a stop to it, would protect her.
"Mama, your husband comes to my bed at night when you're away, and forces himself on me."
Her mother stared at her a moment, then slapped Kat hard across the face.
"Don't you dare make up lies like that, you little slut!" Kat never discussed it again. The only reason she stayed at home was because of Mike. He'd be lost without me, Kat thought. But the day she learned she was pregnant, she ran away to live with an aunt in Minneapolis.
The day Kat ran away from home, her life completely changed.
"You don't have to tell me what happened," her Aunt Sophie had said. "But from now on, you're going to stop running away. You know that song they sing on Sesame Street! 'It's Not Easy Being Green'? Well, honey, it's not easy being black, either. You have two choices. You can keep running and hiding and blaming the world for your problems, or you can stand up for yourself and decide to be somebody important." "How do I do that?"
"By knowing that you're important. First, you get image in your mind of who you want to be, child, and what you want to be. And then you go to work, becoming that person."
I'm not going to have his baby, Kat decided. I want an abortion.
It was arranged quietly, during a weekend, and it was performed by a midwife who was a friend of Kat's aunt. When it was over, Kat thought fiercely, I'm never going to let a man touch me again. Never!
Minneapolis was a fairyland for Kat. Within a few blocks
of almost every home were lakes and streams and rivers. And there were over eight thousand acres of landscaped parks. She went sailing on the city lakes and took boat rides on the Mississippi.
She visited the Great Zoo with Aunt Sophie and spent
Sundays at the Valleyfair Amusement Park. She went on the hay rides at Cedar Creek Farm, and watched knights in armor jousting at the Shakopee Renaissance Festival.
Aunt Sophie watched Kat and thought, The girl has never had a childhood.
Kat was learning to enjoy herself, but Aunt Sophie sensed that deep inside her niece was a place that no one could reach, a barrier she had set up to keep her from being hurt again.
She made friends at school. But never with boys. Her girlfriends were all dating, but Kat was a loner, and too proud to tell anyone why. She looked up to her aunt, whom she loved very much.
Kat had taken little interest in school, or in reading books, but Aunt Sophie changed all that. Her home was filled with books, and Sophie's excitement about them was contagious.
"There are wonderful worlds in there," she told the young girl. "Read, and you'll learn where you came from and where you're going. I've got a feeling that you're going to be famous one day, baby. But you have to get an education first. This is America. You can become anybody you want to be. You may be black and poor, but so were some of our congresswomen, and movie stars, and scientists, and sports legends. One day we're going to have a black president. You can be anything you want to be. It's up to you."
It was the beginning.
Kat became the top student in her class. She was an avid reader. In the school library one day, she happened to pick up a copy of Sinclair Lewis's Arrowsmith, and she was fascinated by the story of the dedicated young doctor. She read Agnes Cooper's Promises to Keep, and Woman Surgeon by Dr. Else Roe, and it opened up a whole new world for Kat. She discovered that there were people on this earth who devoted themselves to helping others, to saving lives. When Kat came home from school one day, she said to Aunt Sophie, "I'm going to be a doctor. A famous one."
Chapter Four
On Monday morning, three of Paige's patients' charts were missing, and Paige was blamed.
On Wednesday, Paige was awakened at 4:00 a.m. in the
on-call room. Sleepily, she picked up the telephone. "Dr. Taylor."
Silence.
"Hello . . . hello."
She could hear breathing at the other end of the line. And then there was a click.
Paige lay awake for the rest of the night.
In the morning, Paige said to Kat, "I'm either becom•ing paranoid or someone hates me." She told Kat what had happened.
"Patients sometimes get grudges against doctors," Kat said. "Can you think of anyone who . . .?"
Paige sighed. '' Dozens.''
"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about." Paige wished that she could believe it.
In the late summer, the magic telegram arrived. It was waiting for Paige when she returned to the apartment late at night. It read: "Arriving San Francisco noon Sunday. Can't wait to see you. Love, Alfred."
He was finally on his way back to her! Paige read the telegram again and again, her excitement growing each time. Alfred! His name conjured up a tumbling kaleidoscope of exciting memories . . .
Paige and Alfred had grown up together. Their fathers were part of a medical cadre of WHO that traveled to Third World countries, fighting exotic and virulent diseases. Paige and
her mother accompanied Dr. Taylor, who headed the team.
Paige and Alfred had had a fantasy childhood. In India,
Paige learned to speak Hindi. At the age of two, she knew that the name for the bamboo hut they lived in was basha. Her father was gorasahib, a white man, and she was nani, a little sister. They addressed Paige's father as abadhan, the leader, or baba, father.
When Paige's parents were not around, she drank bhanga, an intoxicating drink made with hashish leaves, and ate chapati with ghi.
And then they were on their way to Africa. Off to another adventure!
Paige and Alfred became used to swimming and bath•ing in rivers that had crocodiles and hippopotamuses. Their pets were baby zebras and cheetahs and snakes. They grew up in windowless round huts made of wattle and daub, with packed dirt floors and conical thatched roofs. Someday, Paige vowed to herself, I'm going to live in a real house, a beautiful cottage with a green lawn and a white picket fence.
To the doctors and nurses, it was a difficult,
frustrat•ing life. But to the two children, it was a constant adventure, living in the land of lions, giraffes, and ele•phants. They went to primitive cinder-block
school-houses, and when none was available, they had tutors.
Paige was a bright child, and her mind was a sponge, absorbing everything. Alfred adored her.
"I'm going to marry you one day, Paige," he said when she was twelve, he fourteen.
"I'm going to marry you, too, Alfred."
They were two serious children, determined to spend the rest of their lives together.
The doctors from WHO were selfless, dedicated men and women who devoted their lives to their work. They often
worked under nearly impossible circumstances. In Africa, they had to compete with wogesha-the native medical practitioners whose primitive remedies were passed on from father to son, and often had deadly effects. The Masai's traditional remedy for flesh wounds was olkilorite, a mixture of cattle blood, raw meat, and essence of a mysterious root.
The Kikuyu remedy for smallpox was to have chil•dren drive out the sickness with sticks.
"You must stop that," Dr. Taylor would tell them. "It doesn't help."
"Better than having you stick sharp needles in our skin," they would reply.
The dispensaries were tables lined up under the trees, for surgery. The doctors saw hundreds of patients a day, and there was always a long line waiting to see them- lepers, natives with tubercular lungs, whooping cough, smallpox, dysentery.
Paige and Alfred were inseparable. As they grew older, they would walk to the market together, to a village miles
away. And they would talk about their plans for the future.
Medicine was a part of Paige's early life. She learned to care for patients, to give shots and dispense medications, and she anticipated ways to help her father.
Paige loved her father. Curt Taylor was the caring, selfless man she had ever known. He genuim liked people, dedicating his life to helping those wl needed him, and he instilled that passion in Paige, spite of the long hours he worked, he managed to time to spend with his daughter. He
made the discomft of the primitive places they lived in fun.
Paige's relationship with her mother was something else.
Her mother was a beauty from a wealthy social background. Her cool aloofness kept Paige at a distance, Marrying a doctor who was going to work in far-off exotic places had seemed romantic to her, but the harsh reality had embittered her.
She was not a warm, loving woman, and she seemed to Paige always to be complaining.
"Why did we ever have to come to this godforsaken! place, Curt?"
"The people here live like animals. We're going catch some of their awful diseases."
"Why can't you practice medicine in the United States and make money like other doctors?"
And on and on it went.
The more her mother criticized him, the more Paige adored her father.
When Paige was fifteen years old, her mother disap•peared with the owner of a large cocoa plantation in Brazil. "She's not coming back, is she?" Paige asked.
"No, darling. I'm sorry."
"I'm glad!" She had not meant to say that. She was hurt that her mother had cared so little for her and her father that she had abandoned them.
The experience made Paige draw even closer to Al•fred Turner. They played games together and went on expeditions together, and shared their dreams.
"I'm going to be a doctor, too, when I grow up," Alfred confided. "We'll get married, and we'll work together." "And we'll have lots of children!"
"Sure. If you like."
On the night of Paige's sixteenth birthday, their
life•long emotional intimacy exploded into a new dimen•sion. At a little village in East Africa, the doctors had been called away on an emergency, because of an epi•demic, and Paige, Alfred, and a cook were the only ones left in camp.
They had had dinner and gone to bed. But in the middle of the night Paige had been awakened in her tent by the faraway thunder of stampeding animals. She lay there, and as the minutes went by and the sound of the stampede came closer, she began to grow afraid. Her breath quickened. There was no telling when her father and the others would return.
She got up. Alfred's tent was only a few feet away. Terrified, Paige got up, raised the flap of the tent, and ran to Alfred's tent.
He was asleep. "Alfred!"
He sat up, instantly awake. "Paige? Is anything wrong?" "I'm frightened. Could I get into bed with you for a while?"
"Sure." They lay there, listening to the animals charging through the brush.
In a few minutes, the sounds began to die away.
Alfred became conscious of Paige's warm body lying next to him.
"Paige, I think you'd better go back to your tent." Paige
could feel his male hardness pressing against her.
All the physical needs that had been building up within them came boiling to the surface.
"Alfred."
"Yes?" His voice was husky.
"We're getting married, aren't we?" "Yes."
"Then it's all right."
And the sounds of the jungle around them disap•peared, and they began to explore and discover a world no one had ever possessed but themselves. They were the first lovers in the world, and they gloried in the wonderful miracle of it.
At dawn, Paige crept back to her tent and she thought, happily, I'm a woman now.
From time to time, Curt Taylor suggested to Paige that she return to the United States to live with his brother in his beautiful home in Deerfield, north of Chicago.
"Why?" Paige would ask.
"So that you can grow up to be a proper young lady." "I am a proper young lady."
"Proper young ladies don't tease wild monkeys and try to ride baby zebras."
Her answer was always the same. "I won't leave you."
When Paige was seventeen, the WHO team went to a jungle village in South Africa to fight a typhoid epi•demic. Making the situation even more perilous was the fact that shortly after the doctors arrived, war broke out between two local tribes. Curt Taylor was warned to leave.
"I can't, for God's sake. I have patients who will die if I desert them."
Four days later, the village came under attack. Paige and her father huddled in their little hut, listening to the yelling and the sounds of gunfire outside.
Paige was terrified. "They're going to kill us!"
Her father had taken her in his arms. "They won't harm us, darling. We're here to help them. They know we're their friends."
And he had been right.
The chief of one of the tribes had burst into the hut with some of his warriors. "Do not worry. We guard you." And they had.
The fighting and shooting finally stopped, but in the morning Curt Taylor made a decision.
He sent a message to his brother. Sending Paige out on next plane. Will wire details. Please meet her at airport. Paige was furious when she heard the news. She was taken,
sobbing wildly, to the dusty little airport where a Piper Cub was waiting to fly her to a town where she could catch a plane to Johannesburg.
"You're sending me away because you want to get rid of me!" she cried.
Her father held her close in his arms. "I love you more
than anything in the world, baby. I'll miss you every minute. But I'll be going back to the States soon, and we'll be together again."
"Promise?" "Promise."
Alfred was there to see Paige off.
"Don't worry," Alfred told Paige. "I'll come and get you as soon as I can. Will you wait for me?"
It was a pretty silly question, after all those years. "Of course I will."
Three days later, when Paige's plane arrived at O'Hare Airport in Chicago, Paige's Uncle Richard was there to greet her. Paige had never met him. All she knew about him was that he was a very wealthy busi•nessman whose wife had died several years earlier. "He's the successful one in the family," Paige's father
always said. Paige's uncle's first words stunned her. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Paige, but I just received word that your father was killed in a native uprising."
Her whole world had been shattered in an instant. The ache was so strong that she did not think she could bear it. I won't let my uncle see me cry, Paige vowed. I won't. I never should have left. I'm going back there.
Driving from the airport, Paige stared out the win•dow, looking at the heavy traffic.
"I hate Chicago." "Why, Paige?" "It's a jungle."
Richard would not permit Paige to return to Africa for her father's funeral, and that infuriated her.
He tried to reason with her. "Paige, they've already
buried your father. There's no point in your going back." But there was a point: Alfred was there.
A few days after Paige arrived, her uncle sat down with her to discuss her future.
"There's nothing to discuss," Paige informed him. "I'm going to be a doctor."
At twenty-one, when Paige finished college, she ap•plied
to ten medical schools and was accepted by all of them. She chose a school in Boston.
It took two days to reach Alfred by telephone in Zaire, where he was working part-time with a WHO unit.
When Paige told him the news, he said, "That's wonderful, darling. I'm nearly finished with my medical courses. I'll stay with WHO for a while, but in a few years we'll be practicing together."
Together. The magical word. "Paige, I'm desperate to see you. If I can get out a few days, could you meet me in Hawaii?" There wasn't the slightest hesitation. "Yes." And they had both managed it. Later, Paige could ly imagine how difficult it must have been for Alfred to make the long journey, but he never mentioned it.
They spent three incredible days at a small hotel in Hawaii, called Sunny Cove, and it was as though they had never been apart. Paige wanted so much to ask Alfred to go
back to Boston with her, but she knew how selfish that would have been. The work that he was doing was far more important.
On their last day together, as they were getting dressed, Paige asked, "Where will they be sending you, Alfred?" "Gambia, or maybe Bangladesh." To save lives, to help
those who so desperately need him. She held him tightly and closed her eyes. She never wanted to let him go.
As though reading her thoughts, he said, "I'll never let you get away."
Paige started medical school, and she and Alfred cor•responded regularly. No matter in what part of the world he was, Alfred managed to telephone Paige on her birth•day
and at Christmas. Just before New Year's Eve, when Paige was in her second year of school, Alfred telephoned.
"Paige?"
"Darling! Where are you?"
"I'm in Senegal. I figured out it's only eighty-eight hundred miles from the Sunny Cove hotel."
It took a minute for it to sink in. "Do you mean . . .?"
"Can you meet me in Hawaii for New Year's Eve?" "Oh, yes! Yes!"
Alfred traveled nearly halfway around the world to meet her, and this time the magic was even stronger. Time had stood still for both of them.
"Next year I'll be in charge of my own cadre at WHO," Alfred said. "When you finish school, I want us to get married. "
They were able to get together once more, and when they weren't able to meet, their letters spanned time and space.
All those years he had worked as a doctor in Third World countries, like his father and Paige's father, do•ing the wonderful work that they did. And now, at last, he was coming home to her.
As Paige read Alfred's telegram for the fifth time, she thought, He's coming to San Francisco!
Kat and Honey were in their bedrooms, asleep. Paige shook them awake. "Alfred's coming! He's coming! He'll be here Sunday!"
"Wonderful," Kat mumbled. "Why don't you wake me up Sunday? I just got to bed."
Honey was more responsive. She sat up and said, "That's great! I'm dying to meet him. How long since you've seen him?"
"Two years," Paige said, "but we've always stayed in touch."
"You're a lucky girl," Kat sighed. "Well, we're all awake now. I'll put on some coffee."
The three of them sat around the kitchen table.
"Why don't we give Alfred a party?" Honey sug•gested. "Kind of a 'Welcome to the Groom' party."
"That's a good idea," Kat agreed.
"We'll make it a real celebration-a cake, bal•loons-the works!"
"We'll cook dinner for him here," Honey said.
Kat shook her head. "I've tasted your cooking. Let's send out for food."
Sunday was four days away, and they spent all their spare time discussing Alfred's arrival. By some miracle, the three of them were off duty on Sunday.
Saturday, Paige managed to get to a beauty salon. She went shopping and splurged on a new dress.
"Do I look all right? Do you think he'll like it?" "You look sensational!" Honey assured her. "I hope he deserves you."
Paige smiled. "I hope I deserve him. You'll love him. He's fantastic!"
On The Sunday, an elaborate lunch they had ordered was laid out on the dining-room table, with a bottle of iced champagne. The women stood around, nervously waiting for Alfred's arrival.
At two o'clock, the doorbell rang, and Paige ran to the door to open it. There was Alfred. A bit tired-looking, a little thinner. But he was her Alfred. Standing next to him was a brunette who appeared to be in her thirties.
"Paige!" Alfred exclaimed.
Paige threw her arms around him. Then she turned to Honey and Kat and said proudly, "This is Alfred Turner. Alfred, these are my roommates, Honey Taft and Kat Hunter." "Pleased to meet you," Alfred said. He turned to the woman at his side. "And this is Karen Turner. My wife." The three women stood there, frozen. Paige said slowly, "Your wife?" "Yes." He frowned. "Didn't. . . didn't you get my letter?" "Letter?"
"Yes. I sent it several weeks ago." "No . . ."
"Oh. I ... I'm terribly sorry. I explained it all in my
... but of course, if you didn't get the . . ." His voice trailed off. . . . "I'm really sorry, Paige. You and I have been apart so long, that I ... and then I met Karen . . . and you know how it is ..."
"I know how it is," Paige said numbly. She turned to Karen and forced a smile. "I ... I hope you and Alfred will be very happy." "Thank you."
There was an awkward silence. Karen said, "I think we had better go, darling." "Yes. I think you had," Kat said. Alfred ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm really sorry, Paige. I
... well . . . goodbye." "Goodbye, Alfred."
The three women stood there, watching the departing newly weds.
"That bastard!" Kat said. "What a lousy thing to do." Paige's eyes were brimming with tears. "I ... he didn't mean to ... I mean ... he must have explained everything in his letter."
Honey put her arms around Paige. "There ought to be a law that all men should be castrated."
"I'll drink to that," Kat said.
"Excuse me," Paige said. She hurried to her bed•room and closed the door behind her.
She did not come out for the rest of the day.
Chapter Five
During the next few months, Paige saw very little of Kat and Honey. They would have a hurried breakfast in the
cafeteria and occasionally pass one another in the corridors. They communicated mainly by leaving notes in the apartment.
"Dinner is in the fridge." "The microwave is out."
"Sorry, I didn't have time to clean up."
"What about the three of us having dinner out Satur•day night?''
The impossible hours continued to be a punishment, testing the limits of endurance for all the residents.
Paige welcomed the pressure. It gave her no time to think about Alfred and the wonderful future they had planned together. And yet, she could not get him out of her mind. What he had done filled her with a deep pain that refused to
go away. She tortured herself with the futile game of "what if?"
What if I had stayed with Alfred in Africa? What if he had come to Chicago with me? What if he had not met Karen? What if . . .?
On a Friday when Paige went into the change room to put on her scrubs, the word "bitch" had been written on them with a black marker pen.
The following day when Paige went to look for her scut book, it was gone. All her notes had disappeared. Maybe I misplaced it, Paige thought
But she couldn't make herself believe it.
The world outside the hospital ceased to exist. Paige was aware that Iraq was pillaging Kuwait, but that was overshadowed by the needs of a fifteen-year-old patient who was dying of leukemia. The day East and West Germany became united, Paige was busy trying to save the life of a diabetic patient. Margaret Thatcher resigned as prime minister of England, but more important, the patient in 214 was able to walk again.
What made it bearable was the doctors Paige worked with. With few exceptions, they had dedicated them•selves to healing others, relieving pain, and saving lives. Paige watched the miracles they performed every day, and it filled her with a sense of pride.
The greatest stress was working in the ER. The emer•gency room was constantly overcrowded with people suffering every form of trauma imaginable.
The long hours at the hospital and the pressures placed an enormous strain on the doctors and nurses who worked there. The divorce rate among the doctors was extraordinarily high, and extramarital affairs were com•mon.
Tom Chang was one of those having a problem. He told Paige about it over coffee.
"I can handle the hours," Chang confided, "but my wife
can't. She complains that she never sees me any•more and that I'm a stranger to our little girl. She's right. I don't know what to do about it."
"Has your wife visited the hospital?"
"No."
"Why don't you invite her here for lunch, Tom? Let her see what you're doing here and how important it is."
Chang brightened. "That's a good idea. Thanks, Paige. I will. I would like you to meet her. Will you join us for lunch?"
"I'd love to."
Chang's wife, Sye, turned out to be a lovely young woman with a classic, timeless beauty. Chang showed her around the hospital, and afterward they had lunch in the cafeteria with Paige.
Chang had told Paige that Sye had been born and raised in Hong Kong.
"How do you like San Francisco?" Paige asked.
There was a small silence. "It's an interesting city," Sye said politely, "but I feel as though I am a stranger here. It is too big, too noisy."
" But I understand Hong Kong is also big and noisy.''
"I come from a small village an hour away from Hong Kong. There, there is no noise and no automo•biles, and everyone knows his neighbors." She looked at her husband. "Tom and I and our little daughter were very happy there. It is very beautiful on the island of Llama. It has white beaches and small farms, and nearby is a little fishing village, Sak Kwu Wan. It is so peace•ful."
Her voice was filled with a wistful nostalgia. "My husband and I were together much of the time, as a family should be. Here, I never see him."
Paige said, "Mrs. Chang, I know it's difficult for you
right now, but in a few years, Tom will be able to set up his own practice, and then his hours will be much easier."
Tom Chang took his wife's hand. "You see? Every•thing will be fine, Sye. You must be patient."
"I understand," she said. There was no conviction in her voice.
As they talked, a man walked into the cafeteria, and as he stood at the door, Paige could see only the back of his head. Her heart started to race. He turned around. It was a complete stranger.
Chang was watching Paige. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," Paige lied. I've got to forget him. It's over. And
yet, the memories of all those wonderful years, the fun, the excitement, the love they had for each other . . . How do I forget all that'? I wonder if I could persuade any of the doctors here to do a lobotomy on me.
Paige ran into Honey in the corridor. Honey was out of breath and looked worried.
"Is everything all right?" Paige asked.
Honey smiled uneasily. "Yes. Fine." She hurried on. Honey had been assigned to an attending physician named Charles Isler, who was known around the hospi•tal as a martinet.
On Honey's first day of rounds, he had said, "I've been looking forward to working with you, Dr. Taft. Dr. Wallace has told me about your outstanding record at medical school. I understand you're going to practice internal medicine." "Yes."
"Good. So, we'll have you here for three more years." They began their rounds.
The first patient was a young Mexican boy. Dr. Isler ignored the other residents and turned to Honey. "I think you'll find this an interesting case, Dr. Taft. The patient has all the classic signs and symptoms: anorexia, weight
loss, metallic taste, fatigue, anemia, hyperirritability, and uncoordination. How would you diagnose it?" He smiled expectantly.
Honey looked at him a moment. "Well, it could be several things, couldn't it?"
Dr. Isler was watching her, puzzled. "It's a clear-cut case of-"
One of the other residents broke in, "Lead poison•ing?" "That's right," Dr. Isler said.
Honey smiled. "Of course. Lead poisoning."
Dr. Isler turned to Honey again. "How would you treat it?" Honey said evasively,' 'Well, there are several differ•ent methods of treatment, aren't there?"
A second resident spoke up. "If the patient has had
long-term exposure, he should be treated as a potential case of encephalopathy."
Dr. Isler nodded. "Right. That's what we're doing. We're correcting the dehydration and electrolyte distur•bances, and
giving him chelation therapy."
He looked at Honey. She nodded in agreement.
The next patient was a man in his eighties. His eyes were red and his eyelids were stuck together.
"We'll have your eyes taken care of in a moment," Dr. Isler assured him. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, not too bad for an old man."
Dr. Isler pulled aside the blanket to reveal the
pa•tient's swollen knee and ankle. There were lesions on the soles of his feet.
Dr. Isler turned to the residents. "The swelling is caused
by arthritis." He looked at Honey. "Combined with the lesions and the conjunctivitis, I'm sure you know what the diagnosis is."
Honey said slowly, "Well, it could be ... you know . . ." "It's Reiter's syndrome," one of the residents spoke up. "The cause is unknown. It's usually accompanied by low-grade fever."
Dr. Isler nodded. "That's right." He looked at Honey. "What is the prognosis?"
"The prognosis?"
The other resident replied. ' 'The prognosis is unclear. It can be treated with anti-inflammation drugs."
"Very good," Dr. Isler said.
They made the rounds of a dozen more patients, and when
they were finished, Honey said to Dr. Isler, "Could I see you for a moment alone, Dr. Isler?"
"Yes. Come into my office."
When they were seated in his office, Honey said, "I know you're disappointed in me."
"I must admit that I was a little surprised that you-" Honey interrupted. "I know, Dr. Isler. I didn't close my eyes last night. To tell you the truth, I was so excited about working with you that I... I just couldn't sleep."
He looked at her in surprise. "Oh. I see. I knew there had
to be a reason for ... I mean, your medical school record was so fantastic. What made you decide to be•come a doctor?" Honey looked down for a moment, then said softly, "I had a younger brother who was injured in an acci•dent. The doctors did everything they could to try to save him ... but I watched him die. It took a long time, and I felt so helpless.
I decided then that I was going to spend my life helping other people get well." Her eyes welled up with tears.
She's so vulnerable, Isler thought. "I'm glad we had this little talk." Honey looked at him and thought, He believed me.
Chapter Six
Across town, in another part of the city, reporters and TV crews were waiting in the street for Lou Dinetto as he left the courtroom, smiling and waving, the greeting of royalty to the peasants. There were two bodyguards at his side, a tall, thin man known as the Shadow, and a heavy set man called Rhino. Lou Dinetto was, as always, dressed elegantly and expen•sively, in a gray silk suit with a white shirt, blue tie, and alligator shoes. His clothes had to be carefully tailored to make him look trim, because he was short and stout, with bandy legs. He always had a smile and a ready quip for the press, and they enjoyed quoting him. Dinetto had been indicted and tried three times on charges ranging from arson to racketeering to murder, and each time had gone free.
Now as he left the courtroom, one of the reporters yelled out, "Did you know you were going to be acquit•ted, Mr.
Dinetto?"
Dinetto laughed. "Of course I did. I'm an innocent businessman. The government has got nothing better to do than to persecute me. That's one of the reasons our taxes are so high."
A TV camera was aimed at him. Lou Dinetto stopped to smile into it.
"Mr. Dinetto, can you explain why two witnesses who were scheduled to testify against you in your mur•der trial failed to appear?"
"Certainly I can explain it," Dinetto said. "They were honest citizens who decided not to perjure them•selves." "The government claims that you're the head of the West
Coast mob, and that it was you who arranged for-"
"The only thing I arrange for is where people sit at my restaurant. I want everybody to be comfortable." He grinned at the milling crowd of reporters. "By the way, you're all invited to the restaurant tonight for a free dinner and drinks."
He was moving toward the curb, where a black stretch limousine was waiting for him.
"Mr. Dinetto ..."
"Mr. Dinetto ..."
"Mr. Dinetto ..."
"I'll see you at my restaurant tonight, boys and girls. You all know where it is."
And Lou Dinetto was in the car, waving and smiling. Rhino closed the door of the limousine and got into the front seat. The Shadow slipped behind the wheel.
'That was great, boss!" Rhino said. "You sure know how to handle them bums."
"Where to?" the Shadow asked. "Home. I can use a hot bath and a good steak.' The car started off.
"I don't like that question about the witnesses," Dinetto said. "You sure they'll never . . .?" "Not unless they can talk underwater, boss." Dinetto nodded. "Good."
The car was speeding along Fillmore Street. Dinetto said, "Did you see the look on the DA's face when the judge dismissed . . .?"
A small dog appeared out of nowhere, directly in front of the limousine. The Shadow swung the wheel hard to avoid hitting it and jammed on the brakes. The car jumped the curb and crashed into a lamppost. Rhino's head flew forward into the windshield.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Dinetto screamed. "You trying to kill me?"
The Shadow was trembling. "Sorry, boss. A dog ran in front of the car . . ."
"And you decided his life was more important than mine? You stupid asshole!"
Rhino was moaning. He turned around, and Dinetto saw blood pouring from a large cut in his forehead.
"For Christ's sake!" Dinetto screamed. "Look what you've done!"
"I'm all right," Rhino mumbled. "The hell you are!" Dinetto turned to the Shadow. "Get him to a hospital." The
Shadow backed the limousine off the curb. "The Embarcadero is only a couple of blocks down. We'll take him to the emergency ward there."
"Right, boss."
Dinetto sank back in his seat. "A dog," he said disgustedly. "Jesus!"
Kat was in the emergency ward when Dinetto, the Shadow, and Rhino walked in. Rhino was bleeding heavily.
Dinetto called out to Kat, "Hey, you!" Kat looked up. "Are you talking to me?"
"Who the hell do you think I'm talking to? This man is bleeding. Get him fixed up right away."
"There are half a dozen others ahead of him," Kat said quietly. "He'll have to wait his turn."
"He's not waiting for anything," Dinetto told her. "You'll take care of him now."
Kat stepped over to Rhino and examined him. She took a piece of cotton and pressed it against the cut. "Hold it there. I'll be back."
"I said to take care of him now," Dinetto snapped.
Kat turned to Dinetto. "This is an emergency hospital
ward. I'm the doctor in charge. So either keep quiet or get out."
The Shadow said, "Lady, you don't know who you're talking to. You better do what the man says. This is Mr. Lou Dinetto."
"Now that the introductions are over," Dinetto said impatiently, "take care of my man."
"You have a hearing problem," Kat said. "I'll tell vou
once more. Keep quiet or get out of here. I have work to do." Rhino said, "You can't talk to-"
Dinetto turned to him. "Shut up!" He looked at again, and his tone changed. "I would appreciate it if you could get to him as soon as possible."
"I'll do my best." Kat sat Rhino down on a cot. "Lie down. I'll be back in a few minutes." She looked at Dinetto. "There are some chairs over there in the corner.''
Dinetto and the Shadow watched her walk to the other end of the ward to take care of the waiting patients.
"Jesus," the Shadow said. "She has no idea who you are." "I don't think it would make any difference. She's got balls."
Fifteen minutes later, Kat returned to Rhino and ex•amined him. "No concussion," she announced. "You're lucky. That's a nasty cut."
Dinetto stood watching as Kat skillfully put stitches in Rhino's forehead.
When Kat was finished, she said, "That should heal nicely. Come back in five days, and I'll take out the stitches." Dinetto walked over and examined Rhino's forehead. "That's a damn good job."
"Thanks," Kat said. "Now, if you'll excuse me . . ." "Wait a minute," Dinetto called. He turned to the Shadow. "Give her a C-note."
The Shadow took a hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket. "Here."
"The cashier's office is outside."
"This isn't for the hospital. It's for you." "No, thanks."
Dinetto stared as Kat walked away and began working on another patient.
The Shadow said, "Maybe it wasn't enough, boss." Dinetto shook his head. "She's an independent broad. I like that." He was silent for a moment. "Doc Evans is retiring, right?"
"Yeah."
"Okay. I want you to find out everything you can about
this doctor." "What for?" "Leverage. I think she might come in very handy."
Chapter Seven
Hospitals are run by nurses. Margaret Spencer, the chief nurse, had worked at Embarcadero County Hospital for twenty years and knew where all the bodies-literally and figuratively-were buried. Nurse Spencer was in charge of the
hospital, and doctors who did not recognize it were in trouble. She knew which doctors were on drugs or addicted to alcohol, which doctors were incompetent, and which doctors deserved her support. In her charge were all the student nurses, registered nurses, and operating room nurses. It was Margaret Spencer who decided which of them would be assigned to the various surgeries, and since the nurses ranged from indispensable to incompetent, it paid the doctors to get along with her. She had the power to assign an inept scrub nurse to assist on a complicated kidney removal, or, if she liked the doctor, to send her most competent nurse to help him with a simple tonsillectomy. Among Margaret Spencer's many prejudices was an antipathy to women doctors and to blacks. Kat Hunter was a black woman doctor.
Kat was having a hard time. Nothing was overtly said or
done, and yet prejudice was at work in ways too subtle to pin down. The nurses she asked for were unavailable, those assigned to her were close to incompetent. Kat found herself frequently being sent to examine male clinic patients with venereal dis•eases. She accepted the first few cases as routine, but when she was given half a dozen to examine in one day, she became suspicious.
At a lunch break she said to Paige, "Have you exam•ined many men with venereal disease?"
Paige thought for a moment. "One last week. An orderly." I'm going to have to do something about this, Kat thought. Nurse Spencer had planned to get rid of Dr. Hunter by making her life so miserable that she would be forced to quit, but she had not counted on Kat's dedication or her ability. Little by little, Kat was winning over the people she worked with. She had a natural skill that impressed her fellow workers as well as her patients. But the real
breakthrough happened because of what came to be known around the hospital as the famous pig blood caper.
On morning rounds one day, Kat was working with a senior resident named Dundas. They were at the bed•side of a patient who was unconscious.
"Mr. Levy was in an automobile accident," Dundas informed the younger residents. "He's lost a great deal of blood, and he needs an immediate transfusion. The hospital is short of
blood right now. This man has a family, and they refuse to donate any blood to him. It's infuriating."
Kat asked, "Where is his family?" "In the visitors' waiting room," Dr. Dundas said. "Do you mind if I talk to
them?" Kat asked. "It won't do any good. I've already spoken to them. They've made up their minds."
When the rounds were over, Kat went into the visi•tors' waiting room. The man's wife and grown son and daughter were there. The son wore a yarmulke and ritual tallis.
"Mrs. Levy?" Kat asked the woman. She stood up. "How is my husband? Is the doctor going to operate?" "Yes," Kat said. "Well, don't ask us to give any of our blood. It's much too dangerous these days, with AIDS and all." "Mrs. Levy," Kat said, "you can't get AIDS by donating blood. It's not poss-"
"Don't tell me! I read the papers. I know what's what."
Kat studied her a moment. "I can see that. Well, it's all right, Mrs. Levy. The hospital is short of blood right now, but we've solved the problem."
"Good."
"We're going to give your husband pig's blood." The mother and son were staring at Kat, shocked. "What?"
"Pig's blood," Kat said cheerfully. "It probably won't do him any harm." She turned to leave.
"Wait a minute!" Mrs. Levy cried. Kat stopped. "Yes?"
"I, uh . . . just give us a minute, will you?" "Certainly."
Fifteen minutes later, Kat went up to Dr. Dundas. "You
don't have to worry about Mr. Levy's family anymore. They're all happy to make a blood donation."
The story became an instant legend around the hospi•tal. Doctors and nurses who had ignored Kat before made a point of speaking to her.
A few days later, Kat went into the private room of Tom Leonard, an ulcer patient. He was eating an enormous lunch that he had had brought in from a nearby delicatessen.
Kat walked up to his bed. "What are you doing?"
He looked up and smiled. "Having a decent lunch for a
change. Want to join me? There's plenty here." Kat rang for a nurse.
"Yes, doctor?"
"Get this food out of here. Mr. Leonard is on a strict hospital diet. Didn't you read his chart?"
"Yes, but he insisted on-" "Remove it, please."
"Hey! Wait a minute!" Leonard protested. "I can't eat the pap this hospital is giving me!"
"You'll eat it if you want to get rid of your ulcer." Kat looked at the nurse. "Take it out."
Thirty minutes later, Kat was summoned to the office of the administrator.
"You wanted to see me, Dr. Wallace?"
"Yes. Sit down. Tom Leonard is one of your patients, isn't he?"
' "That's right. I found him eating a hot pastrami
sand•wich with pickles and potato salad for lunch today, full of spices and-"
"And you took it away from him." "Of course."
Wallace leaned forward in his chair. "Doctor, you probably were not aware that Tom Leonard is on the hospital's supervisory board. We want to keep him happy. Do you get my meaning?"
Kat looked at him and said stubbornly, "No, sir." He blinked. "What?"
"It seems to me that the way to keep Tom Leonard happy is to get him healthy. He's not going to be cured if he tears his stomach apart."
Benjamin Wallace forced a smile. "Why don't we let him make that decision?"
Kat stood up. "Because I'm his doctor. Is there any•thing else?"
"I ... er ... no. That's all." Kat walked out of the office.
Benjamin Wallace sat there stunned. Women doc•tors. Kat was on night duty when she received a call. "Dr. Hunter, I think you had better come up to 320." "Right away."
The patient in Room 320 was Mrs. Molloy, a cancer patient in her eighties, with a poor prognosis. As Kat neared the
door she heard voices inside, raised in argu•ment. Kat stepped inside the room.
Mrs. Molloy was in bed, heavily sedated, but con•scious. Her son and two daughters were in the room.
The son was saying, "I say we split the estate up three ways."
"No!" one of the daughters said. "Laurie and I are the
ones who have been taking care of Mama. Who's been doing the cooking and cleaning for her? We have! Well, we're entitled to her money and-"
"I'm as much her flesh and blood as you are!" the man yelled.
Mrs. Molloy lay in bed, helpless, listening.
Kat was furious. "Excuse me," she said.
One of the women glanced at her. ' 'Come back later, nurse. We're busy."
Kat said angrily, "This is my patient. I'm giving you all ten seconds to get out of this room. You can wait in the visitors' waiting room. Now get out before I call security and have you thrown out."
The man started to say something, but the look in Kat's
eyes stopped him. He turned to his sisters and shrugged. "We can talk outside."
Kat watched the three of them leave the room. She turned
to Mrs. Molloy in bed and stroked her head. "They didn't mean anything by it," Kat said softly. She sat at the bedside, holding the old woman's hand, and watched her drop off to sleep.
We're all dying, Kat thought. Forget what Dylan Thomas said. The real trick is to go gentle into that good night.
Kat was in the middle of treating a patient when an
orderly came into the ward. "There's an urgent call for you at the desk, doctor."
Kat frowned. "Thank you." She turned to the pa•tient, who was in a full body cast, with his legs sus•pended on a pulley. "I'll be right back."
In the corridor, at the nurses' station, Kat picked up the desk telephone. "Hello?"
"Hi, sis."
"Mike!" She was excited to hear from him, but her
excitement immediately turned to concern. "Mike, I told you never to call me here. You have the number at the apartment if-"
"Hey, I'm sorry. This couldn't wait. I have a little problem."
Kat knew what was coming.
"I borrowed some money from a fellow to invest in a business ..."
Kat didn't bother asking what kind of business. "And it failed."
"Yeah. And now he wants his money." "How much, Mike?"
"Well, if you could send five thousand ..." "What?"
The desk nurse was looking at Kat curiously.
Five thousand dollars. Kat lowered her voice. "I don't
have that much. I ... I can send you half and the rest in a few weeks. Will that be all right?"
"I guess so. I hate to bother you, sis, but you " how it is."
Kat knew exactly how it was. Her brother was twenty two
years old and was always involved in mysterious deals. He ran with gangs, and God only knew what they were up to, but Kat felt a deep responsibility toward him. It's all my fault, Kat thought. If I hadn't run away from home and deserted him . .
. "Stay out of trouble, Mike. I love you." "Love you, too, Kat."
I'll have to get him that money, somehow, Kat thought. Mike's all I have in the world.
Dr. Isler had been looking forward to working with Honey Taft again. He had forgiven her inept perfor•mance and, in
fact, was flattered that she was in such awe of him. But now, on rounds with her once more, Honey stayed behind the other residents and never vol•unteered an answer to his questions.
Thirty minutes after rounds, Dr. Isler was seated in Benjamin Wallace's office.
"What's the problem?" Wallace asked. "It's Dr. Taft."
Wallace looked at him in genuine surprise, "Dr. Taft? She has the best recommendations I've ever seen."
"That's what puzzles me," Dr. Isler said. "I've been getting reports from some of the other residents. She's
misdiagnosing cases and making serious mistakes. I'd like to know what the hell is going on."
"I don't understand. She went to a fine medical school." "Maybe you should give the dean of the school a call," Dr. Isler suggested.
"That's Jim Pearson. He's a good man. I'll call him."
A few minutes later, Wallace had Jim Pearson on the telephone. They exchanged pleasantries, and then Wallace said, "I'm calling about Betty Lou Taft."
There was a brief silence. "Yes?"
"We seem to be having a few problems with her, Jim. She was admitted here with your wonderful recom•mendation." "Right."
"In fact, I have your report in front of me. It says she was one of the brightest students you ever had."
"That's right."
"And that she was going to be a credit to the medical profession."
"Yes."
"Was there any doubt about . . .?"
"None," Dr. Pearson said firmly. "None at all. She's
probably a little nervous. She's high-strung, but if you just give her a chance, I'm sure she'll be fine."
"Well, I appreciate your telling me. We'll certainly give her every chance. Thank you."
"Not at all." The line went dead.
Jim Pearson sat there, hating himself for what he had done.
But my wife and children come first.
Chapter Eight
Honey Taft had the bad fortune to have been born into a family of overachievers. Her handsome father was the founder and president of a large computer company in Memphis,
Tennessee, her lovely mother was a genetic scientist, and Honey's older twin sisters were as attractive, as brainy, and as ambitious as their parents. The Tafts were among the most prominent families in Memphis.
Honey had inconveniently come along when her sis•ters were six years old.
"Honey was our little accident," her mother would tell their friends. "I wanted to have an abortion, but Fred was against it. Now he's sorry."
Where Honey's sisters were stunning, Honey was plain. Where they were brilliant, Honey was average.
Her sisters had started talking at nine months. Honey had not uttered a word until she was almost two.
"We call her 'the dummy,' " her father would laugh. "Honey is the ugly duckling of the Taft family. Only I don't think she's going to turn into a swan."
It was not that Honey was ugly, but neither was she
pretty. She was ordinary-looking, with a thin, pinched face, mousy blond hair, and an unenviable figure. What Honey did have was an extraordinarily sweet, sunny disposition, a quality not particularly prized in a family of competitive overachievers.
From the earliest time Honey could remember, her greatest desire was to please her parents and sisters and make them love her. It was a futile effort. Her parents were busy with their careers, and her sisters were busy winning beauty contests and scholarships. To add to Honey's misery, she was inordinately shy. Consciously or unconsciously, her family had implanted in her a feeling of deep inferiority.
In high school, Honey was known as the Wallflower. She attended school dances and parties by herself, and smiled and tried not to show how miserable she was, because she did not want to spoil anyone's fun. She would watch her sisters picked up at the house by the most popular boys at school, and then she would go up to her lonely room to struggle with her homework.
And try not to cry.
On weekends and during the summer holidays, Honey made pocket money by baby-sitting. She loved taking care of children, and the children adored her.
When Honey was not working, she would go off and explore Memphis by herself. She visited Graceland, where Elvis Presley had lived, and walked down Beale Street, where the blues started. She wandered through the Pink Palace Museum, and the Planetarium, with its roaring, stomping dinosaur. She went to the aquarium.
And Honey was always alone.
She was unaware that her life was about to change drastically.
Honey knew that many of her classmates were having love affairs. They discussed it constantly at school.
"Have you gone to bed with Ricky yet? He's the best... !" "Joe is really into orgasms ..."
"I was out with Tony last night. I'm exhausted. What an animal! I'm seeing him again tonight ..."
Honey stood there listening to their conversations, and she was filled with a bittersweet envy, and a feeling that she would never know what sex was like. Who would want me? Honey wondered.
One Friday night, there was a school prom. Honey had no intention of going, but her father said, "You know, I'm concerned. Your sisters tell me that you're a wallflower, and that you're not going to the prom because you can't get a date."
Honey blushed. "That's not true," she said. "I do have a date, and I am going." Don't let him ask who my date is, Honey prayed.
He didn't.
Now Honey found herself at the prom, seated in her usual corner, watching the others dancing and having a wonderful time.
And that was when the miracle occurred.
Roger Merton, the captain of the football team and the
most popular boy at school, was on the dance floor, having a
fight with his girlfriend. He had been drinking. "You're a no-good, selfish bastard!" she said. "And you're a dumb bitch!" "You can go screw yourself." "I don't have to screw myself, Sally. I can screw somebody else. Anyone I want to." "Go ahead!" She stormed off the dance floor. Honey could
not help but overhear. Merton saw her looking at him. "What the hell are you staring at?" He was slurring his words. "Nothing," Honey said.
"I'll show the bitch! You think I won't show her?" "I ... yes."
"Damn right. Let's have a li'l drink." Honey hesitated. Merton was obviously drunk. "Well, I don't ..."
"Great. I have a bottle in the car." "I really don't think
I ..." And he had Honey's arm and was steering her out of the room. She went along because she did not want to make a scene and embarrass him.
Outside, Honey tried to pull away. "Roger, I don't think this is a good idea. I . . ." "What the hell are
you-chicken?" "No, I ..." "Okay, then. Come on."
He led her to his car and opened the door. Honey stood there a moment. "Get in."
"I can only stay a moment," Honey said.
She got in the car because she did not want to upset Roger. He climbed in beside her.
"We're going to show that dumb broad, aren't we?" He held out a bottle of bourbon. "Here."
Honey had had only one drink of alcohol before and she had hated it. But she did not want to hurt Roger's feelings. She looked at him and reluctantly took a small sip.
"You're okay," he said. "You're new at school, huh?" Honey was in three of his classes. "No," Honey said. I
..."
He leaned over and began to play with her breasts. Startled, Honey pulled away.
"Hey! Come on. Don't you want to please me?" he said. And that was the magic phrase. Honey wanted to please everybody, and if this was the way to do it . . .
In the uncomfortable backseat of Merton's car, Honey had sex for the first time, and it opened an incred•ible new world to her. She did not particularly enjoy the sex, but that was not important. The important thing was that Merton
enjoyed it. In fact, Honey was amazed by how much he enjoyed it. It seemed to make him ecstatic. She had never seen anyone enjoy anything so much. So this is how to please a man, Honey thought.
It was an epiphany.
Honey was unable to get the miracle of what had occurred out of her mind. She lay in bed, remembering Merton's hard maleness inside her, thrusting faster and
faster, and then his moans, "Oh, yes, yes, you're fantastic, Sally ..."
And Honey had not even minded that. She had pleased the captain of the football team! The most popu•lar boy in school! And I really didn't even know what I was doing, Honey thought. I'll truly learned how to please a man . . .
And that was when Honey had her second epiphany.
The following morning, Honey went to the Pleasure Chest, a porno bookstore on Poplar Street, and bought half a dozen books on eroticism. She smuggled them home and read them in the privacy of her room. She was astounded by what she was reading.
She raced through the pages of The Perfumed Garden and the Kama Sutra, the Tibetan Arts of Love, the Al•chemy of Ecstasy, and then went back for more. She read the words of Gedun Chopel and the arcane accounts by Kanchinatha.
She studied the exciting photographs of the thirty-seven positions of lovemaking, and she learned the meaning of the Half Moon and the Circle, the Lotus Petal, and the Pieces of Cloud, and the way of churning.
Honey became an expert on the eight types of oral sex, and the paths of the sixteen pleasures, and the ecstasy of the string of marbles. She knew how to teach a man to perform karuna, to intensify his pleasure. In theory, at least.
Honey felt she was now ready to put her knowledge into practice.
The Kama Sutra had several chapters on aphrodisiacs to arouse a man, but since Honey had no idea where she could obtain Hedysarum gangeticum, the kshirika plant, or the Xanthochymus pictorius, she figured out her own substitutes.
When Honey saw Roger Merton in class the following week, she walked up to him and said, "I really enjoyed the other night. Can we do it again?"
It took him a moment to remember who Honey was. "Oh. Sure. Why not? My folks are out tonight. Why don't you come by about eight o'clock?"
When Honey arrived at Merton's house that night, she had a small jar of maple syrup with her.
"What's that for?" Merton asked. "I'm going to show you," Honey said. She showed him.
The next day, Merton was telling his buddies at school about Honey.
"She's incredible," he said. "You wouldn't believe what she can do with a little warm syrup!"
That afternoon, half a dozen boys were asking Honey for dates. From that time on, she started going out every night. The boys were very happy, and that made Honey very happy.
Honey's parents were delighted by their daughter's sudden popularity.
"It took our girl a little while to bloom," her father said proudly, "but now she's turned into a real Taft!"
Honey had always had poor grades in mathematics, and she knew she had failed badly on her final test. Her mathematics teacher, Mr. Janson, was a bachelor and lived near the school. Honey paid him a visit one eve•ning. He opened the door and looked at her in surprise.
"Honey! What are you doing here?"
"I need your help," Honey said. "My father will kill me if I fail your course. I brought some math prob•lems, and I wonder if you would mind going over them with me."
He hesitated a moment. "This is unusual, but . . . very well."
Mr. Janson liked Honey. She was not like the other girls
in his class. They were raucous and indifferent, while Honey was sensitive and caring, always eager to please. He wished that she had more of an aptitude for mathematics.
Mr. Janson sat next to Honey on the couch and began to explain the arcane intricacies of logarithms.
Honey was not interested in logarithms. As Mr. Jan•son talked, Honey moved closer and closer to him. She started breathing on his neck and into his ear, and before he knew
what was happening, Mr. Janson found that his pants were unzipped.
He was looking at Honey in astonishment. "What are you doing?"
"I've wanted you since the first time I saw you," Honey said. She opened her purse and took out a small can of whipped cream.
"What's that?"
"Let me show you ..."
Honey received an A in math.
It was not only the accessories Honey used that made her
so popular. It was the knowledge she had gleaned from all the ancient books on erotica she had read. She delighted her partners with techniques they had never even dreamed of, that were thousands of years old, and long forgotten. She brought a new meaning to the word "ecstasy."
Honey's grades improved dramatically, and she was suddenly even more popular than her sisters had been in their high school days. Honey was dined at the Private Eye and the Bombay Bicycle Club, and taken to the Ice Capades at the Memphis Mall. The boys took her skiing at Cedar Cliff and sky diving at Landis Airport.
Honey's years at college were just as successful
so•cially. At dinner one evening, her father said, "You'll be graduating soon. It's time to think about your future. Do you know what you want to do with your life?"
She answered immediately. "I want to be a nurse." Her father's face reddened. "You mean a doctor." "No, Father. I . . ."
"You're a Taft. If you want to go into medicine, you'll be a doctor. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Father."
Honey had meant it when she told her father she wanted to
be a nurse. She loved taking care of people, helping them and nurturing them. She was terrified by the idea of becoming a doctor, and being responsible for people's lives. But she knew that she must not disap•point her father. You're a Taft.
Honey's college grades were not good enough to get her
into medical school, but her father's influence was. He was a
heavy contributor to a medical school in Knoxville, Tennessee. He met with Dr. Jim Pearson, the dean.
"You're asking for a big favor," Pearson said, "but I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll admit Honey on a probation•ary basis. If at the end of six months we feel she's not qualified to continue, we'll have to let her go."
"Fair enough. She's going to surprise you." He was right.
Honey's father had made arrangements for her to stay in Knoxville with a cousin of his, the Reverend Douglas Lipton. Douglas Lipton was the minister of the Baptist Church. He was in his sixties, married to a woman ten years older.
The minister was delighted to have Honey in the house. "She's like a breath of fresh air," he told his wife. He had never seen anyone so eager to please.
Honey did fairly well in medical school, but she lacked dedication. She was there only to please her father.
Honey's teachers liked her. There was a genuine nice-ness about her that made her professors want her to succeed.
Ironically, she was particularly weak in anatomy. During the eighth week, her anatomy teacher sent for her. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to fail you," he said unhappily. I can't fail, Honey thought. I can't let my father down. What would Boccaccio have advised"?
Honey moved closer to the professor. "I came to this school because of you. I had heard so much about you." She moved closer to him. "I want to be like you." And closer.
"Being a doctor means everything to me." And closer. "Please help me . . ."
One hour later, when Honey left his office, she had the answers to the next examination.
Before Honey was finished with medical school, she had seduced several of her professors. There was a helplessness about her that they were unable to resist. They were all under the impression that it was they who were seducing her, and they felt guilty about taking advantage of her innocence.
Dr. Jim Pearson was the last to succumb to Honey. He was intrigued by all the reports he had heard about her. There
were rumors of her extraordinary sexual skills. He sent for Honey one day to discuss her grades. She brought a small box of powdered sugar with her, and before the afternoon was over, Dr. Pearson was as hooked as all the others. Honey made him feel young and insatiable. She made him feel that he was a king who had subjugated her and made her his slave.
He tried not to think of his wife and children.
Honey was genuinely fond of the Reverend Douglas Lipton, and it upset her that his wife was a cold, frigid woman who was always criticizing him. Honey felt sorry for the minister. He doesn't deserve that, Honey thought. He needs comforting.
In the middle of the night, when Mrs. Lipton was out of town visiting a sister, Honey walked into the minister's bedroom. She was naked. "Douglas . . ."
His eyes flew open. "Honey? Are you all right?" "No," she said. "Can I talk to you?"
"Of course." He reached for the lamp.
"Don't turn on the light." She crept into bed beside him. "What's the matter? Aren't you feeling well?"
"I'm worried." "About what?"
"You. You deserve to be loved. I want to make love to you."
He was wide awake. "My God!" he said. "You're just a child. You can't be serious."
"I am. Your wife's not giving you any love. "
"Honey, this is impossible! You'd better get back to your room now, and "
He could feel her naked body pressing against his. "Honey, we can't do this. I'm "
Her lips were on his, and her body was on top of him, and
he was completely swept away. She spent the night in his bed.
At six o'clock in the morning, the door to the bed-room opened and Mrs. Lipton walked in. She stood there, staring at the two of them, then walked out with•out a word.
Two hours later, the Reverend Douglas Lipton com•mitted suicide in his garage.
When Honey heard the news, she was devastated, unable to believe what had happened.
The sheriff arrived at the house and had a talk with Mrs. Lipton.
When he was through, he went to find Honey. "Out of
respect for his family, we're going to list the death of the Reverend Douglas Lipton as a 'suicide for reasons unknown,' but I would suggest that you get the fuck out of this town fast, and stay out."
Honey had gone to Embarcadero County Hospital in San Francisco.
With a glowing recommendation from Dr. Jim Pear•son.
Chapter Nine
Time had lost all meaning for Paige. There was no
beginning and no end, and the days and nights flowed into one another in a seamless rhythm. The hospital had become her whole life. The outside world was a foreign, faraway planet.
Christmas came and went, and a new year began. In the world outside, U.S. troops liberated Kuwait from Iraq.
There was no word from Alfred. He'll find out he made a mistake, Paige thought. He'll come back to me.
The early morning crank telephone calls had stopped as suddenly as they had started. Paige was relieved that no new mysterious or threatening incidents had befallen her. It was almost as if they had all been a bad dream . . . except, of course, they hadn't been.
The routine continued to be frantic. There was no time to know patients. They were simply gallbladders and ruptured livers, fractured femurs and broken backs.
The hospital was a jungle filled with mechanical
demons-respirators, heart rate monitors, CAT scan equipment,
X-ray machines. And each had its own pe•culiar sound. There were whistles, and buzzers, and the constant chatter on the PA system, and they all blended into a loud, insane cacophony.
The second year of residency was a rite of passage. The residents moved up to more demanding duties and watched the new group come in, feeling a mixture of scorn and arrogance toward them.
"Those poor devils," Kat said to Paige. "They have no idea what they're in for."
"They'll find out soon enough."
Paige and Honey were becoming worried about Kat. She was losing weight, and seemed depressed. In the middle of conversations, they would find Kat looking off into space, her mind preoccupied. From time to time, she would receive a mysterious phone call, and after each one her depression seemed to worsen.
Paige and Honey sat down to have a talk with her.
"Is everything all right?" Paige asked. "You know we love you, and if there's a problem, we'd like to help." "Thanks. I appreciate it, but there's nothing you can do. It's a money problem."
Honey looked at her in surprise. "What do you need money for? We never go anyplace. We haven't any time to buy anything. We-"
"It's not for me. It's for my brother." Kat had not mentioned her brother before.
"I didn't know you had a brother," Paige said. "Does he live in San Francisco?" Honey asked.
Kat was hesitant. "No. He lives back East. In Detroit. You'll have to meet him one day."
"We'd like to. What does he do?"
"He's kind of an entrepreneur," Kat said vaguely. "He's a little down on his luck right now, but Mike will bounce back. He always does." I hope to God I'm right, Kat thought.
Harry Bowman had transferred from a residency pro•gram in Iowa. He was a good-humored, happy-go-lucky fellow who went out of his way to be pleasant to every•one.
One day, he said to Paige, "I'm giving a little party tomorrow night. If you and Dr. Hunter and Dr. Taft are free, why don't you come? I think you'll have a good time." "Fine," Paige said. "What shall we bring?"
Bowman laughed. "Don't bring anything."
"Are you sure?" Paige asked. "A bottle of wine, or. . ." "Forget it! It's going to be at my little apartment."
Bowman's little apartment turned out to be a ten-room penthouse, filled with antique furniture.
The three women walked in and stared in amazement. "My God!" Kat said. "Where did all this come from?" "I was smart enough to have a clever father," Bow•man said. "He left all his money to me."
"And you're working?" Kat marveled. Bowman smiled. "I like being a doctor."
The buffet consisted of Beluga Malossol caviar, pate de campagne, smoked Scottish salmon, oysters on the half shell, backfin lump crabmeat, crudites with a shal•lot vinaigrette dressing, and Cristal champagne.
Bowman had been right. The three of them did have a wonderful time.
"I can't thank you enough," Paige told Bowman at the end of the evening when they were leaving.
"Are you free Saturday?" he asked. "Yes."
"I have a little motorboat. I'll take you out for a spin." "Sounds great."
At four o'clock in the morning, Kat was awakened out of a deep sleep in the on-call room. "Dr. Hunter, Emergency Room Three. . . . Dr. Hunter, Emergency Three."
Kat got out of bed, fighting exhaustion. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she took the elevator down to the ER. An orderly greeted her at the door. "He's over on the gurney in the corner. He's in a lot of pain."
Kat walked over to him. "I'm Dr. Hunter," she said sleepily.
He groaned. "Jesus, doc. You've got to do somethin'. My back is killin' me."
Kat stifled a yawn. "How long have you been in pain?" "About two weeks."
Kat was looking at him, puzzled. "Two weeks? Why didn't
you come in sooner?"
He tried to move, and winced. "To tell you the truth, I hate hospitals."
"Then why are you coming in now?"
He brightened. "There's a big golf tournament com•ing up, and if you don't fix my back, I won't be able to enjoy it." Kat took a deep breath. "A golf tournament."
"Yeah."
She was fighting to control herself. "I'll tell you what.
Go home. Take two aspirins, and if you aren't feeling better in the morning give me a call." She turned and stormed out of the room, leaving him gaping after her.
Harry Bowman's little motorboat was a sleek fifty-foot motor cruiser.
"Welcome aboard!" he said as he greeted Paige, Kat, and Honey at the dock.
Honey looked at the boat admiringly. "It's beautiful," Paige said.
They cruised around the bay for three hours, enjoying the warm, sunny day. It was the first time any of them had relaxed in weeks.
While they were anchored off Angel Island, eating a delicious lunch, Kat said, "This is the life. Let's not go back to shore."
"Good thinking," Honey said.
All in all, it was a heavenly day.
When they returned to the dock, Paige said, "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed this."
"It's been my pleasure." Bowman patted her arm. "We'll do it again. Anytime. You three are always welcome." What a lovely man, Paige thought.
Honey liked working in obstetrics. It was a ward filled with new life and new hope, in a timeless, joyful ritual. The first-time mothers were eager and apprehensive. The veterans could not wait to get it over with.
One of the women who was about to deliver said to Honey, "Thank God! I'll be able to see my toes again."
If Paige had kept a diary, she would have marked the fifteenth of August as a red-letter day. That was the day Jimmy Ford came into her life.
Jimmy was a hospital orderly, with the brightest smile and the sunniest disposition Paige had ever seen. He was small and thin, and looked seventeen. He was twenty-five, and moved around the hospital corridors like a cheerful tornado.
Nothing was too much trouble for him.
He was constantly running errands for everyone. He had absolutely no sense of status and treated doctors, nurses, and janitors alike.
Jimmy Ford loved to tell jokes.
"Did you hear about the patient in a body cast? The fellow in the bed next to him asked him what he did for a living. "He said, 'I was a window washer at the Empire State Building.'
"The other fellow said, 'When did you quit?' " 'Halfway down.' "
And Jimmy would grin and hurry off to help some•body.
He adored Paige. "I'm going to be a doctor one day. I want to be like you."
He would bring her little presents-candy bars, and stuffed toys. A joke went with each gift.
"In Houston, a man stopped a pedestrian and asked, 'What's the quickest way to the hospital?'
" 'Say something bad about Texas.' "
The jokes were terrible, but Jimmy made them sound funny. He would arrive at the hospital the same time as Paige, and he would race up to her on his motorcycle.
"The patient asked, 'Will my operation be danger•ous?' "And the surgeon said, 'No. You can't get a danger•ous operation for two hundred dollars.' "
And he would be gone.
Whenever Paige, Kat, and Honey were free on the same day, they went out exploring San Francisco. They visited the Dutch Mill and the Japanese Tea Garden. They went to Fisherman's Wharf and rode the cable car. They went to see plays at the Curran Theater, and had dinner at the Maharani on Post Street. All the wait•ers were Indian, and to the astonishment of Kat and Honey, Paige addressed them in Hindi.
"Hum Hindustani bant bahut ocho bolta hi." And from that moment, the restaurant was theirs.
"Where in the world did you learn to talk Indian?" Honey asked.
"Hindi," Paige said. She hesitated. "We ... I lived in India for a while." It was still so vivid. She and Alfred
were at Agra, staring at the Taj Mahal. Shah Jahan built that for his wife. It took twenty years, Alfred.
I'm going to build you a Taj Mahal. I don't care how long it takes!
This is Karen Turner. My wife.
She heard her name called, and turned.
"Paige ..." There was a look of concern on Kat's face. "Are you all right?"
"Fine. I'm fine."
The impossible hours continued. Another New Year's Eve
came and went, and the second year slid into the third, and nothing had changed. The hospital was un•touched by the outside world. The wars and famines and disasters of far-off countries paled by comparison with the life-and-death crises they coped with twenty-four hours a day.
Whenever Kat and Paige met in the hospital corridors, Kat would grin and say, "Having a good time?"
"When did you sleep last?" Paige asked. Kat sighed. "Who can remember?"
They stumbled through the long days and nights, trying to keep up with the incessant, demanding pres•sure, grabbing sandwiches when they had time, and drinking cold coffee out of paper cups.
The sexual harassment seemed to have become a part of
Kat's life. There were the constant innuendos not only from the doctors, but also from patients who tried to get her into bed. They got the same response as the doctors. There's not a man in the world I'll let touch me.
And she really believed it.
In the middle of a busy morning, there was another telephone call from Mike.
"Hi, sis."
And Kat knew what was coming. She had sent him all the money she could spare, but deep down inside, she knew that whatever she sent would never be enough.
"I hate like hell to bother you, Kat. I really do. But I
got into a small jam." His voice sounded strained. "Mike . . . are you all right?"
"Oh, yeah. It's nothing serious. It's just that I owe somebody who needs his money back right away, and I was wondering ..."
"I'll see what I can do," Kat said wearily.
"Thanks. I can always count on you, can't I, sis? I love you."
"I love you, too, Mike."
One day, Kat said to Paige and Honey, "Do you know what we all need?"
"A month's sleep?"
"A vacation. That's where we should be, strolling down the Champs Elysees, looking in all those expen•sive shop windows."
"Right. First-class all the way!" Paige giggled. "We'll sleep all day and play all night."
Honey laughed. "Sounds good."
"We have some vacation time coming up in a few months," Paige observed. "Why don't we make some plans for the three of us to go away somewhere?"
"That's a great idea," Kat said enthusiastically. "Saturday, let's stop in at a travel agency."
They „ spent the next three days excitedly making plans. "I'm dying to see London. Maybe we'll run into the queen." "Paris is where I want to go. It's supposed to be the most romantic city in the world."
"I want to ride a gondola in the moonlight in Ven•ice." Maybe we'll go to Venice on our honeymoon, Paige, Alfred had said. Would you like that?
Oh, yes!
She wondered if Alfred had taken Karen to Venice on their honeymoon.
Saturday morning the three of them stopped in at the Corniche Travel Agency on Powell Street.
The woman behind the counter was polite. "What kind of trip are you interested in?"
"We'd like to go to Europe-London, Paris, Ven•ice . . ." "Lovely. We have some economical package tours that-" "No, no, no." Paige looked at Honey and grinned.
"First-class."
"Right. First-class air travel," Kat chimed in. "First-class hotels," Honey added.
"Well, I can recommend the Ritz in London, the Crillon in Paris, the Cipriani in Venice, and-"
Paige said, "Why don't we just take some brochures with us? We can study them and make up our minds."
"That will be fine," the travel agent said.
Paige was looking at a brochure. "You arrange yacht charters, too?"
"Yes."
"Good. We may be chartering one."
"Excellent." The travel agent collected a handful of brochures and handed them to Paige. "Whenever you're ready, just let me know and I'll be happy to make your reservations."
"You'll hear from us," Honey promised.
When they got outside, Kat laughed and said, "Noth•ing like dreaming big, is there?"
"Don't worry," Paige assured her. "One day we'll be able to go to all those places."
Chapter Ten
Seymour Wilson, the chief of medicine at Embarcadero
County Hospital, was a frustrated man with an impossible job. There were too many patients, too few doctors and nurses, and too few hours in a day. He felt like the captain of a sinking ship, running around vainly trying to plug up the holes.
At the moment, Dr. Wilson's immediate concern was Honey Taft. While some doctors seemed to like her a great deal, reliable residents and nurses kept reporting that Dr. Taft was incapable of doing her job.
Wilson finally went to see Ben Wallace. "I want to get rid of one of our doctors," he said. "The residents she makes rounds with tell me she's incompetent."
Wallace remembered Honey. She was the one who had the extraordinarily high grades and glowing recom•mendation. "I don't understand it," he said. "There must be some mistake." He was thoughtful for a moment. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Seymour. Who's the meanest son of a bitch on your staff?" "Ted Allison."
"All right. Tomorrow morning, send Honey Taft out on
rounds with Dr. Allison. Have him give you a report on her. If he says she's incompetent, I'll get rid of her."
"Fair enough," Dr. Wilson said. "Thanks, Ben."
At lunch, Honey told Paige that she had been assigned to make the rounds with Dr. Allison the following morn•ing. "I know him," Paige said. "He has a miserable reputation." "That's what I hear," Honey said thoughtfully.
At that moment, in another part of the hospital, Sey•mour Wilson was talking to Ted Allison. Allison was a hard-bitten veteran of twenty-five years. He had served as a medical officer in the navy, and he still took pride in "kicking ass."
Seymour Wilson was saying, "I want you to keep a close eye on Dr. Taft. If she can't cut it, she's out. Understood?" "Understood."
He was looking forward to this. Like Seymour Wil•son, Ted Allison despised incompetent doctors. In addi•tion, he had a strong conviction that if women wanted to be in the medical profession, they should be nurses. If it was good enough for Florence Nightingale, it was good enough for the rest of them.
At six o'clock the following morning, the residents gathered in the corridor to begin their rounds. The group consisted of Dr. Allison, Tom Benson, who was his chief assistant, and five residents, including Honey Taft.
Now, as Allison looked at Honey, he thought, Okay, sister, let's see what you've got. He turned to the group. "Let's go."
The first patient in Ward One was a teenage girl lying in bed, covered with heavy blankets. She was asleep when the group approached her.
"All right," Dr. Allison said. "I want you all to take a look at her chart."
The residents began to study the patient's chart. Dr. Allison turned to Honey. "This patient has fever, chills, general malaise, and anorexia. She has a temperature, a cough, and pneumonia. What's your diagnosis, Dr. Taft?" Honey stood there, frowning, silent.
"Well?"
"Well," Honey said thoughtfully, "I would say she probably has psittacosis-parrot fever."
Dr. Allison was looking at her in surprise. "What . . . what makes you say that?"
"Her symptoms are typical of psittacosis, and I no•ticed that she works part-time as a clerk in a pet shop.
Psittacosis is transmitted by infected parrots."
Allison nodded slowly. "That's . . . that's very good. Do you know what the treatment is?"
"Yes. Tetracycline for ten days, strict bed rest, and plenty of fluids."
Dr. Allison turned to the group, "Did you all hear that? Dr. Taft is absolutely right."
They moved on to the next patient.
Dr. Allison said, "If you'll examine his chart, you'll find that he has mesothelial tumors, bloody effusion, and fatigue. What's the diagnosis?"
One of the residents said, hopefully, "It sounds like some form of pneumonia."
A second resident spoke up. "It could be cancer."
Dr. Allison turned to Honey. "What is your diagno•sis, doctor?"
Honey looked thoughtful. "Offhand, I'd say it was fibrous pneumoconiosis, a form of asbestos poisoning. His chart shows that he works in a carpet mill."
Ted Allison could not conceal his admiration. "Ex•cellent! Excellent! Do you happen to know what the therapy is?" "Unfortunately, no specific therapy is available yet."
It became even more impressive. In the next two hours, Honey diagnosed a rare case of Reiter's syn•drome, osteitis deformans polycythemia, and malaria.
When the rounds were over, Dr. Allison shook Honey's hand. "I'm not easily impressed, doctor, but I want to tell you that you have a tremendous future!"
Honey blushed. "Thank you, Dr. Allison."
"And I intend to tell Ben Wallace so," he said as he walked away.
Tom Benson, Allison's senior assistant, looked at Honey and smiled. "I'll meet you in half an hour, baby."
Paige tried to stay out of the way of Dr. Arthur Kane-007. But at every opportunity, Kane asked for Paige to assist him with operations. And each time, he would become more offensive.
"What do you mean, you won't go out with me? You must be getting it from someone else."
And, "I may be short, honey, but not everywhere. You know what I mean?"
She came to dread the occasions she had to work with him. Time after time, Paige watched Kane perform unnecessary surgery and take out organs that were healthy.
One day, as Paige and Kane were walking toward the operating room, Paige asked, "What are we going to operate on, doctor?"
"His wallet!" He saw the look on Paige's face. "Just kidding, honey."
"He should be working in a butcher shop," Paige later said angrily to Kat. "He has no right to be op•erating on people."
After a particularly inept liver operation, Dr. Kane
turned to Paige and shook his head. "Too bad. I don't know if he's going to make it."
It was all Paige could do to contain her anger. She decided to have a talk with Tom Chang.
"Someone should report Dr. Kane," Paige said. "He's murdering his patients!"
"Take it easy."
"I can't! It's not right that they let a man like that operate. It's criminal. He should be brought up before the credentials committee."
"What good would it do? You'd have to get other doctors to testify against him, and no one would be willing to do that. This is a close community, and we all have to live in it, Paige. It's almost impossible to get one doctor to testify against another. We're all vul•nerable and we need each other too much. Calm down. I'll take you out and buy you lunch." Paige sighed. "All right, but it's a lousy system."
At lunch, Paige asked, "How are you and Sye do•ing?"
He took a moment to answer. "I . . . we're having problems. My work is destroying our marriage. I don't know what to do."
"I'm sure it will work out," Paige said. Chang said fiercely, "It had better." Paige looked up at him.
"I would kill myself if she left me."
The following morning, Arthur Kane was scheduled to perform a kidney operation. The chief of surgery said to Paige, "Dr. Kane asked for you to assist him in OR Four." Paige's mouth was suddenly dry. She hated the thought of being near him.
Paige said,' 'Couldn't you get someone else to . . .?" "He's waiting for you, doctor."
Paige sighed. "Right."
By the time Paige had scrubbed up, the operation was already in progress.
"Give me a hand here, darling," Kane said to Paige.
The patient's abdomen had been painted with an io•dine solution and an incision had been made in the right upper quadrant of the abdomen, just below the rib cage. So far, so good, Paige thought.
"Scalpel!"
The scrub nurse handed Dr. Kane a scalpel. He looked up. "Put some music on."
A moment later a CD began to play.
Dr. Kane kept cutting. "Let's have something a little peppier." He looked over at Paige. "Start the bovie, sweetheart."
Sweetheart. Paige gritted her teeth and picked up a
bovie-an electric cautery tool. She began to cauterize the arteries to reduce the amount of blood in the abdo•men. The operation was going well.
Thank God, Paige thought. "Sponge."
The scrub nurse handed Kane a sponge.
"Good. Let's have some suction." He cut around the kidney until it was exposed. "There's the little devil," Dr. Kane said. "More suction." He lifted up the kidney with forceps. "Right. Let's sew him back up."
For once, everything had gone well, yet something was bothering Paige. She took a closer look at the kid•ney. It
looked healthy. She frowned, wondering if ...
As Dr. Kane began sewing up the patient, Paige hur•ried over to the X-ray in the lighted wall frame. She studied it for a moment and said softly, "Oh, my God!"
The X-ray had been put up backward. Dr. Kane had removed the wrong kidney.
Thirty minutes later, Paige was in Ben Wallace's office. "He took out a healthy kidney and left in a diseased one!"
Paige's voice was trembling. "The man should be put in jail!" Benjamin Wallace said soothingly, "Paige, I agree with you that it's regrettable. But it certainly wasn't intentional.
It was a mistake, and-"
"A mistake'? That patient is going to have to live on dial•ysis for the rest of his life. Someone should pay for that!"
"Believe me, we're going to have a peer review evaluation."
Paige knew what that meant: a group of physicians would review what had happened, but it would be done in confidence. The information would be withheld from the public and the patient.
"Dr. Wallace ..."
"You're part of our team, Paige. You've got to be a team player.''
"He has no business working in this hospital. Or any other hospital."
"You've got to look at the whole picture. If he were removed, there would be bad publicity and the reputa•tion of the hospital would be hurt. We'd probably face a lot of malpractice suits."
"What about the patients?"
"We'll keep a closer eye on Dr. Kane." He leaned forward in his chair. "I'm going to give you some advice. When you get into private practice, you're going j to need the goodwill of other doctors for referrals. With-1 out that,
you'll go nowhere, and if you get the reputation! of being a maverick and blowing the whistle on your: fellow doctors, you won't get any referrals. I can prom•ise you that."
Paige rose. "So you aren't going to do anything?"
"I told you, we're going to do a peer review evalua•tion." "And that's it?" "That's it."
"It's not fair," Paige said. She was in the cafeteria having lunch with Kat and Honey.
Kat shook her head. "Nobody said life has to be fair." Paige looked around the antiseptic white-tiled room. "This whole place depresses me. Everybody is sick."
"Or they wouldn't be here," Kat pointed out. "Why don't we give a party?" Honey suggested. "A party? What are you talking about?"
Honey's voice was suddenly filled with enthusiasm. "We could order up some decent food and liquor, and have a
celebration! I think we could all use a little cheering up." Paige thought for a second. "You know," she said, "that's not a bad idea. Let's do it!"
"It's a deal. I'll organize things," Honey told them. "We'll do it tomorrow after rounds."
Arthur Kane approached Paige in the corridor. There was
ice in his voice. "You've been a naughty girl. Someone should teach you to keep your mouth shut!" And he walked away.
Paige looked after him in disbelief. Wallace told him what I said. He shouldn't have done that. 'If you get the reputation of being a maverick and blowing the whistle on your fellow doctors . . .' Would Ido it again? Paige pondered. Darned right I would!
News of the forthcoming party spread rapidly. All the residents chipped in. A lavish menu was ordered from Ernie's, and liquor was delivered from a nearby store. The party was set for five o'clock in the doctors' lounge. The food and drinks arrived at four-thirty. There was a feast: seafood platters with lobster and shrimp, a variety of pates, Swedish meatballs, hot pasta, fruit, and desserts. When Paige, Kat, and Honey walked into the lounge at five-fifteen, it was already crowded with eager residents, interns, and nurses, eating and having a wonderful time.
Paige turned to Honey. "This was a great idea!" Honey smiled. "Thank you."
An announcement came over the loudspeaker. "Dr. Finley and Dr. Ketler to the ER. Stat." And the two doctors, in the
middle of downing shrimp, looked at each other, sighed, and hurriedly left the room.
Tom Chang came up to Paige. "We ought to do this every week," he said.
"Right. It's-"
The loudspeaker came on again. "Dr. Chang . . . Room 7.
... Dr. Chang . . . Room 7."
And a minute later, "Dr. Smythe . . . ER Two. Dr.
Smythe to ER Two."
The loudspeaker never stopped. Within thirty min•utes, almost every doctor and nurse had been called away on some
emergency. Honey heard her name called, and then Paige's, and Kat's.
"I can't believe what's happening," Kat said. "You know how people talk about having a guardian angel?
Well, I think the three of us are under the spell of a guardian devil." Her words proved to be prophetic.
The next Monday morning, when Paige got off duty and went to get into her car, two of the tires had been slashed. She
stared at them in disbelief. Someone should teach you to keep your mouth shut!
When she got back to the apartment she said to Kat and Honey, "Watch out for Arthur Kane. He's crazy."
Chapter Eleven
Kat was awakened by the ring of the telephone. Without opening her eyes, she reached out for it and put the receiver to her ear.
"H'lo?"
"Kat? It's Mike."
She sat up, her heart suddenly pounding. "Mike, are you all right?" She heard him laugh.
"Never better, sis. Thanks to you and your friend."
"My friend?" "Mr. Dinetto."
"Who?" Kat tried to concentrate, groggy with sleep. "Mr. Dinetto. He really saved my life."
Kat had no idea what he was talking about. " Mike. . ." "You know the fellows I owed money to? Mr. Di•netto got them off my back. He's a real gentleman. And he thinks the world of you, Kat."
Kat had forgotten the incident with Dinetto, but now it suddenly flashed into her mind: Lady, you don't know who you're talking to. You better do what the man says. This is Mr. Lou Dinetto.
Mike was going on. "I'm sending you some cash, Kat. Your friend arranged for me to get a job. It pays real good money."
Your friend. Kat was nervous.. "Mike, listen to me. I want you to be careful."
She heard him laugh again.
"Don't worry about me. Didn't I tell you everything would be coming up roses? Well, I was right."
"Take care of yourself, Mike. Don't-" The connection was broken.
Kat was unable to go back to sleep. Dinetto! How did he find out about Mike, and why is he helping him?
The following night, when Kat left the hospital, a black limousine was waiting for her at the curb. The Shadow and Rhino were standing beside it.
As Kat started to pass, Rhino said, "Get in, doctor. Mr. Dinetto wants to see you."
She studied the man for a moment. Rhino was
omi•nous-looking, but it was the Shadow who frightened Kat. There was something deadly about his stillness. Under other circumstances, Kat would never have got•ten into the car, but Mike's telephone call had puzzled her. And worried her.
She was driven to a small apartment on the outskirts of
the city, and when she arrived, Dinetto was waiting for her. "Thanks for coming, Dr. Hunter," he said. "I appreciate
it. A friend of mine had a little accident. I want you to take a look at him."
"What are you doing with Mike?" Kat demanded.
"Nothing," he said innocently. "I heard he was in a little trouble, and I got it taken care of."
"How did . . . how did you find out about him? I mean, that he was my brother and ..."
Dinetto smiled. "In my business, we're all friends. We
help each other. Mike got mixed up with some bad boys, so I helped him out. You should be grateful."
"I am," Kat said. "I really am."
"Good! You know the saying 'One hand washes the other'?" Kat shook her head. "I won't do anything illegal." "Illegal?" Dinetto said. He seemed hurt. "I wouldn't ask you to do anything like that. This friend of mine was in a
little accident and he hates hospitals. Would you take a look at him?"
What am I letting myself in for? Kat wondered. "Very well."
"He's in the bedroom."
Dinetto's friend had been badly beaten up. He was lying in bed, unconscious.
"What happened to him?" Kat asked.
Dinetto looked at her and said, ' 'He fell down a flight of stairs."
"He should be in a hospital."
"I told you, he doesn't like hospitals. I can get you whatever hospital equipment you need. I had another doctor who took care of my friends, but he had an accident."
The words sent a chill through Kat. She wanted noth•ing
more than to run out of the place and go home, and never hear Dinetto's name again, but nothing in life was free. Quid pro quo. Kat took off her coat and went to work.
Chapter Twelve
By the beginning of her fourth year of residency, Paige had assisted in hundreds of operations. They had become
second nature to her. She knew the surgery procedures for the gallbladder, spleen, liver, appendix, and, most exciting, the heart. But Paige was frustrated because she was not doing the operations her•self. Whatever happened to "Watch one, do one,
teach one"? she wondered.
The answer came when George Englund, chief of surgery, sent for her.
"Paige, there's a hernia operation scheduled for to•morrow in OR Three, seven-thirty a.m."
She made a note. "Right. Who's doing the opera•tion?" "You are."
"Right. I ..." The words suddenly sank in. "I am?" "Yes. Any problem with that?"
Paige's grin lit up the room. "No, sir! I... thanks!" "You're ready for it. I think the patient's lucky to have you. His name is Walter Herzog. He's in 314." "Herzog. Room
314. Right." And Paige was out the door.
Paige had never been so excited. I'm going to do my first operation! I'm going to hold a human being's life in my hands. What if I'm not ready"? What if I make a mistakel Things can go wrong. It's Murphy's Law. By the time Paige was through arguing with herself, she was in a state of panic.
She went into the cafeteria and sat down to have a cup of black coffee. It's going to be all right, she told herself. I've assisted in dozens of hernia operations. There's nothing to it. He's lucky to have me. By the time she finished her coffee, she was calm enough to face her first patient.
Walter Herzog was in his sixties, thin, bald, and very nervous. He was in bed, clutching his groin, when Paige walked in, carrying a bouquet of flowers. Herzog looked up.
"Nurse ... I want to see a doctor."
Paige walked over to the bed and handed him the flowers. "I'm the doctor. I'm going to operate on you."
He looked at the flowers, and looked at her. "You're what?"
"Don't worry," Paige said reassuringly. "You're in good hands." She picked up his chart at the foot of the bed and studied it.
"What does it say?" the man asked anxiously. Why did she bring me flowers'?
"It says you're going to be just fine."
He swallowed. "Are you really going to do the opera•tion?" "Yes."
"You seem awfully . . . awfully young."
Paige patted his arm. "I haven't lost a patient yet." She looked around the room. "Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything to read? A book or magazine? Candy?"
He was listening, nervously. "No, I'm okay." Why was she being so nice to him? Was there something she wasn't telling him?
"Well, then, I'll see you in the morning," Paige said cheerfully. She wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to him. "Here's my home number. You call me if you need me tonight. I'll stay right by the phone."
By the time Paige left, Walter Herzog was a nervous wreck.
A few minutes later, jimmy found Paige in the lounge. He walked up to her with his wide grin. "Con•gratulations! I hear you're going to do a procedure."
Word gets around fast, Paige thought. "Yes."
"Whoever he is, he's lucky," Jimmy said. "If any•thing
ever happened to me, you're the only one I'd let operate on me."
"Thanks, Jimmy."
And, of course, with Jimmy, there was always a joke.
"Did you hear the one about the man who had a strange pain in his ankles? He was too cheap to go to a doctor, so when his friend told him he had exactly the same pain, he said,
'You'd better get to a doctor right away. And tell me exactly what he says.'
"The next day, he learns his friend is dead. He rushes to a hospital and has five thousand dollars' worth of tests.
They can't find anything wrong. He calls his friend's widow, and says, 'Was Chester in a lot of pain before he died?' " 'No,' she says. 'He didn't even see the truck that hit him!' " And Jimmy was gone.
Paige was too excited to eat dinner. She spent the evening practicing tying surgical knots on table legs and lamps. I'm going to get a good night's sleep, Paige decided, so I'll be nice and fresh in the morning.
She was awake all night, going over the operation again and again in her mind.
There are three types of hernias: reducible hernia, where it's possible to push the testicles back into the abdomen; irreducible hernia, where adhesions prevent returning the
contents to the abdomen; and the most dangerous, strangulated hernia, where the blood flow through the hernia is shut off, damaging the intestines. Walter Herzog's was a reducible hernia.
At six o'clock in the morning, Paige drove to the hospital parking lot. A new red Ferrari was next to her parking space. Idly, Paige wondered who owned it. Whoever it was had to be rich.
At seven o'clock, Paige was helping Walter Herzog change from pajamas to a blue hospital gown. The nurse had already given him a sedative to relax him while they waited for the gurney that would take him to the operating room.
"This is my first operation," Walter Herzog said. Mine, too, Paige thought.
The gurney arrived and Walter Herzog was on his way to OR Three. Paige walked down the corridor be•side him, and her heart was pounding so loudly that she was afraid he could hear it.
OR Three was one of the larger operating rooms, able to accommodate a heart monitor, a heart-lung ma•chine, and an array of other technical paraphernalia. When Paige walked into the room, the staff were already there, preparing the equipment. There was an attending physician, the anesthesiologist, two residents, a scrub nurse, and two circulating nurses.
The staff were watching her expectantly, eager to see how she would handle her first operation.
Paige walked up to the operating table. Walter Herzog had had his groin shaved and scrubbed with an antiseptic solution. Sterile drapes had been placed around the op•erating area.
Herzog looked up at Paige and said drowsily, "You're not going to let me die, are you?"
Paige smiled. "What? And spoil my perfect rec•ord?"
She looked over at the anesthesiologist, who would give the patient an epidural anesthesia, a saddle block. Paige took a deep breath and nodded. The operation began. "Scalpel."
As Paige was about to make the first cut through the skin,
the circulating nurse said something. "What?"
"Would you like some music, doctor?"
It was the first time she had been asked that question. Paige smiled. "Right. Let's have some Jimmy Buffet."
The moment Paige made the first incision, her ner•vousness vanished. It was as though she had done this all her life. Skillfully, she cut through the first layers of fat and muscle, to the site of the hernia. All the while, she was aware of the familiar litany that was echoing through the room.
"Sponge. "
"Give me a bovie. "
"There it is. "
"Looks like we got there just in time. "
"Clamp. "
"Suction, please. "
Paige's mind was totally focused on what she was
doing. Locate the hernial sac ... free it ... place the contents back into the abdominal cavity ... tie off the base of the sac ... cut off the remainder inguinal
...ring . . . suture it ...
One hour and twenty minutes after the first incision, the operation was finished.
Paige should have felt drained, but instead she felt wildly exhilarated.
When Walter Herzog had been sewn up, the scrub nurse
turned to Paige. "Dr. Taylor ..." Paige looked up. "Yes?" The nurse grinned. "That was beautiful, doctor."
It was Sunday and the three women had the day off. "What should we do today?" Kat asked.
Paige had an idea. "It's such a lovely day, why don't we drive out to Tree Park? We can pack a picnic lunch and eat outdoors."
"That sounds lovely," Honey said. "Let's do it!" Kat agreed.
The telephone rang. The three of them stared at it. "Jesus!" Kat said. "I thought Lincoln freed us. Don't answer it. It's our day off."
"We have no days off," Paige reminded her.
Kat walked over to the telephone and picked it up. "Dr. Hunter." She listened for a moment and handed the telephone to Paige. "It's for you, Dr. Taylor."
Paige said resignedly, "Right." She picked up the receiver. "Dr. Taylor. . . . Hello, Tom. . . . What? . . .
No, I was just going out. ... I see. ... All right. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." She replaced the re•ceiver. So much for the picnic, she thought.
"Is it bad?" Honey asked.
"Yes, we're about to lose a patient. I'll try to be back for dinner tonight."
When Paige arrived at the hospital, she drove into the doctors' parking lot and parked next to the new bright red Ferrari. I wonder how many operations it took to pay for that!
Twenty minutes later, Paige was walking into the visitors' waiting room. A man in a dark suit was seated in a chair, staring out the window. "Mr. Newton?" He rose to his feet. "Yes."
"I'm Dr. Taylor. I was just in to see your little boy. He
was brought in with abdominal pains." "Yes. I'm going to take him home." "I'm afraid not. Peter has a ruptured spleen. He needs an immediate transfusion and an operation, or he'll die."
Mr. Newton shook his head. "We are Jehovah's Wit•nesses.
The Lord will not let him die, and I will not let him be tainted with someone else's blood. It was my wife who brought him here. She will be punished for that."
"Mr. Newton, I don't think you understand how seri•ous the situation is. If we don't operate right away, your son is going to die."
The man looked at her and smiled. "You don't know God's ways, do you?"
Paige was angry. "I may not know a lot about God's ways,
but I do know a lot about a ruptured spleen." She took out a piece of paper. "He's a minor, so you'll have to sign this consent form for him." She held it out.
"And if I don't sign it?" "Why . . . then we can't operate." He nodded. "Do you think your powers are stronger
than the Lord's?"
Paige was staring at him. "You're not going to sign, are you?"
"No. A higher power than yours will help my son, You will see."
When Paige returned to the ward, six-year-old Peter Newton had lapsed into unconsciousness.
"He's not going to make it," Chang said. "He's lost too much blood. What do you want to do?"
Paige made her decision. "Get him into OR One. Stat." Chang looked at her in surprise. "His father changed his mind?"
Paige nodded. "Yes. He changed his mind. Let's move it." "Good for you! I talked to him for an hour and I couldn't budge him. He said God would take care of it."
"God is taking care of it," Paige assured him.
Two hours and four pints of blood later, the operation was successfully completed. All the boy's vital signs were strong.
Paige gently stroked his forehead. "He's going to be fine."
An orderly hurried into the operating room. "Dr. Taylor? Dr. Wallace wants to see you right away."
Benjamin Wallace was so angry his voice was crack•ing. "How could you do such an outrageous thing? You gave him a
blood transfusion and operated without permission? You broke the law!"
"I saved a boy's life!"
Wallace took a deep breath. "You should have gotten a court order."
"There was no time," Paige said. "Ten minutes more and he would have been dead. God was busy elsewhere."
Wallace was pacing back and forth. "What are we going to do now?"
"Get a court order."
"What for? You've already done the operation."
"I'll backdate the court order one day. No one will ever know the difference."
Wallace looked at her and began to hyperventilate. "Jesus!" He mopped his brow. "This could cost me my job." Paige looked at him for a long moment. Then she turned and started toward the door.
"Paige . . .?"
She stopped. "Yes?"
"You'll never do anything like this again, will you?" "Only if I have to," Paige assured him.
Chapter Thirteen
All hospitals have problems with drug theft. By law, each narcotic that is taken from the dispen•sary must be signed for, but no matter how con•trolled the security is, drug addicts almost invariably find a way to circumvent it.
Embarcadero County Hospital was having a major problem. Margaret Spencer went to see Ben Wallace. "I don't know what to do, doctor. Our fentanyl keeps disappearing."
Fentanyl is a highly addictive narcotic and anesthetic drug.
"How much is missing?"
"A great deal. If it were just a few bottles, there could
be an innocent explanation for it, but it's happening now on a regular basis. More than a dozen bottles a week are disappearing.''
"Do you have any idea who might be taking it?"
"No, sir. I've talked to security. They're at a loss. "Who has access to the dispensary?"
"That's the problem. Most of the anesthetists have pretty free access to it, and most of the nurses and surgeons." Wallace was thoughtful. "Thank you for coming to me. I'll take care of it."
"Thank you, doctor." Nurse Spencer left.
I don't need this right now, Wallace thought angrily. A hospital board meeting was coming up, and there were already enough problems to be dealt with. Ben Wallace was well aware of the statistics. More than 10 percent of the doctors in the United States became addicted, at one time or another, to either drugs or alcohol. The easy accessibility of the drugs
made them a temptation. It was simple for a doctor to open a cabi•net, take out the drug he wanted, and use a tourniquet and syringe to inject it. An addict could need a fix as often as every two hours.
Now it was happening at his hospital. Something had to be done about it before the board meeting. It would look bad on my record.
Ben Wallace was not sure whom he could trust to help him find the culprit. He had to be careful. He was certain that neither Dr. Taylor nor Dr. Hunter was involved, and after a great deal of thought, he decided to use them.
He sent for the two of them. "I have a favor to ask of
you," he told them. He explained about the missing fentanyl. "I want you to keep your eyes open. If any of the doctors you work with have to step out of the OR for a moment, in the middle of an operation, or show any other signs of addiction, I want you to let me know. Look for any changes in personality-depression or mood swings-or tardiness, or missed appointments. I would appreciate it if you would keep this strictly confidential.''
When they left the office, Kat said, "This is a big hospital. We're going to need Sherlock Holmes."
"No, we won't," Paige said unhappily. "I know who it is."
Mitch Campbell was one of Paige's favorite doctors. Dr. Campbell was a likable gray-haired man in his fif•ties, always good-humored, and one of the hospital's best surgeons. Paige had noticed lately that he was al•ways a few minutes late for an operation, and that he had developed a noticeable tremor. He used Paige to assist him as often as possible, and he usually let her do a major part of the surgery. In the middle of an operation, his hands would begin to shake and he would hand the scalpel to Paige.
"I'm not feeling well," he would mumble. "Would you take over?"
And he would leave the operating room.
Paige had been concerned about what could be wrong with
him. Now she knew. She debated what to do. She was aware that if she brought her information to Wallace, Dr. Campbell would be fired, or worse, his career would be destroyed. On the
other hand, if she did nothing, she would be putting patients' lives in danger. Perhaps I could talk to him, Paige thought. Tell him what I know, and insist that he get treatment. She discussed it with Kat.
"It's a problem," Kat agreed. "He's a nice guy, and a good doctor. If you blow the whistle, he's finished, but if you don't, you have to think about the harm he might do. What do you think will happen if you confront him?"
"He'll probably deny it, Kat. That's the usual pat•tern." "Yeah. It's a tough call."
The following day, Paige had an operation scheduled with Dr. Campbell. I hope I'm wrong, Paige prayed. Don't let him be late, and don't let him leave during the operation.
Campbell was fifteen minutes late, and in the middle of
the operation, he said, "Take over, will you, Paige? I'll be right back."
I must talk to him, Paige decided. I can't destroy his career.
The following morning, as Paige and Honey drove into the doctors' parking lot, Harry Bowman pulled up next to them in the red Ferrari.
"That's a beautiful car," Honey said. "How much does one of those cost?"
Bowman laughed. "If you have to ask, you can't afford it." But Paige wasn't listening. She was staring at the car,
and thinking about the penthouse, the lavish parties, and the boat. I was smart enough to have a clever father. He left all his money to me. And yet Bowman worked at a county hospital. Why?
Ten minutes later, Paige was in the personnel office, talking to Karen, the secretary in charge of records. "Do me a favor, will you, Karen? Just between us, Harry
Bowman has asked me to go out with him and I have a feeling he's married. Would you let me have a peek at his personnel file?"
"Sure. Those horny bastards. They never get enough, do they? You're darn right I'll let you look at his file." She went over to a cabinet and found what she was looking for. She brought some papers back to Paige.
Paige glanced through them quickly. Dr. Harry Bow•man's application showed that he had come from a small university in the Midwest and, according to the records, had worked his way through medical school. He was an anesthesiologist.
His father was a barber.
Honey Taft was an enigma to most of the doctors at Embarcadero County Hospital. During the morning rounds, she appeared to be unsure of herself. But on the afternoon rounds, she seemed like a different person. She was surprisingly knowledgeable about each patient, and crisp and efficient in her diagnoses.
One of the senior residents was discussing her with a colleague.
"I'll be damned if I understand it," he said. "In the morning, the complaints about Dr. Taft keep piling up. She keeps making mistakes. You know the joke about the nurse who gets everything wrong? A doctor is com•plaining that he told her to give the patient in Room 4 three pills, and she gave the patient in Room 3 four pills, and just as he's talking about her, he sees her chasing a naked patient down the hall, holding a pan of boiling water. The doctor says, 'Look at that! I told her to prick his boil!' "
His colleague laughed.
"Well, that's Dr. Taft. But in the afternoon she's absolutely brilliant. Her diagnoses are correct, her notes
are wonderful, and she's as sharp as hell. She must be taking some kind of miracle pill that only works afternoons." He scratched his head. "It beats the hell out of me."
Dr. Nathan Ritter was a pedant, a man who lived and worked by the book. While he lacked the spark of brilliance, he was capable and dedicated, and he ex•pected the same qualities from those who worked with him.
Honey had the misfortune to be assigned to his team.
Their first stop was a ward containing a dozen pa•tients. One of them was just finishing breakfast. Ritter looked at the chart at the foot of the bed. "Dr. Taft, the chart says this is your patient."
Honey nodded. "Yes."
"He's having a bronchoscopy this morning."
Honey nodded. "That's right."
"And you're allowing him to eat?" Dr. Ritter snapped. "Before a bronchoscopy?"
Honey said, '"'The poor man hasn't had anything to eat since-"
Nathan Ritter turned to his assistant. "Postpone the procedure." He started to say something to Honey, then controlled himself. "Let's move on."
The next patient was a Puerto Rican who was coughing badly. Dr. Ritter examined him. "Whose pa•tient is this?" "Mine," Honey said.
He frowned. "His infection should have cleared up before now." He took a look at the chart. "You're giving him fifty milligrams of ampicillin four times a day?"
"That's right."
"That's not right. It's wrong. That's supposed to be five hundred milligrams four times a day. You left off a zero." "I'm sorry, I ..."
"No wonder the patient's not getting any better! I want it changed immediately."
"Yes, doctor."
When they came to another patient of Honey's, Dr. Ritter
said impatiently, "He's scheduled for a colonoscopy. Where is the radiology report?"
"The radiology report? Oh. I'm afraid I forgot to order one."
Ritter gave Honey a long, speculative look. The morning went downhill from there.
The next patient they saw was moaning tearfully. "I'm in such pain. What's wrong with me?"
"We don't know," Honey said.
Dr. Ritter glared at her. "Dr. Taft, may I see you outside for a moment?"
In the corridor, he said, "Never, never tell a patient that you don't know. You're the one they're looking to for
help! And if you don't know the answer, make one up. Do you understand?"
"It doesn't seem right to . . ."
"I didn't ask you whether it seemed right. Just do as you're told."
They examined a hiatal hernia, a hepatitis patient, a patient with Alzheimer's disease, and two dozen others. The minute the rounds were over, Dr. Ritter went to Benjamin Wallace's office.
"We have a problem," Ritter said. "What is it, Nathan?"
"It's one of the residents here. Honey Taft." Again? "What about her?"
"She's a disaster."
"But she had such a wonderful recommendation."
"Ben, you'd better get rid of her before the hospital gets in real trouble, before she kills a patient or two." Wallace thought about it for a moment, then made his decision. "Right. She'll be out of here."
Paige was busy in surgery most of the morning. As soon as
she was free, she went to see Dr. Wallace, to tell him of her suspicions about Harry Bowman.
"Bowman? Are you sure? I mean . . . I've seen no signs of any addiction."
"He doesn't use it," Paige explained. "He sells it. He's living like a millionaire on a resident's salary."
Ben Wallace nodded. "Very well. I'll check it out. Thank you, Paige."
Wallace sent for Bruce Anderson, head of security. "We may have identified the drug thief," Wallace told him. "I want you to keep a close watch on Dr. Harry Bowman."
"Bowman?" Anderson tried to conceal his surprise. Dr. Bowman was constantly giving the guards Cuban cigars and other little gifts. They all loved him.
"If he goes into the dispensary, search him when he comes out."
"Yes, sir."
Harry Bowman was headed for the dispensary. He had orders
to fill. A lot of orders. It had started as a lucky accident. He had been working in a small hospital in Ames, Iowa, struggling to get by on a resident's salary. He had champagne taste and a beer pocketbook, and then Fate had smiled on him.
One of his patients who had been discharged from the hospital telephoned him one morning.
"Doctor, I'm in terrible pain. You have to give me
something for it."
"Do you want to check back in?"
"I don't want to leave the house. Couldn't you bring something here for me?"
Bowman thought about it. "All right. I'll drop by on my way home."
When he visited the patient, he brought with him a bottle of fentanyl.
The patient grabbed it. "That's wonderful!" he said. He pulled out a handful of bills. "Here."
Bowman looked at him, surprised. "You don't have to pay me for that.''
"Are you kidding? This stuff is like gold. I have a lot of friends who will pay you a fortune if you bring them this stuff."
That was how it had begun. Within two months, Harry Bowman was making more money than he had ever dreamed possible.
Unfortunately, the head of the hospital got wind of what was going on. Fearing a public scandal, he told Bowman that if he left quietly, nothing would appear on his record.
I'm glad I left, Bowman thought. San Francisco has a much bigger market.
He reached the dispensary. Bruce Anderson was standing outside. Bowman nodded to him. "Hi, Bruce."
"Good afternoon, Dr. Bowman."
Five minutes later when Bowman came out of the dispensary, Anderson said, "Excuse me. I'm going to have to search you."
Harry Bowman stared at him. "Search me? What are you talking about, Bruce?"
"I'm sorry, doctor. We have orders to search every•one who uses the dispensary," Anderson lied.
Bowman was indignant. "I've never heard of such a thing. I absolutely refuse!"
"Then I'll have to ask you to come along with me to Dr. Wallace's office."
"Fine! He's going to be furious when he hears about this." Bowman stormed into Wallace's office. "What's go•ing on, Ben? This man wanted to search me, for God's sake!"
"And did you refuse to be searched?" "Absolutely."
"All right." Wallace reached for the telephone. "I'll let the San Francisco police do it, if you prefer." He began to
dial.
Bowman panicked. "Wait a minute! That's not nec•essary." His face suddenly cleared. "Oh! I know what this is all about!" He reached in his pocket and took out a bottle of fentanyl. "I was taking these to use for an operation, and
..."
Wallace said quietly, "Empty your pockets."
A look of desperation came over Bowman's face. "There's no reason to . . ."
"Empty your pockets."
Two hours later, the San Francisco office of the Drug Enforcement Agency had a signed confession and the names of the people to whom Bowman had been selling drugs.
When Paige heard the news, she went to see Mitch Campbell. He was sitting in an office, resting. His hands were on the desk when Paige walked in, and she could see the tremor in them.
Campbell quickly moved his hands to his lap. "Hello, Paige. How're you doing?"
"Fine, Mitch. I wanted to talk to you." "Sit down."
She took a seat opposite him. "How long have you had Parkinson's?"
He turned a shade whiter. "What?"
"That's it, isn't it? You've been trying to cover it up." There was a heavy silence. "I . . . I . . . yes. But I ... I can't give up being a doctor. I ... I just can't give it up. It's my whole life."
Paige leaned forward and said earnestly, "You don't have
to give up being a doctor, but you shouldn't be operating." He looked suddenly old. "I know. I was going to quit last year." He smiled wanly. "I guess I'll have to quit now, won't I? You're going to tell Dr. Wallace."
"No," Paige said gently. "You're going to tell Dr. Wallace."
Paige was having lunch in the cafeteria when Tom Chang joined her.
"I heard what happened," he said. "Bowman! Unbe•lievable. Nice work."
She shook her head. "I almost had the wrong man." Chang sat there, silent.
"Are you all right, Tom?"
"Do you want the 'I'm fine,' or do you want the truth?" "We're friends. I want the truth."
"My marriage has gone to hell." His eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Sye has left. She's gone back home."
"I'm so sorry."
"It's not her fault. We didn't have a marriage any•more. She said I'm married to the hospital, and she's right. I'm spending my whole life here, taking care of strangers, instead of being with the people I love."
"She'll come back. It will work out," Paige said soothingly.
"No. Not this time."
"Have you thought about counseling, or . . .?" "She refuses."
"I'm sorry, Tom. If there's anything I ..." She heard her name on the loudspeaker.
"Dr. Taylor, Room 410 ..."
Paige felt a sudden pang of alarm. "I have to go," she
said. Room 410. That was Sam Bernstein's room. He was one of her favorite patients, a gentle man in his seventies who had been brought in with inoperable stomach cancer. Many of the patients at the hospital were constantly complaining, but Sam Bernstein was an exception. Paige admired his courage and his dignity. He had a wife and two grown sons who visited him regularly, and Paige had grown fond of them, too.
He had been put on life-support systems with a note, DNR-Do Not Resuscitate-if his heart stopped.
When Paige walked into his room, a nurse was at the
bedside. She looked up as Paige entered. "He's gone, doctor. I didn't start emergency procedures, because ..." Her voice trailed off.
"You were right not to," Paige said slowly. "Thank you." "Is there anything I . . .?"
"No. I'll make the arrangements." Paige stood by the bedside and looked down at the body of what had been a living, laughing human being, a man who had a family and
friends, someone who had spent his life working hard, taking care of the ones he loved. And now . . .
She walked over to the drawer where he kept his possessions. There was an inexpensive watch, a set of keys,
fifteen dollars in cash, dentures, and a letter to his wife. All that remained of a man's life.
Paige was unable to shake the feeling of depression that hung over her. "He was such a dear man. Why . . .?"
Kat said, "Paige, you can't let yourself get emotion•ally involved with your patients. It will tear you apart."
"I know. You're right, Kat. It's just that . . . it's over so quickly, isn't it? This morning he and I were talking. Tomorrow is his funeral."
"You're not thinking of going to it?" "No."
The funeral took place at the Hills of Eternity Ceme•tery.
In the Jewish religion, burial must take place as soon as possible following the death, and the service usually takes place the next day.
The body of Sam Bernstein was dressed in a takhrik-him, a white robe, and wrapped in a talit. The family was gathered around the graveside. The rabbi was inton•ing, "Hamakom y'nathaim etkhem b'tokh sh'ar availai tziyon veeyerushalayim.''
A man standing next to Paige saw the puzzled expres•sion on her face, and he translated for her. " 'May the Lord
comfort you with all the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem.' "
To Paige's astonishment, the members of the family began tearing at the clothes they were wearing as they chanted, "Baruch ata adonai elohainu me lech haolam dayan ha-emet." "What . . .?"
"That's to show respect," the man whispered.
"From dust you are and to dust you have returned, but the spirit returns to God who gave it." The ceremony was over.
The following morning, Kat ran into Honey in the corridor. Honey looked nervous.
"Anything wrong?" Kat asked.
"Dr. Wallace sent for me. He asked me to be in his office at two o'clock."
"Do you know why?"
"I think I messed up at rounds the other day. Dr. Ritter is a monster."
"He can be," Kat said. "But I'm sure everything will be all right."
"I hope so. I just have a bad feeling."
Promptly at two o'clock, she arrived at Benjamin Wallace's office, carrying a small jar of honey in her purse. The receptionist was at lunch. Dr. Wallace's door was open. "Come in, Dr. Taft," he called.
Honey walked into his office.
"Close the door behind you, please." Honey closed the door.
"Take a seat."
Honey sat down across from him. She was almost trembling.
Benjamin Wallace looked across at her and thought, It's
like kicking a puppy. But what has to be done has to be done. "I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for you," he said.
One hour later, Honey met Kat in the solarium. Honey sank into a chair next to her, smiling.
"Did you see Dr. Wallace?" Kat asked.
"Oh, yes. We had a long talk. Did you know that his wife
left him last September? They were married for fifteen years. He has two grown children from an earlier marriage, but he hardly ever sees them. The poor darling is so lonely."
Book II
Chapter Fourteen
It was New Year's Eve again, and Paige, Kat, and Honey ushered in 1994 at Embarcadero County Hos•pital. It seemed to
them that nothing in their lives had changed except the names of their patients.
As Paige walked through the parking lot, she was reminded of Harry Bowman and his red Ferrari. How many lives were destroyed by the poison Harry Bowman was selling"? she wondered. Drugs were so seductive. And, in the end, so deadly.
Jimmy Ford showed up with a small bouquet of flow•ers for Paige.
"What's this for, Jimmy?"
He blushed. "I just wanted you to have it. Did you know I'm getting married?"
"No! That's wonderful. Who's the lucky girl?" "Her name is Betsy. She works at a dress shop.
We're going to have half a dozen kids. The first girl is going to be named Paige. I hope you don't mind."
"Mind? I'm flattered."
He was embarrassed. "Did you hear the one about the doctor who gave a patient two weeks to live? 'I can't pay you right now,' the man said. 'All right, I'll give you another two weeks.' "
And Jimmy was gone.
Paige was worried about Tom Chang. He was having violent mood swings from euphoria to deep depression.
One morning during a talk with Paige, he said, "Do you realize that most of the people in here would die without us? We have the power to heal their bodies and make them whole again."
And the next morning: "We're all kidding ourselves, Paige. Our patients would get better faster without us. We're hypocrites, pretending that we have all the an•swers. Well, we don't."
Paige studied him a moment. "What do you hear from Sye?" "I talked to her yesterday. She won't come back here.
She's going ahead with the divorce."
Paige put her hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry, Tom."
He shrugged. "Why? It doesn't bother me. Not any•more. I'll find another woman." He grinned. "And have another child. You'll see."
There was something unreal about the conversation.
That night Paige said to Kat, "I'm worried about Tom Chang. Have you talked to him lately?"
"Yes."
"Did he seem normal to you?"
"No man seems normal to me," Kat said.
Paige was still concerned. "Let's invite him for din•ner tomorrow night."
"All right."
The next morning when Paige reported to the hospi•tal, she was greeted with the news that a janitor had found Tom Chang's body in a basement equipment room. He had died of an overdose of sleeping pills.
Paige was near hysteria. "I could have saved him," she cried. "All this time he was calling out for help, and I didn't hear him."
Kat said firmly, "There's no way you could have helped him, Paige. You were not the problem, and you were not the
solution. He didn't want to live without his wife and child. It's as simple as that."
Paige wiped the tears from her eyes. "Damn this place!"
she said. "If it weren't for the pressure and the hours, his wife never would have left him."
"But she did," Kat said gently. "It's over."
Paige had never been to a Chinese funeral before. It was an incredible spectacle. It began at the Green Street Mortuary in Chinatown early in the morning, where a crowd started gathering outside. A parade was assem•bled, with a large brass marching band, and at the head of the parade,
mourners carried a huge blowup of a photograph of Tom Chang.
The march began with the band loudly playing, wind•ing through the streets of San Francisco, with a hearse at the end of the procession. Most of the mourners were on foot, but the more elderly rode in cars.
To Paige, the parade seemed to be moving around the city
at random. She was puzzled. "Where are they going?" she asked one of the mourners.
He bowed slightly and said, "It is our custom to take the departed past some of the places that have meaning in his life-restaurants where he ate, shops that he used, places he visited ..."
"I see."
The parade ended in front of Embarcadero County Hospital. The mourner turned to Paige and said,' 'This is where Tom Chang worked. This is where he found his happi•ness."
Wrong, Paige thought. This is where he lost his happi•ness.
Walking down Market Street one morning, Paige saw Alfred Turner. Her heart started pounding. She had not been able to get him out of her mind. He was starting to cross the street as the light was changing. When Paige got to the corner, the light had turned to red. She ignored it and ran out into the street, oblivious to the honking horns and the outraged cries of motorists.
Paige reached the other side and hurried to catch up with him. She grabbed his sleeve. "Alfred ..."
The man turned. "I beg your pardon?" It was a total stranger.
Now that Paige and Kat were fourth-year residents, they were performing operations on a regular basis.
Kat was working with doctors in neurosurgery, and she never ceased to be amazed at the miracle of the hundred
billion complex digital computers called neu•rons that lived in the skull. The work was exciting.
Kat had enormous respect for most of the doctors she worked with. They were brilliant, skilled surgeons. There were a few doctors who gave her a hard time. They tried to
date her, and the more Kat refused to go out with them, the more of a challenge she became.
She heard one doctor mutter, "Here comes old iron-pants."
She was assisting Dr. Kibler at a brain operation. A tiny incision was made in the cortex, and Dr. Kibler pushed the rubber cannula into the left lateral ventricle, the cavity in the center of the left half of the brain, while Kat held the incision open with a small retractor. Her entire concentration was focused on what was hap•pening in front of her.
Dr. Kibler glanced at her and, as he worked, said, "Did you hear about the wino who staggered into a bar and said, 'Give me a drink, quick!' 'I can't do that,' the bartender said. 'You're already drunk.' "
The burr was cutting in deeper.
" 'If you don't give me a drink, I'll kill myself.' " Cerebral spinal fluid flowed out of the cannula from the ventricle.
"I'll tell you what I'll do,' the bartender said. 'There are three things I want. You do them for me, and I'll give you a bottle. "
As he went on talking, fifteen milliliters of air were injected into the ventricle, and X-rays were taken of the anterior-posterior view and the lateral view.
" 'See that football player sitting in the corner? I can't get him out of here. I want you to throw him out. Next, I have a pet crocodile in my office with a bad tooth. He's so mean I can't get a vet to go near him. Lastly, there's a lady doctor from the Department of Health who's trying to close up this place. You fuck her, and you get the bottle.' "
A scrub nurse was using suction to reduce the amount of blood in the field.
"The wino throws out the football player, and goes into the office where the crocodile is. He comes out fifteen
minutes later, all bloody, and his clothes torn, and he says, "Where's the lady doctor with the bad tooth? "
Dr. Kibler roared with laughter. "Do you get it? He fucked the crocodile instead of the doctor. It was proba•bly a better experience!"
Kat stood there, furious, wanting to slap him.
When the operation was over, Kat went to the on-call room to try to get over her anger. I'm not going to let the bastards beat me down. I'm not.
From time to time, Paige went out with doctors from the hospital, but she refused to get romantically involved with any of them. Alfred Turner had hurt her too deeply, and she was determined never to go through that again.
Most of her days and nights were spent at the hospital. The schedule was grueling, but Paige was doing general surgery and she enjoyed it.
One morning, George Englund, the chief of surgery, sent for her.
"You're starting your specialty this year. Cardiovas•cular surgery."
She nodded. "That's right."
"Well, I have a treat for you. Have you heard of Dr. Barker?"
Paige looked at him in surprise. "Dr. Lawrence Barker?" "Yes."
"Of course."
Everyone had heard of Lawrence Barker. He was one of the most famous cardiovascular surgeons in the world.
"Well, he returned last week from Saudi Arabia, where he operated on the king. Dr. Barker's an old friend of mine, and he's agreed to give us three days a Week here. Pro bono." "That's fantastic!" Paige exclaimed.
"I'm putting you on his team."
For a moment, Paige was speechless. "I . . .I don't know what to say. I'm very grateful."
"It's a wonderful opportunity for you. You can learn a lot from him."
"I'm sure I can. Thank you, George. I really appreci•ate this."
"You'll start your rounds with him tomorrow morn•ing at six o'clock."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Looking forward to it" was an understatement. It had been Paige's dream to work with someone like Dr. Lawrence Barker. What do I mean, "someone like Dr. Lawrence Barker"? There's only one Dr. Lawrence Barker.
She had never seen a photograph of him, but she could
visualize what he looked like. He would be tall and handsome, with silver-gray hair, and slender, sensi•tive hands. A warm and gentle man. We'll be working closely together, Paige thought, and I'm going to make myself absolutely indispensable. I wonder if he's mar•ried?
That night, Paige had an erotic dream about Dr. Barker.
They were performing an operation in the nude. In the middle of it, Dr. Barker said, "I want you." A nurse moved the patient off the operating table and Dr. Barker picked Paige up and put her on the table, and made love to her.
When Paige woke up, she was falling off the bed.
At six o'clock the following morning, Paige was ner•vously waiting in the second-floor corridor with Joel Philips, the senior resident, and five other residents, when a short, sour-faced man stormed toward them. He leaned forward as he walked, as though battling a stiff wind.
He approached the group. "What the hell are you all standing around for? Let's go!"
It took Paige a moment to regain her composure. She
hurried along to catch up with the rest of the group. As they moved along the corridor, Dr. Barker snapped, "You'll have between thirty and thirty-five patients to care for every day. I'll expect you to make detailed notes on each one of them. Clear?"
There were murmurs of "Yes, sir."
They had reached the first ward. Dr. Barker walked over to the bed of a patient, a man in his forties. Barker's gruff and forbidding manner went through an instant change. He touched the patient gently on the shoulder and smiled. "Good morning. I'm Dr. Barker."
"Good morning, doctor."
"How are you feeling this morning?" "My chest hurts."
Dr. Barker studied the chart at the foot of the bed, then turned to Dr. Philips. ' 'What do his X-rays show?''
"No change. He's healing nicely." "Let's do another CBC."
Dr. Philips made a note.
Dr. Barker patted the young man on the arm and smiled.
"It's looking good. We'll have you out of here in a week." He
turned to the residents and snapped, "Move it! We have a lot of patients to see."
My God! Paige thought. Talk about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde!
The next patient was an obese woman who had had apacemakerputin. Dr. Barker studied her chart. "Good morning, Mrs. Shelby." His voice was soothing. "I'm Dr. Barker."
"How long are you going to keep me in this place?" "Well, you're so charming, I'd like to keep you here forever, but I have a wife."
Mrs. Shelby giggled. "She's a lucky woman."
Barker was examining her chart again. "I'd say you're just about ready to go home."
"Wonderful."
"I'll stop by to see you this afternoon."
Lawrence Barker turned to the residents. "Move on."
They obediently trailed behind the doctor to a
semi-private room where a young Guatemalan boy lay in bed, surrounded by his anxious family.
"Good morning," Dr. Barker said warmly. He scanned the patient's chart. "How are you feeling this morning?" "I am feeling good, doctor."
Dr. Barker turned to Philips. "Any change in the electrolytes?"
"No, doctor."
"That's good news." He patted the boy's arm. "You hang in there, Juan."
The mother asked anxiously, "Is my son going to be all right?"
Dr. Barker smiled. "We're going to do everything we can for him."
"Thank you, doctor."
Dr. Barker stepped out into the corridor, the others trailing behind him. He stopped. "The patient has myocardiopathy, irregular fever tremors, headaches, and lo•calized edema. Can any of you geniuses tell me what the most common cause of it is?"
There was a silence. Paige said hesitantly, "I believe it's congenital . . . hereditary."
Dr. Barker looked at her and nodded encouragingly. Pleased, Paige went on. "It skips . . . wait ..."
She was struggling to remember. "It skips a generation and
is passed along by the genes of the mother.'' She stopped, flushed, proud of herself.
Dr. Barker stared at her a moment. "Horseshit! It's Chagas' disease. It affects people from Latin American
countries." He looked at Paige with disgust. "Jesus! Who told you you were a doctor?"
Paige's face was flaming red.
The rest of the rounds was a blur to her. They saw
twenty-four patients and it seemed to Paige that Dr. Barker spent the morning trying to humiliate her. She was always the one Barker addressed his questions to, testing, probing. When she was right, he never compli•mented her. When she was wrong, he yelled at her. At one point, when Paige made a mistake, Barker roared, "I wouldn't let you operate on my dog!"
When the rounds were finally over, Dr. Philips, the senior resident, said, "We'll start rounds again at two o'clock. Get your scut books, make notes on each pa•tient, and don't leave anything out."
He looked at Paige pityingly, started to say some•thing, then turned away to join Dr. Barker. Paige thought, I never want to see that bastard again.
The following night, Paige was on call. She ran from one crisis to the next, frantically trying to stem the tide of disasters that flooded the emergency rooms.
At 1:00 a.m., she finally fell asleep. She did not hear the sound of a siren screaming out its warning as an
ambulance roared to a stop in front of the emergency entrance of the hospital. Two paramedics swung open the ambulance door, transferred the unconscious patient from his stretcher to a gurney, and ran it through the entrance doors of ER One.
The staff had been alerted by radiophone. A nurse ran alongside the patient, while a second nurse waited at the top of the ramp. Sixty seconds later, the patient was transferred from the gurney to the examination ta•ble.
He was a young man, and he was covered with so much blood that it was difficult to tell what he looked like.
A nurse went to work, cutting his torn clothes off with
large shears.
"It looks like everything's broken." "He's bleeding like a stuck pig." "I'm not getting a pulse."
"Who's on call?" "Dr. Taylor."
"Get her. If she hurries, he may still be alive." Paige was awakened by the ringing of the telephone. "H'lo . . ."
"We have an emergency in ER One, doctor. I don't think he's going to make it."
Paige sat up on the cot. "Right. I'm coming."
She looked at her wristwatch. 1:30 a.m. She stumbled out of bed and made her way to the elevator.
A minute later, she was walking into ER One. In the middle of the room, on the examining table, was the blood-covered patient.
"What do we have here?" Paige asked.
"Motorcycle accident. He was hit by a bus. He wasn't wearing a helmet."
Paige moved toward the unconscious figure, and even before she saw his face, she somehow knew.
She was suddenly wide awake. "Get three IV lines in him!" Paige ordered. "Get him on oxygen. I want some blood sent down, stat. Call Records to get his blood type."
The nurse looked at her in surprise. "You know him?" "Yes." She had to force herself to say the words. "His name is Jimmy Ford."
Paige ran her fingers over his scalp. "There's heavy
edema. I want a head scan and X-rays. We're going to push the envelope on this one. I want him alive!"
"Yes, doctor."
Paige spent the next two hours making sure that ev•erything possible was being done for Jimmy Ford. The
X-rays showed a fractured skull, a brain contusion, bro•ken humerus, and multiple lacerations. But everything would have to wait until he was stabilized.
At 3:30 a.m., Paige decided there was nothing more she could do for the present. He was breathing better, and his pulse was stronger. She looked down at the unconscious
figure. We're going to have half a dozen kids. The first girl is going to be named Paige. I hope you don't mind.
"Call me if there's any change at all," Paige said.
"Don't worry, doctor," one of the nurses said. "We'll take good care of him."
Paige made her way back to the on-call room. She was exhausted, but she was too concerned about Jimmy to go back to sleep.
The telephone rang again. She barely had the energy to pick it up. "H'lo."
"Doctor, you'd better come up to the third floor.
"What the hell did they teach you in medical school? Don't you even know the difference between heartburn and a heart attack?"
"I thought ..."
"The problem is, you didn't. If you ever wake me up again in the middle of the night for a heartburn case, I'll have your ass. You understand that?"
Paige stood there stiffly, her face grim.
"Give her some antacid, doctor," Lawrence Barker said sarcastically, "and you'll find that she's cured. I'll see you at six o'clock for rounds."
Paige watched him storm out.
When Paige stumbled back to her cot in the on-call room, she thought, I'm going to kill Lawrence Barker. I'll do it slowly. He'll be very ill. He'll have a dozen tubes in his
body. He'll beg me to put him out of his misery, but I won't. I'll let him suffer, and then when he feels better . . . that's when I'll kill him!
Chapter Fifteen
Paige was on morning rounds with the Beast, as she secretly referred to Dr. Barker. She had as•sisted him in three cardiothoracic surgeries, and in spite of her bitter feelings toward him, she could not help but admire his
incredible skill. She watched in awe as he opened up a patient, deftly replaced the old heart with a donor heart, and sewed him up. The operation took less than five hours.
Within a few weeks, Paige thought, that patient will be able to return to a normal life. No wonder surgeons think they're gods. They bring the dead back to life.
Time after time, Paige watched a heart stop and turn to an inert piece of flesh. And then the miracle would occur, and a lifeless organ would begin to pulsate again and send blood through a body that had been dying.
One morning, a patient was scheduled for a procedure to insert an intraaortic balloon. Paige was in the operating room assisting Dr. Barker. As they were about to begin, Dr. Barker snapped, "Do it!"
Paige looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"
"It's a simple procedure. Do you think you can han•dle it?" There was contempt in his voice.
"Yes," Paige said tightly. "Well, then, get on with it!" He was infuriating.
Barker watched as Paige expertly inserted a hollow tube
into the patient's artery and threaded it up into the heart. It was done flawlessly. Barker stood there, with•out saying a word.
To hell with him, Paige thought. Nothing I could ever do would please him.
Paige injected a radiopaque dye through the tube. They watched the monitor as the dye flowed into the coronary arteries. Images appeared on a fluoroscopy screen and showed the degree of blockage and its loca•tion in the artery, while an automatic motion-picture camera recorded the X-rays for a permanent record.
The senior resident looked at Paige and smiled. "Nice job."
"Thank you." Paige turned to Dr. Barker. "Too damned slow," he growled.
And he walked out.
Paige was grateful for the days that Dr. Barker was away from the hospital, working at his private practice. She said
to Kat, "Being away from him for a day is like a week in the country."
"You really hate him, don't you?"
"He's a brilliant doctor, but he's a miserable human
being. Have you ever noticed how some people fit their names? If Dr. Barker doesn't stop barking at people, he's going to have a stroke."
"You should see some of the beauties I have to put up with." Kat laughed. "They all think they're God's gift to pussies. Wouldn't it be great if there were no men in the world!"
Paige looked at her, but said nothing.
Paige and Kat went to check on Jimmy Ford. He was still in a coma. There was nothing they could do.
Kat sighed. "Dammit. Why does it happen to the good guys?" "I wish I knew."
"Do you think he'll make it?"
Paige hesitated. "We've done everything we can. Now it's up to God."
"Funny. I thought we were God."
The following day when Paige was in charge of after•noon rounds, Kaplan, a senior resident, stopped her in the corridor. "This is your lucky day." He grinned. "You're getting a new medical school student to take around." "Really?"
"Yeah, the IN."
"IN?"
"Idiot nephew. Dr. Wallace's wife has a nephew who wants
to be a doctor. They threw him out of his last two schools. We've all had to put up with him. Today it's your turn." Paige groaned. "I don't have time for this. I'm up to my .
. ."
"It's not an option. Be a good girl and Dr. Wallace will give you brownie points." Kaplan moved off.
Paige sighed and walked over to where the new resi•dents were waiting to start the rounds. Where's the IN? She looked at her watch. He was already three minutes late. I'll give him one more minute, Paige decided, and then to hell with him. She saw him then, a tall, lean-looking man, hurrying toward her, down the hall.
He walked up to Paige, out of breath, and said, "Ex•cuse me. Dr. Wallace asked me to-"
"You're late," Paige said curtly.
"I know. I'm sorry. I was held up at-" "Never mind. What's your name?"
"Jason. Jason Curtis." He was wearing a sport jacket. "Where's your white coat?"
"My white coat?"
"Didn't anyone tell you to wear a white coat on rounds?" He looked flustered. "No. I'm afraid I ..."
Paige said irritably, "Go back to the head nurse's office and tell her to give you a white coat. And you don't have a scut book."
"No."
"Idiot nephew" doesn't begin to describe him. "Meet us in Ward One."
"Are you sure? I ..."
"Just do it!" Paige and the others started off, leaving Jason Curtis staring after them.
They were examining their third patient when Jason Curtis came hurrying up. He was wearing a white coat. Paige was saying, "... tumors of the heart can be
primary, which is rare, or secondary, which is much more common."
She turned to Curtis. "Can you name the three types of tumors?"
He stared at her. "I'm afraid I ... I can't."
Of course not. "Epicardial. Myocardial. Endocardial." He looked at Paige and smiled. "That's really inter•esting."
My God! Paige thought. Dr. Wallace or no Dr. Wal•lace, I'm going to get rid of him fast.
They moved on to the next patient, and when Paige was through examining him, she took the group into the corridor, out of earshot. "We're dealing here with a thyroid storm, with fever and extreme tachycardia. It came on after surgery." She turned to Jason Curtis. "How would you treat him for that?"
He stood there, thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, "Gently?"
Paige fought for self-control. "You're not his mother, you're his doctor! He needs continuous IV flu•ids to combat dehydration, along with IV iodine and antithyroid drugs and sedatives for convulsions."
Jason nodded. "That sounds about right."
The rounds got no better. When they were over, Paige
called Jason Curtis aside. ' 'Do you mind my being frank with you?"
"No. Not at all," he said agreeably. "I'd appreciate it." "Look for another profession."
He stood there, frowning. "You don't think I'm cut out for this?"
"Quite honestly, no. You don't enjoy this, do you?" "Not really."
"Then why did you choose to go into this?"
"To tell you the truth, I was pushed into it."
"Well, you tell Dr. Wallace that he's making a mis•take. I think you should find something else to do with your life." "I really appreciate your telling me this," Jason Curtis said earnestly. "I wonder if we could discuss this further. If you aren't doing anything for dinner tonight . . .?"
"We have nothing further to discuss," Paige said curtly. "You can tell your uncle ..."
At that moment Dr. Wallace came into view. "Ja•son!" he called. "I've been looking all over for you." He turned to Paige. "I see you two have met."
"Yes, we've met," Paige said grimly.
"Good. Jason is the architect in charge of designing the new wing we're building."
Paige stood there, motionless. "He's . . . what?" "Yes. Didn't he tell you?"
She felt her face getting red. Didn't anyone tell you to wear a white coat on rounds'? Why did you go into this? To tell you the truth, I was pushed into it. By me.
Paige wanted to crawl into a hole. He had made a complete fool of her. She turned to Jason. "Why didn't you tell me who you were?"
He was watching her, amused. "Well, you really didn't give me a chance."
"She didn't give you a chance to what?" Dr. Wallace asked. "If you'll excuse me . . ." Paige said tightly.
"What about dinner tonight?"
"I don't eat. And I'm busy." And Paige was gone.
Jason looked after her, admiringly. "That's quite a woman."
"She is, isn't she? Shall we go to my office and talk about the new designs?"
"Fine." But his thoughts were on Paige.
It was July, time for the ritual that took place every
twelve months at hospitals all over the United States, as new residents came in to begin their journey toward becoming real doctors.
The nurses had been looking forward to the new crop of residents, staking out claims on the ones they thought would make good lovers or husbands. On this particular day, as the new residents appeared, nearly every female eye was fixed on Dr. Ken Mallory.
No one knew why Ken Mallory had transferred from an exclusive private hospital in Washington, D.C., to Embarcadero County Hospital in San Francisco. He was a
fifth-year resident and a general surgeon. There were rumors that he had had to leave Washington in a hurry because of an affair with a congressman's wife. There was another rumor that a nurse had committed suicide because of him and he had been asked to leave. The only thing the nurses were sure of was that Ken Mallory was, without doubt, the best-looking man they had ever seen. He had a tall, athletic body, wavy blond hair, and a face that would have looked great on a movie screen.
Mallory blended into the hospital routine as though he had been there forever. He was a charmer, and almost from the beginning, the nurses were fighting for his attention. Night after night, the other doctors would watch Mallory disappear into an empty on-call room with a different nurse. His reputation as a stud was becoming legendary around the hospital.
Paige, Kat, and Honey were discussing him.
"Can you believe all those nurses throwing them•selves at him?" Kat laughed. "They're actually fighting to be the
flavor of the week!"
"You have to admit, he is attractive," Honey pointed out. Kat shook her head. "No. I don't."
One morning, half a dozen residents were in the doc•tors' dressing room when Mallory walked in.
"We were just talking about you," one of them said. "You must be exhausted."
Mallory grinned. "It was not a bad night." He had spent the night with two nurses.
Grundy, one of the residents, said, "You're making the
rest of us look like eunuchs, Ken. Isn't there anyone in this hospital you can't lay?"
Mallory laughed. "I doubt it."
Grundy was thoughtful for a moment. "I'll bet I can name someone."
"Really? Who's that?"
"One of the senior residents here. Her name is Kat Hunter."
Mallory nodded. "The black doll. I've seen her. She's very attractive. What makes you think I can't take her to bed?" "Because we've all struck out. I don't think she likes men."
"Or maybe she just hasn't met the right one," Mal•lory suggested.
Grundy shook his head. "No. You wouldn't have a chance." It was a challenge. "I'll bet you're wrong."
One of the other residents spoke up. "You mean you're willing to bet on it?"
Mallory smiled. "Sure. Why not?"
"All right." The group began to crowd around Mal•lory. "I'll bet you five hundred dollars you can't lay her." "You're on."
"I'll bet you three hundred."
Another one spoke up. "Let me in on it. I'll bet you six hundred."
In the end, five thousand dollars was bet. "What's the time limit?" Mallory asked.
Grundy thought for a moment. "Let's say thirty days. Is that fair?"
"More than fair. I won't need that much time."
Grundy said, "But you have to prove it. She has to admit that she went to bed with you."
"No problem." Mallory looked around the group and grinned. "Suckers!"
Fifteen minutes later, Grundy was in the cafeteria where Kat, Paige, and Honey were having breakfast. He walked over to their table. "Can I join you ladies- you doctors-for a moment?"
Paige looked up. "Sure."
Grundy sat down. He looked at Kat and said apologet•ically, "I hate to tell you this, but I'm really mad, and I think it's only fair that you should know ..." Kat was looking at him, puzzled. "Know what?"
Grundy sighed. "That new senior resident who came in-Ken Mallory?"
"Yes. What about him?"
Grundy said, "Well, I... God, this is embarrassing. He bet some of the doctors five thousand dollars that he could get you into bed in the next thirty days."
Kat's face was grim. "He did, did he?"
Grundy said piously, "I don't blame you for being angry.
It made me sick when I heard about it. Well, I just wanted to warn you. He'll be asking you out, and I thought it was only right that you should know why he was doing it."
"Thanks," Kat said. "I appreciate your telling me." "It was the least I could do."
They watched Grundy leave.
In the corridor outside the cafeteria, the other resi•dents were waiting for him.
"How did it go?" they asked.
Grundy laughed. "Perfect. She's as mad as hell. The son of a bitch is dead meat!"
At the table, Honey was saying, "I think that's just terrible."
Kat nodded. "Someone should give him a dickotomy. They'll be ice skating in hell before I go out with that bastard."
Paige sat there thinking. After a moment, she said,
"You know something, Kat? It might be interesting if you did go out with him."
Kat looked at her in surprise. "What?"
There was a glint in Paige's eye. "Why not? If he wants to play games, let's help him-only he'll play our game."
Kat leaned forward. "Go on."
"He has thirty days, right? When he asks you out, you'll be warm and loving and affectionate. I mean, you'll be
absolutely crazy about the man. You'll drive him out of his mind. The only thing you won't do, bless your heart, is to go to bed with him. We'll teach him a five-thousand-dollar lesson."
Kat thought of her stepfather. It was a way of getting revenge. "I like it," Kat said.
"You mean you're going to do it?" Honey said. "I am."
And Kat had no idea that with those words, she had signed her death warrant.
Chapter Sixteen
Jrason Curtis had been unable to get Paige Taylor out of
his mind. He telephoned Ben Wallace's secretary. "Hi. This is Jason Curtis. I need a home telephone umber for Dr. Paige Taylor." "Certainly, Mr. Curtis. Just a moment." She gave him the number.
Honey answered the telephone. "Dr. Taft." "This is Jason Curtis. Is Dr. Taylor there?" "No, she's not. She's on call at the hospital." "Oh. That's too bad."
Honey could hear the disappointment in his voice. "If it's some kind of emergency, I can ..." "No, no."
"I could take a message for her and have her call you." "That will be fine." Jason gave her his telephone number. "I'll give her the message." "Thank you."
* * *
"Jason Curtis called," Honey said when Paige re•turned to
the apartment. "He sounded cute. Here's his number." "Burn it."
"Aren't you going to call him back?" "No. Never."
"You're still hung up on Alfred, aren't you?" "Of course not."
And that was all Honey could get out of her.
Jason waited two days before he called again.
This time Paige answered the telephone. "Dr. Taylor." "Hello there!" Jason said. "This is Dr. Curtis." "Doctor . . .?"
"You may not remember me," Jason said lightly. "I was on rounds with you the other day, and I asked you to have dinner with me. You said-"
"I said I was busy. I still am. Goodbye, Mr. Curtis." She slammed the receiver down.
"What was that all about?" Honey asked. "About nothing."
At six o'clock the following morning, when the resi•dents gathered with Paige for morning rounds, Jason Curtis appeared. He was wearing a white coat.
"I hope I'm not late," he said cheerfully. "I had to get a white coat. I know how upset you get when I don't wear one." Paige took a deep, angry breath. "Come in here," she said.
She led Jason into the deserted doctors' dress•ing room. "What are you doing here?"
"To tell you the truth, I've been worried about some of the patients we saw the other day," he said earnestly. "I came to see if everyone is all right."
The man was infuriating.
"Why aren't you out building something?"
Jason looked at her and said quietly, "I'm trying to." He pulled out a handful of tickets. "Look, I don't know what your tastes are, so I got tickets for tonight's Giants game, the theater, the opera, and a concert. Take your choice.
They're nonrefundable."
The man was exasperating. "Do you always throw your money away like this?''
"Only when I'm in love," Jason said.
"Wait a min-"
He held the tickets out to her. "Take your choice."
Paige reached out and took them all. "Thank you," she said sweetly. "I'll give them to my outpatients. Most of them don't have a chance to go to the theater or opera."
He smiled. "Great! I hope they enjoy it. Will you have dinner with me?"
"No."
"You have to eat, anyway. Won't you change your mind?" Paige felt a small frisson of guilt about the tickets. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company. I was on call last night, and ..."
"We'll make it an early evening. Scout's honor." She sighed. "All right, but . . ."
"Wonderful! Where shall I pick you up?" "I'll be through here at seven."
"I'll pick you up here then." He yawned. "Now I'm going home and going back to bed. What an ungodly hour to be up. What makes you do it?"
Paige watched him walk away, and she could not help smiling.
At seven o'clock that evening when Jason arrived at the hospital to pick up Paige, the supervising nurse said, "I think you'll find Dr. Taylor in the on-call room." "Thanks." Jason walked down the corridor to the on-call room. The door was closed. He knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again, then opened the door and looked inside.
Paige was on the cot, in a deep sleep. Jason walked over to where she lay and stood there for a long time, looking down at her. I'm going to marry you, lady, he thought. He tiptoed out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him.
The following morning, Jason was in a meeting when his secretary came in with a small bouquet of flowers. The card read: I'm sorry. RIP. Jason laughed. He tele•phoned Paige at the hospital. "This is your date call•ing."
"I really am sorry about last night," Paige said. "I'm embarrassed."
"Don't be. But I have a question." "Yes?"
"Does RIP stand for Rest in Peace or Rip as in Van Winkle?"
Paige laughed. "Take your choice."
"My choice is dinner tonight. Can we try again?"
She hesitated. I don't want to become involved. You're not still hung up on Alfred, are you?
"Hello. Are you there?"
"Yes." One evening won't do any harm, Paige de•cided. "Yes. We can have dinner." "Wonderful."
As Paige was getting dressed that evening, Kat said, "It looks like you have a heavy date. Who is it?" "He's a doctor-architect," Paige said. "A what?
Paige told her the story.
"He sounds like fun. Are you interested in him?" "Not really."
The evening went by pleasantly. Paige found Jason easy to be with. They talked about everything and noth•ing, and the time seemed to fly.
"Tell me about you," Jason said. "Where did you grow up?" "You won't believe me."
"I promise I will."
"All right. The Congo, India, Burma, Nigeria, Kenya . . ." "I don't believe you."
"It's true. My father worked for WHO."
"Who? I give up. Is this going to be an Abbott and Costello rerun?"
"The World Health Organization. He was a doctor. I spent
my childhood traveling to most of the Third World countries with him."
"That must have been difficult for you."
"It was exciting. The hardest part was that I was never able to stay long enough to make friends." We don't need
anyone else, Paige. We'll always have each other. This
is my wife, Karen. She shook off the memory. "I learned a lot of strange languages, and exotic customs."
"For instance?"
"Well, for instance, I ..." She thought for a mo•ment. "In India they believe in life after death, and that the next life depends on how you behaved in this one. If you were bad, you would come back as an animal. I remember that in one village, we had a dog, and I used to wonder who he used to be and what he did that was bad."
Jason said, "He probably barked up the wrong tree." Paige smiled. "And then there was the gherao."
"The gherao?"
"It's a very powerful form of punishment. A crowd surrounds a man." She stopped.
"And?"
"That's it."
"That's it?"
"They don't say anything or do anything. But he can't
move, and he can't get away. He's trapped until he gives in to what they want. It can last for many, many hours. He stays inside the circle, but the crowd keeps changing shifts. I saw a man try to escape the gherao once. They beat him to death." The memory of it made Paige shudder. The normally friendly people had turned into a screaming, frenzied mob. "Let's get away from here," Alfred had yelled. He had taken her arm and led her to a quiet side street.
"That's terrible," Jason said.
"My father moved us away the next day." "I wish I could have known your father."
"He was a wonderful doctor. He would have been a big success on Park Avenue, but he wasn't interested in money. His only interest was in helping people." Like Alfred, she thought.
"What happened to him?"
"He was killed in a tribal war." "I'm sorry."
"He loved doing what he did. In the beginning, the natives fought him. They were very superstitious. In the remote Indian villages, everyone has ajatak, a horo•scope done by the village astrologer, and they live by it." She smiled. "I loved having mine done."
"And did they tell you that you were going to marry a handsome young architect?"
Paige looked at him and said firmly, "No." The
conversation was getting too personal. "You're an ar•chitect, so you'll appreciate this. I grew up in huts made of wattle, with earthen floors and thatched roofs where mice and bats liked to nest. I lived in tukuls with grass roofs and no windows. My dream was to live one day in a comfortable
two-story house with a veranda and a green lawn and a white picket fence, and ..." Paige stopped. "Sorry. I didn't mean to go on like this, but you did ask."
"I'm glad I asked," Jason said.
Paige looked at her watch. "I had no idea it was so late." "Can we do this again?"
I don't want to lead him on, Paige thought. Nothing is
going to come of this. She thought of something Kat had said to her. You're clinging to a ghost. Let go. She looked at Jason and said, "Yes."
Early the following morning, a messenger arrived with a package. Paige opened the door for him.
"I have something for Dr. Taylor." "I'm Dr. Taylor."
The messenger looked at her in surprise. "You're a doctor?"
"Yes," Paige said patiently. "I'm a doctor. Do you mind?" He shrugged. "No, lady. Not at all. Would you sign here, please?"
The package was surprisingly heavy. Curious, Paige carried it to the living-room table and unwrapped it. It was a miniature model of a beautiful white two-story house with a veranda. In front of the house was a little lawn and garden, surrounded by a white picket fence. He must have stayed up all night, making it. There was a card that read:
Mine [ ]
Ours [ ]
Please check one.
She sat there looking at it for a long time. It was the right house, but it was the wrong man.
What's the matter with me? Paige asked herself. He's bright and attractive and charming. But she knew what the matter was. He was not Alfred.
The telephone rang. It was Jason. "Did you get your house?" he asked.
"It's beautiful!" Paige said. "Thank you so much."
"I'd like to build you the real thing. Did you fill in the box?"
"No."
"I'm a patient man. Are you free for dinner tonight?" "Yes, but I have to warn you, I'm going to be op•erating all day, and by this evening I'll be exhausted."
"We'll make it an early evening. By the way, it's going to be at my parents' home."
Paige hesitated a moment. "Oh?" "I've told them all about you."
"That's fine," Paige said. Things were moving too quickly. It made her nervous.
When Paige hung up, she thought: I really shouldn't be doing this. By tonight I'm going to be too tired to do
anything but go to sleep. She was tempted to tele•phone Jason back and cancel their date. It's too late to do that now.
We'll make it an early evening.
As Paige was getting dressed that night, Kat said, "You look exhausted."
"I am."
"Why are you going out? You should be going to bed. Or is that redundant?"
"No. Not tonight." "Jason again?"
"Yes. I'm going to meet his parents." "Ah." Kat shook her head.
"It's not like that at all," Paige said. It's really not.
Jason's mother and father lived in a charming old house in the Pacific Heights district. Jason's father was an aristocratic-looking man in his seventies. Jason's mother was a warm, down-to-earth woman. They made Paige feel instantly at home.
"Jason has told us so much about you," Mrs. Curtis said. "He didn't tell us how beautiful you are."
"Thank you."
They went into the library, filled with miniature mod•els of buildings that Jason and his father had designed.
"I guess that between us, Jason, his great-grandfa•ther, and I have done a lot of the landscape of San Francisco," Jason's father said. "My son is a genius."
"That's what I keep telling Paige," Jason said.
Paige laughed. "I believe it." Her eyes were getting heavy and she was fighting to stay awake.
Jason was watching her, concerned. "Let's go in to dinner," he suggested.
They went into the large dining room. It was oak-paneled, furnished with attractive antiques and portraits on the wall. A maid began serving.
Jason's father said, "That painting over there is Ja•son's great-grandfather. All the buildings he designed were destroyed in the earthquake of 1906. It's too bad. They were priceless. I'll show you some photographs of them after dinner if you ..."
Paige's head had dropped to the table. She was sound asleep.
"I'm glad I didn't serve soup," Jason's mother said.
* * *
Ken Mallory had a problem. As word of the wager about Kat had spread around the hospital, the bets had quickly increased to ten thousand dollars. Mallory had been so confident of his success that he had bet much more than he could afford to pay off.
If I fail, I'm in a hell of a lot of trouble. But I'm not going to fail. Time for the master to go to work.
Kat was having lunch in the cafeteria with Paige and Honey when Mallory approached the table.
"Mind if I join you doctors?"
Not ladies, not girls. Doctors. The sensitive type, Kat thought cynically. "Not at all. Sit down," Kat said.
Paige and Honey exchanged a look.
"Well, I have to get going," Paige said. "Me, too. See you later."
Mallory watched Paige and Honey leave.
"Busy morning?" Mallory asked. He made it sound as though he really cared.
"Aren't they all?" Kat gave him a warm, promising smile.
Mallory had planned his strategy carefully. I'm going to
let her know I'm interested in her as a person, not just as a woman. They hate the sex-object thing. Discuss medicine with her. I'll take it slow and easy. I have a whole month to get her in the sack.
"Did you hear about the postmortem on Mrs. Turnball?" Mallory began. "The woman had a Coca-Cola bottle in her stomach! Can you imagine how . . .?"
Kat leaned forward. "Are you doing anything Satur•day night, Ken?"
Mallory was caught completely off guard. "What?"
"I thought you might like to take me out to dinner.
He found himself almost blushing. My God! he thought. Talk about shooting fish in a barrell This is no lesbian. The guys said that because they couldn't get into her pants. Well, I'm going to. She's actually asking for itl He tried to remember with whom he had a date on Saturday. Sally, the little nurse in OR. She can wait.
"Nothing important," Mallory said. "I'd love to take you to dinner."
Kat put her hand over his. "Wonderful," she said softly. "I'll really be looking forward to it."
He grinned. "So will I." You have no idea how much, baby. Ten thousand dollars' worth!
That afternoon, Kat reported back to Paige and Honey. "His mouth dropped open!" Kat laughed. "You should have seen the look on his face! He looked like the cat that swallowed the canary."
Paige said, "Remember, you're the Kat. He's the canary." "What are you going to do Saturday night?" Honey asked. "Any suggestions?"
"I have," Paige answered. "Here's the plan . . ."
Saturday evening, Kat and Ken Mallory had dinner at Emilio's, a restaurant on the bay. She had dressed carefully for him, in a white cotton dress, off the shoul•der.
"You look sensational," Mallory said. He was care•ful to strike just the right note. Appreciative, but not pressing. Admiring, but not suggestive. Mallory had determined to be at his most charming, but it was not necessary. It quickly became obvious to him that Kat was intent on charming him.
Over a drink, Kat said, "Everyone talks about what a
wonderful doctor you are, Ken."
"Well," Mallory said modestly, "I've had fine train•ing,
and I care a lpt about my patients. They're very important to me." His voice was filled with sincerity.
Kat put her hand over his. "I'm sure they are. Where are you from? I want to know all about you. The real you."
Jesus! Mallory thought. That's the line I use. He could
not get over how easy this was going to be. He was an expert on the subject of women. His radar knew all the signals they put out. They could say yes with a look, a smile, a tone of voice. Kat's signals were jam•ming his radar.
She was leaning close to him, and her voice was husky. "I want to know everything."
He talked about himself during dinner, and every time he tried to change the subject and bring it around to Kat, she said, "No, no. I want to hear more. You've had such a fascinating life!"
She's crazy about me, Mallory decided. He wished now that
he had taken more bets. I might even win tonight, he thought. And he was sure of it when Kat said, as they were having coffee, "Would you like to come up to my apartment for a nightcap?"
Bingo! Mallory stroked her arm and said softly, "I'd love to." The guys were all crazy, Mallory decided.
She's the horniest broad I've ever met. He had a feeling that he was about to be raped.
Thirty minutes later, they were walking into Kat's apartment.
"Nice," Mallory said, looking around. "Very nice. Do you live here alone?"
"No. Dr. Taylor and Dr. Taft live with me."
"Oh." She could hear the note of regret in his voice. Kat gave him a beguiling smile. "But they won't be home until much later."
Mallory grinned. "Good." "Would you like a drink?"
"Love one." He watched as Kat walked over to the little bar and mixed two drinks. She's got great buns, Mallory
thought. And she's damned good-looking, and I'm getting ten thousand dollars to lay her. He laughed aloud.
Kat turned. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking how lucky I am to be here alone with you."
"I'm the lucky one," Kat said warmly. She handed him his drink.
Mallory raised his glass and started to say, "Here's to .
. ."
Kat beat him to it. "Here's to us!" she said. He nodded. "I'll drink to that."
He started to say, "How about a little music?" and as he opened his mouth, Kat said, "Would you like some music?" "You're a mind reader."
Kat put on an old Cole Porter standard. She
surreptitiously glanced at her watch, then turned to Mallory. "Do you like to dance?"
Mallory moved closer to her. "It depends on whom I'm dancing with. I'd love to dance with you."
Kat moved into his arms, and they began to dance to the slow and dreamy music. He felt Kat's body press•ing hard against his, and he could feel himself getting aroused. He held her tighter, and Kat smiled up at him.
Now is the time to go in for the kill.
"You're lovely, you know," Mallory said huskily. "I've wanted you since the first moment I saw you."
Kat looked into his eyes. "I've felt the same way about you, Ken." His lips moved toward hers, and he gave her a warm, passionate kiss.
"Let's go into the bedroom," Mallory said. There was a sudden urgency in him.
"Oh, yes!"
He took her by the arm and she started leading him toward her bedroom. And at that moment, the front door opened and Paige and Honey walked in.
"Hi there!" Paige called. She looked at Ken Mallory in surprise. "Oh, Dr. Mallory! I didn't expect to see you here." "Well, I ... I ..."
"We went out to dinner," Kat said.
Mallory was filled with a dark rage. He fought to control it. He turned to Kat. "I should go. It's late and I have a big day tomorrow."
"Oh. I'm sorry you're leaving," Kat said. There was a world of promise in her eyes.
Mallory said, "What about tomorrow night?" "I'd love to . . ."
"Great!"
". . . but I can't."
"Oh. Well, what about Friday?"
Kat frowned. "Oh, dear. I'm afraid Friday isn't good, either."
Mallory was getting desperate. "Saturday?" Kat smiled. "Saturday would be lovely."
He nodded, relieved. "Good. Saturday it is, then." He turned to Paige and Honey. "Good night."
"Good night."
Kat walked Mallory to the door. "Sweet dreams," ahe said softly. "I'm going to dream about you."
Mallory squeezed her hand. "I believe in making dreams come true. We'll make up for this Saturday night."
"I can't wait."
That night, Kat lay in her bed thinking about Mallory. She hated him. But to her surprise, she had enjoyed the evening. She was sure that Mallory had enjoyed it too, in spite of the fact that he was playing a game. If only this were real, Kat thought, and not a game. She had no idea how dangerous a game it was.
Chapter Seventeen
Maybe it's the weather, Paige thought wearily. It was cold and dreary outside, with a gray driving rain that depressed the spirits. Her day had begun at six o'clock in the morning, and it was filled with constant problems. The hospital seemed tc be full of gomers, all complaining at once. The nurses were surly and careless. They drew blood from the wrong patients, lost X-rays that were urgently needed, and snapped at the patients. In addition, there was a staff shortage because of a flu epidemic. It was that kind of day.
The only bright spot was the telephone call from Jason Curtis.
"Hello," he said cheerily. "Just thought I'd check in and see how all our patients are doing."
"They're surviving."
"Any chance of our having lunch?"
Paige laughed. "What's lunch? If I'm lucky, I'll be able
to grab a stale sandwich about four o'clock this afternoon. It's pretty hectic around here."
"All right. I won't keep you. May I call you again?" "All right." No harm in that.
"Bye."
Paige worked until midnight without a moment to rest, and when she was finally relieved, she was almost too tired to move. She briefly debated staying at the hospital and sleeping on the cot in the on-call room, but the thought of her warm, cozy bed at home was too tempting. She changed clothes and lurched her way to the elevator.
Dr. Peterson came up to her. "My God!" he said. "Where's the cat that dragged you in?"
Paige smiled wearily. "Do I look that bad?" "Worse." Peterson grinned. "You're going home now?" Paige nodded.
"You're lucky. I'm just starting."
The elevator arrived. Paige stood there half asleep. Peterson said gently, "Paige?"
She shook herself awake. "Yes?"
"Are you going to be able to drive home?"
"Sure," Paige mumbled. "And when I get there, I'm going to sleep for twenty-four hours straight.''
She walked to the parking lot and got into her car. She sat there drained, too tired to turn on the ignition. I mustn't go to sleep here. I'll sleep at home.
Paige drove out of the parking lot and headed toward the apartment. She was unaware of how erratically she was driving until a driver yelled at her, "Hey, get off the road, you drunken broad!"
She forced herself to concentrate. I must not fall asleep
. . . I must not fall asleep. She snapped the radio on and turned the volume up loud. When she reached her apartment building, she sat in the car for a long time before she was able to summon enough strength to go upstairs.
Kat and Honey were in their beds, asleep. Paige looked at the clock at her bedside. One o'clock in the morning. She stumbled into her bedroom and started to get undressed, but the effort was too much for her. She fell into bed with her
clothes on, and in an instant was sound asleep.
She was awakened by the shrill ringing of a telephone that seemed to be coming from some far-off planet. Paige fought to stay asleep, but the ringing was like needles penetrating her brain. She sat up groggily and reached for the phone. "H'lo?" "Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes." Her voice was a hoarse mumble.
"Dr. Barker wants you in OR Four to assist him, stat." Paige cleared her throat. "There must be some mis•take," she mumbled. "I just got off duty."
"OR Four. He's waiting." The line went dead.
Paige sat on the edge of the bed, numb, her mind clouded by sleep. She looked at the clock on the bedside table.
Four-fifteen. Why was Dr. Barker asking for her in the middle of the night? There was only one answer. Something had happened to one of her patients.
Paige staggered into the bathroom and threw cold water on her face. She looked in the mirror and thought,
My Godl I look like my mother. No. My mother never looked this bad.
Ten minutes later, Paige was making her way back to the hospital. She was still half asleep when she took the elevator to the fourth floor to OR Four. She went into the dressing room and changed, then scrubbed up and stepped into the operating room.
There were three nurses and a resident assisting Dr. Barker.
He looked up as Paige entered and yelled, "For Christ's sake, you're wearing a hospital gown! Didn't anyone ever inform you that you're supposed to wear scrubs in an operating room?"
Paige stood there, stunned, jolted wide awake, her eyes blazing. "You listen to me," she said, furiously. "I'm supposed to be off duty. I came in as a favor to you. I don't-"
"Don't argue with me," Dr. Barker said curtly. "Get over here and hold this retractor."
Paige walked over to the operating table and looked down. It was not her patient on the table. It was a stranger.
Barker had no reason to call me. He's trying to force me to quit the hospital. Well, I'll be damned if I willl She gave him a baleful look, picked up the retractor, and went to work.
The operation was an emergency coronary artery by•pass graft. The skin incision had already been made down the center of the chest to the breastbone, which had been split with an electric saw. The heart and major blood vessels were exposed.
Paige inserted the metal retractor between the cut sides of the breastbone, forcing the edges apart. She watched as Dr. Barker skillfully opened the pericardial sac, exposing the heart.
He indicated the coronary arteries. "Here's the prob•lem," Barkersaid. "We're going to do some grafting."
He had already removed a long strip of vein from one leg.
He sewed a piece of it into the main artery coming out of the heart. The other end he attached to one of the coronary arteries, beyond the obstructed area, sending the blood through the vein graft, bypassing the obstruction.
Paige was watching a master at work. If only he weren't such a bastardl
The operation took three hours. By the time it was over, Paige was only half conscious. When the incision had been closed, Dr. Barker turned to the staff and said, "I want to thank all of you." He was not looking at Paige.
Paige stumbled out of the room without a word and went upstairs to the office of Dr. Benjamin Wallace.
Wallace was just arriving. "You look exhausted," he said. "You should get some rest."
Paige took a deep breath to control her anger. "I want to be transferred to another surgical team."
Wallace studied her a moment. "You're assigned to Dr. Barker, right?"
"Right."
"What's the problem?"
"Ask him. He hates me. He'll be glad to get rid of me. I'll go with anyone else. Anyone."
"I'll talk to him," Wallace said.
"Thank you."
Paige turned and walked out of the office. They'd better take me away from him. If I see him again, I'll kill him.
Paige went home and slept for twelve hours. She woke up with a feeling that something wonderful had happened, and then she remembered. I don't have to see the Beast anymore! She drove to the hospital, whistling.
As Paige was walking down the corridor, an orderly came up to her. "Dr. Taylor ..."
"Yes?"
"Dr. Wallace would like to see you in his office." "Thank you," Paige said. She wondered who the new senior surgeon would be. Anybody will be an im•provement, Paige thought. She walked into Benjamin Wallace's office. "Well, you look much better today, Paige."
"Thanks. I feel much better." And she did. She felt great, filled with an enormous sense of relief.
"I talked to Dr. Barker."
Paige smiled. "Thank you. I really appreciate it." "He won't let you go."
Paige's smile faded. What?
"He said you're assigned to his team and you'll stay there."
She could not believe what she was hearing. "But why?" She knew why. The sadistic bastard needed a whipping girl, someone to humiliate. "I'm not going to stand for it."
Dr. Wallace said ruefully, "I'm afraid you have no choice. Unless you want to leave the hospital. Would you like to think about it?"
Paige did not have to think about it. "No." She was not going to let Barker force her to quit. That was his plan. "No," she repeated slowly. "I'll stay."
"Good. Then that's settled."
Not by a long shot, Paige thought. I'm going to find some way to pay him back.
In the doctors' dressing room, Ken Mallory was get•ting ready to make his rounds. Dr. Grundy and three other doctors walked in.
"There's our man!" Grundy said. "How are you doing, Ken?" "Fine," Mallory said.
Grundy turned to the others. "He doesn't look like he just
got laid, does he?" He turned back to Mallory. "I hope you have our money ready. I plan to make a down payment on a little car."
Another doctor joined in. "I'm buying a whole new wardrobe."
Mallory shook his head pityingly. "I wouldn't count on it, suckers. Get ready to pay me off!"
Grundy was studying him. "What do you mean?"
"If she's a lesbian, I'm a eunuch. She's the horniest
broad I ever met. I practically had to hold her off the other night!"
The men were looking at one another, worried. "But you didn't get her into the sack?"
"The only reason I didn't, my friends, is because we were interrupted on the way to the bedroom. I have a date with her Saturday night, and it will all be over but the shouting." Mallory finished dressing. "Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me . . ."
An hour later, Grundy stopped Kat in the corridor. "I've been looking for you," he said. He looked angry. "Is something wrong?"
"It's that bastard Mallory. He's so sure of himself that he's telling everyone he's going to get you into bed by Saturday night."
"Don't worry," Kat said grimly. "He's going to lose."
When Ken Mallory picked Kat up Saturday night, she had on a low-cut dress that accentuated her voluptuous figure. "You look gorgeous," he said admiringly.
She put her arms around him. "I want to look good for you." She was clinging to him.
God, she really wants it. When Mallory spoke, his voice was husky. "Look, I have an idea, Kat. Before we go out to dinner, why don't we slip into the bedroom and . . ."
She was stroking his face. "Oh, darling, I wish we could. Paige is home." Paige was actually at the hospi•tal, working. "Oh."
"But after dinner ..." She let the suggestion hang in the air.
"Yes?"
"We could go to your place."
Mallory put his arms around her and kissed her. "That's a wonderful idea!"
He took her to the Iron Horse, and they had a delicious dinner. In spite of herself, Kat was having a wonderful time. He was charming and amusing, and incredibly attractive. He seemed genuinely interested in knowing everything about her. She knew he was flattering her, but he really seemed to mean the compliments he paid her.
If I didn't know better . . .
Mallory had hardly tasted his food. All he could think
was, In two hours I will be making ten thousand dollars. . .
. In one hour, I will be making ten thousand dol•lars. . . .
In thirty minutes . . .
They finished their coffee. "Are you ready?" Mallory asked.
Kat put her hand over his. "You have no idea how ready, darling. Let's go."
They took a taxi to Mallory's apartment. "I'm abso•lutely crazy about you," Mallory murmured. "I've never known anyone like you."
And she could hear Grundy's voice: He's so sure of himself that he says he's going to get you into bed by Saturday night.
When they arrived at the apartment, Mallory paid the taxi driver and led Kat into the elevator. It seemed to Mallory to take forever to get up to his apartment. He opened the door and said eagerly, "Here it is."
Kat stepped inside.
It was an ordinary little bachelor's apartment that desperately needed a woman's touch.
"Oh, it's lovely," Kat breathed. She turned to Mal•lory. "It's you.'"
He grinned. "Let me show you our room. I'll put some music on."
As he went over to the tape deck, Kat glanced at her watch. The voice of Barbra Streisand filled the room. Mallory took her hand. "Let's go, honey."
"Wait a minute," Kat said softly.
He was looking at her, puzzled. "What for?"
"I just want to enjoy this moment with you. You know, before we "
"Why don't we enjoy it in the bedroom?" "I'd love a drink."
"A drink?" He tried to hide his impatience. "Fine. What would you like?"
"A vodka and tonic, please."
He smiled. "I think we can handle that." He went over to the little bar and hurriedly mixed two drinks.
Kat looked at her watch again.
Mallory returned with the drinks and handed one to Kat.
"Here you are, baby." He raised his glass. "To togetherness." "To togetherness," Kat said. She took a sip of the drink. "Oh, my God!"
He looked at her, startled. "What's the matter?" "This is vodka!"
"That's what you asked for."
"Did I? I'm sorry. I hate vodka!" She stroked his face. "May I have a scotch and soda?"
"Sure." He swallowed his impatience and went back to the bar to mix another drink.
Kat glanced at her watch again.
Ken Mallory returned. "Here you are." "Thank you, darling."
She took two sips of her drink. Mallory took the glass from her and set it on a table. He put his arms around Kat
and held her close, and she could feel that he was aroused. "Now," Ken said softly, "let's make history."
"Oh, yes!" Kat said. "Yes!"
She let him lead her into the bedroom.
I've done it! Mallory exulted. I've done it. Here go the walls of Jericho! He turned to Kat. "Get undressed, baby." "You first, darling. I want to watch you get un dressed.
It excites me." "Oh? Well, sure."
As Kat stood there watching, Mallory slowly took his clothes off. First his jacket, then his shirt and tie, then his shoes and stockings, and then his trousers. He had the firm figure of an athlete.
"Does this excite you, baby?"
"Oh, yes. Now take off your shorts."
Slowly Mallory let his shorts fall to the floor. He had a turgid erection.
"That's beautiful," Kat said. "Now it's your turn." "Right."
And at that moment, Kat's beeper went off. Mallory was startled. "What the hell . . .?" "They're calling me," Kat said. "May I use your telephone?"
"Now?"
"Yes. It must be an emergency." 'Wow? Can't it wait?"
"Darling, you know the rules." "But . . ."
As Mallory watched, Kat walked over to the telephone and dialed a number. "Dr. Hunter." She lis•tened. "Really? Of course. I'll be right there."
Mallory was staring at her, stupefied. "What's going on?" "I have to get back to the hospital, angel."
"Now?"
"Yes. One of my patients is dying." "Can't he wait until . . . ?"
"I'm sorry. We'll do this another night."
Ken Mallory stood there, buck naked, watching Kat walk out of his apartment, and as the door closed behind her, he
picked up her drink and slammed it into the wall. Bitch . . . bitch . . . bitch . . .
When Kat got back to the apartment, Paige and Honey were eagerly waiting for her.
"How did it go?" Paige asked. "Was I on time?" Kat laughed. "Your timing was perfect."
She began to describe the evening. When she came to the part about Mallory standing in the bedroom naked, with an erection, they laughed until tears came to their eyes.
Kat was tempted to tell them how enjoyable she really found Ken Mallory, but she felt foolish. After all, he was seeing her only so he could win a bet.
Somehow, Paige seemed to sense how Kat felt. "Be careful of him, Kat."
Kat smiled. "Don't worry. But I will admit that if I didn't know about that bet ... He's a snake, but he gives good snake oil."
"When are you going to see him again?" Honey asked. "I'm going to give him a week to cool off." Paige was studying her. "Him or you?"
Dinetto's black limousine was waiting outside the hospital
for Kat. This time, the Shadow was alone. Kat wished that Rhino were there. There was something about the Shadow that petrified her. He never smiled and seldom spoke, but he exuded menace.
"Get in," he said as Kat approached the car.
"Look," Kat said indignantly, "you tell Mr. Dinetto that
he can't order me around. I don't work for him. Just because I did him a favor once ..."
"Get in. You can tell him yourself."
Kat hesitated. It would be easy to walk away and not get involved any further, but how would it affect Mike? Kat got into the car.
The victim this time had been badly beaten, whipped with a chain. Lou Dinetto was there with him.
Kat took one look at the patient and said, "You've got to get him to a hospital right away."
"Kat," Dinetto said, "you have to treat him here." "Why?" Kat demanded. But she knew the answer, and it terrified her.
Chapter Eighteen
It was one of those clear days in San Francisco when there was a magic in the air. The night wind had swept away the rainclouds, producing a crisp, sunny Sunday morning.
Jason had arranged to pick up Paige at the apartment. When
he arrived, Paige was surprised at how pleased she was to see him.
''Good morning,'' Jason said. ' 'You look beautiful.'' "Thank you."
"What would you like to do today?"
Paige said, "It's your town. You lead, I'll follow." "Fair enough."
"If you don't mind," Paige said, "I'd like to make a quick stop at the hospital."
"I thought this was your day off."
"It is, but there's a patient I'm concerned about." "No problem." Jason drove her to the hospital.
"I won't be long," Paige promised as she got out of the car.
"I'll wait for you here."
Paige went up to the third floor and into Jimmy Ford's room. He was still in a coma, attached to an array of tubes feeding him intravenously.
A nurse was in the room. She looked up as Paige entered. "Good morning, Dr. Taylor."
"Good morning." Paige walked over to the boy's bedside. "Has there been any change?"
"I'm afraid not."
Paige felt Jimmy's pulse and listened to his heartbeat. "It's been several weeks now," the nurse said. "It doesn't look good, does it?"
"He's going to come out of it," Paige said firmly. She turned to the unconscious figure on the bed and raised her voice. "Do you hear me? You're going to get well!" There was no reaction. She closed her eyes a moment and said a silent prayer. "Have them beep me at once if there's any change." "Yes, doctor."
He's not going to die, Paige thought. I'm not going to let him die. . . .
Jason got out of the car as Paige approached. "Is everything all right?"
There was no point in burdening him with her prob•lems. "Everything's fine," Paige said.
"Let's play real tourists today," Jason said. "There's a state law that all tours have to start at Fisherman's Wharf." Paige smiled. "We mustn't break the law."
Fisherman's Wharf was like an outdoor carnival. The street entertainers were out in full force. There were mimes, clowns, dancers, and musicians. Vendors were selling steaming caldrons of Dungeness crabs and clam chowder with fresh sourdough bread.
"There's no place like this in the world," Jason said warmly.
Paige was touched by his enthusiasm. She had seen Fisherman's Wharf before and most of the other tourist sites of San Francisco, but she did not want to spoil his fun. "Have you ridden a cable car yet?" Jason asked.
"No." Not since last week.
"You haven't lived! Come along."
They walked to Powell Street and boarded a cable car. As they started up the steep grade, Jason said, "This was known as Hallidie's Folly. He built it in 1873."
"And I'll bet they said it wouldn't last!"
Jason laughed. "That's right. When I was going to high school, I used to work weekends as a tour guide."
"I'm sure you were good."
"The best. Would you like to hear some of my spiel?" "I'd love to."
Jason adopted the nasal tone of a tour guide. "Ladies and gentlemen, for your information, the oldest street in San Francisco is Grant Avenue, the longest is Mission
Street-seven and a half miles long-the widest is Van Ness Avenue at one hundred twenty-five feet, and you'll tbe surprised to know that the narrowest, DeForest Street, is only four and a half feet. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, four and a half feet. The steepest street we can offer you is Filbert Street, with a thirty-one and a half percent grade." He looked at Paige and grinned. "I'm surprised that I still remember all that."
When they alighted from the cable car, Paige looked up at Jason and smiled. "What's next?"
"We're going to take a carriage ride."
Ten minutes later, they were seated in a horse-drawn
carriage that took them from Fisherman's Wharf to Ghirardelli Square to North Beach. Jason pointed out the places of interest along the way, and Paige was surprised at how much she was enjoying herself. Don't let yourself get carried away.
They went up to Coit Tower for a view of the city. As they ascended, Jason asked, "Are you hungry?"
The fresh air had made Paige very hungry. "Yes."
"Good. I'm going to take you to one of the best Chinese restaurants in the world-Tommy Toy's."
Paige had heard the hospital staff speak of it.
The meal turned out to be a banquet. They started with lobster pot stickers with chili sauce, and hot and sour soup with seafood. That was followed by filet of chicken with snow peas and pecans, veal filet with Szechuan sauce, and
four-flavored fried rice. For des•sert, they had a peach mousse. The food was wonderful.
"Do you come here often?" Paige asked. "As often as I can."
There was a boyish quality about Jason that Paige found very attractive.
"Tell me," Paige said, "did you always want to be an architect?"
"I had no choice." Jason grinned. "My first toys were Erector sets. It's exciting to dream about some•thing and then watch that dream become concrete and bricks and stone, and soar up into the sky and become apart of the city you live in."
I'm going to build you a Taj Mahal. I don't care how long it takes!
"I'm one of the lucky ones, Paige, spending my life doing what I love to do. Who was it who said, 'Most people live lives of quiet desperation'?"
Sounds like a lot of my patients, Paige thought. "There's nothing else I would want to do, or any other
place I would want to live. This is a fabulous city." His voice was filled with excitement. "It has everything anyone could want. I never get tired of it."
Paige studied him for a moment, enjoying his enthusi•asm. "You've never been married?"
Jason shrugged. "Once. We were both too young. It didn't work out."
"I'm sorry."
"No need to be. She's married to a very wealthy meat packer. Have you been married?"
I'm going to be a doctor, too, when I grow up. We'll married, and we'll work together.
'No."
They took a bay cruise under the Golden Gate and Bay Bridge. Jason assumed his tour guide's voice again.
"And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the storied Alcatraz,
former home of some of the world's most infamous
criminals-Machine Gun Kelly, Al Capone, and Robert Stroud, known as the Birdman! 'Alcatraz' means peli•can in Spanish. It was originally called Isla de los Alcatraces, after the birds that were its only inhabitants. Do you know why they had hot showers every day for the prisoners here?"
"No."
"So that they wouldn't get used to the cold bay water when they were trying to escape."
"Is that true?" Paige asked. "Have I ever lied to you?"
It was late afternoon when Jason said, "Have you ever been to Noe Valley?"
Paige shook her head. "No."
"I'd like to show it to you. It used to be farms and streams. Now it's filled with brightly colored Victorian homes and gardens. The houses are very old, because it was about the only area spared in the 1906 earthquake."
"It sounds lovely."
Jason hesitated. "My home is there. Would you like to see it?" He saw Paige's reaction. "Paige, I'm in love with you." "We hardly know each other. How could you . . .?"
"I knew it from the moment you said, 'Don't you know
you're supposed to wear a white coat on rounds?' That's when I fell in love with you."
"Jason . . ."
"I'm a firm believer in love at first sight. My
grandfa•ther saw my grandmother riding a bicycle in the park and he followed her, and they got married three months later. They were together for fifty years, until he died. My father saw my mother crossing a street, and he knew she was going to be his wife. They've been married for forty-five years. You see, it runs in the family. I want to marry you."
It was the moment of truth.
Paige looked at Jason and thought, He's the first man I've been attracted to since Alfred. He's adorable and bright and genuine. He's everything a woman could want in a man. What's the matter with me! I'm holding on to a ghost. Yet deep inside her, she still had the overpowering feeling that one day Alfred was going to come back to her.
She looked at Jason and made her decision.' 'Jason..."
And at that moment, Paige's beeper went off. It sounded urgent, ominous.
"Paige ..."
"I have to get to a telephone." Two minutes later, she was talking to the hospital.
Jason watched Paige's face turn pale.
She was shouting into the telephone, "No! Abso•lutely not! Tell them I'll be right there." She slammed the phone down. "What is it?" Jason asked.
She turned to him, and her eyes were filled with tears. "It's Jimmy Ford, my patient. They're going to take him off the respirator. They're going to let him die."
When Paige reached Jimmy Ford's room, there were three people there beside the comatose figure in bed: George Englund, Benjamin Wallace, and a lawyer, Silvester Damone.
Did you know I'm getting marriedl . . . Her name is Betsy.
. . . We're going to have half a dozen kids. The first girl is going to be named Paige.
He had so very much to live for.
Paige stood there looking down at him, tears blurring the room. "Damn you!" she said. "You're a quitter!" She was sobbing now. "What happened to those dreams of yours? I thought you wanted to become a doctor! Answer me! Do you hear me? Open your eyes!" She looked down at the pale figure.
There was no reaction. "I'm sorry," Paige said. "I'm so sorry." She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek, and as she slowly straightened up, she was looking into his open eyes.
"Jimmy! Jimmy'!"
He blinked and closed his eyes again. Paige squeezed his hand. She leaned forward and said through her sobs, "Jimmy, did you hear the one about the patient who was being fed intravenously? He asked the doctor for an extra bottle. He was having a guest for lunch."
Chapter Nineteen
Honey was happier than she had ever been in her life. She had a warm relationship with patients that few of the other doctors had. She genuinely cared about them. She worked in geriatrics, in pediat•rics, and in various other wards, and Dr. Wallace saw to it that she was given assignments that kept her out of harm's way. He wanted to make sure that she stayed at the hospital and was available to him.
Honey envied the nurses. They were able to nurture their patients without worrying about major medical decisions. I never wanted to be a doctor, Honey thought. I always wanted to be a nurse. There are no nurses in the Taft family.
In the afternoons when Honey left the hospital, she would
go shopping at the Bay Company, and Streetlight Records, and buy gifts for the children in pediatric care.
"I love children," she told Kat.
"Are you planning to have a large family?" "Someday," Honey said wistfully. "I have to find their father first."
One of Honey's favorite patients in the geriatric ward was Daniel McGuire, a cheerful man in his nineties who was suffering from a diseased liver condition. He had been a gambler in his youth, and he liked to make bets with Honey. "I'll bet you fifty cents the orderly is late with my breakfast."
"I'll bet you a dollar it's going to rain this after•noon."
"I'll bet you the Giants win." Honey always took his bets.
"I'll bet you ten to one I beat this thing," he said. "This time I'm not going to bet you," Honey told him. "I'm on your side."
He took her hand. "I know you are." He grinned. "If I were a few months younger ..."
Honey laughed. "Never mind. I like older men."
One morning a letter came to him addressed to the hospital. Honey took it to him in his room.
"Read it to me, would you?" His eyesight had faded.
"Of course," Honey said. She opened the envelope, looked
at it a moment, and let out a cry. "You've won the lottery! Fifty thousand dollars! Congratulations!"
"How about that?" He yelled. "I always knew I'd win the lottery one day! Give me a hug."
Honey leaned down and hugged him.
"You know something, Honey? I'm the luckiest man in the world."
When Honey came back to visit him that afternoon, he had passed away.
Honey was in the doctors' lounge when Dr. Stevens walked in. "Is there a Virgo here?" One of the doctors laughed. "If you mean a virgin, I doubt it."
"A Virgo," Stevens repeated. "I need a Virgo." "I'm a Virgo," Honey said. "What's the problem?" He walked up to her. "The problem is that I have a
goddam maniac on my hands. She won't let anyone near her but a Virgo." Honey got up. "I'll go see her." "Thanks. Her name is Frances Gordon."
Frances Gordon had just had a hip replacement. The moment Honey walked into the room, the woman looked up and said, "You're a Virgo. Born on the cusp, right?"
Honey smiled. "That's right."
"Those Aquarians and Leos don't know what the hell they're doin'. They treat patients like they're meat."
"The doctors here are very good," Honey protested. "They-" "Ha! Most of them are in it for the money." She looked at Honey more closely. "You're different."
Honey scanned the chart at the foot of the bed, a surprised look on her face.
"What's the matter? What are you lookin' at?" "Has he beaten you up before?"
"Yes, but he ... he doesn't mean anything by it. He gets drunk and loses his temper."
"Why haven't you left him?"
Mrs. Owens shrugged, and the movement caused her pain. "The kids and I have nowhere to go."
Honey was listening, furious. "You don't have to take this, you know. There are shelters and agencies that will take care of you and protect you and the children."
The woman shook her head in despair. "I have no money. I
lost my job as a secretary when he started ..." She could not go on.
Honey squeezed her hand. "You're going to be fine. I'll see that you're taken care of."
Five minutes later Honey marched into Dr. Wallace's
office. He was delighted to see her. He wondered what she had brought with her this time. At various times, she had used warm honey, hot water, melted chocolate, and-his
favorite-maple syrup. Her ingenuity was boundless. "Lock the door, baby."
"I can't stay, Ben. I have to get back." She told him about her patient.
"You'll have to file a police report," Wallace said. "It's the law."
"The law hasn't protected her before. Look, all she wants to do is get away from her husband. She worked as a secretary. Didn't you say you needed a new file clerk?" "Well, yes, but . . . wait a minute!"
"Thanks," Honey said. "We'll get her on her feet, and find her a place to live, and she'll have a new job!"
Wallace sighed. "I'll see what I can do." "I knew you would," Honey said.
The next morning, Honey went back to see Mrs. Owens. "How are you feeling today?" Honey asked.
"Better, thanks. When can I go home? My husband doesn't like it when-"
"Your husband is'not going to bother you anymore," Honey said firmly. "You'll stay here until we find a place for you
and the children to live, and when you're well enough, you're going to have a job here at the hospital."
Mrs. Owens stared at her unbelievingly. "Do . . . do you mean that?"
"Absolutely. You'll have your own apartment with your children. You won't have to put up with the kind of horror you've been living through, and you'll have a decent, respectable job."
Mrs. Owens clutched Honey's hand. "I don't know how to thank you," she sobbed. "You don't know what it has been like."
"I can imagine," Honey said. "You're going to be fine."
The woman nodded, too choked up to speak.
The following day when Honey returned to see Mrs. Owens, the room was empty.
"Where is she?" Honey asked.
"Oh," the nurse said, "she left this morning with her husband."
Her name was on the PA system again. "Dr. Taft . . . Room
215. ... Dr. Taft . . . Room 215."
In the corridor Honey ran into Kat. "How's your day going?" Kat asked.
"You wouldn't believe it!" Honey told her.
Dr. Ritter was waiting for her in Room 215. In bed was an Indian man in his late twenties.
Dr. Ritter said, "This is your patient?" "Yes."
"It says here that he speaks no English. Right?" "Yes."
He showed her the chart. "And this is your writing? Vomiting, cramps, thirst, dehydration ..."
"That's right," Honey said.
"... absence of peripheral pulse ..." "Yes."
"And what was your diagnosis?" "Stomach flu."
"Did you take a stool sample?" "No. What for?"
"Because your patient has cholera, that's what for!" He
was screaming. "We're going to have to close down the fucking hospital!"
Chapter Twenty
Cholera? Are you telling me this hospital has a patient with cholera?" Benjamin Wallace yelled.
"I'm afraid so."
"Are you absolutely sure?"
"No question," Dr. Ritter said. "His stool is swarm•ing
with vibrios. He has low arterial pH, with hypoten•sion, tachycardia, and cyanosis."
By law, all cases of cholera and other infectious dis•eases must immediately be reported to the state health board and to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. "We're going to have to report it, Ben."
"They'll close us down!" Wallace stood up and be•gan to pace. "We can't afford that. I'll be goddamned if I'm going to put every patient in this hospital under quarantine." He stopped pacing for a moment. "Does the patient know what he has?''
"No. He doesn't speak English. He's from India." "Who has had contact with him?"
"Two nurses and Dr. Taft."
"And Dr. Taft diagnosed it as stomach flu?" "Right. I suppose you're going to dismiss her."
"Well, no," Wallace said. "Anyone can make a mistake. Let's not be hasty. Does the patient's chart read stomach flu?"
"Yes."
Wallace made his decision. "Let's leave it that way. Here's what I want you to do. Start intravenous rehydration-use lactated Ringer's solution. Also give him tetracycline. If we can restore his blood volume and fluid immediately, he could be close to normal in a few hours." "We aren't going to report this?" Dr. Ritter asked.
Wallace looked him in the eye. "Report a case of stomach flu?"
"What about the nurses and Dr. Taft?"
"Give them tetracycline, too. What's the patient's name?" "Pandit Jawah."
"Put him in quarantine for forty-eight hours. He'll either be cured by then or dead."
Honey was in a panic. She went to find Paige. "I need your help." "What's the problem?"
Honey told her. "I wish you would talk to him. He doesn't speak English, and you speak Indian." "Hindi." "Whatever. Will you talk to him?"
"Of course."
Ten minutes later, Paige was talking to Pandit Jawah.
"Aap ki tabyat kaisi hai?" "Karab hai."
"Aap jald acha ko hum kardenge." "Bhagwan aap ki soney ga."
"Aap ka ilaj hum jalb shuroo kardenge." "Shukria."
"Dost kiss Hay hain?"
Paige took Honey outside in the corridor. "What did he say?"
"He said he feels terrible. I told him he's going to get well. He said to tell it to God. I told him we're going to start treatment immediately. He said he's grateful."
"So am I."
"What are friends for?"
Cholera is a disease that can cause death within
twenty-four hours from dehydration, or that can be cured within a few hours.
Five hours after his treatment began, Pandit Jawah was nearly back to normal.
Paige stopped in to see Jimmy Ford.
His face lit up when he saw her. "Hi." His voice was weak, but he had improved miraculously.
"How are you feeling?" Paige asked.
"Great. Did you hear about the doctor who said to his patient, 'The best thing you can do is give up smok•ing, stop drinking, and cut down on your sex life?
patient said, 'I don't deserve the best. What's the second best?' "
And Paige knew Jimmy Ford was going to get well.
Ken Mallory was getting off duty and was on his way to meet Kat when he heard his name being paged. He hesitated, debating whether or not simply to slip out. His name was
paged once more. Reluctantly, he picked up a telephone. "Dr. Mallory."
"Doctor, could you come to ER Two, please? We have a patient here who-"
"Sorry," Mallory said, "I just checked out. Find someone else."
"There's no one else available who can handle this. It's a
bleeding ulcer, and the patient's condition is criti•cal. I'm afraid we're going to lose him if . . ."
Damn! "All right. I'll be right there." I'll have to call Kat and tell her I'll be late.
The patient in the emergency room was a man in his sixties. He was semiconscious, ghost-pale, perspiring, and
breathing hard, obviously in enormous pain. Mal•lory took one look at him and said, "Get him into an OR, stat!"
Fifteen minutes later, Mallory had the patient on an operating table. The anesthesiologist was monitoring his blood pressure. "It's dropping fast."
"Pump some more blood into him."
Ken Mallory began the operation, working against time. It took only a moment to cut through the skin, and after that, the layer of fat, the fascia, the muscle, and finally the smooth, transparent peritoneum, the lining of the abdomen. Blood was pouring into the stomach.
"Bovie!" Mallory said. "Get me four units of blood from
the blood bank." He began to cauterize the bleed•ing vessels.
The operation took four hours, and when it was over, Mallory was exhausted. He looked down at the patient and said, "He's going to live."
One of the nurses gave Mallory a warm smile. "It's a good thing you were here, Dr. Mallory."
He looked over at her. She was young and pretty and
obviously open to an invitation. I'll get to you later, baby, Mallory thought. He turned to a junior resident, "Close him up and get him into the recovery room. I'll check on him in the morning."
Mallory debated whether to telephone Kat, but it was midnight. He sent her two dozen roses.
When Mallory checked in at 6:00 a.m., he stopped by the recovery room to see his new patient.
"He's awake," the nurse said.
Mallory walked over to the bed. "I'm Dr. Mallory. How do you feel?''
"When I think of the alternative, I feel fine," the patient said weakly. "They tell me you saved my life. This was the damnedest thing. I was in the car on my way to a dinner party, and I got this sudden pain and I guess I
blacked out. Fortunately, we were only a block away from the hospital, and they brought me to the emergency room here." "You were lucky. You lost a lot of blood."
"They told me that in another ten minutes, I would have been gone. I want to thank you, doctor."
Mallory shrugged. "I was just doing my job."
The patient was studying him carefully. "I'm Alex Harrison."
The name meant nothing to Mallory. "Glad to know you, Mr. Harrison." He was checking Harrison's pulse.
"Are you in any pain now?" "A bit, but I guess they have me pretty well doped
up."
"The anesthetic will wear off," Mallory assured him. "So will the pain. You're going to be fine." "How long
will I have to be in the hospital?" "We should have you out of here in a few days." A clerk from the business office came in, carrying some hospital forms. "Mr. Harrison, for our records, the hospital needs to know whether you have medical coverage."
"You mean you want to know if I can pay my bill." "Well, I wouldn't put it like that, sir."
"You might check with the San Francisco Fidelity Bank," he said dryly. "I own it."
In the afternoon, when Mallory stopped by to see Alex Harrison, there was an attractive woman with him. She was in her early thirties, blond and trim, and ele•gant-looking. She was wearing an Adolfo dress that Mallory figured must have cost more than his monthly salary.
"Ah! Here's our hero," Alex Harrison said. "It's Dr. Mallory, isn't it?"
"Yes. Ken Mallory."
"Dr. Mallory, this is my daughter, Lauren."
She held out a slim, manicured hand. "Father tells me you saved his life."
He smiled. "That's what doctors are for."
Lauren was looking over him approvingly. "Not all doctors."
It was obvious to Mallory that these two did not belong in a county hospital. He said to Alex Harrison, "You're coming along fine, but perhaps you'd feel more comfortable if you
called your own doctor.''
Alex Harrison shook his head. ' 'That won't be neces•sary. He didn't save my life. You did. Do you like it here?"
It was a strange question. "It's interesting, yes. Why?"
Harrison sat up in bed. "Well, I was just thinking. A
good-looking fellow as capable as you are could have a damned bright future. I don't think you have much of a future in a place like this."
"Well, I ..."
"Maybe it was fate that brought me here."
Lauren spoke up. "I think what my father is trying to say is that he would like to show you his appreciation." "Lauren is right. You and I should have a serious talk
when I get out of here. I'd like you to come up to the house for dinner.''
Mallory looked at Lauren and said slowly, "I'd like that." And it changed his life.
Ken Mallory was having a surprisingly difficult time getting together with Kat. "How's Monday night, Kat?" "Wonderful." "Good. I'll pick you up at-"
"Wait! I just remembered. A cousin from New York is coming to town for the night."
"Well, Tuesday?"
"I'm on call Tuesday." "What about Wednesday?"
"I promised Paige and Honey that we'd do something together Wednesday."
Mallory was getting desperate. His time was running out too fast.
"Thursday?" "Thursday is fine."
"Great. Shall I pick you up?"
"No. Why don't we meet at Chez Panisse?" "Very well. Eight o'clock?"
"Perfect."
Mallory waited at the restaurant until nine o'clock and then telephoned Kat. There was no answer. He waited another
half hour. Maybe she misunderstood, he thought. She wouldn't deliberately break a date with me.
The following morning, he saw Kat at the hospital. She ran up to him.
"Oh, Ken, I'm so sorry! It was the silliest thing. I decided to take a little nap before our date. I fell asleep and when I woke up it was the middle of the night. Poor darling. Did you wait for me long?"
"No, no. It's all right." The stupid womanl He moved
closer to her. "I want to finish what we started, baby. I go crazy when I think about you."
"Me, too," Kat said. "I can't wait."
"Maybe next weekend we can ..." "Oh, dear. I'm busy over the weekend." And so it went. The clock was running.
Kat was reporting events to Paige when her beeper went off.
"Excuse me." Kat picked up a telephone. "Dr. Hunter." She listened a moment. "Thanks. I'll be right there." She replaced the receiver. "I have to go. Emer•gency."
Paige sighed. "What else is new?"
Kat strode down the corridor and took an elevator down to the emergency room. Inside were two dozen cots, all of them
occupied. Kat thought of it as the suffering room, filled day and night with victims of automobile accidents, gunshots or knife wounds, and twisted limbs. A kaleidoscope of broken lives. To Kat it was a small corner of hell.
An orderly hurried up to her. "Dr. Hunter ..."
"What have we got?" Kat asked. They were moving toward a cot at the far end of the room.
"He's unconscious. It looks as though someone beat him up. His face and head are battered, he has a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder blade, at least two different fractures to his right arm, and ..."
"Why did you call me?"
"The paramedics think there's a head injury. There could be brain damage."
They had reached the cot where the victim lay. His face was caked with blood, swollen and bruised. He was wearing alligator shoes and . . . Kat's heart skipped a beat. She leaned forward and took a closer look. It was Lou Dinetto. Kat ran skillful fingers over his scalp and examined his eyes. There was a definite concussion.
She hurried over to a telephone and dialed. "This is Dr. Hunter. I want a head CAT scan done. The patient's name is
Dinetto. Lou Dinetto. Send down a gurney, stat."
Kat replaced the receiver and turned her attention back to Dinetto. She said to the orderly, "Stay with him. When the gurney arrives, take him to the third floor. I'll be waiting."
Thirty minutes later on the third floor, Kat was study•ing the CAT scan she had ordered. "He has some brain hemorrhaging, he has a high fever, and he's in shock. I want him stabilized for twenty-four hours. I'll decide then when we'll operate."
Kat wondered whether what had happened to Dinetto might affect Mike.
And how.
Paige stopped by to see Jimmy. He was feeling much better. "Did you hear about the flasher in the garment dis•trict?
He walked up to a little old lady and opened up his raincoat. She studied him a moment and said, 'You call that a lining?' "
Kat was having dinner with Mallory at an intimate little restaurant near the bay. Seated across from Mal•lory, studying him, Kat felt guilty. I should never have started this, she thought. I know what he is, and yet I'm having a wonderful time. Damn the man! But I can't stop our plan now. They had finished their coffee.
Kat leaned forward. "Can we go to your place, Ken?" "You bet!" Finally, Mallory thought.
Kat shifted in her chair uncomfortably and frowned. "Uh, oh!"
"Are you all right?" Mallory asked.
"I don't know. Would you excuse me for a mo•ment?" "Certainly." He watched her get up and head for the ladies' room.
When she returned, she said, "It's bad timing, dar•ling. I'm so sorry. You'd better get me home."
He stared at her, trying to conceal his frustration. The damned fates were conspiring against him.
"Right," Mallory said curtly. He was ready to ex•plode. He was going to lose a precious five days.
Five minutes after Kat returned to the apartment, the
front doorbell rang. Kat smiled to herself. Mallory had found an excuse to come back, and she hated herself for being so pleased. She walked over to the door and opened it.
"Ken ..."
Rhino and the Shadow were standing there. Kat felt a sudden sense of fear. The two men pushed past her into the apartment.
Rhino spoke. "You doin' the operation on Mr. Di•netto?" Kat's throat was dry. "Yes."
"We don't want anything to happen to him."
"Neither do I," Kat said. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm tired and-"
"Is there a chance he'll die?" the Shadow asked.
Kat hesitated. "In brain surgery there's always a risk of-"
"You better not let it happen." "Believe me, I-"
"Don't let it happen." He looked at Rhino. "Let's go-" Kat watched them start to leave.
At the door, the Shadow turned and said, "Say hello to Mike for us."
Kat was suddenly very still. "Is ... is this some kind of threat?"
"We don't threaten people, doc. We're telling you. If Mr. Dinetto dies, you and your fucking family are gonna be wiped out."
Chapter Twenty-one
In the doctors' dressing room, half a dozen doctors were waiting for Ken Mallory to appear. When he walked in, Grundy said, "Hail the con•quering hero! We want to hear all the lurid details." He grinned. "But the catch is, buddy, we want to hear them from her."
"I ran into a little bad luck." Mallory smiled. "But you can all start getting your money ready."
Kat and Paige were getting into scrubs.
"Have you ever done a procedure on a doctor?" Kat asked. "No."
"You're lucky. They're the worst patients in the world. They know too much."
"Who are you operating on?"
"Dr. Mervyn 'Don't Hurt Me' Franklin." "Good luck."
"I'll need it."
Dr. Mervyn Franklin was a man in his sixties, thin, bald, and irascible.
When Kat walked into his room, he snapped, "It's about time you got here. Did the damned electrolyte reports come back?"
"Yes," Kat said. "They're normal."
"Who says so? I don't trust the damn lab. Half the time
they don't know what they're doing. And make sure there's no mix-up on the blood transfusion."
"I'll make sure," Kat said patiently. "Who's doing the operation?"
"Dr. Jurgenson and I. Dr. Franklin, I promise you, there's nothing for you to worry about."
"Whose brain are they operating on, yours or mine? All operations are risky. You know why? Because half of the damned surgeons are in the wrong profession. They should have been butchers."
"Dr. Jurgenson is very capable."
"I know he is, or I wouldn't let him touch me. Who's the anesthesiologist?"
"I believe it's Dr. Miller."
"That quack? I don't want him. Get me someone else." "Dr. Franklin ..."
"Get me someone else. See if Haliburton is avail•able." "All right."
"And get me the names of the nurses in the OR. I want to check them out."
Kat looked him in the eye. "Would you prefer to do the operation yourself?"
"What?" He stared at her a moment, then smiled sheepishly. "I guess not."
Kat said gently, "Then why don't you let us handle it?" "Okay. You know something? I like you."
"I like you, too. Did the nurse give you a sedative?"
"Yes."
"All right. We'll be ready in a few minutes. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Yeah. Teach my stupid nurse where my veins are located." "All right. We'll be ready in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can do for you?"
"Yeah. Teach my stupid nurse where my veins are located."
In OR Four, the brain surgery on Dr. Mervyn Franklin was going perfectly. He had complained every step of the way from his room to the operating theater.
"Now mind you," he said, "minimal anesthetic. The brain has no feeling, so once you get in there, you won't need much."
"I'm aware of that," Kat said patiently.
"And see that the temperature is kept down to forty degrees. That's maximum."
"Right."
"Let's have some fast music on during the operation. Keep you all on your toes."
"Right."
"And make sure you have a top scrub nurse in there.'' "Right."
And on and on it went.
When the opening in Dr. Franklin's skull was drilled, Kat said, "I see the clot. It doesn't look too bad." She went to work.
Three hours later as they were beginning to close the incision, George Englund, the chief of surgery, came into the operating room and went up to Kat.
"Kat, are you almost through here?" "We're just wrapping it up."
"Let Dr. Jurgenson take over. We need you fast. There's an emergency."
Kat nodded. "Coming." She turned to Jurgenson. "Will you finish up here?"
"No problem."
Kat walked out with George Englund. "What's hap•pening?" "You were scheduled to do an operation later, but your patient has started to hemorrhage. They're taking him to OR Three now. It doesn't look as though he's going to make it. You'll have to operate right away."
"Who?"
"A Mr. Dinetto."
Kat looked at him aghast. "Dinetto?" If Mr. Dinetto dies, you and your fucking family are gonna be wiped out.
Kat hurried down the corridor that led to OR Three. Approaching her were Rhino and the Shadow.
"What's going on?" Rhino demanded.
Kat's mouth was so dry that it was difficult to speak. "Mr. Dinetto started hemorrhaging. We must operate right away."
The Shadow grabbed her arm. "Then do it! But re•member what we told you. Keep him alive." Kat pulled away and hurried into the operating room.
Because of the change in schedule, Dr. Vance was doing the operation with Kat. He was a good surgeon. Kat began the ritual scrub: a half minute on each arm first, then a half minute on each hand. She repeated it and then scrubbed her nails.
Dr. Vance stepped in beside her and started his scrub. ''How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Kat lied.
Lou Dinetto was wheeled into the operating room on a gurney, semiconscious, and carefully transferred to the operating table. His shaven head was scrubbed and painted
with Merthiolate solution that gleamed a bright orange under the operating lights. He was as pale as death.
The team was in place: Dr. Vance, another resident, an anesthesiologist, two scrub nurses, and a circulating nurse. Kat checked to make sure that everything they might require was there. She glanced at the wall moni•tors-oxygen saturation, carbon dioxide, temperature, muscle stimulators, precordial stethoscope, EKG, auto•matic blood pressure, and disconnect alarms. Every•thing was in order.
The anesthesiologist strapped a blood pressure cuff on Dinetto's right arm, then placed a rubber mask over the patient's face. "All right, now. Breathe deeply. Take three big breaths."
Dinetto was asleep before the third breath. The procedure began.
Kat was reporting aloud. "There's an area of damage in the middle of the brain, caused by a clot that's broken off the aorta valve. It's blocking a small blood vessel on the right side of the brain and extending slightly into the left half." She probed deeper. "It's at the lower edge of the aqueduct of Sylvius. Scalpel."
A tiny burr hole about the size of a dime was made by an electric drill to expose the dura mater. Next, Kat cut open the dura to expose a segment of the cerebral cortex that lay underneath. "Forceps!"
The scrub nurse handed her the electric forceps.
The incision was held open by a small retractor which maintained itself in place.
"There's a hell of a lot of bleeding," Vance said. Kat picked up the bovie and started to cauterize the bleeders. "We're going to control it."
Dr. Vance started suction on soft cotton patties that were placed on the dura. The oozing veins on the surface of the dura were identified and coagulated.
"It looks good," Vance said. "He's going to make it." Kat breathed a sigh of relief.
And at that instant, Lou Dinetto stiffened and hi? body went into spasm. The anesthesiologist called out, "Blood pressure's dropping!"
Kat said, "Get some more blood into him!"
They were all looking at the monitor. The curve was rapidly flattening out. There were two quick heartbeat* followed by ventricular fibrillation.
"Shock him!" Kat snapped. She quickly attached the electric pads to his body and turned on the machine. Dinetto's chest heaved up once and then fell. "Inject him with epinephrine! Quick!"
"No heartbeat!" the anesthesiologist called out a mo•ment later.
Kat tried again, raising the dial.
Once again, there was a quick convulsive movement.
"No heartbeat!" the anesthesiologist cried. "Asys•tole. No rhythm at all."
Desperately, Kat tried one last time. The body rose higher this time, then fell again. Nothing.
"He's dead," Dr. Vance said.
Chapter Twenty-two
Ci ode Red is an alert that immediately brings all-out medical assistance to try to save the life of a patient. When Lou Dinetto's heart stopped in the middle of his operation, the operating room Code Red team rushed to give aid.
Over the public address system Kat could hear, "Code Red, OR Three. . . . Code Red ..." Red rhymes with dead.
Kat was in a panic. She applied the electroshock again. It was not only his life she was trying to save- it was Mike's and her own. Dinetto's body leaped into the air, then fell back, inert.
"Try once more!" Dr. Vance urged.
We don't threaten people, doc. We're telling you. If Mr. Dinetto dies, you and your fucking family are gonna be wiped out.
Kat turned on the switch and applied the machine to Dinetto's chest again. Once more his body rose a few inches into the air and then fell back.
"Again!"
It's not going to happen, Kat thought despairingly. I'm going to die with him.
The operating room was suddenly filled with doctors and nurses.
"What are you waiting for?" someone asked.
Kat took a deep breath and pressed down once again. For an instant, nothing happened. Then a faint blip appeared on the monitor. It faltered a moment, then appeared again and faltered, and then began to grow stronger and stronger, until it became a steady, stabi•lized rhythm.
Kat stared at it unbelievingly.
There was a cheer from the crowded room. "He's going to
make it!" someone yelled. "Jesus, that was close!"
They have no idea how close, Kat thought.
Two hours later, Lou Dinetto was off the table and on a gurney, on his way back to intensive care. Kat was at his side. Rhino and the Shadow were waiting in the corridor.
"The operation was successful," Kat said. "He's going to be fine."
Ken Mallory was in deep trouble. It was the last day to make good on his bet. The problem had been growing so gradually that he had hardly been aware of it. From almost the first night, he had been positive that he would have no trouble getting Kat into bed. Trouble? She's eager it! Now his time was up, and he was facing disaster.
Mallory thought about all the things that had gone
wrong-Kat's roommates coming in just as she was about to go to bed with him, the difficulty of getting together for a date, Kat's being called away by her beeper and leaving him standing naked, her cousin com•ing to town, her oversleeping, her period. He stopped suddenly and thought, Wait a minutel They couldn't have all been coincidences. Kat was doing this to him deliberately! She had somehow gotten wind of the bet, and had decided to make a fool of him, to play a joke on him, a joke that was going to cost him ten thousand dollars that he didn't have. The bitchl He was no closer to winning than he had been at the beginning. She had deliberately led him on. How the hell did I let myself get into this! He knew there was no way he could come up with the money.
When Mallory walked into the doctors' dressing room, they were waiting for him.
"Payoff day!" Grundy sang out.
Mallory forced a smile. "I have until midnight, right? Believe me, she's ready, fellows."
There was a snicker. "Sure. We'll believe you when we hear it from the lady herself. Just have the cash ready in the morning."
Mallory laughed. "You'd better have yours ready!"
He had to find a way. And suddenly he had the answer.
Ken Mallory found Kat in the lounge. He sat down opposite
her. "I hear you saved a patient's life." "And my own." "What?"
"Nothing."
"How would you like to save my life?" Kat looked at him quizzically.
"Have dinner with me tonight."
"I'm too tired, Ken." She was weary of the game she was playing with him. I've had enough, Kat thought. It's time to stop. It's over. I've fallen into my own trap. She wished he were a different kind of man. If only he had been honest with her. I really could have cared for him, Kat thought.
There was no way Mallory was going to let Kat get away.' 'We'll make it an early night,'' he coaxed. "You have to have dinner somewhere."
Reluctantly, Kat nodded. She knew it was going to be the last time. She was going to tell him she knew about the bet. She was going to end the game. "All right."
Honey finished her shift at 4:00 p.m. She looked at her watch and decided that she had just enough time to do some
quick shopping. She went to the Candelier to buy some candles for the apartment, then to the San Francisco Tea and Coffee Company so there would be some drinkable coffee for breakfast, and on to Chris Kelly for linens.
Loaded down with packages, Honey headed for the apartment. I'll fix myself some dinner at home, Honey decided. She knew that Kat had a date with Mallory, and that Paige was on call.
Fumbling with her packages, Honey entered the apartment
and closed the door behind her. She switched on the light. A huge black man was coming out of the
bathroom, dripping blood on the white carpet. He was pointing a gun at her.
"Make one sound, and I'll blow your fucking head off!" Honey screamed.
Chapter Twenty-three
Mallory was seated across from Kat at
Schroeder's restaurant on Front Street. It's the bottom of the ninth, he thought, and so far it's a shutout. What was going to happen when he couldn't pay the ten thousand dollars? Word would spread quickly around the hospital, and he would be•come known as a welcher, a sick joke.
Kat was chatting about one of her patients, and Mal•lory was looking into her eyes, not hearing a word she said. He had more important things on his mind.
Dinner was almost over, and the waiter was serving coffee. Kat looked at her watch. "I have an early call, Ken. I think we'd better go."
He sat there, staring down at the table. "Kat ..." He looked up. "There's something I have to tell you." "Yes?"
"I have a confession to make." He took a deep breath. "This isn't easy for me."
She watched him, puzzled. "What is it?"
"I'm embarrassed to tell you." He was fumbling for words.
"I ... I made a stupid bet with some of the doctors that . .
. that I could take you to bed." Kat was staring at him. "You ..."
"Please don't say anything yet. I'm so ashamed of what I
did. It started out as a kind of joke, but the joke is on me. Something happened that I didn't count on. I fell in love with you."
"Ken . . ."
"I've never been in love before, Kat. I've known a lot of women, but never felt anything like this. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you." He took a shaky breath. "I want to marry you."
Kat's mind was spinning. Everything was being turned topsy-turvy. "I . . .1 don't know what to . . ."
"You're the only woman I've ever proposed to. Please say yes. Will you marry me, Kat?"
So he had really meant all the lovely things he had said to her! Her heart was pounding. It was like a won•derful dream suddenly come true. All she had wanted from him was
honesty. And now he was being honest with her. All this time he had been feeling guilty about what he had done. He was not like other men. He was genuine, and sensitive.
When Kat looked at him, her eyes were glowing. "Yes, Ken. Oh, yes!"
His grin lit up the room. "Kat . . ."He leaned over and kissed her. "I'm so sorry about that stupid bet." He shook his head in self-derision. "Ten thousand dollars. We could have used that money for our honeymoon. But it's worth losing it to have you."
Kat was thinking, Ten thousand dollars. "I was such a fool."
"When is your deadline up?"
"At midnight tonight, but that's not important any•more. The important thing is us. That we're going to be married. We-"
"Ken?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Let's go to your place." There was a mischievous glint in Kat's eyes. "You still have time to win your bet."
Kat was a tigress in bed.
My God! This was worth waiting for, Mallory thought. All the feelings that Kat had kept bottled up over the years suddenly exploded. She was the most passionate woman Ken Mallory had ever known. At the end of two hours, he was exhausted. He held Kat in his arms. "You're incredible," he said.
She lifted herself up on her elbows and looked down at him. "So are you, darling. I'm so happy."
Mallory grinned. "So am I." Ten thousand dollars' worth! he thought. And great sex.
"Promise me it will always be like this, Ken."
"I promise," Mallory said in his sincerest voice. Kat looked at her watch. "I'd better get dressed." "Can't you spend the night here?"
"No, I'm riding to the hospital with Paige in the
morning." She gave him a warm kiss. "Don't worry. We'll have all our lives to spend together."
He watched her get dressed.
"I can't wait to collect on that bet. It will buy us a great honeymoon." He frowned. "But what if the boys don't believe me? They aren't going to take my word fork."
Kat was thoughtful for a moment. Finally, she said, "Don't
worry. I'll let them know."
Mallory grinned. "Come on back to bed."
Chapter Twenty-four
The black man with the gun pointed at Honey screamed, "I told you to shut up!" "I ... I'm sorry," Honey said. She was trembling. "Wh . . . what do you want?"
He was pressing his hand against his side, trying to stop the flow of blood. "I want my sister."
Honey looked at him, puzzled. He was obviously insane. "Your sister?"
"Kat." His voice was becoming faint. "Oh, my God! You're Mike!"
"Yeah."
The gun dropped, and he slipped to the floor. Honey rushed
to him. Blood was pouring out from what looked like a gunshot wound.
"Lie still," Honey said. She hurried into the bath•room and gathered up some peroxide and a large bath towel. She returned to Mike. "This is going to hurt," she warned.
He lay there, too weak to move.
She poured peroxide into the wound and pressed the towel against his side. He bit down on his hand to keep from screaming.
"I'm going to call an ambulance and get you to the hospital," Honey said.
He grabbed her arm. "No! No hospitals. No police." His voice was getting weaker. "Where's Kat?"
"I don't know," Honey said helplessly. She knew Kat was
out somewhere with Mallory, but she had no idea where. "Let me call a friend of mine."
"Paige?" he asked.
Honey nodded. "Yes." So Kat told him about the two of us.
It took the hospital ten minutes to reach Paige. "You'd better come home," Honey said.
"I'm on call, Honey. I'm in the middle of-" "Kat's brother is here."
"Oh, well, tell him-" "He's been shot."
"He what?"
"He's been shot!"
"I'll send the paramedics over and-"
"He says no hospitals and no police. I don't know what to do."
"How bad is it?" "Pretty bad."
There was a pause. "I'll find someone to cover for me. I'll be there in half an hour."
Honey replaced the receiver and turned to Mike. "Paige is coming."
* * *
Two hours later, on her way back to the apartment, Kat was filled with a glorious sense of well-being. She had been nervous about making love, afraid that she would hate it after the terrible experience she had had, but instead, Ken Mallory had turned it into something wonderful. He had unlocked emotions in her that she had never known existed.
Smiling to herself at the thought of how they had
outwitted the doctors at the last moment and won the bet, Kat opened the door to the apartment and stood there in shock.
Paige and Honey were kneeling beside Mike. He was lying on the floor, a pillow under his head, a towel pressed against his side, his clothes soaked with blood.
Paige and Honey looked up as Kat entered.
"Mike! My God!" She rushed over to Mike and knelt beside him. "What happened?"
"Hi, sis." His voice was barely a whisper.
"He's been shot," Paige said. "He's hemorrhaging." "Let's get him to the hospital," Kat said.
Mike shook his head. "No," he whispered. "You're a doctor. Fix me up."
Kat looked over at Paige.
"I've stopped as much of the bleeding as I can, but the bullet is still inside him. We don't have the instru•ments here to-"
"He's still losing blood," Kat said. She cradled Mike's
head in her arms. "Listen to me, Mike. If you don't get help, you're going to die."
"You... can't... report... this... I don't... want any police."
Kat asked quietly, "What are you involved in, Mike?" "Nothing. I was in a ... a business deal ... and it went sour . . . and this guy got mad and shot me."
It was the kind of story Kat had been listening to for years. Lies. All lies. She had known that then, and she knew it now, but she had tried to keep the truth from herself.
Mike held on to her arm. "Will you help me, sis?"
"Yes. I'm going to help you, Mike." Kat leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Then she rose and went to the telephone. She picked up the receiver and dialed the emergency room at the hospital. "This is Dr. Hunter," she said in an unsteady voice. "I need an ambulance right away
..."
At the hospital, Kat asked Paige to perform the opera•tion to remove the bullet.
"He's lost a lot of blood," Paige said. She turned to the assisting surgeon. "Give him another unit."
It was dawn when the operation was finished. The surgery was successful.
When it was over, Paige called Kat aside. "How do you want me to report this?" she asked. "I could list it as an accident, or . . ."
"No," Kat said. Her voice was filled with pain. "I should have done this a long time ago. I want you to report it as a gunshot wound."
* * *
Mallory was waiting for Kat outside the operating theater. "Kat! I heard about your brother and ..."
Kat nodded wearily.
"I'm so sorry. Is he going to be all right?"
Kat looked at Mallory and said, "Yes. For the first time in his life, Mike is going to be all right."
Mallory squeezed Kat's hand. "I just want you to know how wonderful last night was. You were a mira•cle. Oh. That reminds me. The doctors I bet with are in the lounge waiting, but I suppose with all that has happened, you wouldn't want to go in and ..."
"Why not?"
She took his arm and the two of them walked into the lounge. The doctors watched them as they approached.
Grundy said, "Hi, Kat. We need to have your word on something. Dr. Mallory claims that you and he spent the night together, and it was great."
"It was better than great," Kat said. "It was fantas•tic!" She kissed Mallory on the cheek. "I'll see you later, lover." The men sat there, gaping, as Kat walked away.
In their dressing room, Kat said to Paige and Honey, "In all the excitement, I haven't had a chance to tell you the news."
"What news?" Paige asked. "Ken asked me to marry him."
There were looks of disbelief on their faces. "You're joking!" Paige said.
"No. He proposed to me last night. I accepted."
"But you can't marry him!" Honey exclaimed. "You know what he's like. I mean, he tried to get you to go to bed on a bet!"
"He succeeded." Kat grinned.
Paige looked at her. "I'm confused."
Kat said, "We were wrong about him. Completely wrong. Ken told me about that bet himself. All this time, it's been bothering his conscience. Don't you see what happened? I went out with him to punish him, and he went out with me to win some money, and we ended up falling in love with each other. Oh, I can't tell you how happy I am!"
Honey and Paige looked at each other. "When are you getting married?" Honey asked.
"We haven't discussed it yet, but I'm sure it will be soon. I want you two to be my bridesmaids."
'' You can count on it," Paige said. " We'll be there.''
But there was a nagging doubt in the back of her mind. She yawned. "It's been a long night. I'm going home and get some sleep."
"I'll stay here with Mike," Kat said. "When he wakes up, the police want to talk to him." She took their hands in hers. "Thank you for being such good friends."
On the way home, Paige thought about what had happened
that night. She knew how much Kat loved her brother. It had taken a lot of courage to turn him over to the police. I should have done this a long time ago.
The telephone was ringing as Paige walked into the apartment. She hurried to pick it up.
It was Jason. "Hi! I just called to tell you how much I miss you. What's going on in your life?"
Paige was tempted to tell him, to share it with some•body, but it was too personal. It belonged to Kat.
"Nothing," Paige said. "Everything is fine." "Good. Are you free for dinner tonight?"
Paige was aware that it was more than an invitation to dinner. If I see him anymore, I'm going to get in•volved, Paige thought. She knew that it was one of the most important decisions of her life.
She took a deep breath. "Jason ..." The doorbell rang. "Hold it a minute, will you, Jason?"
Paige put the telephone down and went to the door and opened it.
Alfred Turner was standing there.
Chapter Twenty-five
Paige stood there, frozen. Alfred smiled. "May I come in?" She was flustered. "Of. . . of course. I'm . . . sorry." She watched Alfred walk into the living room, and she was filled with conflicting emotions. She was happy and excited and angry at the same time. Why am I going on like this? Paige thought. He probably dropped by to say hello.
Alfred turned to her. "I've left Karen."
The words were a shock.
Alfred moved closer to her. "I made a big mistake, Paige. I never should have let you go. Never."
"Alfred. . ." Paige suddenly remembered. "Excuse me." She hurried to the telephone and picked it up. "Jason?" "Yes, Paige. About tonight, we could-"
"I . . .I can't see you."
"Oh. If tonight is bad, what about tomorrow night?" "I ... I'm not sure."
He sensed the tension in her voice. "Is anything wrong?" "No. Everything is fine. I'll call you tomorrow and explain."
"All right." He sounded puzzled.
Paige replaced the receiver.
"I've missed you, Paige," Alfred said. "Have you missed me?"
No. I just follow strangers on the street and call them Alfred. "Yes," Paige admitted.
"Good. We belong together, you know. We always have."
Have we? Is that why you married Karen? Do you think you can walk in and out of my life any time you please?
Alfred was standing close to her. "Haven't we?"
Paige looked at him and said, "I don't know." It was all too sudden.
Alfred took her hand in his. "Of course you do." "What happened with Karen?"
Alfred shrugged. "Karen was a mistake. I kept think•ing
about you and all the great times we had. We were always good for each other."
She was watching him, wary, guarded. "Alfred . . ." "I'm here to stay, Paige. When I say 'here,' I don't exactly mean that. We're going to New York."
"New York?"
"Yes. I'll tell you all about it. I could use a cup of coffee."
"Of course. I'll make a fresh pot. It will just take a few minutes."
Alfred followed her into the kitchen, where Paige began to prepare the coffee. She was trying to get her thoughts in
order. She had wanted Alfred back so des•perately, and now that he was here . . .
Alfred was saying, "I've learned a lot in the last few years, Paige. I've grown up."
"Oh?"
"Yes. You know I've been working with WHO all these years."
"I know."
"Those countries haven't changed any since we were kids. In fact, some of them are worse. There's more disease down there, more poverty ..."
"But you were there, helping," Paige said. "Yes, and I suddenly woke up."
"Woke up?"
"I realized I was throwing my life away. I was down there, living in misery, working twenty-four hours a day, helping those ignorant savages, when I could have been making a bundle of money over here."
Paige was listening in disbelief.
"I met a doctor who has a practice on Park Avenue in New York. Do you know how much he makes a year? Over five hundred thousand dollars! Did you hear me? Five hundred thousand a year!"
Paige was staring at him.
"I said to myself, 'Where has that kind of money been all of my life?' He offered me a position as an associate," Alfred said proudly, "and I'm going in with him. That's why you and I are going to New York."
Paige stood there, numbed by what she was hearing.
"I'll be able to afford a penthouse apartment for us, and to get you pretty dresses, and all the things I've always promised you." He was grinning. "Well, are you surprised?" Paige's mouth was dry. "I ... I don't know what to say, Alfred."
He laughed. "Of course you don't. Five hundred thousand dollars a year is enough to make anyone speechless."
"I wasn't thinking of the money,'' Paige said slowly. "No?"
She was studying him, as though seeing him for the first time. "Alfred, when you were working for WHO, didn't you feel you were helping people?"
He shrugged. "Nothing can help those people. And who the
hell really cares? Would you believe that Karen wanted me to stay down there in Bangladesh? I told her no way, so she went back." He took Paige's hand. "So here I am. ... You're a little quiet. I guess you're overwhelmed by all this, huh?"
Paige thought of her father. He would have been a big success on Park Avenue, but he wasn't interested in money. His only interest was in helping people.
"I've already divorced Karen, so we can get married right away." He patted her hand. "What do you think of the idea of living in New York?"
Paige took a deep breath. "Alfred ..."
There was an expectant smile on his face. "Yes?" "Get out."
The smile slowly faded. "What?"
Paige rose. "I want you to get out of here."
He was confused. "Where do you want me to go?" "I won't tell you," Paige said. "It would hurt your feelings."
After Alfred had gone, Paige sat lost in thought. Kat had been right. She had been clinging to a ghost. Help•ing those ignorant savages, when I could have been making a bundle over here. . . . Five hundred thousand a year!
And that's what I've been hanging on to, Paige thought wonderingly. She should have felt depressed, but instead she was filled with a feeling of elation. She suddenly felt free. She knew now what she wanted.
She walked over to the telephone and dialed Jason's number.
"Hello."
"Jason, it's Paige. Remember telling me about your house in Noe Valley?"
"Yes . . ."
"I'd love to see it. Are you free tonight?"
Jason said quietly, "Do you want to tell me what's going on, Paige? I'm very confused."
"I'm the one who's confused. I thought I was in love with a man I knew a long time ago, but he's not the same man. I know what I want now."
"Yes?"
"I want to see your house."
Noe Valley belonged to another century. It was a colorful oasis in the heart of one of the most cosmopoli•tan cities in the world.
Jason's house was a reflection of him-comfortable, neat, and charming. He escorted Paige through the house. "This is
the living room, the kitchen, the guest bathroom, the study .
. ."He looked at her and said, "The bedroom is upstairs. Would you like to see it?"
Paige said quietly, "Very much."
They went up the stairs into the bedroom. Paige's heart was pounding wildly. But what was happening seemed inevitable. I should have known from the begin•ning, she thought.
Paige never knew who made the first move, but some•how
they were in each other's arms and Jason's lips were on hers, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world. They started to undress each other, and there was a fierce urgency in both of them. And then they were in bed, and he was making love to her.
"God," he whispered. "I love you."
"I know," Paige teased. "Ever since I told you to put on the white coat."
After they made love, Paige said, "I'd like to spend the night here."
Jason smiled. "You won't hate me in the morning?" "I promise."
Paige spent the night with Jason, talking . . . making
love . . . talking. In the morning, she cooked breakfast for him.
Jason watched her, and said, "I don't know how I got so lucky, but thank you."
"I'm the lucky one," Paige told him.
"You know something? I never got an answer to my proposal."
"You'll have an answer this afternoon."
That afternoon, a messenger arrived at Jason's office, with an envelope. Inside was the card that Jason had sent with the model house.
Mine [ ] Ours [ x ]
Please check one.
Chapter Twenty-six
Lou Dinetto was ready to check out of the hospital. Kat went to his room to say goodbye. Rhino and the Shadow were there.
As Kat walked in, Dinetto turned to them and said, 'Get lost."
Kat watched them leave the room. Dinetto looked at Kat and said, "I owe you one." 'You don't owe me anything." "Is that what you think my life is worth? I hear you're setting married." "That's right." "To a doctor." "Yes."
"Well, tell him to take good care of you, or he'll have to answer to me." 'I'll tell him." There was a small pause. "I'm sorry about Mike."
"He'll be all right," Kat said. "I had a long talk with him. He'll be fine."
"Good." Dinetto held out a bulky manila envelope. "A little wedding present for you."
Kat shook her head. "No. Thank you." "But . . ."
"Take care of yourself."
"You, too. You know something? You're a real stand-up broad. I'm going to tell you something I want you to
remember. If you ever need a favor-anything- you come to me. You hear me?"
"I hear you."
She knew that he meant it. And she knew that she would never go to him.
During the weeks that followed, Paige and Jason spoke on
the phone three and four times a day, and were together every time Paige was not on night call.
The hospital was busier than ever. Paige had been on a
thirty-six-hour shift that had been filled with emei-gencies. She had just gone to sleep in the on-call room when she was awakened by the urgent shrill of the telephone.
She fumbled the phone to her ear. "H'lo?" "Dr. Taylor, will you come to Room 422, stat?" Paige tried to clear her
mind. Room 422. One of Dr Barker's patients. Lance Kelly. He had just had a mitral valve replaced. Something must have gone wrong. Paigfc stumbled off the cot and walked out into the deserted corridor. She decided not to wait for the elevator. She ran up the stairs. Maybe it's just a nervous nurse. If it's serious, I'll call Dr. Barker, she thought.
She walked into Room 422 and stood in the doorway, staring. The patient was fighting for breath and moan•ing.
The nurse turned to Paige in obvious relief. "I didn't know what to do, doctor. I . . ."
Paige hurried to the bedside. "You're going to be fine," she said reassuringly. She took his wrist between two fingers. His pulse was jumping wildly. The mitral valve was malfunctioning.
"Let's sedate him," Paige ordered.
The nurse handed Paige a syringe, and Paige injected it
into a vein. Paige turned to the nurse. "Tell the head nurse to get an operating team together, stat. And send for Dr.
Barker!"
Fifteen minutes later, Kelly was on the operating table.
The team consisted of two scrub nurses, a circulat•ing nurse, and two residents. A television monitor was perched high in a corner of the room to display the heart rate, EKG, and blood pressure.
The anesthesiologist walked in, and Paige felt like cursing. Most of the anesthesiologists at the hospital were
skilled doctors, but Herman Koch was an excep•tion. Paige had worked with him before and tried to avoid him as much as possible. She did not trust him. Now she had no choice.
Paige watched him secure a tube to the patient's throat, while she unfolded a paper drape with a clear window and placed it over the patient's chest.
"Put a line into the jugular vein," Paige said. Koch nodded. "Right."
One of the residents asked, "What's the problem here?" "Dr. Barker replaced the mitral valve yesterday. I think
it's ruptured." Paige looked over at Dr. Koch. "Is he out?"
Koch nodded. "Sleeping like he's in bed at home." I wish you were, Paige thought. "What are you us•ing?" "Propofol."
She nodded. "All right."
She watched Kelly being connected to the heart-lung
machine so she could perform a cardiopulmonary by•pass. Paige studied the monitors on the wall. Pulse 140 ... blood oxygen saturation 92 percent. . . blood pressure 80 over 60. "Let's go," Paige said. One of the residents put on music. Paige stepped up to the operating table under eleven hundred watts of hot white light and turned to the scrub nurse. "Scalpel, please ..." The operation began.
Paige removed all the sternal wires from the operation the day before. She then cut from the base of the neck to the lower end of the sternum, while one of the residents blotted away the blood with gauze pads.
She carefully went through the layers of fat and mus•cle, and in front of her was the erratically beating heart.
"There's the problem," Paige said. "The atrium is perforated. Blood is collecting around the heart and compressing it." Paige was looking at the monitor on the wall. The pump pressure had dropped dangerously. "Increase the flow," Paige ordered. The door to the operating room opened and Lawrence Barker stepped in. He stood to one side, watching what was happening.
Paige said, "Dr. Barker. Do you want to . . .?" "It's your operation."
Paige took a quick look at what Koch was doing. "Be careful. You'll overanesthetize him, dammit! Slow it down!" "But I . . ."
"He's in V-tach! His pressure is dropping!"
"What do you want me to do?" Koch asked help•lessly.
He should know, Paige thought angrily. "Give him lidocaine and epinephrine! Now!" She was yelling.
"Right."
Paige watched as Koch picked up a syringe and in•jected it into the patient's IV.
A resident looked at the monitor and called out, "Blood pressure is falling."
Paige was working frantically to stop the flow of blood.
She looked up at Koch. "Too much flow! I told you to . . ." The noise of the heartbeat on the monitor suddenly became chaotic.
"My God! Something's gone wrong!"
"Give me the defibrillator!" Paige yelled.
The circulating nurse reached for the defibrillator on the crash cart, opened two sterile paddles, and plugged them in. She turned the buttons up to charge them and ten seconds later handed them to Paige.
She took the paddles and positioned them directly over Kelly's heart. Kelly's body jumped, then fell back.
Paige tried again, willing him to come back to life,
willing him to breathe again. Nothing. The heart lay still, a dead, useless organ.
Paige was in a fury. Her part of the operation had been successful. Koch had overanesthetized the patient.
As Paige was applying the defibrillator to Lanct Kelly's body for the third futile time, Dr. Barker stepped up to the operating table and turned to Paige. "You killed him."
Chapter Twenty-seven
Jason was in the middle of a design meeting when I his secretary said, "Dr. Taylor is on the phone for I you. Shall I tell her you'll call back?"
"No. I'll take it." Jason picked up the phone. "Paige?" "Jason ... I need you!" She was sobbing.
"What happened?"
"Can you come to the apartment?"
"Of course. I'll be right there." He stood up. "The meeting is over. We'll pick it up in the morning."
Half an hour later, Jason was at the apartment. Paige
opened the door and threw her arms around him. Her eyes were red from crying.
"What happened?" Jason asked.
"It's awful! Dr. Barker told me I ... I killed a patient,
and honestly, it ... it wasn't my fault!" Her voice broke. "I can't take any more of his . . ."
"Paige," Jason said gently, "you've told me how mean he always is. That's the man's character."
Paige shook her head. "It's more than that. He's been
trying to force me out since the day I started work•ing with him. Jason, if he were a bad doctor and didn't think I was any good, I wouldn't mind so much, but the man is brilliant. I have to respect his opinion. I just don't think I'm good enough."
"Nonsense," Jason said angrily. "Of course you are. Everyone I talk to says you're a wonderful doctor." "Not Lawrence Barker."
"Forget Barker."
"I'm going to," Paige said. "I'm quitting the hospi•tal." Jason took her in his arms. "Paige, I know you love the profession too much to give it up."
"I won't give it up. I just never want to see that hospital again."
Jason took out a handkerchief and dried Paige's tears. "I'm sorry to bother you with all of this," Paige said. "That's what husbands-to-be are for, isn't it?"
She managed a smile. "I like the sound of that. All
right." Paige took a deep breath. "I feel better now. Thanks for talking to me. I telephoned Dr. Wallace and told him I was quitting. I'm going over to the hospital and see him now."
"I'll see you at dinner tonight."
Paige walked through the corridors of the hospital, knowing that she was seeing them for the last time. There
were the familiar noises and the people hurrying up and down the corridors. It had become more of a home to her than she'd realized. She thought of Jimmy and Chang, and all the wonderful doctors she had worked with. Darling Jason going on rounds with her in his white coat. She passed the cafeteria where she and Honey and Kat had had a hundred breakfasts, and the lounge, where they had tried to have a party. The corridors and rooms were full of so many memories. I'm going to miss it, Paige thought, but I refuse to work under the same roof as that monster.
She went up to Dr. Wallace's office. He was waiting for her.
"Well, I must say, your telephone call surprised me, Paige! Have you definitely made up your mind?" "Yes."
Benjamin Wallace sighed. "Very well. Before you go, Dr. Barker would like to see you."
"I want to see him." All of Paige's pent-up anger boiled to the surface.
"He's in the lab. Well . . . good luck." "Thanks." Paige headed for the lab.
Dr. Barker was examining some slides under a micro•scope
when Paige entered. He looked up. "I'm told you've decided to quit the hospital."
"That's right. You finally got your wish." "And what was that?" Barker asked.
"You've wanted me out of here from the first moment you saw me. Well, you've won. I can't fight you any•more. When you told me I killed your patient, I . . ." Paige's voice
broke. "I . . .1 think you're a sadistic, cold-hearted son of a bitch, and I hate you."
"Sit down," Dr. Barker said.
"No. I have nothing more to say."
"Well, I have. Who the hell do you think you . . .?"
He suddenly stopped and began to gasp.
As Paige watched in horror, he clutched his heart and toppled over in his chair, his face twisted to one side in a horrible rictus.
Paige was at his side instantly. "Dr. Barker!" She grabbed the telephone and shouted into it, "Code Red! Code Red!" Dr. Peterson said, "He's suffered a massive stroke. It's too early to tell whether he's going to come out of it." It's my fault, Paige thought. I wanted him dead. She felt miserable.
She went back to see Ben Wallace. "I'm sorry about what happened," Paige said. "He was a good doctor."
"Yes. It's regrettable. Very ..." Wallace studied her a moment. "Paige, if Dr. Barker can't practice here anymore, would you consider staying on?"
Paige hesitated. "Yes. Of course."
Chapter Twenty-eight
His chart read, "John Cronin, white male, age 70.
Diagnosis: Cardiac tumor." Paige had not yet met John Cronin. He was scheduled to have heart surgery. She walked into his room, a nurse and a staff doctor at her side. She smiled warmly and said, "Good morning, Mr. Cronin."
They had just extubated him, and there were the marks of adhesive tape around his mouth. IV bottles hung overhead, and the tubing had been inserted in his left arm.
Cronin looked over at Paige. "Who the hell are you?" "I'm Dr. Taylor. I'm going to examine you and-"
"Like hell you are! Keep your fucking hands off me. Why didn't they send in a real doctor?"
Paige's smile died. "I'm a cardiovascular surgeon. I'm going to do everything I can to get you well again." "You're going to operate on my heart?"
"That's right. I ..."
John Cronin looked at the resident and said, "For Christ's sake, is this the best this hospital can do?"
"I assure you, Dr. Taylor is thoroughly qualified," the staff doctor said.
"So is my ass."
Paige said stiffly, "Would you rather bring in your own surgeon?"
"I don't have one. I can't afford those high-priced
quacks. You doctors are all alike. All you're interested in is money. You don't give a damn about people. We're just pieces of meat to you, aren't we?"
Paige was fighting to control her temper. "I know you're upset right now, but-"
"Upset? Just because you're going to cut my heart out?" He was screaming. "I know I'll die on the op•erating table.
You're going to kill me, and I hope they get you for murder!" "That's enough!" Paige said.
He was grinning at her maliciously. "It wouldn't look good on your record if I died, would it, doctor? Maybe I will let you operate on me."
Paige found that she was hyperventilating. She turned to the nurse. "I want an EKG and a chemistry panel." She took
one last look at John Cronin, then turned and left the room.
When Paige returned an hour later with the reports on the tests, John Cronin looked up. "Oh, the bitch is back." Paige operated on John Cronin at six o'clock the following morning.
The moment she opened him up, she knew that there was no hope. The major problem was not the heart. Cronin's organs showed signs of melanoma.
A resident said, "Oh, my God! What are we going to do?" "We're going to pray that he doesn't have to live with this too long."
When Paige stepped out of the operating room into the corridor, she found a woman and two men waiting for her. The woman was in her late thirties. She had bright red hair and too much makeup, and she wore a heavy, cheap perfume. She had on a tight dress that accentuated a voluptuous figure. The men were in their forties, and both had red hair. To Paige, they looked like a circus troupe.
The woman said to Paige, "You Dr. Taylor?" "Yes."
"I'm Mrs. Cronin. These are my brothers. How's my husband?"
Paige hesitated. She said carefully, "The operation went as well as could be expected."
"Oh, thank God!" Mrs. Cronin said melodramati•cally, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. "I'd die if anything happened to John!"
Paige felt as if she were watching an actress in a bad play.
"Can I see my darling now?"
"Not yet, Mrs. Cronin. He's in the recovery room. I suggest that you come back tomorrow."
"We'll be back." She turned to the men. "Come along, fellas."
Paige watched as they walked away. Poor John Cro•nin, she thought.
Paige was given the report the next morning. The cancer had metastasized throughout Cronin's body. It was too late
for radiation treatment.
The oncologist said to Paige, "There's nothing to do but
try to keep him comfortable. He's going to be in a hell of a lot of pain."
"How much time does he have?" "A week or two at the most."
Paige went to visit John Cronin in intensive care. He was asleep. John Cronin was no longer a bitter, vitriolic man, but a human being fighting desperately for his life. He was on a respirator, and being fed intrave•nously. Paige sat down at his bedside, watching him. He looked tired and defeated.
He's one of the unlucky ones, Paige thought. Even with all the modern medical miracles, there's nothing we can do to save him. Paige touched his arm gently. After a while, she left.
Later that afternoon, Paige stopped by to see John Cronin again. He was off the respirator now. When he opened his eyes and saw Paige, he said drowsily, "The operation's over, huh?"
Paige smiled reassuringly. "Yes. I just came by to make sure that you're comfortable."
"Comfortable?" he snorted. "What the hell do you care?" Paige said, "Please. Let's not fight."
Cronin lay there, silently studying her. "The other doctor told me you did a good job."
Paige said nothing.
"I have cancer, don't I?" "Yes."
"How bad is it?"
The question posed a dilemma that all surgeons were faced with sooner or later. Paige said, "It's pretty bad.'' There was a long silence. "What about radiation or chemotherapy?"
"I'm sorry. It would make you feel worse, and it wouldn't help."
"I see. Well . . . I've had a good life." "I'm sure you have."
"You may not think so, looking at me now, but I've had a lot of women."
"I believe it."
"Yeah. Women . . . thick steaks . . . good cigars .. . You married?"
"No."
"You ought to be. Everyone should be married. I've been married. Twice. First, for thirty-five years. She was a wonderful lady. She died of a heart attack."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay." He sighed. "Then I got sucked into marrying a bimbo. Her and her two hungry brothers. It's my fault for being so horny, I guess. Her red hair turned me on. She's some piece of work."
"I'm sure she ..."
"No offense, but do you know why I'm in this cockamamie hospital? My wife put me here. She didn't want to waste money on me for a private hospital. This way there'll be more to leave to her and her brothers." He looked up at Paige. "How much time do I have left?"
"Do you want it straight?" "No . . . yes."
"A week or two."
"Jesus! The pain is going to get worse, isn't it?" "I'll try to keep you as comfortable as possible, Mr. Cronin."
"Call me John." "John."
"Life is a bitch, isn't it?"
"You said you've had a good life."
"I did. It's kinda funny, knowing it's about over. Where do you think we go?"
"I don't know."
He forced a smile. "I'll let you know when I get there." "Some medication is on the way. Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?"
"Yeah. Come back and talk to me tonight."
It was Paige's night off, and she was exhausted. "I'll come back."
That night when Paige went back to see John Cronin, he was awake.
"How are you feeling?"
He winced. "Terrible. I was never very good about pain. I guess I've got a low threshold."
"I understand."
"You met Hazel, huh?" "Hazel?"
"My wife. The bimbo. She and her brothers were here to see me. They said they talked to you."
"Yes."
"She's something, ain't she? I sure got myself into a bundle of trouble there. They can't wait for me to kick the bucket."
"Don't say that."
"It's true. The only reason Hazel married me was for my money. To tell you the truth, I didn't mind that so much. I really had a good time with her in bed, but then she and her brothers started to get greedy. They always wanted more." The two of them sat there in a comfortable silence.
"Did I tell you I used to travel a lot?" "No."
"Yeah. I've been to Sweden . . . Denmark . . . Ger•many. Have you been to Europe?"
She thought about the day at the travel agency. Let's go to Venice! No, let's go to Paris! How about London? "No. I haven't."
"You ought to go." "Maybe one day I will."
"I guess you don't make much money working at a hospital like this, huh?"
"I make enough."
He nodded to himself. "Yeah. You have to go to Europe. Do me a favor. Go to Paris . . . stay at the Crillon, have dinner at Maxim's, order a big, thick steak and a bottle of champagne, and when you eat that steak and drink that champagne, I want you to think of me. Will you do that?"
Paige said slowly, "I'll do that one day." John Cronin was studying her. "Good. I'm tired now. Will you come back tomorrow and talk to me again?" "I'll come back," Paige said. John Cronin slept.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ken Mallory was a great believer in Lady Luck, and after meeting the Harrisons, he believed even more firmly that she was on his side. The odds against a man as wealthy as Alex
Harrison being brought to Embarcadero County Hospital were enormous. And I'm the one who saved his life, and he wants to show his gratitude, Mallory thought gleefully. He had asked a friend of his about the Harrisons. "Rich doesn't even begin to cover it," his friend had said. "He's a millionaire a dozen times over. And he has a great-looking daughter. She's been married three or four times. The last time to a count." "Have you ever met the Harrisons?" "No. They don't mingle with the hoi polloi." On a Saturday morning, as Alex Harrison was being discharged from the hospital, he said, "Ken, do you think I'll be in shape to give a dinner party a week from now?"
Mallory nodded. "If you don't overdo it, I don't see why not."
Alex Harrison smiled. "Fine. You're the guest of honor.'' Mallory felt a sudden thrill. The old man really meant what he said. "Well . . . thank you."
"Lauren and I will expect you at seven-thirty next Saturday night." He gave Mallory an address on Nob, Hill. "I'll be there," Mallory said. Will I ever!
Mallory had promised to take Kat to the theater that
evening, but it would be easy to cancel. He had collected his winnings, and he enjoyed having sex with her. Sev•eral times a week they had managed to get together in one of the empty on-call rooms, or a deserted hospital room, or at her apartment or his. Her fires were banked a long time, Mallory thought happily, but when the explosion came-wow! Well, one of these days, it will be time to say arrivederci.
On the day he was to have dinner with the Harrisons, Mallory telephoned Kat. "Bad news, baby."
"What's the matter, darling?"
"One of the doctors is sick and they've asked me to cover for him. I'm afraid I'm going to have to break our date." She did not want to let him know how disappointed she was, how much she needed to be with him. Kat said lightly, "Oh well, that's the doctor business, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I'll make it up to you."
"You don't have to make anything up to me," she said warmly. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
"Ken, when are we going to talk about us?"
"What do you mean?" He knew exactly what she meant. A
commitment. They were all alike. They use their pussies for bait, hoping to hook a sucker into spending his life with them. Well, he was too smart for that. When the time came, he would regretfully bow out, as he had done a dozen times before.
Kat was saying, "Don't you think we should set a date, Ken? I have a lot of plans to make."
"Oh, sure. We'll do that."
"I thought maybe June. What do you think?"
You don't want to know what I think. If I play my cards right, there's going to be a wedding, but it won't be with you. "We'll talk about it, baby. I really have to go now."
The Harrisons' home was a mansion out of a motion picture, situated on acres of manicured grounds. The house itself seemed to go on forever. There were two dozen guests, and in the huge drawing room a small orchestra was playing. When Mallory walked in, Lauren hurried over to greet him. She was wearing a silky clinging gown. She squeezed Mallory's hand, "Wel•come, guest of honor. I'm so glad you're here."
"So am I. How is your father?"
"Very much alive, thanks to you. You're quite a hero in this house."
Mallory smiled modestly. "I only did my job."
"I suppose that's what God says every day." She took his hand and began introducing him to the other guests.
The guest list was blue-ribbon. The governor of Cali•fornia was there, the French ambassador, a justice of
the Supreme Court, and a dozen assorted politicians, artists, and business tycoons. Mallory could feel the power in the room, and it thrilled him. This is where I belong, he thought. Right here, with these people.
The dinner was delicious and elegantly served. At the end of the evening, when the guests started to leave, Harrison said to Mallory, "Don't rush off, Ken. I'd like to talk to you."
"I'd be delighted."
Harrison, Lauren, and Mallory sat in the library. Har•rison was seated in a chair next to his daughter. "When I told you at the hospital that I thought you had a great future before you, I meant it."
"I really appreciate your confidence, sir." "You should be in private practice."
Mallory laughed self-deprecatingly. "I'm afraid it's not that easy, Mr. Harrison. It takes a long time to build up a practice, and I'm ..."
"Ordinarily, yes. But you're not an ordinary man." "I don't understand."
"After you finish your residency, Father wants to set you up in your own practice," Lauren said.
For a moment, Mallory was speechless. It was too easy. He felt as though he were living in some kind of wonderful dream. "I ... I don't know what to say."
"I have a lot of very wealthy friends. I've already spoken to some of them about you. I can promise you that you'll be swamped the minute you put up your shingle."
"Daddy, lawyers put up shingles," Lauren said. "Whatever. In any case, I'd like to finance you. Are you interested?"
Mallory was finding it difficult to breathe. "Very much so. But I ... I don't know when I would be able to repay you."
"You don't understand. I'm repaying you. You won't owe me anything."
Lauren was looking at Mallory, her eyes warm. "Please say yes."
"I'd be stupid to say no, wouldn't I?"
"That's right," Lauren said softly. "And I'm sure you're not stupid."
On his way home, Ken Mallory was in a state of euphoria. This is as good as it gets, he thought. But he was wrong. It got better.
Lauren telephoned him. "I hope you don't mind mix•ing business with pleasure."
He smiled to himself. "Not at all. What did you have in mind?"
"There's a charity ball next Saturday night. Would you like to take me?"
Oh, baby, I'm going to take you all right. "I'd love to."
He was on duty Saturday night, but he would call in sick and they would have to find someone to take his place.
Mallory was a man who believed in planning ahead, but what
was happening to him now went beyond his wildest dreams. Over the next few weeks he was swept up in Lauren's social circle, and life took on a dizzying pace. He would be out with Lauren dancing half the night, and stumble through his days at the hospital. There were mounting complaints about his work, but he didn't care. I'll be out of here soon, he told himself.
The thought of getting away from the dreary county
hospital and having his own practice was exciting enough, but Lauren was the bonus that Lady Luck had given him.
Kat was becoming a nuisance. Mallory had to keep finding pretexts to avoid seeing her. When she would press him, he would say, "Darling, I'm crazy about you ... of course I want to marry you, but right now, I ..." and he would go into a litany of excuses.
It was Lauren who suggested that the two of them spend a weekend at the family lodge at Big Sur. Mallory was elated. Everything is coming up roses, he thought. I'm going to own the whole damned world!
The lodge was spread across pine-covered hills, an enormous structure built of wood and tile and stone,
overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It had a master bedroom, eight guest bedrooms, a spacious living room with a stone fireplace, an indoor swimming pool, and a large hot tub.
Everything smelled of old money.
When they walked in, Lauren turned to Mallory and said, "I let the servants go for the weekend."
Mallory grinned. "Good thinking." He put his arms around Lauren and said softly, "I'm wild about you."
"Show me," Lauren said.
They spent the day in bed, and Lauren was almost as insatiable as Kat.
"You're wearing me out!" Mallory laughed.
"Good. I don't want you to be able to make love to anyone else." She sat up in bed. "There is no one else, is there, Ken?"
"Absolutely not," Mallory said sincerely. "There's no one in the world for me but you. I'm in love with you, Lauren."
Now was the time to take the plunge, to wrap his whole future
up in one neat package. It would be one thing to be a successful doctor in private practice. It would be something else to be Alex Har•rison's son-in-law. "I want to marry you."
He held his breath, waiting for her answer. "Oh, yes, darling," Lauren said. "Yes."
At the apartment, Kat was frantically trying to reach Mallory. She telephoned the hospital.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Hunter, Dr. Mallory is not on call, and doesn't answer his page."
"Didn't he leave word where he could be reached?" "We have no record of it."
Kat replaced the receiver and turned to Paige.
"Something's happened to him, I know it. He would have called me by now."
"Kat, there could be a hundred reasons why you haven't
heard from him. Perhaps he had to go out of town suddenly, or
. . ."
"You're right. I'm sure there's some good excuse." Kat looked at the phone and willed it to ring.
When Mallory returned to San Francisco, he tele•phoned Kat at the hospital.
"Dr. Hunter is off duty," the receptionist told him. ''Thank you.'' Mallory called the apartment. Kat was there.
"Hi, baby!"
"Ken! Where have you been? I've been worried about you. I tried everywhere to reach-"
"I had a family emergency," he said smoothly. "I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to call you. I had to go out of town. May I come over?"
"You know you may. I'm so glad you're all right. I-" "Half an hour.'' He replaced the receiver and thought
happily, The time has come, the walrus said, to speak of many things. Kat, baby, it was great fun, but it was just one of those things.
When Mallory arrived at the apartment, Kat threw her arms around him. "I've missed you!" She could not tell him how desperately worried she had been. Men hated that kind of thing. She stood back. "Darling, you look absolutely
exhausted."
Mallory sighed. "I've been up for the last twenty-four hours." That part is true, he thought.
Kat hugged him. "Poor baby. Can I fix something for you?" "No, I'm fine. All I really need is a good night's sleep. Let's sit down, Kat. We have to have a talk." He sat on the couch next to her.
"Is anything wrong?" Kat asked.
Mallory took a deep breath. "Kat, I've been thinking a lot about us lately."
She smiled. "So have I. I have news for you. I-
"No, wait. Let me finish. Kat, I think we're rushing into things too fast. I ... I think I proposed too hast•ily." She paled. "What . . . what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I think we should postpone every•thing."
She felt as though the room were closing in on her. She
was finding it difficult to breathe. "Ken, we can't postpone anything. I'm having your baby."
Chapter Thirty
Paige got home at midnight, drained. It had been
exhausting day. There had been no time for lunch, and dinner had consisted of a sandwich between operations. She fell into her bed and was asleep instantly. She was awakened by the ringing of the tele•phone. Groggily, Paige reached for the instrument and automatically glanced at the bedside clock. It was three in the morning. "H'lo?"
"Dr. Taylor? I'm sorry to disturb you, but one of your patients is insisting on seeing you right away."
Paige's throat was so dry she could hardly talk. "I'm off duty," she mumbled. "Can't you get some•one . . .?"
"He won't talk to anyone else. He says he needs you." "Who is it?"
"John Cronin."
Paige sat up straighter. "What's happened?"
"I don't know. He refuses to speak with anyone but you." "All right," Paige said wearily. "I'm on my way."
Thirty minutes later, Paige arrived at the hospital. She went directly to John Cronin's room. He was lying in bed, awake. Tubes were protruding from his nostrils and his arms.
"Thanks for coming." His voice was weak and hoarse. Paige sat down in a chair next to the bed. She smiled.
"That's all right, John. I had nothing to do, anyway, but sleep. What can I do for you that no one else here at this great big hospital couldn't have done?"
"I want you to talk to me."
Paige groaned. "At this hour? I thought it was some kind of emergency."
"It is. I want to leave."
She shook her head. "That's impossible. You can't go home now. You couldn't get the kind of treat•ment-"
He interrupted her. "I don't want to go home. I want to leave."
She looked at him and said slowly, "What are you saying?" "You know what I'm saying. The medication isn't working anymore. I can't stand this pain. I want out."
Paige leaned over and took his hand. "John, I can't do that. Let me give you some-"
"No. I'm tired, Paige. I want to go wherever it is I'm going, but I don't want to hang around here like this. Not anymore."
"John . . ."
"How much time do I have left? A few more days? I told
you, I'm not good about pain. I'm lying here like a trapped animal, filled with all these goddam tubes. My body is being eaten away inside. This isn't living- it's dying. For God's sake, help me!"
He was racked by a sudden spasm of pain. When he spoke again, his voice was even weaker. "Help me . . . please ..."
Paige knew what she had to do. She had to report John Cronin's request to Dr. Benjamin Wallace. He would pass it on to the Administration Committee. They would assemble a panel of doctors to assess Cronin's condition, and then make a decision. After that, it would have to be approved by ...
"Paige . . . it's my life. Let me do with it as I like." She looked over at the helpless figure locked in his pain. "I'm begging you ..."
She took his hand and held it for a long time. When she
spoke, she said, "All right, John. I'll do it."
He managed a trace of a smile. "I knew I could count on you."
Paige leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "Close your eyes and go to sleep."
"Good night, Paige." "Good night, John."
John Cronin sighed and closed his eyes, a beatific smile on his face.
Paige sat there watching him, thinking about what she was about to do. She remembered how horrified she had been on her first day of rounds with Dr. Radnor. She's been in a coma for six weeks. Her vital signs are failing. There's nothing more we can do for her. We'll pull the plug this afternoon. Was it wrong to release a fellow human being from his misery?
Slowly, as though she were moving under water, Paige rose and walked to a cabinet in the corner, where a bottle of insulin was kept for emergency use. She removed the bottle
and stood there, staring at it. Then she uncapped the bottle. She filled a syringe with the insulin and walked back to John Cronin's bedside. There was still time to go back. I'm lying here like a trapped animal. . . . This isn't living-it's dying. For God's sake, help me!
Paige leaned forward and slowly injected the insulin into the IV attached to Cronin's arm.
"Sleep well," Paige whispered. She was unaware that she was sobbing.
Paige drove home and stayed awake the rest of the night, thinking about what she had done.
At six o'clock in the morning, she received a tele•phone call from one of the residents at the hospital.
"I'm sorry to give you bad news, Dr. Taylor. Your patient John Cronin died of cardiac arrest early this morning." The staff doctor in charge that morning was Dr. Ar•thur Kane.
Chapter Thirty-one
The one other time Ken Mallory had gone to an opera, he
had fallen asleep. On this night he was watching Rigoletto at the San Francisco Opera House and enjoying every minute of it. He was seated in a box with Lauren Harrison and her father. In the lobby of the opera house during intermission, Alex Har•rison had introduced him to a large number of friends. "This is my future son-in-law and a brilliant doctor, Ken Mallory."
Being Alex Harrison's son-in-law was enough to make him a brilliant doctor.
After the performance, the Harrisons and Mallory went to the Fairmont Hotel for supper in the elegant main dining room. Mallory enjoyed the deferential greeting that the mattre d' gave to Alex Harrison as he led them to their
booth. From now on, I'll be able to afford places like this, Mallory thought, and everyone is going to know who I am.
After they had ordered, Lauren said, "Darling, I think we should have a party to announce our engage•ment."
"That's a good idea!" her father said. "We'll make it a big one. What do you say, Ken?"
A warning bell sounded in Mallory's mind. An en•gagement party would mean publicity. I'll have to set Kat straight first. A little money should take care of that. Mallory cursed the stupid bet he had made. For a mere ten thousand dollars, his whole shining future might now be in jeopardy. He could just imagine what would happen if he tried to explain Kat to the Harrisons.
By the way, I forgot to mention that I'm already engaged to a doctor at the hospital. She's black. . . .
Or: Do you want to hear something funny? I bet the boys at the hospital ten thousand dollars I could fuck this black doctor. . . .
Or: / already have one wedding planned. . . .
No, he thought, I'll have to find a way to buy Kat off-
They were looking at Mallory expectantly.
Mallory smiled. "A party sounds like a wonderful idea." Lauren said enthusiastically, "Good. I'll get things
started. You men have no idea what it takes to give a party." Alex Harrison turned to Mallory. "I've already started the ball rolling for you, Ken."
"Sir?"
"Gary Gitlin, the head of North Shore Hospital, is an old golf buddy of mine. I talked to him about you, he doesn't think there will be any problem about
having you affiliated with his hospital. That's quite pres•tigious, you know. And at the same time, I'll get you set up in your own practice."
Mallory listened, filled with a sense of euphoria. "That's wonderful."
"Of course, it will take a few years to build up a really lucrative practice, but I think you should be able to make two or three hundred thousand dollars the first
year or two."
Two or three hundred thousand! My God! Mallory thought. He makes it sound like peanuts. "That . . . That would be very nice, sir."
Alex Harrison smiled. "Ken, since I'm going to be your father-in-law, let's get off this 'sir' business. Call me Alex."
"Right, Alex."
"You know, I've never been a June bride," Lauren said. "Is June all right with you, darling?"
He could hear Kat's voice saying: Don't you think we should set a date? I thought maybe June.
Mallory took Lauren's hand in his. "That sounds great." That will give me plenty of time to handle Kat, Mallory decided. He smiled to himself. I'll offer her some of the money I won getting her into bed.
"We have a yacht in the south of France," Alex Harrison
was saying, "Would you two like to honey•moon on the French Riviera? You can fly over in our
Gulfstream."
A yacht. The French Riviera. It was like a fantasy come true. Mallory looked at Lauren. "I'd honeymoon anywhere with Lauren."
Alex Harrison nodded. "Well, it looks like every•thing is settled." He smiled at his daughter. "I'm going to miss you,
baby."
"You're not losing me, Father. You're gaining a doctor!" Alex Harrison nodded. "And a damn good one. I can never thank you enough for saving my life, Ken."
Lauren stroked Mallory's hand. "I'll thank him for you." "Ken, why don't we have lunch next week?" Alex Harrison
said. "We'll pick out some decent office space for you, maybe in the Post Building, and I'll make a date for you to see Gary Gitlin. A lot of my friends are dying to meet you."
"I think you might rephrase that, Father," Lauren suggested. She turned to Ken. "I've been talking to my friends about you and they're eager to meet you, too, only I'm not going to let them."
"I'm not interested in anyone but you," Mallory said warmly.
When they got into their chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce, Lauren asked, "Where can we drop you, darling?"
"The hospital. I've got to check on a few patients." I He
had no intention of seeing any patients. Kat was on I duty at the hospital.
Lauren stroked his cheek. ' 'My poor baby. You work I much too hard."
Mallory sighed. "It doesn't matter. As long as I'm helping people."
He found Kat in the geriatric ward. "Hi, Kat."
She was in an angry mood. "We had a date last night, Ken." "I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't able to make it, and-" "That's the third time in the last week. What's going on?" She was becoming a boring nag. "Kat, I have to talk to you. Is there an empty room around here?"
She thought for a moment. "A patient checked out of 315. Let's go in there."
They started down the corridor. A nurse walked up to them. "Oh, Dr. Mallory! Dr. Peterson has been look•ing for you. He-"
"Tell him I'm busy." He took Kat by the arm and led her to the elevator.
When they arrived at the third floor, they walked silently down the corridor and went into Room 315. Mallory closed the door behind them. He was hyperven•tilating. His whole golden
future depended on the next few minutes.
He took Kat's hand in his. It was time to be sincere. "Kat, you know I'm crazy about you. I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. But, honey, the idea of having a baby right now . . . well . . . can't you see how wrong it would be? I mean . . .we're both working day and night, we aren't making enough money to . . ."
"But we can manage," Kat said. "I love you, Ken, and I-" "Wait. All I'm asking is that we put everything off for a little while. Let me finish my term at the hospital and get started in private practice somewhere. Maybe we'll go back East. In a few years we'll be able to afford to get married and have a baby."
"In a few years'? But I told you, I'm pregnant."
"I know, darling, but it's been what, now . . . two months? There's still plenty of time to abort it."
Kat looked at him, shocked. "No! I won't abort it. I want us to get married right away. Now."
We have a yacht in the south of France. Would you two like to honeymoon on the French Riviera? You can fly over in our Gulf stream.
"I've already told Paige and Honey that we're getting married. They're going to be my bridesmaids. And I told them about the baby."
Mallory felt a cold chill go through him. Things were getting out of hand. If the Harrisons got wind of this, he would be finished. "You shouldn't have done that."
"Why not?"
Mallory forced a smile. "I want to keep our private lives private." I'll get you set up in your own prac•tice. . . .
You should be able to make two or three hundred thousand dollars the first year or two. "Kat, I'm going to ask you this for the last time. Will you have an abortion?" He was willing her to say yes, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
"No."
"Kat "
"I can't, Ken. I told you how I felt about the abortion I had as a girl. I swore I could never live through such a thing again. Don't ask me again."
And it was at that moment that Ken Mallory realized he could not take a chance. He had no choice. He was going to
have to kill her.
Chapter Thirty-two
Honey looked forward every day to seeing the patient in
Room 306. His name was Sean Reilly, and he was a good-looking Irishman, with black hair and black sparkling eyes. Honey guessed that he was in his early forties.
When Honey first met him on her rounds, she had looked at his chart and said, "I see you're here for a cholecystectomy.''
"I thought they were going to remove my gallblad•der." Honey smiled. "Same thing."
Sean fixed his black eyes on her. "They can cut out anything they want except my heart. That belongs to you." Honey laughed. "Flattery will get you everywhere."
"I hope so, darlin'."
When Honey had a few minutes to spare, she would drop by and chat with Sean. He was charming and amusing.
"It's worth bein' operated on just to have you around, little darlin'."
"You aren't nervous about the operation, are you?" she asked.
"Not if you're going to operate, love." "I'm not a surgeon. I'm an internist."
"Are internists allowed to have dinner with their pa•tients?"
"No. There's a rule against it." "Do internists ever break rules?" "Never." Honey was smiling.
"I think you're beautiful," Sean said.
No one had ever told Honey that before. She found herself blushing. "Thank you."
"You're like the fresh mornin' dew in the fields of Killarney."
"Have you ever been to Ireland?" Honey asked.
He laughed. "No, but I promise you we'll go there together one day. You'll see."
It was ridiculous Irish blarney, and yet ...
That afternoon when Honey went in to see Sean, she said, "How are you feeling?"
"The better for seeing you. Have you thought about our dinner date?"
"No," Honey said. She was lying.
"I was hoping after my operation, I could take you out. You're not engaged, or married, or anything silly like that, are you?"
Honey smiled. "Nothing silly like that." "Good! Neither am I. Who would have me?" A lot of women, Honey thought.
"If you like home cooking, I happen to be a great cook." "We'll see."
When Honey went to Sean's room the following morning, he said, "I have a little present for you." He handed her a sheet of drawing paper. On it was a soft•ened, idealized sketch of Honey.
"I love it!" Honey said. "You're a wonderful art•ist!" And she suddenly remembered the psychic's words: You're going to fall in love. He's an artist. She was looking at Sean strangely.
"Is anything wrong?"
"No," Honey said slowly. "No."
Five minutes later, Honey walked into Frances Gor•don's room.
"Here comes the Virgo!"
Honey said, "Do you remember telling me that I was going to fall in love with someone-an artist?"
"Yes."
"Well, I ... I think I've met him."
Frances Gordon smiled. "See? The stars never lie." "Could . . . could you tell me a little about him? About us?"
"There are some tarot cards in that drawer over there. Could you give them to me, please?"
As Honey handed her the cards, she thought, This is ridiculous! I don't believe in this!
Frances Gordon was laying out the cards. She kept nodding to herself, and nodding and smiling, and sud•denly she stopped. Her face went pale. "Oh, my God!" She looked up at Honey.
"What . . . what's the matter?" Honey asked. "This artist. You say you've already met him?" "I think so. Yes."
Frances Gordon's voice was filled with sadness. "The poor man." She looked up at Honey. "I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry."
Sean Reilly was scheduled to have his operation the following morning.
8:15 a.m. Dr. William Radnor was in OR Two, pre•paring for the operation.
8:25 a.m. A truck containing a week's supply of bags of blood pulled up at the emergency entrance to Embarcadero County Hospital. The driver carried the bags to the blood bank in the basement. Eric Foster, the resident on duty, was sharing coffee and a danish with a pretty young nurse, Andrea.
"Where do you want these?" the driver asked.
"Just set them down there." Foster pointed to a cor•ner. "Right." The driver put the bags down and pulled out a form. "I need your John Hancock."
"Okay." Foster signed the form. "Thanks." "No sweat." The driver left.
Foster turned to Andrea. "Where were we?" "You were telling me how adorable I am."
"Right. If you weren't married, I'd really go after you," the resident said. "Do you ever fool around?"
"No. My husband is a boxer." "Oh. Do you have a sister?" "As a matter of fact, I do." "Is she as pretty as you are?" "Prettier."
"What's her name?" "Marilyn."
"Why don't we double-date one night?"
As they chatted, the fax machine began to click. Foster ignored it.
8:45 a.m. Dr. Radnor began the operation on Sean Reilly.
The beginning went smoothly. The operating room functioned like a well-oiled machine, run by capa•ble people doing their jobs.
9:05 a.m. Dr. Radnor reached the cystic duct. A textbook operation up until then. As he started to excise the
gallbladder, his hand slipped and the scalpel nicked an artery. Blood began to pour out.
"Jesus!" He tried to stop the flow.
The anesthesiologist called out, "His blood pressure just dropped to ninety-five. He's going into shock!"
Radnor turned to the circulating nurse. "Get some more blood up here, stat!"
"Right away, doctor."
9:06 a.m. The telephone rang in the blood bank. "Don't go away," Foster told Andrea. He walked past the fax machine, which had stopped clicking, and picked up the telephone. "Blood supply."
"We need four units of Type O in OR Two, stat." "Right." Foster replaced the receiver and went to the
corner where the new blood had been deposited. He pulled out four bags and placed them on the top shelf of the metal cart used for such emergencies. He double-checked the bags. "Type O," he said aloud. He rang for an orderly.
"What's going on?" Andrea asked.
Foster looked at the schedule in front of him. "It looks like one of the patients is giving Dr. Radnor a bad time." 9:10 a.m. The orderly came into the blood bank. "What have we got?"
"Take this to OR Two. They're waiting for it."
He watched the orderly wheel out the cart, then turned to Andrea. "Tell me about your sister."
"She's married, too." "Aw . . ."
Andrea smiled. "But she fools around." "Does she really?"
"I'm only kidding. I have to go back to work, Eric. Thanks for the coffee and danish."
'' Anytime." He watched her leave and thought, What a great ass!
9:12 a.m. The orderly was waiting for an elevator to take him to the second floor.
9:13 a.m. Dr. Radnor was doing his best to minimize the catastrophe. "Where's the damned blood?"
9:15 a.m. The orderly pushed at the door to OR Two and the circulating nurse opened it.
"Thanks," she said. She carried the bags into the room. "It's here, doctor."
"Start pumping it into him. Fast!"
In the blood bank, Eric Foster finished his coffee,
thinking about Andrea. All the good-looking ones are married. As he started toward his desk, he passed the fax machine.
He pulled out the fax. It read:
Recall Warning Alert #687, June 25: Red Blood Cells, Fresh Frozen Plasma. Units CB83711, CB800007. Community Blood Bank of California, Arizona, Washington, Oregon. Blood products test•ing repeatedly reactive for Antibody HIV Type I were distributed.
He stared at it a moment, then walked over to his desk and picked up the invoice he had signed for the bags of blood that had just been delivered. He looked at the number on the invoice. The number on the warn•ing was identical.
"Oh, my God!" he said. He grabbed the telephone. "Get me OR Two, fast!"
A nurse answered.
"This is the blood bank. I just sent up four units of Type
O. Don't use it! I'm sending up some fresh blood immediately." The nurse said, "Sorry, it's too late." Dr. Radnor broke the news to Sean Reilly.
"It was a mistake," Radnor said. "A terrible mis•take. I would give anything if it had not happened."
Sean was staring at him, in shock. "My God! I'm going to die."
"We won't know whether you're HIV-positive for six or
eight weeks. And even if you are, that does not necessarily mean you will get AIDS. We're going to do everything we can for you."
"What the hell can you do for me that you haven't already done?" Sean said bitterly. "I'm a dead man."
When Honey heard the news, she was devastated. She remembered Frances Gordon's words. The poor man.
Sean Reilly was asleep when Honey walked into his room. She sat at his bedside for a long time, watching him.
He opened his eyes and saw Honey. "I dreamed that I was dreaming, and that I wasn't going to die." "Sean ..." "Did you come to visit the corpse?" "Please don't talk
that way." "How could this happen?" he cried. "Someone made a mistake, Sean." "God, I don't want to die of AIDS!"
"Some people who get HIV may never get AIDS. The Irish are lucky."
"I wish I could believe you."
She took his hand in hers. "You've got to."
"I'm not a praying man," Sean said, "but I sure as hell am going to start now."
"I'll pray with you," Honey said.
He smiled wryly. "I guess we can forget about that dinner, huh?"
"Oh, no. You don't get out of it that easily. I'm looking forward to it."
He studied her a moment. "You really mean that, don't you?"
"You bet I do! No matter what happens. Remember, you promised to take me to Ireland."
Chapter Thirty-three
Are you all right, Ken?" Lauren asked. "You seem tense, darling." They were alone in the huge Harrison library. A maid and a butler had served a six-course dinner, and during dinner he and Alex Harrison-Call me Alex- had chatted about Mallory's brilliant future. "Why are you tense?"
Because this pregnant black bitch expects me to marry her. Because any minute word is going to leak out about our engagement and she'll hear about it and blow the whistle. Because my whole future could be destroyed.
He took Lauren's hand in his. "I guess I'm working too
hard. My patients aren't just patients to me, Lauren. They're people in trouble, and I can't help worrying about them."
She stroked his face. "That's one of the things I love about you, Ken. You're so caring."
"I guess I was brought up that way."
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. The society editor of the Chronicle and a photographer are coming here Monday to do an interview."
It was like a blow to the pit of his stomach. "
"Is there any chance you could be here with me, darling? They want a picture of you."
"I. . . I wish I could, but I have a busy day scheduled at the hospital." His mind was racing. "Lauren, do you think it's a good idea to do an interview now? I mean, shouldn't we wait until . . . ?"
Lauren laughed. "You don't know the press, darling.
They're like bloodhounds. No, it's much better to get it over with now."
Monday!
The following morning, Mallory tracked down Kat in a
utility room. She looked tired and haggard. She had no makeup on and her hair was uncurled. Lauren would never let herself go like that, Mallory thought.
"Hi, honey!"
Kat did not answer.
Mallory took her in his arms. "I've been thinking a lot about us, Kat. I didn't sleep at all last night. There's no
one else for me. You were right, and I was wrong. I guess the news came as kind of a shock to me. I want you to have our baby." He watched the sudden glow on Kat's face.
"Do you really mean that, Ken?" "You bet I do."
She put her arms around him. "Thank God! Oh, darling. I was so worried. I don't know what I would do without you." "You don't have to worry about that. From now on,
everything is going to be wonderful.'' You'll never knew how wonderful. "Look, I have Sunday night off. Are you free?" She grasped his hand. "I'll make myself free."
"Great! We'll have a nice quiet dinner and then we'll go back to your place for a nightcap. Do you think you can get rid of Paige and Honey? I want us to be alone."
Kat smiled. "No problem. You don't know how happy you've made me. Did I ever tell you how much I love you?"
"I love you, too. I'll show you how much Sunday night." Thinking it over, Mallory decided it was a foolproof plan.
He had worked it out to the smallest detail. There was no way Kat's death could ever be blamed on him.
It was too risky to get what he needed from the hospi•tal pharmacy because security had been tightened there after the Bowman affair. Instead, early Sunday morn•ing, Mallory went
looking for a pharmacy far away from the neighborhood where he lived. Most of them were closed on Sunday, and he went to half a dozen before he found one that was open.
The pharmacist behind the counter said, "Morning. Can I help you?"
"Yes. I'm going to see a patient in this area, and I want to take a prescription to him." He pulled out his" prescription pad and wrote on it.
The pharmacist smiled. "Not many doctors make house calls these days."
"I know. It's a pity, isn't it? People just don't care anymore." He handed the slip of paper to the pharma•cist. The pharmacist looked at it and nodded. "This will only take a few minutes."
"Thank you." Step one.
That afternoon, Mallory made a stop at the hospital. He
was there no more than ten minutes, and when he left, he was carrying a small package.
Step two.
Mallory had arranged to meet Kat at Trader Vic's for dinner, and he was waiting for her when she arrived. He watched her walking toward the table and thought,
It's the Last Supper, bitch.
He rose and gave her a warm smile. "Hello, doll. You look beautiful." And he had to admit that she did. She looked sensational. She could have been a model. And she's great in bed. All she lacks, Ken thought, is about twenty million dollars, give or take a few million.
Kat was aware again of how the other women in the
restaurant were eyeing Ken, envying her. But he only had eyes for her. He was the old Ken, warm and atten•tive.
"How was your day?" Ken asked.
She sighed. "Busy. Three operations in the morning and two this afternoon." She leaned forward. "I know it's too early, but I swear I could feel the baby kicking when I was getting dressed."
Mallory smiled. "Maybe it wants to get out."
"We should do an ultrasound test and find out if it's a boy or a girl. Then I can start buying clothes for it." "Great idea."
"Ken, can we set a wedding date? I'd like to have our wedding as soon as possible."
"No problem," Mallory said easily. "We can apply for a license next week."
"That's wonderful!" She had a sudden thought. ' 'Maybe we could get a few days off and go somewhere on our honeymoon. Somewhere not too far away-up to Oregon or Washington."
Wrong, baby. I'll be honeymooning in June, on my yacht on the French Riviera.
"That sounds great. I'll talk to Wallace."
Kat squeezed his hand. "Thank you," she said husk•ily. "I'm going to make you the best wife in the whole world." "I'm sure of it." Mallory smiled. "Now eat your vegetables. We want the baby to be healthy, don't we?" They left the restaurant at 9:00 p.m. As they ap•proached
Kat's apartment building, Mallory said, "Are you sure Paige and Honey won't be home?"
"I made sure," Kat said. "Paige is at the hospital, on call, and I told Honey you and I wanted to be alone here." She saw the expression on his face. "Is anything wrong?'' "No, baby. I told you, I just like our private times to be
private." I'll have to be careful, he thought. Very careful. "Let's hurry."
His impatience warmed Kat.
Inside the apartment, Mallory said, "Let's go into the bedroom."
Kat grinned. "That sounds like a great idea."
Mallory watched Kat undress, and he thought, She still has a great figure. A baby would ruin it.
"Aren't you going to get undressed, Ken?"
"Of course.'' He remembered the time she had gotten him to undress and then walked out on him. Well, now she was going to pay for that.
He took his clothes off slowly. Can I perform! he
wondered. He was almost trembling with nervousness. What I'm going to do is her fault. Not mine. I gave her a chance to back out and she was too stupid to take it.
He slipped into bed beside her and felt her warm body against his. They began to stroke each other, and he felt himself getting aroused. He entered her and she began to moan.
"Oh, darling ... it feels so wonderful ..." She began to move faster and faster. "Yes . . . yes . . . oh, my God! . .
. don't stop ..." And her body began to jerk spasmodically, and she shuddered and then lay still in his arms.
She turned to him anxiously. "Did you . . . ?"
"Of course," Mallory lied. He was much too tense. "How about a drink?"
"No. I shouldn't. The baby ..."
"But this is a celebration, honey. One little drink isn't going to hurt."
Kat hesitated. "All right. A small one." Kat started to get up.
Mallory stopped her. "No, no. You stay in bed, Mama. You have to get used to being pampered."
Kat watched Mallory as he walked into the living room and she thought, I'm the luckiest woman in the world!
Mallory walked over to the little bar and poured scotch
into two glasses. He glanced toward the bedroom to make sure he could not be seen, then went over to the couch, where he had placed his jacket. He took a small bottle from his pocket and poured the contents into Kat's drink. He returned to the bar and stirred Kat's drink and smelled it. There was no odor. He took the two glasses back to the bedroom, and handed Kat her drink.
"Let's drink a toast to our baby," Kat said. "Right. To our baby."
Ken watched as Kat took a swallow of her drink. "We'll find a nice apartment somewhere," Kat said
dreamily. "I'll fix up a nursery. We're going to spoil our child rotten, aren't we?" She took another sip.
Mallory nodded. "Absolutely." He was watching her closely. "How do you feel?"
"Wonderful. I've been so worried about us, darling, but I'm not, not anymore."
"That's good," Mallory said. "You have nothing to worry about."
Kat's eyes were getting heavy. "No," she said. "There's nothing to worry about." Her words were beginning to slur. "Ken, I feel funny." She was begin•ning to sway.
"You should never have gotten pregnant." She was staring up at him stupidly. "What?" "You spoiled everything, Kat."
"Spoiled . . . ?" She was having trouble concentrat•ing. "You got in my way."
"Wha'?"
"No one gets in my way." "Ken, I feel dizzy."
He stood there, watching her.
"Ken . . . help me, Ken ..." Her head fell back onto the pillow.
Mallory looked at his watch again. There was plenty of time.
Chapter Thirty-four
It was Honey who arrived at the apartment first and stumbled across Kat's mutilated body, lying in a pool of blood on the floor of the bathroom, obscenely sprawled against the cold white tiles. A bloodstained curette lay beside her. She had hemorrhaged from her womb.
Honey stood there in shock. "Oh, my God!" Her voice was a strangled whisper. She knelt beside the body and placed a trembling finger against the carotid artery. There was no pulse. Honey hurried back into the living room, picked up the telephone, and dialed 911.
A male voice said, "Nine-one-one Emergency." Honey stood there paralyzed, unable to speak. "Nine-one-one Emergency . .
. Hello . . . ?" "H . . . help! I ... There's ..." She was choking over her words. "Sh . . . she's dead." "Who is dead, miss?"
"Kat."
"Your cat is dead?"
"No!" Honey screamed. "Kat's dead. Get someone over here right away."
"Lady ..."
Honey slammed down the receiver. With shaking fingers, she dialed the hospital. "Dr. T ... Taylor." Her voice was an agonized whisper.
"One moment, please."
Honey gripped the telephone and waited two minutes before she heard Paige's voice. "Dr. Taylor."
"Paige! You . . . you've got to come home right away!" "Honey? What's happened?"
"Kat's . . . dead."
"What?" Paige's voice was filled with disbelief. "How?" "It ... it looks like she tried to abort herself."
"Oh, my God! All right. I'll be there as soon as I can."
By the time Paige arrived at the apartment, there were two policemen, a detective, and a medical examiner there. Honey was in her bedroom, heavily sedated. The medical examiner was leaning over Kat's naked body. A detective looked up as Paige entered the bloody bathroom.
"Who are you?"
Paige was staring at the lifeless body. Her face was pale. "I'm Dr. Taylor. I live here."
"Maybe you can help me. I'm Inspector Burns. I was trying to talk to the other lady who lives here. She's hysterical. The doctor gave her a sedative."
"What . . . what do you want to know?" "She lived here?"
"Yes."
I'm going to have Ken's baby. How good can it get!
"It looks like she tried to get rid of the kid, and messed it up," the detective said.
Paige stood there, her mind spinning. When she spoke, she said, "I don't believe it."
Inspector Burns studied her a moment. "Why don't you believe it, doctor?"
"She wanted that baby." She was beginning to think clearly again. "The father didn't want it."
"The father?"
"Dr. Ken Mallory. He works at Embarcadero County Hospital. He didn't want to marry her. Look, Kat is- was-it was so painful to say was-"a doctor. If she had wanted to have an abortion, there's no way she would try to do it herself in a bathroom." Paige shook her head. "There's something wrong." The medical examiner rose from beside the body. "Maybe she tried it herself because she didn't want anyone else to know about the baby."
"That's not true. She told us about it."
Inspector Burns was watching Paige. "Was she alone here this evening?"
"No. She had a date with Dr. Mallory."
Ken Mallory was in bed, carefully going over the events of the evening. He replayed every step of the way, making sure there were no loose ends. Perfect, he decided. He lay in bed, wondering why it was taking doorbell rang. Mallory let it ring three times, then got up, put on a robe over his pajamas, and went into the living room.
He stood in front of the door. "Who's there?" He sounded sleepy.
A voice said, "Dr. Mallory?" "Yes."
"Inspector Burns. San Francisco Police Depart•ment." "Police Department?" There was just the right note of surprise in his voice. Mallory opened the door.
The man standing in the hall showed his badge. "May I come in?"
"Yes. What's this all about?" "Do you know a Dr. Hunter?"
"Of course I do." A look of alarm crossed his face. "Has something happened to Kat?"
"Were you with her earlier this evening?"
"Yes. My God! Tell me what's happened! Is she all right?" "I'm afraid I have some bad news. Dr. Hunter is dead." "Dead? I can't believe it. How?'
"Apparently she tried to perform an abortion on her•self and it went wrong."
"Oh, my God!" Mallory said. He sank into a chair. "It's my fault."
The inspector was watching him closely. "Your fault?" "Yes. I ... Dr. Hunter and I were going to be married. I
told her I didn't think it was a good idea for her to have a baby now. I wanted to wait, and she agreed. I suggested she go to the hospital and have them take care of it, but she must have decided to ... I ... I can't believe it."
"What time did you leave Dr. Hunter?" "It must have been about ten o'clock. I dropped her off at her apartment and left."
"You didn't go into the apartment?" "No."
"Did Dr. Hunter talk about what she planned to do?" "You mean about the . . . ? No. Not a word." Inspector Burns pulled out a card. "If you think of anything else that might be helpful, doctor, I'd appreci•ate it if you gave me a call."
"Certainly. I ... you have no idea what a shock this is."
Paige and Honey stayed up all night, talking about what had happened to Kat, going over it and over it, in shocked disbelief.
At nine o'clock, Inspector Burns came by.
"Good morning. I wanted to tell you that I spoke to Dr. Mallory last night."
"And?"
' 'He said they went out to dinner, and then he dropped her off and went home."
"He's lying," Paige said. She was thinking. "Wait! Did they find any traces of semen in Kat's body?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact."
"Well, then," Paige said excitedly, "that proves he's lying. He did take her to bed and-"
"I went to talk to him about that this morning. He says they had sex before they went out to dinner."
"Oh." She would not give up. "His fingerprints will be on the curette he used to kill her." Her voice was eager. "Did you find fingerprints?"
"Yes, doctor," he said patiently. "They were hers." "That's imp-Wait! Then he wore gloves, and when he was finished, he put her prints on the curette. How does that sound?"
"Like someone's been watching too many Murder, She Wrote
television programs."
"You don't believe Kat was murdered, do you?" "I'm afraid I don't."
"Have they done an autopsy?" "Yes."
"And?"
"The medical examiner is listing it as an accidental
death. Dr. Mallory told me she decided not to have the baby, so apparently she-"
"Went into the bathroom and butchered herself?" Paige interrupted. "For God's sake, inspector! She was a doctor, a surgeon! There's no way in the world she would have done that to herself."
Inspector Burns said thoughtfully, "You think Mal•lory persuaded her to have an abortion, and tried to help her, and then left when it went wrong?"
Paige shook her head. "No. It couldn't have hap•pened that way. Kat would never have agreed. He delib•erately murdered her.'' She was thinking out loud. "Kat was strong. She would have had to be unconscious for him to ... to do what he did." "The autopsy showed no signs of any blows or any•thing
that would have caused her to become uncon•scious. No bruises on her throat ..."
"Were there any traces of sleeping pills or . . . ?" "Nothing." He saw the expression on Paige's face. "This doesn't look to me like a murder. I think Dr. Hunter made an error in judgment, and . . . I'm sorry."
She watched him start toward the door. "Wait!" Paige said. "You have a motive."
He turned. "Not really. Mallory says she agreed to have the abortion. That doesn't leave us much, does it?"
"It leaves you with a murder," Paige said stubbornly. "Doctor, what we don't have is any evidence. It's his word against the victim's, and she's dead. I'm really sorry." Paige watched him leave.
I'm not going to let Ken Mallory get away with it, she thought despairingly.
Jason came by to see Paige. "I heard what hap•pened," he said. "I can't believe it! How could she have done that to herself?"
"She didn't," Paige said. "She was murdered." She told Jason about her conversation with Inspector Burns. "The police aren't going to do anything about it. They think it was an accident. Jason, it's my fault that Kat is dead." "Your fault?"
"I'm the one who persuaded her to go out with Mal•lory in the first place. She didn't want to. It started out as a
silly joke, and then she . . . she fell in love with him. Oh, Jason!"
"You can't blame yourself for that," he said firmly. Paige looked around in despair. "I can't live in this apartment anymore. I have to get out of here."
Jason took her in his arms. "Let's get married right away."
"It's too soon. I mean, Kat isn't even ..." "I know. We'll wait a week or two."
"All right."
"I love you, Paige."
"I love you, too, darling. Isn't it stupid? I feel guilty because Kat and I both fell in love, and she's dead and I'm alive."
The photograph appeared on the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle on Tuesday. It showed a smil•ing Ken Mallory with his arm around Lauren Harrison. The caption read: "Heiress to Wed Doctor."
Paige stared at it in disbelief. Kat had been dead for
only two days, and Ken Mallory was announcing his engagement to another woman! All the time he had been promising to marry Kat, he had been planning to marry someone else.
That's why he killed Kat. To get her out of the way!
Paige picked up the telephone and dialed police head•quarters.
"Inspector Burns, please."
A moment later, she was talking to the inspector. "This is Dr. Taylor."
"Yes, doctor."
"Have you seen the photograph in this morning's Chronicle?"
"Yes."
"Well, there's your motive!" Paige exclaimed. "Ken Mallory had to shut Kat up before Lauren Har•rison found out about her. You've got to arrest Mal•lory." She was almost yelling into the telephone.
"Wait a minute. Calm down, doctor. We may have a motive, but I told you, we don't have a shred of evidence. You said yourself that Dr. Hunter would have had to be unconscious before Mallory could perform an abortion on her. After I spoke to you, I talked to our forensic pathologist again.
There was no sign of any kind of blow that could have caused unconsciousness."
"Then he must have given her a sedative," Paige said stubbornly. "Probably chloral hydrate. It's fast-acting and-"
Inspector Burns said patiently, "Doctor, there was no trace of chloral hydrate in her body. I'm sorry-I really am-but we can't arrest a man because he's going to get married. Was there anything else?"
Everything else. "No," Paige said. She slammed down the receiver and sat there thinking. Mallory has to have given Kat some kind of drug. The easiest place for him to have gotten it would be the hospital phar•macy.
Fifteen minutes later, Paige was on her way to Embarcadero County Hospital.
Pete Samuels, the chief pharmacist, was behind the counter. "Good morning, Dr. Taylor. How can I help you?" "I believe Dr. Mallory came by a few days ago and picked up some medication. He told me the name of it, but I can't remember what it was."
Samuels frowned. "I don't remember Dr. Mallory coming by here for at least a month."
"Are you sure?"
Samuels nodded. "Positive. I would have remem•bered. We always talk football."
Paige's heart sank. "Thank you."
He must have written a prescription at some other pharmacy. Paige knew that the law required that all prescriptions for narcotics be made out in triplicate- one copy for the patient, one to be sent to the Bureau of Controlled Substances, and the third for the pharmacy's
files.
Somewhere, Paige thought, Ken Mallory had a pre•scription filled. There are probably two or three hun•dred pharmacies in San Francisco. There was no way she could track down the prescription. It was likely that Mallory had gotten it just before he murdered Kat. That would have been on Saturday or Sunday. If it was Sun•day, I might have a chance, Paige thought. Very few pharmacies are open on Sunday. That narrows it down.
She went upstairs to the office where the assignment
sheets were kept and looked up the roster for Saturday. Dr. Ken Mallory had been on call all day, so the chances were that he had had the prescription filled on Sunday. How many pharmacies were open on Sunday in San Francisco?
Paige picked up the telephone and called the state pharmaceutical board.
"This is Dr. Taylor," Paige said. "Last Sunday, a friend of mine left a prescription at a pharmacy. She asked me to pick it up for her, but I can't remember the name of the pharmacy. I wonder if you could help me."
"Well, I don't see how, doctor. If you don't know ..." "Most drugstores are closed on Sunday, aren't they?" "Yes, but . . ."
"I'd appreciate it if you could give me a list of those that were open."
There was a pause. "Well, if it's important ..." "It's very important," Paige assured her.
"Hold on, please."
There were thirty-six stores on the list, spread all over
the city. It would have been simple if she could have gone to the police for help, but Inspector Burns did not believe her. Honey and I are going to have to do this ourselves, Paige thought. She explained to Honey what she had in mind.
"It's a real long shot, isn't it?" Honey said. "You don't even know if he filled the prescription on Sun•day." "It's the only shot we have." That Kat has. "I'll check out the ones in Richmond, the Marina, North Beach, Upper Market, Mission, and Potrero, and you check out the Excelsior, Ingleside, Lake Merced, West•ern Addition, and Sunset areas."
"All right."
At the first pharmacy Paige went into, she showed her identification and said, "A colleague of mine, Dr. Ken Mallory, was in here Sunday for a prescription. He's out of town, and he asked me to get a refill, but I can't remember the name of it. Would you mind look•ing it up, please?" "Dr. Ken Mallory? Just a moment." He came back a few minutes later. "Sorry, we didn't fill any prescrip•tions Sunday for a Dr. Mallory."
"Thank you."
Paige got the same response at the next four pharmac•ies.
Honey was having no better luck.
"We have thousands of prescriptions here, you know." "I know, but this was last Sunday."
"Well, we have no prescriptions here from a Dr. Mallory. Sorry."
The two of them spent the day going from pharmacy to pharmacy. They were both getting discouraged. It was not until late afternoon, just before closing time, that Paige found what she was looking for in a small pharmacy in the Potrero district. The pharmacist said, "Oh, yes, here we are. Dr. Ken Mallory. I remember him. He was on his way to make a house call on a patient. I was impressed, because not many doctors do that these days."
No resident ever made house calls. "What's the pre•scription for?"
Paige found she was holding her breath.
"Chloral hydrate."
Paige was almost trembling with excitement. "You're sure?" "It says so right here."
"What was the patient's name?"
He looked at the copy of the prescription. "Spyros Levathes."
"Would you mind giving me a copy of that prescrip•tion?" Paige asked.
"Not at all, doctor."
One hour later, Paige was in Inspector Burns's office. She laid the prescription on his desk.
"Here's your proof," Paige said. "On Sunday, Dr. Mallory went to a pharmacy miles away from where he lives, and had this prescription for chloral hydrate filled. He put the
chloral hydrate in Kat's drink, and when she was unconscious, he butchered her to make it look like an accident."
"You're saying he put the chloral hydrate in her drink and then killed her."
"Yes."
"There's only one problem with that, Dr. Taylor. There was no chloral hydrate in her body."
"There has to be. Your pathologist made a mistake. Ask him to check again."
He was losing his patience. "Doctor ..." "Please! I know I'm right."
'' You 're wasting everybody' s time.''
Paige sat across from him, her eyes fixed on his face. He sighed. "All right. I'll call him again. Maybe he did make a mistake."
Jason picked Paige up for dinner. "We're having dinner at my house," he said. "There's something I want you to see." During the drive there, Paige brought Jason up to date on what was happening.
"They'll find the chloral hydrate in her body," Paige said. "And Ken Mallory will get what's coming to him." "I'm so sorry about all this, Paige."
"I know." She pressed his hand against her cheek. "Thank God for you."
The car pulled up in front of Jason's home.
Paige looked out of the window and she gasped. Around the green lawn in front of the house was a new white picket fence.
She was alone in the dark apartment. Ken Mallory used the key that Kat had given him and moved quietly toward the bedroom. Paige heard his footsteps coming toward her, but before she could move, he had leaped at her, his hands tight around her throat.
"You bitch! You're trying to destroy me. Well, you aren't going to snoop around anymore." He began squeezing harder. "I outsmarted all of you, didn't I?" His fingers squeezed tighter. "No one can ever prove I killed Kat."
She tried to scream, but it was impossible to breathe. She struggled free, and was suddenly awake. She was alone in her
room. Paige sat up in bed, trembling.
She stayed awake the rest of the night, waiting for Inspector Burns's phone call.
It came at 10:00 a.m. "Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes." She was holding her breath.
"I just got the third report from the forensic patholo•gist."
"And?" Her heart was pounding.
"There was no trace of chloral hydrate or any other sedative in Dr. Hunter's body. None."
That was impossible! There had to be. There was no sign of any blow or anything that would have caused her to become unconscious. No bruises on her throat. It didn't make sense. Kat had to have been unconscious when Mallory killed her. The forensic pathologist was wrong.
Paige decided to go talk to him herself.
Dr. Dolan was in an irritable mood. "I don't like to be questioned like this," he said. "I've checked it three times. I told Inspector Burns that there was no trace of chloral hydrate in any of her organs, and there wasn't."
"But . . ."
"Is there anything else, doctor?"
Paige looked at him helplessly. Her last hope was gone.
Ken Mallory was going to get away with murder. "I . . .I guess not. If you didn't find any chemicals in her body, then I don't ..."
"I didn't say I didn't find any chemicals."
She looked at him a moment. "You found some•thing?" "Just a trace of trichloroethylene."
She frowned. "What would that do?"
He shrugged. "Nothing. It's an analgesic drug. It wouldn't put anyone to sleep."
"I see."
"Sorry I can't help you." Paige nodded. "Thank you."
She walked down the long, antiseptic corridor of the morgue, depressed, feeling that she was missing some•thing. She had been so sure Kat had been put to sleep with chloral hydrate.
All he found was a trace of trichloroethylene. It wouldn't put anyone to sleep. But why would trichloro•ethylene be in Kat's body? Kat had not been taking any medications. Paige stopped in the middle of the corri•dor, her mind working furiously.
When Paige arrived at the hospital, she went directly to
the medical library on the fifth floor. It took her less than a minute to find trichloroethylene. The description read: A colorless, clear, volatile liquid with a specific gravity of
1.47 at 59 degrees F. It is a halogenated hydrocarbon, having the chemical formula CCl CCL:CHCl.
And there, on the last line, she found what she was
looking for. When chloral hydrate is metabolized, it produces trichloroethylene as a by-product.
Chapter Thirty-five
Inspector, Dr. Taylor is here to see you."
'Again?" He was tempted to turn her away. . She was
obsessed with the half-baked theory she had. He was going to have to put a stop to it. "Send her in."
When Paige walked into his office, Inspector Burns said, "Look, doctor, I think this has gone far enough. Dr. Dolan called to complain about-"
"I know how Ken Mallory did it!" Her voice was charged
with excitement. "There was trichloroethylene in Kat's body."
He nodded. "Dr. Dolan told me that. But he said it couldn't have made her unconscious. He-"
"Chloral hydrate turns into trichloroethylene!" Paige said triumphantly. "Mallory lied when he said he didn't go back into the apartment with Kat. He put chloral hydrate in her drink. It has no taste when you mix it with alcohol, and it only takes a few minutes for it to work. Then when she was unconscious, he killed her and made it look like a bungled abortion."
"Doctor, if you'll forgive my saying so, that's a hell of a lot of speculation."
"No, it isn't. He wrote the prescription for a pa•tient named Spyros Levathes, but he never gave it to him." "How do you know that?"
"Because he couldn't have. I checked on Spyros Levathes. He has erythropoietic porphyria."
"What's that?"
"It's a genetic metabolic disorder. It causes photosensitivity and lesions, hypertension, tachycardia, and a few other unpleasant symptoms. It's the result of a defective gene."
"I still don't understand."
"Dr. Mallory didn't give his patient chloral hydrate because it would have killed him! Chloral hydrate is
contraindicated for porphyria. It would have caused immediate convulsive seizures."
For the first time, Inspector Burns was impressed. "You've really done your homework, haven't you?"
Paige pressed on. "Why would Ken Mallory go to a remote pharmacy and fill a prescription for a patient he knew he couldn't give it to? You've got to arrest him."
His fingers were drumming on his desk. "It's not that simple."
"You've got to ..."
Inspector Burns raised a hand. "All right. I'll tell you
what I'll do. I'll talk to the district attorney's office and see whether they think we have a case."
Paige knew she had gone as far as she could. "Thank you, inspector."
"I'll get back to you."
After Paige Taylor left, Inspector Burns sat there
thinking about their conversation. There was no hard evidence against Dr. Mallory, only the suspicions of a persistent woman. He reviewed the few facts that he had. Dr. Mallory had been engaged to Kat Hunter. Two days after she died, he was engaged to Alex Harrison's daughter. Interesting, but not against the law.
Mallory had said that he dropped Dr. Hunter off at her
front door and did not go into the apartment. Semen was found in her body, but he had a plausible explana•tion for that.
Then there was the matter of the chloral hydrate. Mallory had written a prescription for a drug that could have killed his patient. Was he guilty of murder? Not guilty?
Burns buzzed his secretary on the intercom. "Bar•bara, get
me an appointment with the district attorney this afternoon."
There were four men in the office when Paige walked in:
the district attorney, his assistant, a man named Warren, and Inspector Burns.
' 'Thank you for stopping by, Dr. Taylor,'' the district attorney said. "Inspector Burns has been telling me of your interest in the death of Dr. Hunter. I can appreciate that. Dr. Hunter was your roommate, and you want to -see justice done."
So they're going to arrest Ken Mallory after all!
"Yes," Paige said. "There's no doubt about it. Dr. Mallory killed her. When you arrest him, he-"
"I'm afraid we can't do that."
Paige looked at him blankly. "What?" "We can't arrest Dr. Mallory."
"But why?"
"We have no case."
"Of course you have!" Paige exclaimed. "The tri-chloroethylene proves that-"
"Doctor, in a court of justice, ignorance of the law is no excuse. But ignorance in medicine is."
"I don't understand."
"It's simple. It means that Dr. Mallory could claim he made a mistake, that he didn't know what effect chloral
hydrate would have on a patient with porphyria. No one could prove he was lying. It might prove that he's a lousy doctor, but it wouldn't prove that he's guilty of murder.''
Paige looked at him in frustration. "You're going to let him get away with this?''
He studied her a moment. "I'll tell you what I'm prepared to do. I've discussed this with Inspector Burns. With your
permission, we're going to send someone to your apartment to pick up the glasses in the bar. If we find any traces of chloral hydrate, we'll take the next step."
"What if he rinsed them out?"
Inspector Burns said dryly, "I don't imagine he took the
time to use a detergent. If he just rinsed out the glasses, we'll find what we're looking for."
* * *
Two hours later, Inspector Burns was on the phone with Paige.
"We did a chemical analysis of all the glasses in the bar, doctor," Burns said.
Paige steeled herself for disappointment.
"We found one with traces of chloral hydrate." Paige closed her eyes in a silent prayer of thanks.
"And there were fingerprints on that glass. We're going to check them against Dr. Mallory's prints."
Paige felt a surge of excitement.
The inspector went on, "When he killed her-if he did kill
her-he was wearing gloves, so his fingerprints wouldn't be on the curette. But he couldn't very well have served her a drink while he wore gloves, and he might not have worn them when he put the glass back on the shelf after rinsing it out."
"No," Paige said. "He couldn't, could he?"
"I have to admit that in the beginning, I didn't believe
your theory was going anywhere. I think now maybe Dr. Mallory could be our man. But proving it is going to be another matter." He continued, "The district at•torney is right. It would be a tricky business to bring Mallory to trial. He can still say that the prescription was for his patient. There's no law against making a medical mistake. I don't see how we-" "Wait a minute!" Paige said excitedly. "I think I know
how!"
Ken Mallory was listening to Lauren on the tele•phone. "Father and I found some office space that you're going to adore, darling! It's a beautiful suite in the 490 Post Building. I'm going to hire a receptionist for you, someone not too pretty."
Mallory laughed. "You don't have to worry about that, baby. There isn't anyone in the world for me but you."
"I'm dying for you to come see it. Can you get away now?" "I'm off in a couple of hours."
"Wonderful! Why don't you pick me up at the house?" "All right. I'll be there." Mallory replaced the
tele•phone. It doesn't get any better than this, he thought. There is a God, and She loves me.
He heard his name called over the PA system: "Dr. Mallory
. . . Room 430 . . . Dr. Mallory . . . Room 430." He sat there daydreaming, thinking about the golden future that lay ahead of him. A beautiful suite in the 490 Post Building, filled with rich old ladies eager to throw their money at him. He heard his name called again. "Dr. Mallory . . . Room 430." He sighed and got to his feet. I'll be out of this goddam madhouse soon, he thought. He headed toward Room 430.
A resident was waiting for him in the corridor, outside
the room. "I'm afraid we have a problem here," he said. "This is one of Dr. Peterson's patients, but Dr. Peterson isn't here. I'm having an argument with one of the other doctors." They stepped inside. There were three people in the room-a man in bed, a male nurse, and a doctor Mal•lory had not met before.
The resident said, "This is Dr. Edwards. We need your advice, Dr. Mallory."
"What's the problem?"
The resident explained. "This patient is suffering from erythropoietic porphyria, and Dr. Edwards insists on giving him a sedative."
"I don't see any problem with that."
"Thank you," Dr. Edwards said. "The man hasn't slept in
forty-eight hours. I've prescribed chloral hydrate for him so he can get some rest and ..."
Mallory was looking at him in astonishment. "Are you out of your mind? That could kill him! He'd have a convulsive seizure, tachycardia, and he'd probably die. Where in hell did you study medicine?"
The man looked at Mallory and said quietly, "I didn't." He flashed a badge. "I'm with the San Fran•cisco Police Department, Homicide." He turned to the man in bed. "Did you get that?"
The man pulled out a tape recorder from under the pillow. "I got it."
Mallory was looking from one to the other, frowning. "I
don't understand. What is this? What's going on?"
The inspector turned to Mallory. "Dr. Mallory, you're under arrest for the murder of Dr. Kate Hunter."
Chapter Thirty-six
The headline in the San Francisco Chronicle read, DOCTOR ARRESTED IN LOVE TRIANGLE MURDER. The story beneath it went on at length to detail the lurid facts of the case.
Mallory read the newspaper in his cell. He slammed it down.
His cellmate said, "Looks like they got you cold, pal." "Don't you believe it," Mallory said confidently. "I've
got connections, and they're going to get me the best goddam lawyer in the world. I'll be out of here in twenty-four hours. All I have to do is make one phone call."
The Harrisons were reading the newspaper at break•fast.
"My God!" Lauren said. "Ken! I can't believe it!" A butler approached the breakfast table. ' 'Excuse me,
Miss Harrison. Dr. Mallory is on the telephone for you. I believe he's calling from jail."
"I'll take it.'' Lauren started to get up from the table. "You'll stay here and finish your breakfast," Alex
Harrison said firmly. He turned to the butler. "We don't know any Dr. Mallory."
Paige read the newspaper as she was getting dressed.
Mallory was going to be punished for the terrible thing he had done, but it gave Paige no satisfaction. Nothing they did to him could ever bring Kat back.
The doorbell rang, and Paige went to open it. A stranger stood there. He was wearing a dark suit and carried a briefcase.
"Dr. Taylor?"
"Yes ..."
"My name is Roderick Pelham. I'm an attorney with Rothman & Rothman. May I come in?"
Paige studied him, puzzled. "Yes."
He entered the apartment.
"What did you want to see me about?"
She watched him open the briefcase and take out some papers.
"You are aware, of course, that you are the principal beneficiary of John Cronin's will?"
Paige looked at him blankly. "What are you talking about? There must be some mistake."
"Oh, there's no mistake. Mr. Cronin has left you the sum of one million dollars."
Paige sank into a chair, overwhelmed, remembering.
You have to go to Europe. Do me a favor. Go to Paris . . . stay at the Crillon, have dinner at Maxim's, order a big, thick steak and a bottle of champagne, and when you eat that steak and drink that champagne, I want you to think of me.
"If you'll just sign here, we'll take care of all the necessary paperwork."
Paige looked up. "I ... I don't know what to say. I ... he had a family."
"According to the terms of his will, they get only the remainder of his estate, not a large amount."
"I can't accept this," Paige told him. Pelham looked at her in surprise. "Why not?"
She had no answer. John Cronin had wanted her to have this money. "I don't know. It. . .it seems unethi•cal, somehow. He was my patient."
"Well, I'll leave the check here with you. You can decide what you want to do with it. Just sign here."
Paige signed the paper in a daze. "Goodbye, doctor."
She watched him leave and sat there thinking of John Cronin.
The news of Paige's inheritance was the talk of the hospital. Somehow, Paige had hoped it could be kept quiet. She still had not made up her mind about what to do with the money. It doesn't belong to me, Paige thought. He has a
family.
Paige was not emotionally ready to go back to work, but her patients had to be taken care of. An operation was scheduled for that morning. Arthur Kane was wait•ing for Paige in the corridor. They had not spoken to each other since the incident of the reversed X-rays.
Although Paige had no proof it was Kane, the tire-slashing episode had scared her.
"Hello, Paige. Let's let bygones be bygones. What do you say?"
Paige shrugged. "Fine."
"Wasn't that a terrible thing about Ken Mallory?" he asked.
"Yes," Paige said.
Kane was looking at her slyly. "Can you imagine a doctor deliberately killing a human being? It's horrible, isn't it?" "Yes."
"By the way," he said, "congratulations. I hear that you're a millionairess."
"I can't see ... "
"I have tickets for the theater tonight, Paige. I thought that the two of us could go."
"Thanks," Paige said. "I'm engaged to someone." "Then I suggest you get unengaged."
She looked at him, surprised. "I beg your pardon?"
Kane moved closer to her. "I ordered an autopsy on John Cronin."
Paige found her heart beginning to beat faster. "Yes?" "He didn't die of heart failure. Someone gave him an
overdose of insulin. I guess that particular someone never figured on an autopsy."
Paige's mouth was suddenly dry.
"You were with him when he died, weren't you?" She hesitated. "Yes."
"I'm the only one who knows that, and I'm the only one who has the report." He patted her arm.
"And my lips are sealed. Now, about those tickets tonight ..."
Paige pulled away from him. "No!" "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" She took a deep breath. "Yes. Now, if you'll excuse
me ..." And she walked away. Kane looked after her, and
his face hardened. He turned and headed toward Dr. Benjamin Wallace's office.
The telephone awakened her at 1:00 a.m. at her apart•ment.
"You have been a naughty girl again." It was the same raspy voice disguised in a breathy whisper, but this time
Paige recognized it. My God, she thought, I was right to be scared.
The following morning, when Paige arrived at the hospital, two men were waiting for her.
"Dr. Paige Taylor?" "Yes."
"You'll have to come with us. You're under arrest for the murder of John Cronin."
Chapter Thirty-seven
It was the final day of the trial. Alan Penn, the defense attorney, was making his summation to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard a lot of testimony about Dr.
Taylor's competence or incompe•tence. Well, Judge Young will instruct you that that's not what this trial is about. I'm sure that for every doctor who did not approve of her work, we could produce a dozen doctors who did. But that is not the issue.
"Paige Taylor is on trial for the death of John Cronin.
She has admitted helping him die. She did so because he was in great pain, and he asked her to do so. That is euthanasia, and it's being accepted more and more throughout the world.
In the past year, the California Supreme Court has upheld the right of a mentally com•petent adult to refuse or demand the withdrawal of medi•cal treatment of any form. It is the individual who must live or die with the course of treatment chosen or re•jected."
He looked into the faces of the jurors. "Euthanasia is a crime of compassion, of mercy, and I daresay it takes place in some form or another in hospitals all over the world. The prosecuting attorney is asking for a death sentence. Don't let him confuse the issue. There has never been a death sentence for euthanasia. Sixty-three percent of Americans believe euthanasia should be le•gal, and in eighteen states in this country, it is legal. The question is, do we have the right to compel helpless patients to live in pain, to force them to stay alive and suffer? The question has become complicated because of the great strides we've made in medical technology. We've turned the care of patients over to machines. Machines have no mercy. If a horse breaks a leg, we put it out of its misery by shooting it. With a human being, we condemn him or her to a half life that is hell.
"Dr. Taylor didn't decide when John Cronin would die. John Cronin decided. Make no mistake about it, what Dr. Taylor did was an act of mercy. She has taken full responsibility for that. But you can rest assured that she knew nothing about the money that was left to her. What she did, she did in a spirit of compassion. John Cronin was a man with a failing heart and an untreatable, fatal cancer that had spread through his body, causing him agony. Just ask yourself one question. Un•der those circumstances, would you like to go on living? Thank you." He turned, walked back to the table, and sat next to Paige.
Gus Venable rose and stood before the jury. "Com•passion? Mercy?" He looked over at Paige, shook his head, then turned back to the jury. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have been practicing law in courtrooms for more than twenty years, and I must tell you that in all those years, I have
never-never-seen a more clear-cut case of coldblooded, deliberate murder for profit."
Paige was hanging on every word, tense and pale.
"The defense talked about euthanasia. Did Dr. Tay•lor do what she did out of a feeling of compassion? I don't think so. Dr. Taylor and others have testified that Mr. Cronin had only a few more days to live. Why didn't she let him live those few days? Perhaps it was because Dr. Taylor was afraid
Mrs. Cronin might learn about her husband changing his will, and put a stop to it.
"It's a most remarkable coincidence that immediately after Mr. Cronin changed his will and left Dr. Taylor the sum of one million dollars, she gave him an overdose of insulin and murdered him.
"Again and again, the defendant has convicted her•self
with her own words. She said that she was on friendly terms with John Cronin, that he liked and re•spected her. But you have heard witnesses testify that he hated Dr. Paige Taylor, that he called her 'that bitch,' and told her to keep her fucking hands off him."
Gus Venable glanced at the defendant again. There was a
look of despair on Paige's face. He turned back to the jury. "An attorney has testified that Dr. Taylor said, about the million dollars that was left to her, 'It's unethical. He was my patient.' But she grabbed the money. She needed it. She had a drawer full of travel brochures at home-Paris, London, the Riviera. And bear in mind that she didn't go to the travel agency after she got the money. Oh, no. She planned those trips earlier. All she needed was the money and the opportu•nity, and John Cronin supplied both. A helpless, dying man she could control. She had at her mercy a man who she admitted was in enormous pain-agony, in fact, according to her own admission. When you're in that kind of pain, you can imagine how difficult it must be to think clearly. We don't know how Dr. Taylor persuaded John Cronin to change his will, to cut out the family he loved and to make her his main benefi•ciary. What we do know is that he summoned her to his bedside on that fatal night. What did they talk about? Could he have offered her a million dollars to put him out of his misery? It's a possibility we must face. In either case, it was cold-blooded murder.
"Ladies and gentlemen, during this trial, do you know who was the most damaging witness of all?" He pointed a dramatic finger at Paige. "The defendant herself! We've heard
testimony that she gave an illegal blood transfusion and then falsified the record. She has not denied that fact. She said that she never killed a patient except John Cronin, but we've heard testimony that Dr. Barker, a physician respected by
everybody, accused her of killing his patient.
"Unfortunately, ladies and gentlemen, Lawrence Barker suffered a stroke and can't be here with us today to testify against the defendant. But let me remind you of Dr. Barker's opinion of the defendant. This is Dr. Peterson, testifying about a patient Dr. Taylor was op•erating on."
He read from the transcript.
"Dr. Barker came into the operating room during the operation?'
"Yes.'
"And did Dr. Barker say anything?'
"Answer: 'He turned to Dr. Taylor and said, "You killed him.'"
"This is from Nurse Berry. 'Tell me some specific things you heard Dr. Barker say to Dr. Taylor.'
"Answer: 'He said she was incompetent. . . Another time he said he wouldn't let her operate on his dog.' "
Gus Venable looked up. "Either there is some kind of conspiracy going on, where all these reputable doctors and nurses are lying about the defendant, or Dr. Taylor is a liar. Not just a liar, but a pathologi•cal ..."
The rear door of the courtroom had opened and an aide
hurried in. He paused in the doorway a moment, trying to make a decision. Then he moved down the aisle toward Gus Venable.
"Sir ..."
Gus Venable turned, furious. "Can't you see I'm. . .?" The aide whispered in his ear.
Gus Venable looked at him, stunned. "What! That's wonderful!"
Judge Young leaned forward, her voice ominously quiet. "Forgive me for interrupting you two, but what exactly do you think you're doing?"
Gus Venable turned to the judge excitedly. "Your honor, I've just been informed that Dr. Lawrence Barker is outside this courtroom. He's in a wheelchair, but he's able to testify. I'd like to call him to the stand."
There was a loud buzz in the courtroom.
Alan Penn was on his feet. "Objection!" he yelled. "The prosecuting attorney is in the middle of his summation. There's no precedent for calling a new witness at this late hour. I-"
Judge Young slammed her gavel down. "Would counsel please approach the bench."
Penn and Venable moved up to the bench.
"This is highly irregular, your honor. I object ..." Judge Young said, "You're right about its being ir•regular, Mr. Penn, but you're wrong about its being without precedent. I can cite a dozen cases around the country where material witnesses were allowed to testify under special circumstances. In fact, if you're so
inter•ested in precedent, you might look up a case that took place in this courtroom five years ago. I happened to be the judge."
Alan Penn swallowed. "Does this mean you're going to allow him to testify?"
Judge Young was thoughtful. "Since Dr. Barker is a
material witness to this case, and was physically un•able to testify earlier, in the interest of justice, I'm going to rule that he be allowed to take the stand."
"Exception! There is no proof that the witness is
competent to testify. I demand a battery of psychia•trists-" "Mr. Penn, in this courtroom, we don't demand. We
request." She turned to Gus Venable. "You may bring in your witness."
Alan Penn stood there, deflated. It's all over, he thought. Our case is down the drain.
Gus Venable turned to his aide. "Bring Dr. Barker in."
The door opened slowly, and Dr. Lawrence Barker entered
the courtroom. He was in a wheelchair. His head was tilted, and one side of his face was drawn up in a slight rictus.
Everyone watched the pale and fragile figure being wheeled to the front of the courtroom. As he moved past Paige, he looked over at her.
There was no friendliness in his eyes, and Paige
re•membered his last words: Who the hell do you think you . .
.?
When Lawrence Barker was in front of the bench, Judge Young leaned forward and said gently, "Dr. Barker, are you able to testify here today?"
When Barker spoke, his words were slurred. "I am, your honor.''
"Are you fully aware of what is going on in this courtroom?"
"Yes, your honor." He looked over to where Paige was seated. "That woman is being tried for the murder of a patient."
Paige winced. That woman
Judge Young made her decision. She turned to the bailiff. "Would you swear the witness in, please?"
When Dr. Barker had been sworn in, Judge Young said, "You may stay in the chair, Dr. Barker. The prosecutor will proceed, and I will allow the defense to cross-examine."
Gus Venable smiled. "Thank you, your honor." He strolled
over to the wheelchair. "We won't keep you very long, doctor, and the court deeply appreciates your coming in to testify under these trying circumstances. Are you familiar with any of the testimony that has been given here over the past month?"
Dr. Barker nodded. "I've been following it on television and in the newspapers, and it made me sick to my stomach." Paige buried her head in her hands.
It was all Gus Venable could do to hide his feeling of triumph. "I'm sure a lot of us feel the same way, doctor," the prosecutor said piously.
"I came here because I want to see justice done." Venable smiled. "Exactly. So do we."
Lawrence Barker took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was filled with outrage. "Then how the hell could you bring Dr. Taylor to trial?"
Venable thought he had misunderstood him. "I beg your pardon?"
"This trial is a farce!"
Paige and Alan Penn exchanged a stunned look.
Gus Venable turned pale. "Dr. Barker ..."
"Don't interrupt me," Barker snapped. "You've used the testimony of a lot of biased, jealous people to attack a brilliant surgeon. She-"
"Just a minute!" Venable was beginning to panic. "Isn't it true that you criticized Dr. Taylor's ability so severely that she was finally ready to quit Embarcadero Hospital?" "Yes."
Gus Venable was starting to feel better. "Well, then," he said patronizingly, "How can you say that Paige Taylor is a brilliant doctor?"
"Because it happens to be the truth." Barker turned to
look at Paige, and when he spoke again, he was talking to her as though they were the only two people in the courtroom: "Some people are born to be doctors. You were one of those rare ones. I knew from the beginning how capable you were. I was hard on you- maybe too hard-because you were good. I was tough on you because I wanted you to be tougher on yourself. I wanted you to be perfect, because in our profession, there's no room for error. None."
Paige was staring at him, mesmerized, her mind spin•ning. It was all happening too fast.
The courtroom was hushed.
"I wasn't about to let you quit."
Gus Venable could feel his victory slipping away. His
prize witness had become his worst nightmare. "Dr. Barker-it has been testified that you accused Dr. Tay•lor of killing your patient Lance Kelly. How . . . ?"
"I told her that because she was the surgeon in charge. It was her ultimate responsibility. In fact, the anesthetist caused Mr. Kelly's death."
By now the court was in an uproar. Paige sat there, stunned.
Dr. Barker went on speaking slowly, with an effort. "And as for John Cronin leaving her that money, Dr. Taylor knew
nothing about it. I talked to Mr. Cronin myself. He told me that he was going to leave Dr. Taylor that money because he hated his family, and he said he was going to ask Dr. Taylor to release him from his misery. I agreed."
There was an uproar from the spectators. Gus Ven•able was standing there, a look of total bewilderment on his face.
Alan Penn leaped to his feet. "Your honor, I move for a dismissal!"
Judge Young was slamming her gavel down.
"Quiet!" she yelled. She looked at the two attorneys. "Into my chambers."
Judge Young, Alan Penn, and Gus Venable were seated in Judge Young's chambers.
Gus Venable was in a state of shock. "I . . .I don't know what to say. He's obviously a sick man, your honor. He's confused. I want a battery of psychiatrists to examine him and-"
"You can't have it both ways, Gus. It looks like your case just went up in smoke. Let's save you any further embarrassment, shall we? I'm going to grant a dismissal on the murder charge. Any objection?"
There was a long silence. Finally, Venable nodded. "I guess not."
Judge Young said, "Good decision. I'm going to give you
some advice. Never, never call a witness unless you know what he's going to say."
The court was in session again. Judge Young said, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your time and your patience. The court is going to grant a dismissal on all charges. The defendant is free."
Paige turned to blow Jason a kiss, then hurried over to where Dr. Barker was seated. She slid down to her knees and hugged him.
"I don't know how to thank you," she whispered.
"You never should have gotten into this mess in the first place," he growled. "Damned fool thing to do. Let's get out of here and go somewhere where we can talk."
Judge Young heard. She stood up and said, "You may use my chambers if you like. That's the least we can do for you."
Paige, Jason, and Dr. Barker were in the judge's chambers, alone.
Dr. Barker said, "Sorry they wouldn't let me come here to help you sooner. You know what goddam doc•tors are like."
Paige was near tears. "I can't tell you how much I ..." "Then don't!" he said gruffly.
Paige was studying him, suddenly remembering something. "When did you speak to John Cronin?"
"What?"
"You heard me. When did you speak to John Cro•nin?" "When?"
She said slowly, "You never even met John Cronin. You didn't know him."
There was the trace of a smile on Barker's lips. "No. But I know you."
Paige leaned over and threw her arms around him.
"Don't get sloppy," he growled. He looked over at Jason. "She gets sloppy sometimes. You'd better take good care of her, or you'll have to answer to me."
Jason said. "Don't worry, sir. I will."
Paige and Jason were married the following day. Dr. Barker was their best man.
👁 :
ONE
MY RESCUE OPERATION GOES VERY WRONG
The Friday before winter break, my mom packed me an overnight bag and a few deadly weapons and took me to a new boarding school. We picked up my friends Annabeth and Thalia on the way.
It was an eight-hour drive from New York to Bar Harbor, Maine. Sleet and snow pounded the highway. Annabeth, Thalia, and I hadn't seen each other in months, but between the blizzard and the thought of what we were about to do, we were too nervous to talk much. Except for my mom. She talks more when she's nervous. By the time we finally got to Westover Hall, it was getting dark, and she'd told Annabeth and Thalia every embarrassing baby story there was to tell about me.
Thalia wiped the fog off the car window and peered outside. "Oh, yeah. This'll be fun."
Westover Hall looked like an evil knight's castle. It was all black stone, with towers and slit windows and a big set of wooden double doors. It stood on a snowy cliff overlooking this big frosty forest on one side and the gray churning ocean on the other.
"Are you sure you don't want me to wait?" my mother asked.
"No, thanks, Mom," I said. "I don't know how long it will take. We'll be okay." "But how will you get back? I'm worried, Percy."
I hoped I wasn't blushing. It was bad enough I had to depend on my mom to drive me to my battles.
"It's okay, Ms. Jackson." Annabeth smiled reassuringly. Her blond hair was tucked into a ski cap and her gray eyes were the same color as the ocean. "We'll keep him out of trouble."
My mom seemed to relax a little. She thinks Annabeth is the most levelheaded demigod ever to hit eighth grade. She's sure Annabeth often keeps me from getting killed. She's right, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
"All right, dears," my mom said. "Do you have everything you need?" "Yes, Ms. Jackson," Thalia said. "Thanks for the ride."
"Extra sweaters? You have my cell phone number?" "Mom—"
"Your ambrosia and nectar, Percy? And a golden drachma in case you need to contact camp?"
"Mom, seriously! We'll be fine. Come on, guys."
She looked a little hurt, and I was sorry about that, but I was ready to be out of that car. If my mom told one more story about how cute I looked in the bathtub when I was three years old, I was going to burrow into the snow and freeze myself to death.
Annabeth and Thalia followed me outside. The wind blew straight through my coat like ice daggers.
Once my mother's car was out of sight, Thalia said, "Your mom is so cool, Percy." "She's pretty okay," I admitted. "What about you? You ever get in touch with your
mom?"
As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn't. Thalia was great at giving evil looks, what with the punk clothes she always wears—the ripped-up army jacket, black leather pants and chain jewelry, the black eyeliner and those intense blue eyes. But the look she gave me now was a perfect evil "ten."
"If that was any of your business, Percy—"
"We'd better get inside," Annabeth interrupted. "Grover will be waiting."
Thalia looked at the castle and shivered. "You're right. I wonder what he found here that made him send the distress call."
I stared up at the dark towers of Westover Hall. "Nothing good," I guessed.
The oak doors groaned open, and the three of us stepped into the entry hall in a swirl of
snow.
All I could say was, "Whoa."
The place was huge. The walls were lined with battle flags and weapon displays: antique rifles, battle axes, and a bunch of other stuff. I mean, I knew Westover was a military school and all, but the decorations seemed like overkill. Literally.
My hand went to my pocket, where I kept my lethal ballpoint pen, Riptide. I could already sense something wrong in this place. Something dangerous. Thalia was rubbing her silver bracelet, her favorite magic item. I knew we were thinking the same thing. A fight was coming.
Annabeth started to say, "I wonder where—" The doors slammed shut behind us.
"Oo-kay," I mumbled. "Guess we'll stay awhile."
I could hear music echoing from the other end of the hall. It sounded like dance music.
We stashed our overnight bags behind a pillar and started down the hall. We hadn't gone very far when I heard footsteps on the stone floor, and a man and woman marched out of the shadows to intercept us.
They both had short gray hair and black military-style uniforms with red trim. The woman had a wispy mustache, and the guy was clean-shaven, which seemed kind of backward to me. They both walked stiffly, like they had broomsticks taped to their spines.
"Well?" the woman demanded. "What are you doing here?"
"Um…" I realized I hadn't planned for this. I'd been so focused on getting to Grover and finding out what was wrong, I hadn't considered that someone might question three kids sneaking into the school at night. We hadn't talked at all in the car about how we would get inside. I said, "Ma'am, we're just—"
"Ha!" the man snapped, which made me jump. "Visitors are not allowed at the dance!
You shall be eee-jected!"
He had an accent—French, maybe. He pronounced his J like in Jacques, He was tall, with a hawkish face. His nostrils flared when he spoke, which made it really hard not to stare up his nose, and his eyes were two different colors—one brown, one blue—like an alley cat's.
I figured he was about to toss us into the snow, but then Thalia stepped forward and did something very weird.
She snapped her fingers. The sound was sharp and loud. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I felt a gust of wind ripple out from her hand, across the room. It washed over all of us, making the banners rustle on the walls.
"Oh, but we're not visitors, sir," Thalia said. "We go to school here. You remember: I'm Thalia. And this is Annabeth and Percy. We're in the eighth grade."
The male teacher narrowed his two-colored eyes. I didn't know what Thalia was thinking. Now we'd probably get punished for lying and thrown into the snow. But the man seemed to be hesitating.
He looked at his colleague. "Ms. Gottschalk, do you know these students?"
Despite the danger we were in, I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. A teacher named Got Chalk? He had to be kidding.
The woman blinked, like someone had just woken her up from a trance. "I… yes. I believe I do, sir." She frowned at us. "Annabeth. Thalia. Percy. What are you doing away from the gymnasium?"
Before we could answer, I heard more footsteps, and Grover ran up, breathless. "You made it! You—"
He stopped short when he saw the teachers. "Oh, Mrs. Gottschalk. Dr. Thorn! I, uh—"
"What is it, Mr. Underwood?" said the man. His tone made it clear that he detested Grover. "What do you mean, they made it? These students live here."
Grover swallowed. "Yes, sir. Of course, Dr. Thorn. I just meant, I'm so glad they made… the punch for the dance! The punch is great. And they made it!"
Dr. Thorn glared at us. I decided one of his eyes had to be fake. The brown one? The blue one? He looked like he wanted to pitch us off the castle's highest tower, but then Mrs. Gottschalk said dreamily, "Yes, the punch is excellent. Now run along, all of you. You are not to leave the gymnasium again!"
We didn't wait to be told twice. We left with a lot of "Yes, ma'ams" and "Yes, sirs" and a couple of salutes, just because it seemed like the thing to do.
Grover hustled us down the hall in the direction of the music.
I could feel the teachers' eyes on my back, but I walked closely to Thalia and asked in a low voice, "How did you do that finger-snap thing?"
"You mean the Mist? Hasn't Chiron shown you how to do that yet?"
An uncomfortable lump formed in my throat. Chiron was our head trainer at camp, but he'd never shown me anything like that. Why had he shown Thalia and not me?
Grover hurried us to a door that had GYM written on the glass. Even with my dyslexia, I could read that much.
"That was close!" Grover said. "Thank the gods you got here!" Annabeth and Thalia both hugged Grover. I gave him a big high five.
It was good to see him after so many months. He'd gotten a little taller and had sprouted a few more whiskers, but otherwise he looked like he always did when he passed for human— a red cap on his curly brown hair to hide his goat horns, baggy jeans and sneakers with fake feet to hide his furry legs and hooves. He was wearing a black T-shirt that took me a few seconds to read. It said WESTOVER HALL: GRUNT. I wasn't sure whether that was, like, Grover's rank or maybe just the school motto.
"So what's the emergency?" I asked. Grover took a deep breath. "I found two."
"Two half-bloods?" Thalia asked, amazed. "Here?" Grover nodded.
Finding one half-blood was rare enough. This year, Chiron had put the satyrs on emergency overtime and sent them all over the country, scouring schools from fourth grade
through high school for possible recruits. These were desperate times. We were losing campers. We needed all the new fighters we could find. The problem was, there just weren't that many demigods out there.
"A brother and a sister," he said. "They're ten and twelve. I don't know their parentage, but they're strong. We're running out of time, though. I need help."
"Monsters?"
One." Grover looked nervous. "He suspects. I don't think he's positive yet, but this is the last day of term. I'm sure he won't let them leave campus without finding out. It may be our last chance! Every time I try to get close to them, he's always there, blocking me. I don't know what to do!"
Grover looked at Thalia desperately. I tried not to feel upset by that. Used to be, Grover looked to me for answers, but Thalia had seniority. Not just because her dad was Zeus. Thalia had more experience than any of us with fending off monsters in the real world.
"Right," she said. "These half-bloods are at the dance?" Grover nodded.
"Then let's dance," Thalia said. "Who's the monster?"
"Oh," Grover said, and looked around nervously. "You just met him. The vice principal, Dr. Thorn."
Weird thing about military schools: the kids go absolutely nuts when there's a special event and they get to be out of uniform. I guess it's because everything's so strict the rest of the time, they feel like they've got to overcompensate or something.
There were black and red balloons all over the gym floor, and guys were kicking them in each others faces, or trying to strangle each other with the crepe-paper streamers taped to the walls. Girls moved around in football huddles, the way they always do, wearing lots of makeup and spaghetti-strap tops and brightly colored pants and shoes that looked like torture devices. Every once in a while they'd surround some poor guy like a pack of piranhas, shrieking and giggling, and when they finally moved on, the guy would have ribbons in his hair and a bunch of lipstick graffiti all over his face. Some of the older guys looked more like me—uncomfortable, hanging out at the edges of the gym and trying to hide, like any minute they might have to fight for their lives. Of course, in my case, it was true…
"There they are." Grover nodded toward a couple of younger kids arguing in the bleachers. "Bianca and Nico di Angela"
The girl wore a floppy green cap, like she was trying to hide her face. The boy was obviously her little brother. They both had dark silky hair and olive skin, and they used their hands a lot as they talked. The boy was shuffling some kind of trading cards. His sister
seemed to be scolding him about something. She kept looking around like she sensed something was wrong.
Annabeth said, "Do they… I mean, have you told them?"
Grover shook his head. "You know how it is. That could put them in more danger. Once they realize who they are, their scent becomes stronger."
He looked at me, and I nodded. I'd never really understood what half-bloods "smell" like to monsters and satyrs, but I knew that your scent could get you killed. And the more powerful a demigod you became, the more you smelled like a monster's lunch.
"So let's grab them and get out of here," I said.
I started forward, but Thalia put her hand on my shoulder. The vice principal, Dr. Thorn, had slipped out of a doorway near the bleachers and was standing near the di Angelo siblings. He nodded coldly in our direction. His blue eye seemed to glow.
Judging from his expression, I guessed Thorn hadn't been fooled by Thalia's trick with the Mist after all. He suspected who we were. He was just waiting to see why we were here.
"Don't look at the kids," Thalia ordered. "We have to wait for a chance to get them. We need to pretend we're not interested in them. Throw him off the scent."
"How?"
"We're three powerful half-bloods. Our presence should confuse him. Mingle. Act natural. Do some dancing. But keep an eye on those kids."
"Dancing?" Annabeth asked.
Thalia nodded. She cocked her ear to the music and made a face. "Ugh. Who chose the Jesse McCartney?"
Grover looked hurt. "I did."
"Oh my gods, Grover. That is so lame. Can't you play, like, Green Day or something?" "Green who?"
"Never mind. Let's dance." "But I can't dance!"
"You can if I'm leading," Thalia said. "Come on, goat boy."
Grover yelped as Thalia grabbed his hand and led him onto the dance floor. Annabeth smiled.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. It's just cool to have Thalia back."
Annabeth had grown taller than me since last summer, which I found kind of disturbing. She used to wear no jewelry except for her Camp Half-Blood bead necklace, but now she wore little silver earrings shaped like owls—the symbol of her mother, Athena. She pulled off her ski cap, and her long blond hair tumbled down her shoulders. It made her look older, for some reason.
"So…" I tried to think of something to say. Act natural, Thalia had told us. When you're a half-blood on a dangerous mission, what the heck is natural? "Um, design any good buildings lately?"
Annabeth's eyes lit up, the way they always did when she talked about architecture. "Oh my gods, Percy. At my new school, I get to take 3-D design as an elective, and there's this cool computer program…"
She went on to explain how she'd designed this huge monument that she wanted to build at Ground Zero in Manhattan. She talked about structural supports and facades and stuff, and I tried to listen. I knew she wanted to be a super architect when she grew up—she loves math and historical buildings and all that—but I hardly understood a word she was saying.
The truth was I was kind of disappointed to hear that she liked her new school so much. It was the first time she'd gone to school in New York. I'd been hoping to see her more often. It was a boarding school in Brooklyn, and she and Thalia were both attending, close enough to Camp Half-Blood that Chiron could help if they got in any trouble. Because it was an all- girls school, and I was going to MS-54 in Manhattan, I hardly ever saw them.
Yeah, uh, cool," I said. "So you're staying there the rest of the year, huh?" Her face got dark. "Well, maybe, if I don't—"
"Hey!" Thalia called to us. She was slow dancing with Grover, who was tripping all over himself, kicking Thalia in the shins, and looking like he wanted to die. At least his feet were fake. Unlike me, he had an excuse for being clumsy.
"Dance, you guys!" Thalia ordered. "You look stupid just standing there."
I looked nervously at Annabeth, then at the groups of girls who were roaming the gym. "Well?" Annabeth said.
"Um, who should I ask?"
She punched me in the gut. "Me, Seaweed Brain." "Oh. Oh, right."
So we went onto the dance floor, and I looked over to see how Thalia and Grover were doing things. I put one hand on Annabeth's hip, and she clasped my other hand like she was about to judo throw me.
"I'm not going to bite," she told me. "Honestly, Percy. Don't you guys have dances at your school?"
I didn't answer. The truth was we did. But I'd never, like, actually danced at one. I was usually one of the guys playing basketball in the corner.
We shuffled around for a few minutes. I tried to concentrate on little things, like the crepe-paper streamers and the punch bowl—anything but the fact that Annabeth was taller than me, and my hands were sweaty and probably gross, and I kept stepping on her toes.
"What were you saying earlier?" I asked. "Are you having trouble at school or something?"
She pursed her lips. "It's not that. It's my dad."
"Uh-oh." I knew Annabeth had a rocky relationship with her father. "I thought it was getting better with you two. Is it your stepmom again?"
Annabeth sighed. "He decided to move. Just when I was getting settled in New York, he took this stupid new job researching for a World War I book. In San Francisco!'
She said this the same way she might say Fields of Punishment or Hades's gym shorts. "So he wants you to move out there with him?" I asked.
"To the other side of the country," she said miserably. "And half-bloods can't live in San Francisco. He should know that."
"What? Why not?"
Annabeth rolled her eyes. Maybe she thought I was kidding. "You know. It's right
there!'
"Oh," I said. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I didn't want to sound stupid. "So… you'll go back to living at camp or what?"
"It's more serious than that, Percy. I… I probably should tell you something." Suddenly she froze. "They're gone."
"What?"
I followed her gaze. The bleachers. The two half-blood kids, Bianca and Nico, were no longer there. The door next to the bleachers was wide open. Dr. Thorn was nowhere in sight.
"We have to get Thalia and Grover!" Annabeth looked around frantically. "Oh, where'd they dance off to? Come on!"
She ran through the crowd. I was about to follow when a mob of girls got in my way. I maneuvered around them to avoid getting the ribbon-and-lipstick treatment, and by the time I was free, Annabeth had disappeared. I turned a full circle, looking for her or Thalia and Grover. Instead, I saw something that chilled my blood.
About fifty feet away, lying on the gym floor, was a floppy green cap just like the one Bianca di Angelo had been wearing. Near it were a few scattered trading cards. Then I caught a glimpse of Dr. Thorn. He was hurrying out a door at the opposite end of the gym, steering the di Angelo kids by the scruffs of their necks, like kittens.
I still couldn't see Annabeth, but I knew she'd be heading the other way, looking for Thalia and Grover.
I almost ran after her, and then I thought, Wait.
I remembered what Thalia had said to me in the entry hall, looking at me all puzzled when I asked about the finger-snap trick: Hasn't Chiron shown you how to do that yet? I thought about the way Grover had turned to her, expecting her to save the day.
Not that I resented Thalia. She was cool. It wasn't her fault her dad was Zeus and she got all the attention… Still, I didn't need to run after her to solve every problem. Besides, there wasn't time. The di Angelos were in danger. They might be long gone by the time I found my friends. I knew monsters. I could handle this myself
I took Riptide out of my pocket and ran after Dr. Thorn.
The door led into a dark hallway. I heard sounds of scuffling up ahead, then a painful grunt. I uncapped Riptide.
The pen grew in my hands until I held a bronze Greek sword about three feet long with a leather-bound grip. The blade glowed faintly, casting a golden light on the rows of lockers.
I jogged down the corridor, but when I got to the other end, no one was there. I opened a door and found myself back in the main entry hall. I was completely turned around. I didn't see Dr. Thorn anywhere, but there on the opposite side of the room were the di Angelo kids. They stood frozen in horror, staring right at me.
I advanced slowly, lowering the tip of my sword. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."
They didn't answer. Their eyes were full of fear. What was wrong with them? Where was Dr. Thorn? Maybe he'd sensed the presence of Riptide and retreated. Monsters hated celestial bronze weapons.
"My name's Percy," I said, trying to keep my voice level. "I'm going to take you out of here, get you somewhere safe."
Bianca's eyes widened. Her fists clenched. Only too late did I realize what her look meant. She wasn't afraid of me. She was trying to warn me.
I whirled around and something went WHI1ISH! Pain exploded in my shoulder. A force like a huge hand yanked me backward and slammed me to the wall.
I slashed with my sword but there was nothing to hit. A cold laugh echoed through the hall.
"Yes, Perseus Jackson" Dr. Thorn said. His accent mangled the J in my last name. "I know who you are."
I tried to free my shoulder. My coat and shirt were pinned to the wall by some kind of spike—a black dagger-like projectile about a foot long. It had grazed the skin of my shoulder as it passed through my clothes, and the cut burned. I'd felt something like this before. Poison.
I forced myself to concentrate. I would not pass out.
A dark silhouette now moved toward us. Dr. Thorn stepped into the dim light. He still looked human, but his face was ghoulish. He had perfect white teeth and his brown/blue eyes reflected the light of my sword.
"Thank you for coming out of the gym," he said. "I hate middle school dances." I tried to swing my sword again, but he was just out of reach.
WHIIIISH! A second projectile shot from somewhere behind Dr. Thorn. He didn't appear to move. It was as if someone invisible were standing behind him, throwing knives.
Next to me, Bianca yelped. The second thorn impaled itself in the stone wall, half an inch from her face.
"All three of you will come with me," Dr. Thorn said. "Quietly. Obediently. If you make a single noise, if you call out for help or try to fight, I will show you just how accurately I can throw."
TWO
THE VICE PRINCIPAL GETS A MISSILE LAUNCHER
I didn't know what kind of monster Dr. Thorn was, but he was fast.
Maybe I could defend myself if I could get my shield activated. All that it would take was a touch of my wrist-watch. But defending the di Angelo kids was another matter. I needed help, and there was only one way I could think to get it.
I closed my eyes.
"What are you doing, Jackson?" hissed Dr. Thorn. "Keep moving!"
I opened my eyes and kept shuffling forward. "It's my shoulder," I lied, trying to sound miserable, which wasn't hard. "It burns."
"Bah! My poison causes pain. It will not kill you. Walk!"
Thorn herded us outside, and I tried to concentrate. I pictured Grover's face. I focused on my feelings of fear and danger. Last summer, Grover had created an empathy link between us. He'd sent me visions in my dreams to let me know when he was in trouble. As far as I knew, we were still linked, but I'd never tried to contact Grover before. I didn't even know if it would work while Grover was awake.
Hey, Grover! I thought. Thorn's kidnapping us! He's a poisonous spike-throwing maniac! Help!
Thorn inarched us into the woods. We took a snowy path dimly lit by old-fashioned lamplights. My shoulder ached. The wind blowing through my ripped clothes was so cold that I felt like a Percysicle.
"There is a clearing ahead," Thorn said. "We will summon your ride." "What ride?" Bianca demanded. "Where are you taking us?" "Silence, you insufferable girl!"
"Don't talk to my sister that way.'" Nico said. His voice quivered, but I was impressed that he had the guts to say anything at all.
Dr. Thorn made a growling sound that definitely wasn't human. It made the hairs stand up on the back of my neck, but I forced myself to keep walking and pretend I was being a good little captive. Meanwhile, I projected my thoughts like crazy—anything to get Grover's attention: Grover! Apples! Tin cans! Get your furry goat behind out here and bring some heavily armed friends!
"Halt," Thorn said.
The woods had opened up. We'd reached a cliff overlooking the sea. At least, I sensed the sea was down there, hundreds of feet below. I could hear the waves churning and I could smell the cold salty froth. But all I could see was mist and darkness.
Dr. Thorn pushed us toward the edge. I stumbled, and Bianca caught me. "Thanks," I murmured.
"What is he?" she whispered. "How do we fight him?" "I… I'm working on it."
"I'm scared," Nico mumbled. He was fiddling with something—a little metal toy soldier of some kind.
"Stop talking!" Dr. Thorn said. "Face me!" We turned.
Thorn's two-tone eyes glittered hungrily. He pulled something from under his coat. At first I thought it was a switchblade, but it was only a phone. He pressed the side button and said, "The package—it is ready to deliver."
There was a garbled reply, and I realized Thorn was in walkie-talkie mode. This seemed way too modern and creepy—a monster using a mobile phone.
I glanced behind me, wondering how far the drop was.
Dr. Thorn laughed. "By all means, Son of Poseidon. Jump!There is the sea. Save yourself."
"What did he call you?" Bianca muttered. "I'll explain later," I said.
"You do have a plan, right?"
Grover! I thought desperately. Come to me!
Maybe I could get both the di Angelos to jump with me into the ocean. If we survived the fall, I could use the water to protect us. I'd done things like that before. If my dad was in a good mood, and listening, he might help. Maybe.
"I would kill you before you ever reached the water," Dr. Thorn said, as if reading my thoughts. "You do not realize who I am, do you?"
A flicker of movement behind him, and another missile whistled so close to me that it nicked my ear. Something had sprung up behind Dr. Thorn—like a catapult, but more flexible… almost like a tail.
"Unfortunately," Thorn said, "you are wanted alive, if possible. Otherwise you would already be dead."
"Who wants us?" Bianca demanded. "Because if you think you'll get a ransom, you're wrong. We don't have any family. Nico and I…" Her voice broke a little. "We've got no one but each other."
"Aww," Dr. Thorn said. "Do not worry, little brats. You will be meeting my employer soon enough. Then you will have a brand-new family."
"Luke," I said. "You work for Luke."
Dr. Thorn's mouth twisted with distaste when I said the name of my old enemy—a former friend who'd tried to kill me several times. "You have no idea what is happening, Perseus Jackson. I will let the General enlighten you. You are going to do him a great service tonight. He is looking forward to meeting you."
"The General?" I asked. Then I realized I'd said it with a French accent. "I mean… who's the General?"
Thorn looked toward the horizon. "Ah, here we are. Your transportation."
I turned and saw a light in the distance, a searchlight over the sea. Then I heard the chopping of helicopter blades getting louder and closer.
"Where are you taking us?" Nico said.
"You should be honored, my boy. You will have the opportunity to join a great army!
Just like that silly game you play with cards and dolls."
"They're not dolls! They're figurines! And you can take your great army and—"
"Now, now," Dr. Thorn warned. "You will change your mind about joining us, my boy. And if you do not, well… there are other uses for half-bloods. We have many monstrous mouths to feed. The Great Stirring is underway."
"The Great what?" I asked. Anything to keep him talking while I tried to figure out a
plan.
"The stirring of monsters." Dr. Thorn smiled evilly. "The worst of them, the most powerful, are now waking. Monsters that have not been seen in thousands of years. They will cause death and destruction the likes of which mortals have never known. And soon we shall have the most important monster of all—the one that shall bring about the downfall of Olympus!"
"Okay," Bianca whispered to me. "He's completely nuts."
"We have to jump off the cliff," I told her quietly. "Into the sea." "Oh, super idea. You're completely nuts, too."
I never got the chance to argue with her, because just then an invisible force slammed into me.
Looking back on it, Annabeth's move was brilliant. Wearing her cap of invisibility, she plowed into the di Angelos and me, knocking us to the ground. For a split second, Dr. Thorn was taken by surprise, so his first volley of missiles zipped harmlessly over our heads. This gave Thalia and Grover a chance to advance from behind—Thalia wielding her magic shield, Aegis.
If you've never seen Thalia run into battle, you have never been truly frightened. She uses a huge spear that expands from this collapsible Mace canister she carries in her pocket, but that's not the scary part. Her shield is modeled after one her dad Zeus uses—also called Aegis—a gift from Athena. The shield has the head of the gorgon Medusa molded into the bronze, and even though it won't turn you to stone, it's so horrible, most people will panic and run at the sight of it.
Even Dr. Thorn winced and growled when he saw it. Thalia moved in with her spear. "For Zeus!"
I thought Dr. Thorn was a goner. Thalia jabbed at his head, but he snarled and swatted the spear aside. His hand changed into an orange paw, with enormous claws that sparked against Thalia's shield as he slashed. If it hadn't been for Aegis, Thalia would've been sliced like a loaf of bread. As it was, she managed to roll backward and land on her feet.
The sound of the helicopter was getting louder behind me, but I didn't dare look.
Dr. Thorn launched another volley of missiles at Thalia, and this time I could see how he did it. He had a tail—a leathery, scorpionlike tail that bristled with spikes at the tip. The missiles deflected off Aegis, but the force of their impact knocked Thalia down.
Grover sprang forward. He put his reed pipes to his lips and began to play—a frantic jig that sounded like something pirates would dance to. Grass broke through the snow. Within seconds, rope-thick weeds were wrapping around Dr. Thorn's legs, entangling him.
Dr. Thorn roared and began to change. He grew larger until he was in his true form—his face still human, but his body that of a huge lion. His leathery, spiky tail whipped deadly thorns in all directions.
"A manticore!" Annabeth said, now visible. Her magical New York Yankees cap had come off when she'd plowed into us.
"Who are you people?" Bianca di Angelo demanded. "And what is that?"
"A manticore?" Nico gasped. "He's got three thousand attack power and plus five to saving throws!"
I didn't know what he was talking about, but I didn't have time to worry about it. The manticore clawed Grover's magic weeds to shreds then turned toward us with a snarl.
"Get down!" Annabeth pushed the di Angelos flat into the snow. At the last second, I remembered my own shield. I hit my wristwatch, and metal plating spiraled out into a thick bronze shield. Not a moment too soon. The thorns impacted against it with such force they dented the metal. The beautiful shield, a gift from my brother, was badly damaged. I wasn't sure it would even stop a second volley.
I heard a thwack and a yelp, and Grover landed next to me with a thud. "Yield!" the monster roared.
"Never!" Thalia yelled from across the field. She charged the monster, and for a second, I thought she would run him through. But then there was a thunderous noise and a blaze of light from behind us. The helicopter appeared out of the mist, hovering just beyond the cliffs. It was a sleek black military-style gunship, with attachments on the sides that looked like laser-guided rockets. The helicopter had to be manned by mortals, but what was it doing here? How could mortals be working with a monster? The searchlights blinded Thalia, and the manticore swatted her away with its tail. Her shield flew off into the snow. Her spear flew in the other direction.
"No!" I ran out to help her. I parried away a spike just before it would've hit her chest. I raised my shield over us, but I knew it wouldn't be enough.
Dr. Thorn laughed. "Now do you see how hopeless it is? Yield, little heroes."
We were trapped between a monster and a fully armed helicopter. We had no chance. Then I heard a clear, piercing sound: the call of a hunting horn blowing in the woods.
The manticore froze. For a moment, no one moved. There was only the swirl of snow and wind and the chopping of the helicopter blades.
"No," Dr. Thorn said. "It cannot be—"
His sentence was cut short when something shot past me like a streak of moonlight. A glowing silver arrow sprouted from Dr. Thorn's shoulder.
He staggered backward, wailing in agony.
"Curse you!" Thorn cried. He unleashed his spikes, dozens of them at once, into the woods where the arrow had come from, but just as fast, silvery arrows shot back in reply. It almost looked like the arrows had intercepted the thorns in midair and sliced them in two, but
my eyes must've been playing tricks on me. No one, not even Apollo's kids at camp, could shoot with that much accuracy.
The manticore pulled the arrow out of his shoulder with a howl of pain. His breathing was heavy. I tried to swipe at him with my sword, but he wasn't as injured as he looked. He dodged my attack and slammed his tail into my shield, knocking me aside.
Then the archers came from the woods. They were girls, about a dozen of them. The youngest was maybe ten. The oldest, about fourteen, like me. They wore silvery ski parkas and jeans, and they were all armed with bows. They advanced on the manticore with determined expressions.
"The Hunters!" Annabeth cried.
Next to me, Thalia muttered, "Oh, wonderful." I didn't have a chance to ask what she meant.
One of the older archers stepped forward with her bow drawn. She was tall and graceful with coppery colored skin. Unlike the other girls, she had a silver circlet braided into the top of her long dark hair, so she looked like some kind of Persian princess. "Permission to kill, my lady?"
I couldn't tell who she was talking to, because she kept her eyes on the manticore.
The monster wailed. "This is not fair! Direct interference! It is against the Ancient Laws."
"Not so," another girl said. This one was a little younger than me, maybe twelve or thirteen. She had auburn hair gathered back in a ponytail and strange eyes, silvery yellow like the moon. Her face was so beautiful it made me catch my breath, but her expression was stern and dangerous. "The hunting of all wild beasts is within my sphere. And you, foul creature, are a wild beast." She looked at the older girl with the circlet. "Zoe, permission granted."
The manticore growled. "If I cannot have these alive, I shall have them dead!" He lunged at Thalia and me, knowing we were weak and dazed.
"No.'" Annabeth yelled, and she charged at the monster.
"Get back, half-blood!" the girl with the circlet said. "Get out of the line of fire!"
But Annabeth leaped onto the monster's back and drove her knife into his mane. The manticore howled, turning in circles with his tail flailing as Annabeth hung on for dear life.
"Fire!" Zoe ordered. "No!" I screamed.
But the Hunters let their arrows fly. The first caught the manticore in the neck. Another hit his chest. The manticore staggered backward, wailing, "This is not the end, Huntress! You shall pay!"
And before anyone could react, the monster, with Annabeth still on his back, leaped over the cliff and tumbled into the darkness.
"Annabeth!" I yelled.
I started to run after her, but our enemies weren't done with us. There was a snap-snap- snap from the helicopter—the sound of gunfire.
Most of the Hunters scattered as tiny holes appeared in the snow at their feet, but the girl with auburn hair just looked up calmly at the helicopter.
"Mortals," she announced, "are not allowed to witness my hunt."
She thrust out her hand, and the helicopter exploded into dust—no, not dust. The black metal dissolved into a flock of birds—ravens, which scattered into the night.
The Hunters advanced on us.
The one called Zoe stopped short when she saw Thalia. "You," she said with distaste. "Zoe Nightshade." Thalia's voice trembled with anger. "Perfect timing, as usual." Zoe scanned the rest of us. "Four half-bloods and a satyr, my lady."
"Yes," the younger girl said. "Some of Chiron's campers, I see." "Annabeth!" I yelled. "You have to let us save her!"
The auburn-haired girl turned toward me. "I'm sorry, Percy Jackson, but your friend is beyond help."
I tried to struggle to my feet, but a couple of the girls held me down.
"You are in no condition to be hurling yourself off cliffs," the auburn-haired girl said. "Let me go!" I demanded. "Who do you think you are?"
Zoe stepped forward as if to smack me.
"No," the other girl ordered. "I sense no disrespect, Zoe. He is simply distraught. He does not understand."
The young girl looked at me, her eyes colder and brighter than the winter moon. "I am Artemis," she said. "Goddess of the Hunt."
THREE
BIANCA DI ANCELO MAKES A CHOICE
After seeing Dr. Thorn turn into a monster and plummet off the edge of a cliff with Annabeth, you'd think nothing else could shock me. But when this twelve-year-old girl told me she was the goddess Artemis, I said something real intelligent like, "Um… okay."
That was nothing compared to Grover. He gasped, then knelt hastily in the snow and started yammering, "Thank you, Lady Artemis! You're so… you're so… Wow!"
"Get up, goat boy!" Thalia snapped. "We have other things to worry about. Annabeth is gone!"
"Whoa," Bianca di Angelo said. "Hold up. Time out."
Everybody looked at her. She pointed her finger at all of us in turn, like she was trying to connect the dots. "Who… who are you people?"
Artemis's expression softened."It might be a better question, my dear girl, to ask who are you!Who are your parents?"
Bianca glanced nervously at her brother, who was still staring in awe at Artemis.
Our parents are dead," Bianca said. "We're orphans. There's a bank trust that pays for our school, but…"
She faltered. I guess she could tell from our faces that we didn't believe her. "What?" she demanded. "I'm telling the truth."
"You are a half-blood," Zoe Nightshade said. Her accent was hard to place. It sounded old-fashioned, like she was reading from a really old book. "One of thy parents was mortal. The other was an Olympian."
"An Olympian… athlete?"
"No," Zoe said. "One of the gods." "Cool!" said Nico.
"No!" Bianca's voice quavered. "This is not cool!"
Nico danced around like he needed to use the restroom. "Does Zeus really have lightning bolts that do six hundred damage? Does he get extra movement points for—"
"Nico, shut up!" Bianca put her hands to her face. "This is not your stupid Mythomagic game, okay? There are no gods!"
As anxious as I felt about Annabeth—all I wanted to do was search for her—I couldn't help feeling sorry for the di Angelos. I remembered what it was like for me when I first learned I was a demigod.
Thalia must've been feeling something similar, because the anger in her eyes subsided a little bit. "Bianca, I know it's hard to believe. But the gods are still around. Trust me. They're immortal. And whenever they have kids with regular humans, kids like us, well… Our lives are dangerous."
"Dangerous," Bianca said, "like the girl who fell." Thalia turned away. Even Artemis looked pained.
"Do not despair for Annabeth," the goddess said. "She was a brave maiden. If she can be found, I shall find her."
"Then why won't you let us go look for her?" I asked.
"She is gone. Can't you sense it, Son of Poseidon? Some magic is at work. I do not know exactly how or why, but your friend has vanished."
I still wanted to jump off the cliff and search for her, but I had a feeling that Artemis was right. Annabeth was gone. If she'd been down there in the sea, I thought, I'd be able to feel her presence.
"Oo!" Nico raised his hand. "What about Dr. Thorn? That was awesome how you shot him with arrows! Is he dead?"
"He was a manticore," Artemis said. "Hopefully he is destroyed for now, but monsters never truly die. They re-form over and over again, and they must be hunted whenever they reappear."
"Or they'll hunt us," Thalia said.
Bianca di Angelo shivered. "That explains… Nico, you remember last summer, those guys who tried to attack us in the alley in DC?"
"And that bus driver," Nico said. "The one with the ram's horns. I told you that was
real."
"That's why Grover has been watching you," I said. "To keep you safe, if you turned out to be half-bloods."
"Grover?" Bianca stared at him. "You're a demigod?"
"Well, a satyr, actually." He kicked off his shoes and displayed his goat hooves. I thought Bianca was going to faint right there.
"Grover, put your shoes back on," Thalia said. "You're freaking her out." "Hey, my hooves are clean!"
"Bianca," I said, "we came here to help you. You and Nico need training to survive. Dr.
Thorn won't be the last monster you meet. You need to come to camp." "Camp?" she asked.
"Camp Half-Blood," I said. "It's where half-bloods learn to survive and stuff. You can join us, stay there year-round if you like."
"Sweet, let's go!" said Nico.
"Wait," Bianca shook her head. "I don't—" "There is another option," Zoe said.
"No, there isn't!" Thalia said.
Thalia and Zoe glared at each other. I didn't know what they were talking about, but I could tell there was bad history between them. For some reason, they seriously hated each other.
"We've burdened these children enough," Artemis announced. "Zoe, we will rest here for a few hours. Raise the tents. Treat the wounded. Retrieve our guests' belongings from the school."
"Yes, my lady."
"And, Bianca, come with me. I would like to speak with you." "What about me?" Nico asked.
Artemis considered the boy. "Perhaps you can show Grover how to play that card game you enjoy. I'm sure Grover would be happy to entertain you for a while… as a favor to me?"
Grover just about tripped over himself getting up. "You bet! Come on, Nico!"
Nico and Grover walked off toward the woods, talking about hit points and armor ratings and a bunch of other geeky stuff. Artemis led a confused-looking Bianca along the cliff. The Hunters began unpacking their knapsacks and making camp.
Zoe gave Thalia one more evil look, then left to oversee things.
As soon as she was gone, Thalia stamped her foot in frustration. "The nerve of those Hunters! They think they're so… Argh!"
"I'm with you," I said. "I don't trust—"
"Oh, you're with me?" Thalia turned on me furiously. "What were you thinking back there in the gym, Percy? You'd take on Dr. Thorn all by yourself? You knew he was a monster!"
"If we'd stuck together, we could've taken him without the Hunters getting involved.
Annabeth might still be here. Did you think of that?"
My jaw clenched. I thought of some harsh things to say, and I might've said them too, but then I looked down and saw something navy blue lying in the snow at my feet. Annabeth's New York Yankees baseball cap.
Thalia didn't say another word. She wiped a tear from her cheek, turned, and marched off, leaving me alone with a trampled cap in the snow.
The Hunters set up their camping site in a matter of minutes. Seven large tents, all of silver silk, curved in a crescent around one side of a bonfire. One of the girls blew a silver dog whistle, and a dozen white wolves appeared out of the woods. They began circling the camp like guard dogs. The Hunters walked among them and fed them treats, completely unafraid, but I decided I would stick close to the tents. Falcons watched us from the trees, their eyes flashing in the firelight, and I got the feeling they were on guard duty, too. Even the weather seemed to bend to the goddess's will. The air was still cold, but the wind died down and the snow stopped falling, so it was almost pleasant sitting by the fire.
Almost… except for the pain in my shoulder and the guilt weighing me down. I couldn't believe Annabeth was gone. And as angry as I was at Thalia, I had a sinking feeling that she was right. It was my fault.
What had Annabeth wanted to tell me in the gym? Something serious, she'd said. Now I might never find out. I thought about how we'd danced together for half a song, and my heart felt even heavier.
I watched Thalia pacing in the snow at the edge of camp, walking among the wolves without fear. She stopped and looked back at Westover Hall, which was now completely dark, looming on the hillside beyond the woods. I wondered what she was thinking.
Seven years ago, Thalia had been turned into a pine tree by her father, to prevent her from dying. She'd stood her ground against an army of monsters on top of Half-Blood Hill in order to give her friends Luke and Annabeth time to escape. She'd only been back as a human for a few months now, and once in a while she would stand so motionless you'd think she was still a tree.
Finally, one of the Hunters brought me my backpack. Grover and Nico came back from their walk, and Grover helped me fix up my wounded arm.
"It's green!" Nico said with delight.
"Hold still," Grover told me. "Here, eat some ambrosia while I clean that out."
I winced as he dressed the wound, but the ambrosia square helped. It tasted like homemade brownie, dissolving in my mouth and sending a warm feeling through my whole body. Between that and the magic salve Grover used, my shoulder felt better within a couple of minutes.
Nico rummaged through his own bag, which the Hunters had apparently packed for him, though how they'd snuck into Westover Hall unseen, I didn't know. Nico laid out a bunch of figurines in the snow—little battle replicas of Greek gods and heroes. I recognized Zeus with a lightning bolt, Ares with a spear, Apollo with his sun chariot.
"Big collection," I said.
Nico grinned. "I've got almost all of them, plus their holographic cards! Well, except for a few really rare ones."
"You've been playing this game a long time?"
"Just this year. Before that…" He knit his eyebrows. "What?" I asked.
"I forget. That's weird."
He looked unsettled, but it didn't last long. "Hey, can I see that sword you were using?"
I showed him Riptide, and explained how it turned from a pen into a sword just by uncapping it.
"Cool! Does it ever run out of ink?" "Um, well, I don't actually write with it." "Are you really the son of Poseidon?" "Well, yeah."
"Can you surf really well, then?"
I looked at Grover, who was trying hard not to laugh. "Jeez, Nico," I said. "I've never really tried."
He went on asking questions. Did I fight a lot with Thalia, since she was a daughter of Zeus? (I didn't answer that one.) If Annabeth's mother was Athena, the goddess of wisdom, then why didn't Annabeth know better than to fall off a cliff? (I tried not to strangle Nico for asking that one.) Was Annabeth my girlfriend? (At this point, I was ready to stick the kid in a meat-flavored sack and throw him to the wolves.)
I figured any second he was going to ask me how many hit points I had, and I'd lose my cool completely, but then Zoe Nightshade came up to us.
"Percy Jackson."
She had dark brown eyes and a slightly upturned nose. With her silver circlet and her proud expression, she looked so much like royalty that I had to resist the urge to sit up straight and say "Yes, ma'am." She studied me distastefully, like I was a bag of dirty laundry she'd been sent to fetch.
"Come with me," she said. "Lady Artemis wishes to speak with thee."
Zoe led me to the last tent, which looked no different from the others, and waved me inside. Bianca di Angelo was seated next to the auburn-haired girl, who I still had trouble thinking of as Artemis.
The inside of the tent was warm and comfortable. Silk rugs and pillows covered the floor. In the center, a golden brazier of fire seemed to burn without fuel or smoke. Behind the goddess, on a polished oak display stand, was her huge silver bow, carved to resemble gazelle horns. The walls were hung with animal pelts: black bear, tiger, and several others I didn't recognize. I figured an animal rights activist would've had a heart attack looking at all those rare skins, but maybe since Artemis was the goddess of the hunt, she could replenish whatever she shot. I thought she had another animal pelt lying next to her, and then I realized it was a live animal—a deer with glittering fur and silver horns, its head resting contentedly in Artemis's lap.
"Join us, Percy Jackson," the goddess said.
I sat across from her on the tent floor. The goddess studied me, which made me uncomfortable. She had such old eyes for a young girl.
"Are you surprised by my age?" she asked. "Uh… a little."
"I could appear as a grown woman, or a blazing fire, or anything else I want, but this is what I prefer. This is the average age of my Hunters, and all young maidens for whom I am patron, before they go astray."
"Go astray?" I asked.
"Grow up. Become smitten with boys. Become silly, preoccupied, insecure. Forget themselves."
"Oh."
Zoe sat down at Artemis's right. She glared at me as if all the stuff Artemis had just said was my fault, like I'd invented the idea of being a guy.
"You must forgive my Hunters if they do not welcome you," Artemis said. "It is very rare that we would have boys in this camp. Boys are usually forbidden to have any contact with the Hunters. The last one to see this camp…" She looked at Zoe. "Which one was it?"
"That boy in Colorado," Zoe said. "You turned him into a jackalope."
"Ah, yes." Artemis nodded, satisfied. "I enjoy making jackalopes. At any rate, Percy, I've asked you here so that you might tell me more of the manticore. Bianca has reported some of the… mmm, disturbing things the monster said. But she may not have understood them. I'd like to hear them from you."
And so I told her.
When I was done, Artemis put her hand thoughtfully on her silver bow. "I feared this was the answer."
Zoe sat forward. "The scent, my lady?" "Yes."
"What scent?" I asked.
"Things are stirring that I have not hunted in millennia," Artemis murmured. "Prey so old I have nearly forgotten."
She stared at me intently. "We came here tonight sensing the manticore, but he was not the one I seek. Tell me again, exactly what Dr. Thorn said."
"Um, 'I hate middle school dances.'" "No, no. After that."
"He said somebody called the General was going to explain things to me."
Zoe's face paled. She turned to Artemis and started to say something, but Artemis raised her hand.
"Go on, Percy," the goddess said.
"Well, then Thorn was talking about the Great Stir Pot—" "Stirring," Bianca corrected.
"Yeah. And he said, 'Soon we shall have the most important monster of all—the one that shall bring about the downfall of Olympus.'"
The goddess was so still she could've been a statue. "Maybe he was lying," I said.
Artemis shook her head. "No. He was not. I've been too slow to see the signs. I must hunt this monster."
Zoe looked like she was trying very hard not to be afraid, but she nodded. "We will leave right away, my lady."
"No, Zoe. I must do this alone." "But, Artemis—"
"This task is too dangerous even for the Hunters. You know where I must start my search. You cannot go there with me."
"As… as you wish, my lady."
I will find this creature," Artemis vowed. "And I shall bring it back to Olympus by winter solstice. It will be all the proof I need to convince the Council of the Gods of how much danger we are in."
"You know what the monster is?" I asked.
Artemis gripped her bow. "Let us pray I am wrong."
"Can goddesses pray?" I asked, because I'd never really thought about that.
A flicker of a smile played across Artemis's lips. "Before I go, Percy Jackson, I have a small task for you."
"Does it involve getting turned into a jackalope?"
"Sadly, no. I want you to escort the Hunters back to Camp Half-Blood. They can stay there in safety until I return."
"What?" Zoe' blurted out. "But, Artemis, we hate that place. The last time we stayed there—"
"Yes, I know," Artemis said. "But I'm sure Dionysus will not hold a grudge just because of a little, ah, misunderstanding. It's your right to use Cabin Eight whenever you are in need. Besides, I hear they rebuilt the cabins you burned down."
Zoe muttered something about foolish campers.
"And now there is one last decision to make." Artemis turned to Bianca. "Have you made up your mind, my girl?"
Bianca hesitated. "I'm still thinking about it." "Wait," I said. "Thinking about what?" "They… they've invited me to join the Hunt."
"What? But you can't! You have to come to Camp Half-Blood so Chiron can train you.
It's the only way you can learn to survive."
"It is not the only way for a girl," Zoe said.
I couldn't believe I was hearing this. "Bianca, camp is cool! It's got a pegasus stable and a sword-fighting arena and… I mean, what do you get by joining the Hunters?"
"To begin with," Zoe said, "immortality."
I stared at her, then at Artemis. "She's kidding, right?"
"Zoe rarely kids about anything," Artemis said. "My Hunters follow me on my adventures. They are my maidservants, my companions, my sisters-in-arms. Once they swear loyalty to me, they are indeed immortal… unless they fall in battle, which is unlikely. Or break their oath."
"What oath?" I said.
"To foreswear romantic love forever," Artemis said. "To never grow up, never get married. To be a maiden eternally."
"Like you?"
The goddess nodded.
I tried to imagine what she was saying. Being immortal. Hanging out with only middle- school girls forever. I couldn't get my mind around it. "So you just go around the country recruiting half-bloods—"
"Not just half-bloods," Zoe interrupted. "Lady Artemis does not discriminate by birth.
All who honor the goddess may join. Half-bloods, nymphs, mortals—" "Which are you, then?"
Anger flashed in Zoe's eyes. "That is not thy concern, boy. The point is Bianca may join if she wishes. It is her choice."
"Bianca, this is crazy," I said. "What about your brother? Nico can't be a Hunter." "Certainly not," Artemis agreed. "He will go to camp. Unfortunately, that's the best boys
can do."
"Hey!" I protested.
"You can see him from time to time," Artemis assured Bianca. "But you will be free of responsibility. He will have the camp counselors to take care of him. And you will have a new family. Us."
"A new family," Bianca repeated dreamily. "Free of responsibility."
"Bianca, you can't do this," I said. "It's nuts." She looked at Zoe. "Is it worth it?"
Zoe nodded. "It is." "What do I have to do?"
"Say this," Zoe told her, " 'I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis.'" "I… I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis."
"'I turn my back on the company of men, accept eternal maidenhood, and join the Hunt.'"
Bianca repeated the lines. "That's it?"
Zoe nodded. "If Lady Artemis accepts thy pledge, then it is binding." "I accept it," Artemis said.
The flames in the brazier brightened, casting a silver glow over the room. Bianca looked no different, but she took a deep breath and opened her eyes wide. "I feel… stronger."
"Welcome, sister," Zoe said.
"Remember your pledge," Artemis said. "It is now your life."
I couldn't speak. I felt like a trespasser. And a complete failure. I couldn't believe I'd come all this way and suffered so much only to lose Bianca to some eternal girls' club.
"Do not despair, Percy Jackson," Artemis said. "You will still get to show the di Angelos your camp. And if Nico so chooses, he can stay there."
"Great," I said, trying not to sound surly. "How are we supposed to get there?"
Artemis closed her eyes. "Dawn is approaching. Zoe, break camp. You must get to Long Island quickly and safely. I shall summon a ride from my brother."
Zoe didn't look real happy about this idea, but she nodded and told Bianca to follow her. As she was leaving, Bianca paused in front of me. "I'm sorry, Percy. But I want this. I really, really do."
Then she was gone, and I was left alone with the twelve-year-old goddess. "So," I said glumly. "We're going to get a ride from your brother, huh?"
Artemis's silver eyes gleamed. "Yes, boy. You see, Bianca di Angelo is not the only one with an annoying brother. It's time for you to meet my irresponsible twin, Apollo."
FOUR
THALIA TORCHES NEW ENGLAND
Artemis assured us that dawn was coming, but you could've fooled me. It was colder and darker and snowier than ever. Up on the hill, Westover Hall's windows were completely lightless. I wondered if the teachers had even noticed the di Angelos and Dr. Thorn were missing yet. I didn't want to be around when they did. With my luck, the only name Mrs. Gottschalk would remember was "Percy Jackson," and then I'd be the subject of a nationwide manhunt… again.
The Hunters broke camp as quickly as they'd set it up. I stood shivering in the snow (unlike the Hunters, who didn't seem to feel at all uncomfortable), and Artemis stared into the east like she was expecting something. Bianca sat off to one side, talking with Nico. I could tell from his gloomy face that she was explaining her decision to join the Hunt. I couldn't help thinking how selfish it was of her, abandoning her brother like that.
Thalia and Grover came up and huddled around me, anxious to hear what had happened in my audience with the goddess.
When I told them, Grover turned pale. "The last time the Hunters visited camp, it didn't go well."
"How'd they even show up here?" I wondered. "I mean, they just appeared out of nowhere."
"And Bianca joined them," Thalia said, disgusted. "It's all Zoe's fault. That stuck-up, no good—"
"Who can blame her?" Grover said. "Eternity with Artemis?" He heaved a big sigh.
Thalia rolled her eyes. "You satyrs. You're all in love with Artemis. Don't you get that she'll never love you back?"
"But she's so… into nature," Grover swooned. "You're nuts," said Thalia.
"Nuts and berries," Grover said dreamily. "Yeah."
Finally the sky began to lighten. Artemis muttered, "About time. He's so-o-o lazy during the winter."
"You're, um, waiting for sunrise?" I asked.
"For my brother. Yes."
I didn't want to be rude. I mean, I knew the legends about Apollo—or sometimes Helios—driving a big sun chariot across the sky. But I also knew that the sun was really a star about a zillion miles away. I'd gotten used to some of the Greek myths being true, but still… I didn't see how Apollo could drive the sun.
"It's not exactly as you think," Artemis said, like she was reading my mind. "Oh, okay." I started to relax. "So, it's not like he'll be pulling up in a—" There was a sudden burst of light on the horizon. A blast of warmth. "Don't look," Artemis advised. "Not until he parks."
Parks?
I averted my eyes, and saw that the other kids were doing the same. The light and warmth intensified until my winter coat felt like it was melting off of me. Then suddenly the light died.
I looked. And I couldn't believe it. It was my car. Well, the car I wanted, anyway. A red convertible Maserati Spyder. It was so awesome it glowed. Then I realized it was glowing because the metal was hot. The snow had melted around the Maserati in a perfect circle, which explained why I was now standing on green grass and my shoes were wet.
The driver got out, smiling. He looked about seventeen or eighteen, and for a second, I had the uneasy feeling it was Luke, my old enemy. This guy had the same sandy hair and outdoorsy good looks. But it wasn't Luke. This guy was taller, with no scar on his face like Luke's. His smile was brighter and more playful. (Luke didn't do much more than scowl and sneer these days.) The Maserati driver wore jeans and loafers and a sleeveless T-shirt.
"Wow," Thalia muttered. "Apollo is hot." "He's the sun god," I said.
"That's not what I meant."
"Little sister!" Apollo called. If his teeth were any whiter he could've blinded us without the sun car. "What's up? You never call. You never write. I was getting worried!"
Artemis sighed. "I'm fine, Apollo. And I am not your little sister." "Hey, I was born first."
"We're twins! How many millennia do we have to argue—"
"So what's up?" he interrupted. "Got the girls with you, I see. You all need some tips on archery?"
Artemis grit her teeth. "I need a favor. I have some hunting to do, alone. I need you to take my companions to Camp Half-Blood."
"Sure, sis!" Then he raised his hands in a stop everything gesture. "I feel a haiku coming
on."
The Hunters all groaned. Apparently they'd met Apollo before. He cleared his throat and held up one hand dramatically.
"Green grass breaks through snow. Artemis pleads for my help.
I am so cool."
He grinned at us, waiting for applause.
"That last line was only four syllables," Artemis said. Apollo frowned. "Was it?"
"Yes. What about I am so big-headed?"
"No, no, that's six syllables. Hmm." He started muttering to himself.
Zoe Nightshade turned to us. "Lord Apollo has been going through this haiku phase ever since he visited Japan. 'Tis not as bad as the time he visited Limerick. If I'd had to hear one more poem that started with, There once was a goddess from Sparta—"
"I've got it!" Apollo announced. "I am so awesome. That's five syllables!" He bowed, looking very pleased with himself.
"And now, sis. Transportation for the Hunters, you say? Good timing. I was just about ready to roll."
"These demigods will also need a ride," Artemis said, pointing to us. "Some of Chiron's campers."
"No problem!" Apollo checked us out. "Let's see… Thalia, right? I've heard all about
you."
Thalia blushed. "Hi, Lord Apollo."
"Zeus's girl, yes? Makes you my half sister. Used to be a tree, didn't you? Glad you're back. I hate it when pretty girls turn into trees. Man, I remember one time—"
"Brother," Artemis said. "You should get going."
"Oh, right." Then he looked at me, and his eyes narrowed. "Percy Jackson?" "Yeah. I mean… yes, sir."
It seemed weird calling a teenager "sir," but I'd learned to be careful with immortals.
They tended to get offended easily. Then they blew stuff up.
Apollo studied me, but he didn't say anything, which I found a little creepy.
"Well!" he said at last. "We'd better load up, huh? Ride only goes one way—west. And if you miss it, you miss it."
I looked at the Maserati, which would seat two people max. There were about twenty of
us.
"Cool car," Nico said. "Thanks, kid," Apollo said. "But how will we all fit?"
"Oh." Apollo seemed to notice the problem for the first time. "Well, yeah. I hate to change out of sports-car mode, but I suppose…"
He took out his car keys and beeped the security alarm button. Chirp, chirp.
For a moment, the car glowed brightly again. When the glare died, the Maserati had been replaced by one of those Turtle Top shuttle buses like we used for school basketball games.
"Right," he said. "Everybody in."
Zoe ordered the Hunters to start loading. She picked up her camping pack, and Apollo said, "Here, sweetheart. Let me get that."
Zoe recoiled. Her eyes flashed murderously.
"Brother," Artemis chided. "You do not help my Hunters. You do not look at, talk to, or flirt with my Hunters. And you do not call them sweetheart."
Apollo spread his hands. "Sorry. I forgot. Hey, sis, where are you off to, anyway?" "Hunting," Artemis said. "It's none of your business."
"I'll find out. I see all. Know all."
Artemis snorted. "Just drop them off, Apollo. And no messing around!"
"No, no! I never mess around."
Artemis rolled her eyes, then looked at us. "I will see you by winter solstice. Zoe, you are in charge of the Hunters. Do well. Do as I would do."
Zoe straightened. "Yes, my lady."
Artemis knelt and touched the ground as if looking for tracks. When she rose, she looked troubled. "So much danger. The beast must be found."
She sprinted toward the woods and melted into the snow and shadows.
Apollo turned and grinned, jangling the car keys on his finger. "So," he said. "Who wants to drive?"
The Hunters piled into the van. They all crammed into the back so they'd be as far away as possible from Apollo and the rest of us highly infectious males, Bianca sat with them, leaving her little brother to hang in the front with us, which seemed cold to me, but Nico didn't seem to mind.
"This is so cool!" Nico said, jumping up and down in the driver's seat. "Is this really the sun? I thought Helios and Selene were the sun and moon gods. How come sometimes it's them and sometimes it's you and Artemis?"
"Downsizing," Apollo said. "The Romans started it. They couldn't afford all those temple sacrifices, so they laid off Helios and Selene and folded their duties into our job descriptions. My sis got the moon. I got the sun. It was pretty annoying at first, but at least I got this cool car."
"But how does it work?" Nico asked. "I thought the sun was a big fiery ball of gas!" Apollo chuckled and ruffled Nico's hair. "That rumor probably got started because
Artemis used to call me a big fiery ball of gas. Seriously, kid, it depends on whether you're talking astronomy or philosophy. You want to talk astronomy? Bah, what fun is that? You want to talk about how humans think about the sun? Ah, now that's more interesting. They've got a lot riding on the sun… er, so to speak. It keeps them warm, grows their crops, powers engines, makes everything look, well, sunnier. This chariot is built out of human dreams about the sun, kid. It's as old as Western Civilization. Every day, it drives across the sky from east to west, lighting up all those puny little mortal lives. The chariot is a manifestation of the sun's power, the way mortals perceive it. Make sense?"
Nico shook his head. "No."
"Well then, just think of it as a really powerful, really dangerous solar car." "Can I drive?"
"No. Too young."
"Oo! Oo!" Grover raised his hand.
"Mm, no," Apollo said. "Too furry." He looked past me and focused on Thalia. "Daughter of Zeus!" he said. "Lord of the sky. Perfect."
"Oh, no." Thalia shook her head. "No, thanks." "C'mon," Apollo said. "How old are you?" Thalia hesitated. "I don't know."
It was sad, but true. She'd been turned into a tree when she was twelve, but that had been seven years ago. So she should be nineteen, if you went by years. But she still felt like she was twelve, and if you looked at her, she seemed somewhere in between. The best Chiron could figure, she had kept aging while in tree form, but much more slowly.
Apollo tapped his finger to his lips. "You're fifteen, almost sixteen." "How do you know that?"
"Hey, I'm the god of prophecy. I know stuff. You'll turn sixteen in about a week." "That's my birthday! December twenty-second."
"Which means you're old enough now to drive with a learner's permit!" Thalia shifted her feet nervously. "Uh—"
"I know what you're going to say," Apollo said. "You don't deserve an honor like driving the sun chariot."
"That's not what I was going to say."
"Don't sweat it! Maine to Long Island is a really short trip, and don't worry about what happened to the last kid I trained. You're Zeus's daughter. He's not going to blast you out of the sky."
Apollo laughed good-naturedly. The rest of us didn't join him.
Thalia tried to protest, but Apollo was absolutely not going to take "no" for an answer. He hit a button on the dashboard, and a sign popped up along the top of the windshield. I had to read it backward (which, for a dyslexic, really isn't that different than reading forward). I was pretty sure it said WARNING: STUDENT DRIVER.
"Take it away!" Apollo told Thalia. "You're gonna be a natural!"
I'll admit I was jealous. I couldn't wait to start driving. A couple of times that fall, my mom had taken me out to Montauk when the beach road was empty, and she'd let me try out her Mazda. I mean, yeah, that was a Japanese compact, and this was the sun chariot, but how different could it be?
"Speed equals heat," Apollo advised. "So start slowly, and make sure you've got good altitude before you really open her up."
Thalia gripped the wheel so tight her knuckles turned white. She looked like she was going to be sick.
"What's wrong?" I asked her.
"Nothing," she said shakily. "N-nothing is wrong."
She pulled back on the wheel. It tilted, and the bus lurched upward so fast I fell back and crashed against something soft.
"Ow" Grover said. "Sorry."
"Slower!" Apollo said.
"Sorry!" Thalia said. "I've got it under control!"
I managed to get to my feet. Looking out the window, I saw a smoking ring of trees from the clearing where we'd taken off.
"Thalia," I said, "lighten up on the accelerator."
"I've got it, Percy," she said, gritting her teeth. But she kept it floored. "Loosen up," I told her.
"I'm loose!"Thalia said. She was so stiff she looked like she was made out of plywood. "We need to veer south for Long Island," Apollo said. "Hang a left."
Thalia jerked the wheel and again threw me into Grover, who yelped. "The other left," Apollo suggested.
I made the mistake of looking out the window again. We were at airplane height now— so high the sky was starting to look black.
"Ah…" Apollo said, and I got the feeling he was forcing himself to sound calm. "A little lower, sweetheart. Cape Cod is freezing over."
Thalia tilted the wheel. Her face was chalk white, her forehead beaded with sweat.
Something was definitely wrong. I'd never seen her like this.
The bus pitched down and somebody screamed. Maybe it was me. Now we were heading straight toward the Atlantic Ocean at a thousand miles an hour, the New England coastline off to our right. And it was getting hot in the bus.
Apollo had been thrown somewhere in the back of the bus, but he started climbing up the rows of seats.
"Take the wheel!" Grover begged him.
"No worries," Apollo said. He looked plenty worried. "She just has to learn to— WHOA!"
I saw what he was seeing. Down below us was a little snow-covered New England town. At least, it used to be snow-covered. As I watched, the snow melted off the trees and the roofs and the lawns. The white steeple on a church turned brown and started to smolder. Little plumes of smoke, like birthday candles, were popping up all over the town. Trees and rooftops were catching fire.
"Pull up!" I yelled.
There was a wild light in Thalia's eyes. She yanked back on the wheel, and I held on this time. As we zoomed up, I could see through the back window that the fires in the town were being snuffed out by the sudden blast of cold.
"There!" Apollo pointed. "Long Island, dead ahead. Let's slow down, dear. 'Dead' is only an expression."
Thalia was thundering toward the coastline of northern Long Island. There was Camp Half-Blood: the valley, the woods, the beach. I could see the dining pavilion and cabins and the amphitheater.
"I'm under control," Thalia muttered. "I'm under control." We were only a few hundred yards away now.
"Brake," Apollo said. "I can do this." "BRAKE!"
Thalia slammed her foot on the brake, and the sun bus pitched forward at a forty-five- degree angle, slamming into the Camp Half-Blood canoe lake with a huge FLOOOOOOSH! Steam billowed up, sending several frightened naiads scrambling out of the water with half- woven wicker baskets.
The bus bobbed to the surface, along with a couple of capsized, half-melted canoes.
"Well," said Apollo with a brave smile. "You were right, my dear. You had everything under control! Let's go see if we boiled anyone important, shall we?"
FIVE
I PLACE AN UNDERWATER PHONE CALL
I'd never seen Camp Half-Blood in winter before, and the snow surprised me.
See, the camp has the ultimate magic climate control. Nothing gets inside the borders unless the director, Mr. D, wants it to. I thought it would be warm and sunny, but instead the snow had been allowed to fall lightly. Frost covered the chariot track and the strawberry fields. The cabins were decorated with tiny flickering lights, like Christmas lights, except they seemed to be balls of real fire. More lights glowed in the woods, and weirdest of all, a fire flickered in the attic window of the Big House, where the Oracle dwelt, imprisoned in an old mummified body. I wondered if the spirit of Delphi was roasting marshmallows up there or something.
"Whoa," Nico said as he climbed off the bus. "Is that a climbing wall?" "Yeah," I said.
"Why is there lava pouring down it?"
"Little extra challenge. Come on. I'll introduce you to Chiron. Zoe, have you met—"
"I know Chiron," Zoe said stiffly. "Tell him we will be in Cabin Eight. Hunters, follow
me."
"I'll show you the way," Grover offered. "We know the way."
"Oh, really, it's no trouble. It's easy to get lost here, if you don't"—he tripped over a canoe and came up still talking—"like my old daddy goat used to say! Come on!"
Zoe rolled her eyes, but I guess she figured there was no getting rid of Grover. The Hunters shouldered their packs and their bows and headed off toward the cabins. As Bianca di Angelo was leaving, she leaned over and whispered something in her brothers ear. She looked at him for an answer, but Nico just scowled and turned away.
"Take care, sweethearts!" Apollo called after the Hunters. He winked at me. "Watch out for those prophecies, Percy. I'll see you soon."
"What do you mean?"
Instead of answering, he hopped back in the bus. "Later, Thalia," he called. "And, uh, be good!"
He gave her a wicked smile, as if he knew something she didn't. Then he closed the doors and revved the engine. I turned aside as the sun chariot took off in a blast of heat. When I looked back, the lake was steaming. A red Maserati soared over the woods, glowing brighter and climbing higher until it disappeared in a ray of sunlight.
Nico was still looking grumpy. I wondered what his sister had told him. "Who's Chiron?" he asked. "I don't have his figurine."
"Our activities director," I said. "He's… well, you'll see.
"If those Hunter girls don't like him," Nico grumbled, "that's good enough for me. Let's
go."
The second thing that surprised me about camp was how empty it was. I mean, I knew most half-bloods only trained during the summer. Just the year-rounders would be here—the ones who didn't have homes to go to, or would get attacked by monsters too much if they left. But there didn't even seem to be many of them, either.
I spotted Charles Beckendorf from the Hephaestus cabin stoking the forge outside the camp armory. The Stoll brothers, Travis and Connor, from the Hermes cabin, were picking the lock on the camp store. A few kids from the Ares cabin were having a snowball fight with the wood nymphs at the edge of the forest. That was about it. Even my old rival from the Ares cabin, Clarisse, didn't seem to be around.
The Big House was decorated with strings of red and yellow fireballs that warmed the porch but didn't seem to catch anything on fire. Inside, flames crackled in the hearth. The air smelled like hot chocolate. Mr. D, the camp director, and Chiron were playing a quiet game of cards in the parlor.
Chiron's brown beard was shaggier for the winter. His curly hair had grown a little longer. He wasn't posing as a teacher this year, so I guess he could afford to be casual. He wore a fuzzy sweater with a hoofprint design on it, and he had a blanket on his lap that almost hid his wheelchair completely.
He smiled when he saw us. "Percy! Thalia! Ah, and this must be—" "Nico di Angelo," I said. "He and his sister are half-bloods."
Chiron breathed a sigh of relief. "You succeeded, then." "Well…"
His smile melted. "What's wrong? And where is Annabeth?" "Oh, dear," Mr. D said in a bored voice, "Not another one lost."
I'd been trying not to pay attention to Mr. D, but he was kind of hard to ignore in his neon orange leopard-skin warm-up suit and his purple running shoes. (Like Mr. D had ever run a day in his immortal life.) A golden laurel wreath was tilted sideways on his curly black hair, which must've meant he'd won the last hand of cards.
"What do you mean?" Thalia asked. "Who else is lost?"
Just then, Grover trotted into the room, grinning like crazy. He had a black eye and red lines on his face that looked like a slap mark. "The Hunters are all moved in!"
Chiron frowned. "The Hunters, eh? I see we have much to talk about." He glanced at Nico. "Grover, perhaps you should take our young friend to the den and show him our orientation film."
"But… Oh, right. Yes, sir."
"Orientation film?" Nico asked. "Is it G or PG? 'Cause Bianca is kinda strict—" "It's PG-13," Grover said.
"Cool!" Nico happily followed him out of the room.
"Now," Chiron said to Thalia and me, "perhaps you two should sit down and tell us the whole story."
When we were done, Chiron turned to Mr. D. "We should launch a search for Annabeth immediately."
"I'll go," Thalia and I said at the same time. Mr. D sniffed. "Certainly not!"
Thalia and I both started complaining, but Mr. D held up his hand. He had that purplish angry fire in his eyes that usually meant something bad and godly was going to happen if we didn't shut up.
"From what you have told me," Mr. D said, "we have broken even on this escapade. We have, ah, regrettably lost Annie Bell—"
"Annabeth," I snapped. She'd gone to camp since she was seven, and still Mr. D pretended not to know her name.
"Yes, yes," he said. "And you procured a small annoying boy to replace her. So I see no point risking further half-bloods on a ridiculous rescue. The possibility is very great that this Annie girl is dead."
I wanted to strangle Mr. D. It wasn't fair Zeus had sent him here to dry out as camp director for a hundred years. It was meant to be a punishment for Mr. D's bad behavior on Olympus, but it ended up being a punishment for all of us.
"Annabeth may be alive," Chiron said, but I could tell he was having trouble sounding upbeat. He'd practically raised Annabeth all those years she was a year-round camper, before she'd given living with her dad and stepmom a second try. "She's very bright. If… if our enemies have her, she will try to play for time. She may even pretend to cooperate."
"That's right," Thalia said. "Luke would want her alive."
"In which case" said Mr. D, "I'm afraid she will have to be smart enough to escape on her own."
I got up from the table.
"Percy." Chiron's tone was full of warning. In the back of my mind, I knew Mr. D was not somebody to mess with. Even if you were an impulsive ADHD kid like me, he wouldn't give you any slack. But I was so angry I didn't care.
"You're glad to lose another camper," I said. "You'd like it if we all disappeared!" Mr. D stifled a yawn. "You have a point?"
"Yeah," I growled. "Just because you were sent here as a punishment doesn't mean you have to be a lazy jerk! This is your civilization, too. Maybe you could try helping out a little!"
For a second, there was no sound except the crackle of the fire. The light reflected in Mr. D's eyes, giving him a sinister look. He opened his mouth to say something—probably a curse that would blast me to smithereens—when Nico burst into the room, followed by Grover.
"SO COOL!" Nico yelled, holding his hands out to Chiron. "You're… you're a centaur!"
Chiron managed a nervous smile. "Yes, Mr. di Angelo, if you please. Though, I prefer to stay in human form in this wheelchair for, ah, first encounters."
"And, whoa!" He looked at Mr. D. "You're the wine dude? No way!"
Mr. D turned his eyes away from me and gave Nico a look of loathing. "The wine dude?"
"Dionysus, right? Oh, wow! I've got your figurine." "My figurine."
"In my game, Mythomagic. And a holofoil card, too! And even though you've only got like five hundred attack points and everybody thinks you're the lamest god card, I totally think your powers are sweet!"
"Ah." Mr. D seemed truly perplexed, which probably saved my life. "Well, that's… gratifying."
"Percy," Chiron said quickly, "you and Thalia go down to the cabins. Inform the campers we'll be playing capture the flag tomorrow evening."
"Capture the flag?" I asked. "But we don't have enough—"
"It is a tradition," Chiron said. "A friendly match, whenever the Hunters visit." "Yeah," Thalia muttered. "I bet it's real friendly."
Chiron jerked his head toward Mr. D, who was still frowning as Nico talked about how many defense points all the gods had in his game. "Run along now," Chiron told us.
"Oh, right," Thalia said. "Come on, Percy."
She hauled me out of the Big House before Dionysus could remember that he wanted to kill me.
"You've already got Ares on your bad side," Thalia reminded me as we trudged toward the cabins. "You need another immortal enemy?"
She was right. My first summer as a camper, I'd gotten in a fight with Ares, and now he and all his children wanted to kill me. I didn't need to make Dionysus mad, too.
"Sorry," I said. "I couldn't help it. It's just so unfair."
She stopped by the armory and looked out across the valley, toward the top of Half- Blood Hill. Her pine tree was still there, the Golden Fleece glittering in its lowest branch. The tree's magic still protected the borders of camp, but it no longer used Thalia's spirit for power.
"Percy, everything is unfair," Thalia muttered. "Sometimes I wish…"
She didn't finish, but her tone was so sad I felt sorry for her. With her ragged black hair and her black punk clothes, an old wool overcoat wrapped around her, she looked like some kind of huge raven, completely out of place in the white landscape.
"We'll get Annabeth back," I promised. "I just don't know how yet." "First I found out that Luke is lost," she said. "Now Annabeth—" "Don't think like that."
"You're right." She straightened up. "We'll find a way."
Over at the basketball court, a few of the Hunters were shooting hoops. One of them was arguing with a guy from the Ares cabin. The Ares kid had his hand on his sword and the
Hunter girl looked like she was going to exchange her basketball for a bow and arrow any second.
"I'll break that up," Thalia said. "You circulate around the cabins. Tell everybody about capture the flag tomorrow."
"All right. You should be team captain."
"No, no," she said. "You've been at camp longer. You do it." "We can, uh… co-captain or something."
She looked about as comfortable with that as I felt, but she nodded. As she headed for the court, I said, "Hey, Thalia."
"Yeah?"
"I'm sorry about what happened at Westover. I should've waited for you guys."
'"S okay, Percy. I probably would've done the same thing." She shifted from foot to foot, like she was trying to decide whether or not to say more. "You know, you asked about my mom and I kinda snapped at you. It's just… I went back to find her after seven years, and I found out she died in Los Angeles. She, um… she was a heavy drinker, and apparently she was out driving late one night about two years ago, and…" Thalia blinked hard.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well. It's… it's not like we were ever close. I ran away when I was ten. Best two years of my life were when I was running around with Luke and Annabeth. But still—"
"That's why you had trouble with the sun van." She gave me a wary look. "What do you mean?"
"The way you stiffened up. You must've been thinking about your mom, not wanting to get behind the wheel."
I was sorry I'd said anything. Thalia's expression was dangerously close to Zeus's, the one time I'd seen him get angry—like any minute, her eyes would shoot a million volts.
"Yeah," she muttered. "Yeah, that must've been it."
She trudged off toward the court, where the Ares camper and the Hunter were trying to kill each other with a sword and a basketball.
The cabins were the weirdest collection of buildings you've ever seen. Zeus and Hera's big white-columned buildings, Cabins One and Two, stood in the middle, with five gods'
cabins on the left and five goddesses' cabins on the right, so they all made a U around the central green and the barbecue hearth.
I made the rounds, telling everybody about capture the flag. I woke up some Ares kid from his midday nap and he yelled at me to go away. When I asked him where Clarisse was he said, "Went on a quest for Chiron. Top secret!"
"Is she okay?"
"Haven't heard from her in a month. She's missing in action. Like your butt's gonna be if you don't get outta here!"
I decided to let him go back to sleep.
Finally I got to Cabin Three, the cabin of Poseidon. It was a low gray building hewn from sea stone, with shells and coral fossils imprinted in the rock. Inside, it was just as empty as always, except for my bunk. A Minotaur horn hung on the wall next to my pillow.
I took Annabeth's baseball cap out of my backpack and set it on my nightstand. I'd give it to her when I found her. And I would find her.
I took off my wristwatch and activated the shield. It creaked noisily as it spiraled out. Dr. Thorn's spikes had dented the brass in a dozen places. One gash kept the shield from opening all the way, so it looked like a pizza with two slices missing. The beautiful metal pictures that my brother had crafted were all banged up. In the picture of me and Annabeth fighting the Hydra, it looked like a meteor had made a crater in my head. I hung the shield on its hook, next to the Minotaur horn, but it was painful to look at now. Maybe Beckendorf from the Hephaestus cabin could fix it for me. He was the best armorsmith in the camp. I'd ask him at dinner.
I was staring at the shield when I noticed a strange sound—water gurgling—and I realized there was something new in the room. At the back of the cabin was a big basin of gray sea rock, with a spout like the head of a fish carved in stone. Out of its mouth burst a stream of water, a saltwater spring that trickled into the pool. The water must've been hot, because it sent mist into the cold winter air like a sauna. It made the room feel warm and summery, fresh with the smell of the sea.
I stepped up to the pool. There was no note attached or anything, but I knew it could only be a gift from Poseidon.
I looked into the water and said, "Thanks, Dad."
The surface rippled. At the bottom of the pool, coins shimmered—a dozen or so golden drachma. I realized what the fountain was for. It was a reminder to keep in touch with my family.
I opened the nearest window, and the wintry sunlight made a rainbow in the mist. Then I fished a coin out of the hot water.
"Iris, O Goddess of the Rainbow," I said, "accept my offering."
I tossed a coin into the mist and it disappeared. Then I realized I didn't know who to contact first.
My mom? That would've been the "good son" thing to do, but she wouldn't be worried about me yet. She was used to me disappearing for days or weeks at a time.
My father? It had been way too long, almost two years, since I'd actually talked to him. But could you even send an Iris-message to a god? I'd never tried. Would it make them mad, like a sales call or something?
I hesitated. Then I made up my mind.
"Show me Tyson," I requested. "At the forges of the Cyclopes."
The mist shimmered, and the image of my half brother appeared. He was surrounded in fire, which would've been a problem if he weren't a Cyclops. He was bent over an anvil, hammering a red-hot sword blade. Sparks flew and flames swirled around his body. There was a marble-framed window behind him, and it looked out onto dark blue water—the bottom of the ocean.
"Tyson!" I yelled.
He didn't hear me at first because of the hammering and the roar of the flames. "TYSON!"
He turned, and his one enormous eye widened. His face broke into a crooked yellow grin. "Percy!"
He dropped the sword blade and ran at me, trying to give me a hug. The vision blurred and I instinctively lurched back. "Tyson, it's an Iris-message. I'm not really here."
"Oh." He came back into view, looking embarrassed. "Oh, I knew that. Yes." "How are you?" I asked. "How's the job?"
His eye lit up. "Love the job! Look!" He picked up the hot sword blade with his bare hands. "I made this!"
"That's really cool."
"I wrote my name on it. Right there." "Awesome. Listen, do you talk to Dad much?"
Tyson's smile faded. "Not much. Daddy is busy. He is worried about the war." "What do you mean?"
Tyson sighed. He stuck the sword blade out the window, where it made a cloud of boiling bubbles. When Tyson brought it back in, the metal was cool. "Old sea spirits making trouble. Aigaios. Oceanus. Those guys."
I sort of knew what he was talking about. He meant the immortals who ruled the oceans back in the days of the Titans. Before the Olympians took over. The fact that they were back now, with the Titan Lord Kronos and his allies gaining strength, was not good.
"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.
Tyson shook his head sadly. "We are arming the mermaids. They need a thousand more swords by tomorrow." He looked at his sword blade and sighed. "Old spirits are protecting the bad boat."
"The Princess Andromeda?" I said. "Luke's boat?"
"Yes. They make it hard to find. Protect it from Daddy's storms. Otherwise he would smash it."
"Smashing it would be good."
Tyson perked up, as if he'd just had another thought. "Annabeth! Is she there?"
"Oh, well…" My heart felt like a bowling ball. Tyson thought Annabeth was just about the coolest thing since peanut butter (and he seriously loved peanut butter). I didn't have the heart to tell him she was missing. He'd start crying so bad he'd probably put out his fires. "Well, no… she's not here right now."
"Tell her hello!" He beamed. "Hello to Annabeth!" "Okay." I fought back a lump in my throat. "I'll do that."
"And, Percy, don't worry about the bad boat. It is going away." "What do you mean?"
"Panama Canal! Very far away."
I frowned. Why would Luke take his demon-infested cruise ship all the way down there? The last time we'd seen him, he'd been cruising along the East Coast, recruiting half- bloods and training his monstrous army.
"All right," I said, not feeling reassured. "That's… good. I guess."
In the forges, a deep voice bellowed something I couldn't make out. Tyson flinched. "Got to get back to work! Boss will get mad. Good luck, Brother!"
"Okay, tell Dad—"
But before I could finish, the vision shimmered and faded. I was alone again in my cabin, feeling even lonelier than before.
I was pretty miserable at dinner that night.
I mean, the food was excellent as usual. You can't go wrong with barbecue, pizza, and never-empty soda goblets. The torches and braziers kept the outdoor pavilion warm, but we all had to sit with our cabin mates, which meant I was alone at the Poseidon table. Thalia sat alone at the Zeus table, but we couldn't sit together. Camp rules. At least the Hephaestus, Ares, and Hermes cabins had a few people each. Nico sat with the Stoll brothers, since new campers always got stuck in the Hermes cabin if their Olympian parent was unknown. The Stoll brothers seemed to be trying to convince Nico that poker was a much better game than Mythomagic. I hoped Nico didn't have any money to lose.
The only table that really seemed to be having a good time was the Artemis table. The Hunters drank and ate and laughed like one big happy family. Zoe sat at the head like she was the mama. She didn't laugh as much as the others, but she did smile from time to time. Her silver lieutenant's band glittered in the dark braids of her hair. I thought she looked a lot nicer when she smiled. Bianca di Angelo seemed to be having a great time. She was trying to learn how to arm wrestle from the big girl who'd picked a fight with the Ares kid on the basketball court. The bigger girl was beating her every time, but Bianca didn't seem to mind.
When we'd finished eating, Chiron made the customary toast to the gods and formally welcomed the Hunters of Artemis. The clapping was pretty halfhearted. Then he announced the "good will" capture-the-flag game for tomorrow night, which got a lot better reception.
Afterward, we all trailed back to our cabins for an early, winter lights out. I was exhausted, which meant I fell asleep easily. That was the good part. The bad part was, I had a nightmare, and even by my standards it was a whopper.
Annabeth was on a dark hillside, shrouded in fog. It almost seemed like the Underworld, because I immediately felt claustrophobic and I couldn't see the sky above—just a close, heavy darkness, as if I were in a cave.
Annabeth struggled up the hill. Old broken Greek columns of black marble were scattered around, as though something had blasted a huge building to rums.
"Thorn!" Annabeth cried. "Where are you? Why did you bring me here?" She scrambled over a section of broken wall and came to the crest of the hill.
She gasped.
There was Luke. And he was in pain.
He was crumpled on the rocky ground, trying to rise. The blackness seemed to be thicker around him, fog swirling hungrily. His clothes were in tatters and his face was scratched and drenched with sweat,
"Annabeth!" he called. "Help me! Please!" She ran forward.
I tried to cry out: He's a traitor! Don't trust him! But my voice didn't work in the dream.
Annabeth had tears in her eyes. She reached down like she wanted to touch Luke's face, but at the last second she hesitated.
"What happened?" she asked.
"They left me here," Luke groaned. "Please. It's killing me."
I couldn't see what was wrong with him. He seemed to be struggling against some invisible curse, as though the fog were squeezing him to death.
"Why should I trust you?" Annabeth asked. Her voice was filled with hurt.
"You shouldn't," Luke said. "I've been terrible to you. But if you don't help me, I'll die."
Let him die, I wanted to scream. Luke had tried to kill us in cold blood too many times.
He didn't deserve anything from Annabeth.
Then the darkness above Luke began to crumble, like a cavern roof in an earthquake. Huge chunks of black rock began falling. Annabeth rushed in just as a crack appeared, and the whole ceiling dropped. She held it somehow—tons of rock. She kept it from collapsing on her and Luke just with her own strength. It was impossible. She shouldn't have been able to do that.
Luke rolled free, gasping. "Thanks," he managed. "Help me hold it," Annabeth groaned.
Luke caught his breath. His face was covered in grime and sweat. He rose unsteadily.
"I knew I could count on you." He began to walk away as the trembling blackness threatened to crush Annabeth.
"HELP ME!" she pleaded,
"Oh, don't worry," Luke said. "Your help is on the way. It's all part of the plan. In the meantime, try not to die."
The ceiling of darkness began to crumble again, pushing Annabeth against the ground.
I sat bolt upright in bed, clawing at the sheets. There was no sound in my cabin except the gurgle of the saltwater spring. The clock on my nightstand read just after midnight.
Only a dream, but I was sure of two things: Annabeth was in terrible danger. And Luke was responsible.
SIX
AN OLD DEAD FRIEND COMES TO VISIT
The next morning after breakfast, I told Grover about my dream. We sat in the meadow watching the satyrs chase the wood nymphs through the snow. The nymphs had promised to kiss the satyrs if they got caught, but they hardly ever did. Usually the nymph would let the satyr get up a full head of steam, then she'd turn into a snow-covered tree and the poor satyr would slam into it headfirst and get a pile of snow dumped on him.
When I told Grover my nightmare, he started twirling his finger in his shaggy leg fur. "A cave ceiling collapsed on her?" he asked.
"Yeah. What the heck does that mean?"
Grover shook his head. "I don't know. But after what Zoe dreamed—" "Whoa. What do you mean? Zoe had a dream like that?"
"I… I don't know, exactly. About three in the morning she came to the Big House and demanded to talk to Chiron. She looked really panicked."
"Wait, how do you know this?"
Grover blushed. "I was sort of camped outside the Artemis cabin." "What for?"
"Just to be, you know, near them." "You're a stalker with hooves."
"I am not! Anyway, I followed her to the Big House and hid in a bush and watched the whole thing. She got real upset when Argus wouldn't let her in. It was kind of a dangerous scene.
I tried to imagine that. Argus was the head of security for camp—a big blond dude with eyes all over his body. He rarely showed himself unless something serious was going on. I wouldn't want to place bets on a fight between him and Zoe Nightshade.
"What did she say?" I asked.
Grover grimaced. "Well, she starts talking really old-fashioned when she gets upset, so it was kind of hard to understand. But something about Artemis being in trouble and needing the Hunters. And then she called Argus a boil-brained lout… I think that's a bad thing. And then he called her—"
"Whoa, wait. How could Artemis be in trouble?"
"I… well, finally Chiron came out in his pajamas and his horse tail in curlers and—" "He wears curlers in his tail?"
Grover covered his mouth. "Sorry," I said. "Go on."
"Well, Zoe said she needed permission to leave camp immediately. Chiron refused. He reminded Zoe that the Hunters were supposed to stay here until they received orders from Artemis. And she said…" Grover gulped. "She said 'How are we to get orders from Artemis if Artemis is lost?'"
"What do you mean lost? Like she needs directions?" "No. I think she meant gone. Taken. Kidnapped."
"Kidnapped?" I tried to get my mind around that idea. "How would you kidnap an immortal goddess? Is that even possible?"
"Well, yeah. I mean, it happened to Persephone." "But she was like, the goddess of flowers." Grover looked offended. "Springtime."
"Whatever. Artemis is a lot more powerful than that. Who could kidnap her? And why?"
Grover shook his head miserably. "I don't know. Kronos?" "He can't be that powerful already. Can he?"
The last time we'd seen Kronos, he'd been in tiny pieces. Well… we hadn't actually seen him. Thousands of years ago, after the big Titan—God war, the gods had sliced him to bits with his own scythe and scattered his remains in Tartarus, which is like the gods' bottomless recycling bin for their enemies. Two summers ago, Kronos had tricked us to the very edge of the pit and almost pulled us in. Then last summer, on board Luke's demon cruise ship, we'd seen a golden coffin, where Luke claimed he was summoning the Titan Lord out of the abyss, bit by bit, every time someone new joined their cause. Kronos could influence people with dreams and trick them, but I didn't see how he could physically overcome Artemis if he was still like a pile of evil bark mulch.
"I don't know," Grover said. "I think somebody would know if Kronos had re-formed. The gods would be more nervous. But still, it's weird, you having a nightmare the same night as Zoe. It's almost like—"
"They're connected," I said.
Over in the frozen meadow, a satyr skidded on his hooves as he chased after a redheaded tree nymph. She giggled and held out her arms as he ran toward her. Pop! She turned into a Scotch pine and he kissed the trunk at top speed,
"Ah, love," Grover said dreamily.
I thought about Zoe's nightmare, which she'd had only a few hours after mine. "I've got to talk to Zoe," I said.
"Um, before you do…" Grover took something out of his coat pocket. It was a three- fold display like a travel brochure. "You remember what you said—about how it was weird the Hunters just happened to show up at Westover Hall? I think they might've been scouting us."
"Scouting us? What do you mean?"
He gave me the brochure. It was about the Hunters of Artemis. The front read, A WISE CHOICE FOR YOUR FUTURE! Inside were pictures of young maidens doing hunter stuff, chasing monsters, shooting bows. There were captions like: HEALTH BENEFITS: IMMORTALITY AND WHAT IT MEANS FOR YOU! and A BOY-FREE TOMORROW!
"I found that in Annabeth's backpack," Grover said. I stared at him. "I don't understand."
"Well, it seems to me… maybe Annabeth was thinking about joining."
I'd like to say I took the news well.
The truth was, I wanted to strangle the Hunters of Artemis one eternal maiden at a time. The rest of the day I tried to keep busy, but I was worried sick about Annabeth. I went to javelin-throwing class, but the Ares camper in charge chewed me out after I got distracted and threw the javelin at the target before he got out of the way. I apologized for the hole in his pants, but he still sent me packing.
I visited the pegasus stables, but Silena Beauregard from the Aphrodite cabin was having an argument with one of the Hunters, and I decided I'd better not get involved.
After that, I sat in the empty chariot stands and sulked. Down at the archery fields, Chiron was conducting target practice. I knew he'd be the best person to talk to. Maybe he could give me some advice, but something held me back. I had a feeling Chiron would try to protect me, like he always did. He might not tell me everything he knew.
I looked the other direction. At the top of Half-Blood Hill, Mr. D and Argus were feeding the baby dragon that guarded the Golden Fleece.
Then it occurred to me: no one would be in the Big House. There was someone else…
something else I could ask for guidance.
My blood was humming in my ears as I ran into the house and took the stairs. I'd only done this once before, and I still had nightmares about it. I opened the trap door and stepped into the attic.
The room was dark and dusty and cluttered with junk, just like I remembered. There were shields with monster bites out of them, and swords bent in the shapes of daemon heads, and a bunch of taxidermy, like a stuffed harpy and a bright orange python.
Over by the window, sitting on a three-legged stool, was the shriveled-up mummy of an old lady in a tie-dyed hippie dress. The Oracle.
I made myself walk toward her. I waited for green mist to billow from the mummy's mouth, like it had before, but nothing happened.
"Hi," I said. "Uh, what's up?"
I winced at how stupid that sounded. Not much could be "up" when you're dead and stuck in the attic. But I knew the spirit of the Oracle was in there somewhere. I could feel a cold presence in the room, like a coiled sleeping snake.
"I have a question," I said a little louder. "I need to know about Annabeth. How can I save her?"
No answer. The sun slanted through the dirty attic window, lighting the dust motes dancing in the air.
I waited longer.
Then I got angry. I was being stonewalled by a corpse. "All right," I said. "Fine. I'll figure it out myself."
I turned and bumped into a big table full of souvenirs. It seemed more cluttered than the last time I was here. Heroes stored all kinds of stuff in the attic: quest trophies they no longer wanted to keep in their cabins, or stuff that held painful memories. I knew Luke had stored a dragon claw somewhere up here—the one that had scarred his face.
There was a broken sword hilt labeled: This broke and Leroy got killed. 1999.
Then I noticed a pink silk scarf with a label attached to it. I picked up the tag and tried to read it:
SCARF OF THE GODDESS APHRODITE RECOVERED AT WATERLAND, DENVER, CO., BY ANNABETH CHASE AND PERCY JACKSON
I stared at the scarf. I'd totally forgotten about it. Two years ago, Annabeth had ripped this scarf out of my hands and said something like, Oh, no. No love magic for you!
I'd just assumed she'd thrown it away. And yet here it was. She'd kept it all this time?
And why had she stashed it in the attic?
I turned to the mummy. She hadn't moved, but the shadows across her face made it look like she was smiling gruesomely.
I dropped the scarf and tried not to run toward the exit.
That night after dinner, I was seriously ready to beat the Hunters at capture the flag. It was going to be a small game: only thirteen Hunters, including Bianca di Angelo, and about the same number of campers.
Zoe Nightshade looked pretty upset. She kept glancing resentfully at Chiron, like she couldn't believe he was making her do this. The other Hunters didn't look too happy, either. Unlike last night, they weren't laughing or joking around. They just huddled together in the dining pavilion, whispering nervously to each other as they strapped on their armor. Some of them even looked like they'd been crying. I guess Zoe had told them about her nightmare.
On our team, we had Beckendorf and two other Hephaestus guys, a few from the Ares cabin (though it still seemed strange that Clarisse wasn't around), the Stoll brothers and Nico from Hermes cabin, and a few Aphrodite kids. It was weird that the Aphrodite cabin wanted to play. Usually they sat on the sidelines, chatted, and checked their reflections in the river and stuff, but when they heard we were fighting the Hunters, they were raring to go.
"I'll show them 'love is worthless,'" Silena Beauregard grumbled as she strapped on her armor. "I'll pulverize them!"
That left Thalia and me.
"I'll take the offense," Thalia volunteered. "You take defense."
"Oh." I hesitated, because I'd been about to say the exact same thing, only reversed. "Don't you think with your shield and all, you'd be better defense?"
Thalia already had Aegis on her arm, and even our own teammates were giving her a wide berth, trying not to cower before the bronze head of Medusa.
"Well, I was thinking it would make better offense," Thalia said. "Besides, you've had more practice at defense."
I wasn't sure if she was teasing me. I'd had some pretty bad experiences with defense on capture the flag. My first year, Annabeth had put me out as a kind of bait, and I'd almost been gored to death with spears and killed by a hellhound.
"Yeah, no problem," I lied.
"Cool." Thalia turned to help some of the Aphrodite kids, who were having trouble suiting up their armor without breaking their nails. Nico di Angelo ran up to me with a big grin on his face.
"Percy, this is awesome!" His blue-feathered bronze helmet was falling in his eyes, and his breastplate was about six sizes too big. I wondered if there was any way I'd looked that ridiculous when I'd first arrived. Unfortunately, I probably had.
Nico lifted his sword with effort. "Do we get to kill the other team?" "Well… no."
"But the Hunters are immortal, right?"
"That's only if they don't fall in battle. Besides—"
"It would be awesome if we just, like, resurrected as soon as we were killed, so we could keep fighting, and—"
"Nico, this is serious. Real swords. These can hurt."
He stared at me, a little disappointed, and I realized that I'd just sounded like my mother. Whoa. Not a good sign.
I patted Nico on the shoulder. "Hey, it's cool. Just follow the team. Stay out of Zoe's way. We'll have a blast."
Chiron's hoof thundered on the pavilion floor.
"Heroes!" he called. "You know the rules! The creek is the boundary line. Blue team— Camp Half-Blood—shall take the west woods. Hunters of Artemis—red team—shall take the east woods. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. No intentional maiming, please! All magic items are allowed. To your positions!"
"Sweet," Nico whispered next to me. "What kind of magic items? Do I get one?"
I was about to break it to him that he didn't, when Thalia said, "Blue team! Follow me!"
They cheered and followed. I had to run to catch up, and tripped over somebody's shield, so I didn't look much like a co-captain. More like an idiot.
We set our flag at the top of Zeus's Fist. It's this cluster of boulders in the middle of the west woods that, if you look at it just the right way, looks like a huge fist sticking out of the ground. If you look at it from any other side, it looks like a pile of enormous deer droppings, but Chiron wouldn't let us call the place the Poop Pile, especially after it had been named for Zeus, who doesn't have much of a sense of humor.
Anyway, it was a good place to set the flag. The top boulder was twenty feet tall and really hard to climb, so the flag was clearly visible, like the rules said it had to be, and it didn't matter that the guards weren't allowed to stand within ten yards of it.
I set Nico on guard duty with Beckendorf and the Stoll brothers, figuring he'd be safely out of the way.
"We'll send out a decoy to the left," Thalia told the team. "Silena, you lead that." "Got it!"
"Take Laurel and Jason. They're good runners. Make a wide arc around the Hunters, attract as many as you can. I'll take the main raiding party around to the right and catch them by surprise."
Everybody nodded. It sounded good, and Thalia said it with such confidence you couldn't help but believe it would work.
Thalia looked at me. "Anything to add, Percy?"
"Um, yeah. Keep sharp on defense. We've got four guards, two scouts. That's not much for a big forest. I'll be roving. Yell if you need help."
"And don't leave your post!" Thalia said. "Unless you see a golden opportunity," I added. Thalia scowled. "Just don't leave your post." "Right, unless—"
"Percy!" She touched my arm and shocked me. I mean, everybody can give static shocks in the winter, but when Thalia does, it hurts. I guess it's because her dad is the god of lightning. She's been known to fry off people's eyebrows.
"Sorry," Thalia said, though she didn't sound particularly sorry. "Now, is everybody clear?"
Everybody nodded. We broke into our smaller groups. The horn sounded, and the game began.
Silena's group disappeared into the woods on the left. Thalia's group gave it a few seconds, then darted off toward the right.
I waited for something to happen. I climbed Zeus's Fist and had a good view over the forest. I remembered how the Hunters had stormed out of the woods when they fought the manticore, and I was prepared for something like that—one huge charge that could overwhelm us. But nothing happened.
I caught a glimpse of Silena and her two scouts. They ran through a clearing, followed by five of the Hunters, leading them deep into the woods and away from Thalia. The plan seemed to be working. Then I spotted another clump of Hunters heading to the right, bows ready. They must've spotted Thalia.
"What's happening?" Nico demanded, trying to climb up next to me.
My mind was racing. Thalia would never get through, but the Hunters were divided.
With that many on either flank, their center had to be wide open. If I moved fast… I looked at Beckendorf. "Can you guys hold the fort?"
Beckendorf snorted. "Of course." "I'm going in.
The Stoll brothers and Nico cheered as I raced toward the boundary line.
I was running at top speed and I felt great. I leaped over the creek into enemy territory. I could see their silver flag up ahead, only one guard, who wasn't even looking in my direction. I heard fighting to my left and right, somewhere in the woods. I had it made.
The guard turned at the last minute. It was Bianca di Angelo. Her eyes widened as I slammed into her and she went sprawling in the snow.
"Sorry!" I yelled. I ripped down the silver silk flag from the tree and took off.
I was ten yards away before Bianca managed to yell for help. I thought I was home free.
ZIP. A silvery cord raced across my ankles and fastened to the tree next to me. A trip wire, fired from a bow! Before I could even think about stopping, I went down hard, sprawling in the snow.
"Percy!" Thalia yelled, off to my left. "What are you doing?"
Before she reached me, an arrow exploded at her feet and a cloud of yellow smoke billowed around her team. They started coughing and gagging. I could smell the gas from across the woods—the horrible smell of sulfur.
"No fair!" Thalia gasped. "Fart arrows are unsportsmanlike!"
I got up and started running again. Only a few more yards to the creek and I had the game. More arrows whizzed past my ears. A Hunter came out of nowhere and slashed at me with her knife, but I parried and kept running.
I heard yelling from our side of the creek. Beckendorf and Nico were running toward me. I thought they were coming to welcome me back, but then I saw they were chasing someone—Zoe Nightshade, racing toward me like a cheetah, dodging campers with no trouble. And she had our flag in her hands.
"No!" I yelled, and poured on the speed.
I was two feet from the water when Zoe bolted across to her own side, slamming into me for good measure. The Hunters cheered as both sides converged on the creek. Chiron appeared out of the woods, looking grim. He had the Stoll brothers on his back, and it looked as if both of them had taken some nasty whacks to the head. Connor Stoll had two arrows sticking out of his helmet like antennae.
"The Hunters win!" Chiron announced without pleasure. Then he muttered, "For the fifty-sixth time in a row."
"Perseus Jackson!" Thalia yelled, storming toward me. She smelled like rotten eggs, and she was so mad that blue sparks flickered on her armor. Everybody cringed and backed up because of Aegis. It took all my willpower not to cower.
"What in the name of the gods were you THINKING?" she bellowed.
I balled my fists. I'd had enough bad stuff happen to me for one day. I didn't need this. "I got the flag, Thalia!" I shook it in her face. "I saw a chance and I took it!"
"I WAS AT THEIR BASE!" Thalia yelled. "But the flag was gone. If you hadn't butted in, we would've won."
"You had too many on you!" "Oh, so it's my fault?"
"I didn't say that."
"Argh!" Thalia pushed me, and a shock went through my body that blew me backward ten feet into the water. Some of the campers gasped. A couple of the Hunters stifled laughs.
"Sorry!" Thalia said, turning pale. "I didn't mean to—"
Anger roared in my ears. A wave erupted from the creek, blasting into Thalia's face and dousing her from head to toe.
I stood up. "Yeah," I growled. "I didn't mean to, either." Thalia was breathing heavily.
"Enough!" Chiron ordered.
But Thalia held out her spear. "You want some, Seaweed Brain?"
Somehow, it was okay when Annabeth called me that—at least, I'd gotten used to it— but hearing it from Thalia was not cool.
"Bring it on, Pinecone Face!"
I raised Riptide, but before I could even defend myself, Thalia yelled, and a blast of lightning came down from the sky, hit her spear like a lightning rod, and slammed into my chest.
I sat down hard. There was a burning smell; I had a feeling it was my clothes. "Thalia!" Chiron said. "That is enough!"
I got to my feet and willed the entire creek to rise. It swirled up, hundreds of gallons of water in a massive icy funnel cloud.
"Percy!" Chiron pleaded.
I was about to hurl it at Thalia when I saw something in the woods. I lost my anger and my concentration all at once. The water splashed back into the creekbed. Thalia was so surprised she turned to see what I was looking at.
Someone… something was approaching. It was shrouded in a murky green mist, but as it got closer, the campers and Hunters gasped.
"This is impossible," Chiron said. I'd never heard him sound so nervous. "It… she has never left the attic. Never."
And yet, the withered mummy that held the Oracle shuffled forward until she stood in the center of the group. Mist curled around our feet, turning the snow a sickly shade of green.
None of us dared move. Then her voice hissed inside my head. Apparently everyone could hear it, because several clutched their hands over the ears.
I am the sprit of Delphi, the voice said. Speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python.
The Oracle regarded me with its cold, dead eyes. Then she turned unmistakably toward Zoe Nightshade. Approach, Seeker, and ask.
Zoe swallowed. "What must I do to help my goddess?"
The Oracle's mouth opened, and green mist poured out. I saw the vague image of a mountain, and a girl standing at the barren peak. It was Artemis, but she was wrapped in chains, fettered to the rocks. She was kneeling, her hands raised as if to fend off an attacker, and it looked like she was in pain. The Oracle spoke:
Five shall go west to the goddess in chains, One shall be lost in the land without rain, The bane of Olympus shows the trail, Campers and Hunters combined prevail, The Titan's curse must one withstand,
And one shall perish by a parent's hand.
Then, as we were watching, the mist swirled and retreated like a great green serpent into the mummy's mouth. The Oracle sat down on a rock and became as still as she'd been in the attic, as if she might sit by this creek for a hundred years.
SEVEN
EVERYBODY HATES ME BUT THE HORSE
The least the Oracle could've done was walk back to the attic by herself.
Instead, Grover and I were elected to carry her. I didn't figure that was because we were the most popular.
"Watch her head!" Grover warned as we went up the stairs. But it was too late. Bonk! I whacked her mummified face against the trapdoor frame and dust flew. "Ah, man." I set her down and checked for damage. "Did I break anything?"
"I can't tell," Grover admitted.
We hauled her up and set her on her tripod stool, both of us huffing and sweating. Who knew a mummy could weigh so much?
I assumed she wouldn't talk to me, and I was right. I was relieved when we finally got out of there and slammed the attic door shut.
"Well," Grover said, "that was gross."
I knew he was trying to keep things light for my sake, but I still felt really down. The whole camp would be mad at me for losing the game to the Hunters, and then there was the new prophecy from the Oracle. It was like the spirit of Delphi had gone out of her way to exclude me. She'd ignored my question and walked half a mile to talk to Zoe. And she'd said nothing, not even a hint, about Annabeth.
"What will Chiron do?" I asked Grover.
"I wish I knew." He looked wistfully out the second-floor window at the rolling hills covered in snow. "I want to be out there."
"Searching for Annabeth?"
He had a little trouble focusing on me. Then he blushed. "Oh, right. That too. Of course."
"Why?" I asked. "What were you thinking?"
He clopped his hooves uneasily. "Just something the manticore said, about the Great Stirring. I can't help but wonder… if all those ancient powers are waking up, maybe… maybe not all of them are evil."
"You mean Pan."
I felt kind of selfish, because I'd totally forgotten about Grover's life ambition. The nature god had gone missing two thousand years ago. He was rumored to have died, but the satyrs didn't believe that. They were determined to find him. They'd been searching in vain for centuries, and Grover was convinced he'd be the one to succeed. This year, with Chiron putting all the satyrs on emergency duty to find half-bloods, Grover hadn't been able to continue his search. It must've been driving him nuts.
"I've let the trail go cold," he said. "I feel restless, like I'm missing something really important. He's out there somewhere. I can just feel it."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to encourage him, but I didn't know how. My optimism had pretty much been trampled into the snow out there in the woods, along with our capture-the-flag hopes.
Before I could respond, Thalia tromped up the stairs. She was officially not talking to me now, but she looked at Grover and said, "Tell Percy to get his butt downstairs."
"Why?" I asked.
"Did he say something?" Thalia asked Grover. "Um, he asked why."
"Dionysus is calling a council of cabin leaders to discuss the prophecy," she said. "Unfortunately, that includes Percy."
The council was held around a Ping-Pong table in the rec room. Dionysus waved his hand and supplied snacks: Cheez Whiz, crackers, and several bottles of red wine. Then Chiron reminded him that wine was against his restrictions and most of us were underage. Mr. D sighed. With a snap of his fingers the wine turned to Diet Coke. Nobody drank that either.
Mr. D and Chiron (in wheelchair form) sat at one end of the table. Zoe and Bianca di Angelo (who had kind of become Zoe's personal assistant) took the other end. Thalia and Grover and I sat along the right, and the other head councilors—Beckendorf, Silena Beauregard, and the Stoll brothers—sat on the left. The Ares kids were supposed to send a representative, too, but all of them had gotten broken limbs (accidentally) during capture the flag, courtesy of the Hunters. They were resting up in the infirmary.
Zoe started the meeting off on a positive note. "This is pointless."
"Cheez Whiz!" Grover gasped. He began scooping up crackers and Ping-Pong balls and spraying them with topping.
"There is no time for talk," Zoe continued. "Our goddess needs us. The Hunters must leave immediately."
"And go where?" Chiron asked.
"West!" Bianca said. I was amazed at how different she looked after just a few days with the Hunters. Her dark hair was braided like Zoe's now, so you could actually see her face. She had a splash of freckles across her nose, and her dark eyes vaguely reminded me of someone famous, but I couldn't think who. She looked like she'd been working out, and her skin glowed faintly, like the other Hunters, as if she'd been taking showers in liquid moonlight. "You heard the prophecy. Five shall go west to the goddess in chains. We can get five hunters and go."
"Yes," Zoe agreed. "Artemis is being held hostage! We must find her and free her." "You're missing something, as usual," Thalia said. "Campers and Hunters combined
prevail. We're supposed to do this together."
"No!" Zoe said. "The Hunters do not need thy help."
"Your" Thalia grumbled. "Nobody has said thy in, like, three hundred years, Zoe. Get with the times."
Zoe hesitated, like she was trying to form the word correctly. " Yerrr. We do not need
yerrr help."
Thalia rolled her eyes. "Forget it."
"I fear the prophecy says you do need our help," Chiron said. "Campers and Hunters must cooperate."
"Or do they?" Mr. D mused, swirling his Diet Coke under his nose like it had a fine bouquet. "One shall be lost. One shall perish. That sounds rather nasty, doesn't it? What if you fail because you try to cooperate?"
"Mr. D," Chiron sighed, "with all due respect, whose side are you on?"
Dionysus raised his eyebrows. "Sorry, my dear centaur. Just trying to be helpful." "We're supposed to work together," Thalia said stubbornly. "I don't like it either, Zoe,
but you know prophecies. You want to fight against one?" Zoe grimaced, but I could tell Thalia had scored a point.
"We must not delay," Chiron warned. "Today is Sunday. This very Friday, December twenty-first, is the winter solstice."
"Oh, joy," Dionysus muttered. "Another dull annual meeting."
"Artemis must be present at the solstice," Zoe said. "She has been one of the most vocal on the council arguing for action against Kronos's minions. If she is absent, the gods will decide nothing. We will lose another year of war preparations."
"Are you suggesting that the gods have trouble acting together, young lady?" Dionysus asked.
"Yes, Lord Dionysus."
Mr. D nodded. "Just checking. You're right, of course. Carry on."
"I must agree with Zoe," said Chiron. "Artemis's presence at the winter council is critical. We have only a week to find her. And possibly even more important: to locate the monster she was hunting. Now, we must decide who goes on this quest."
"Three and two," I said.
Everybody looked at me. Thalia even forgot to ignore me.
"We're supposed to have five," I said, feeling self-conscious. "Three Hunters, two from Camp Half-Blood. That's more than fair."
Thalia and Zoe exchanged looks.
"Well," Thalia said. "It does make sense."
Zoe grunted. "I would prefer to take all the Hunters. We will need strength of numbers."
"You'll be retracing the goddess's path," Chiron reminded her. "Moving quickly. No doubt Artemis tracked the scent of this rare monster, whatever it is, as she moved west. You will have to do the same. The prophecy was clear: The bane of Olympus shows the trail. What would your mistress say? 'Too many Hunters spoil the scent.' A small group is best."
Zoe picked up a Ping-Pong paddle and studied it like she was deciding who she wanted to whack first. "This monster—the bane of Olympus. I have hunted at Lady Artemis's side for many years, yet I have no idea what this beast might be."
Everybody looked at Dionysus, I guess because he was the only god present and gods are supposed to know things. He was flipping through a wine magazine, but when everyone got silent he glanced up, "Well, don't look at me. I'm a young god, remember? I don't keep track of all those ancient monsters and dusty titans. They make for terrible party conversation."
"Chiron," I said, "you don't have any ideas about the monster?"
Chiron pursed his lips. "I have several ideas, none of them good. And none of them quite make sense. Typhon, for instance, could fit this description. He was truly a bane of Olympus. Or the sea monster Keto. But if either of these were stirring, we would know it. They are ocean monsters the size of skyscrapers. Your father, Poseidon, would already have sounded the alarm. I fear this monster may be more elusive. Perhaps even more powerful."
"That's some serious danger you're facing," Connor Stoll said. (I liked how he said you
and not we.) "It sounds like at least two of the five are going to die."
"One shall be lost in the land without rain" Beckendorf said. "If I were you, I'd stay out of the desert."
There was a muttering of agreement.
"And the Titan's curse must one withstand," Silena said. "What could that mean?"
I saw Chiron and Zoe exchange a nervous look, but whatever they were thinking, they didn't share it.
"One shall perish by a parent's hand," Grover said in between bites of Cheez Whiz and Ping-Pong balls. "How is that possible? Whose parent would kill them?"
There was heavy silence around the table.
I glanced at Thalia and wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was. Years ago, Chiron had had a prophecy about the next child of the Big Three—Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades—who turned sixteen. Supposedly, that kid would make a decision that would save or destroy the gods forever. Because of that, the Big Three had taken an oath after World War II not to have any more kids. But Thalia and I had been born anyway, and now we were both getting close to sixteen.
I remembered a conversation I'd had last year with Annabeth. I'd asked her, if I was so potentially dangerous, why the gods didn't just kill me.
Some of the gods would like to kill you, she'd said. But they're afraid of offending Poseidon.
Could an Olympian parent turn against his half-blood child? Would it sometimes be easier just to let them die? If there were ever any half-bloods who needed to worry about that, it was Thalia and me. I wondered if maybe I should've sent Poseidon that seashell pattern tie for Father's Day after all.
"There will be deaths," Chiron decided. "That much we know." "Oh, goody!" Dionysus said.
Everyone looked at him. He glanced up innocently from the pages of Wine Connoisseur
magazine. "Ah, pinot noir is making a comeback. Don't mind me." "Percy is right," Silena Beauregard said. "Two campers should go."
"Oh, I see," Zoe said sarcastically. "And I suppose you wish to volunteer?" Silena blushed. "I'm not going anywhere with the Hunters. Don't look at me!"
"A daughter of Aphrodite does not wish to be looked at," Zoe scoffed. "What would thy mother say?"
Silena started to get out of her chair, but the Stoll brothers pulled her back.
"Stop it," Beckendorf said. He was a big guy with a bigger voice. He didn't talk much, but when he did, people tended to listen. "Let's start with the Hunters. Which three of you will go?"
Zoe stood. "I shall go, of course, and I will take Phoebe. She is our best tracker." "The big girl who likes to hit people on the head?" Travis Stoll asked cautiously. Zoe nodded.
"The one who put the arrows in my helmet?" Connor added.. "Yes," Zoe snapped. "Why?"
"Oh, nothing," Travis said. "Just that we have a T-shirt for her from the camp store." He held up a big silver T-shirt that said ARTEMIS THE MOON GODDESS, FALL HUNTING TOUR 2002, with a huge list of national parks and stuff underneath. "It's a collector's item. She was admiring it. You want to give it to her?"
I knew the Stolls were up to something. They always were. But I guess Zoe didn't know them as well as I did. She just sighed and took the T-shirt. "As I was saying, I will take Phoebe. And I wish Bianca to go."
Bianca looked stunned. "Me? But… I'm so new. I wouldn't be any good." "You will do fine," Zoe insisted. "There is no better way to prove thyself."
Bianca closed her mouth. I felt kind of sorry for her. I remembered my first quest when I was twelve. I had felt totally unprepared. A little honored, maybe, but a lot resentful and plenty scared. I figured the same things were running around in Bianca's head right now.
"And for campers?" Chiron asked. His eyes met mine, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking.
"Me!" Grover stood up so fast he bumped the Ping-Pong table. He brushed cracker crumbs and Ping-Pong ball scraps off his lap. "Anything to help Artemis!"
Zoe wrinkled her nose. "I think not, satyr. You are not even a half-blood."
"But he is a camper," Thalia said. "And he's got a satyr's senses and woodland magic.
Can you play a tracker's song yet, Grover?" "Absolutely!"
Zoe wavered. I didn't know what a tracker's song was, but apparently Zoe thought it was a good thing.
"Very well," Zoe said. "And the second camper?"
"I'll go." Thalia stood and looked around, daring anyone to question her.
Now, okay, maybe my math skills weren't the best, but it suddenly occurred to me that we'd reached the number five, and I wasn't in the group. "Whoa, wait a sec," I said. "I want to go too."
Thalia said nothing. Chiron was still studying me, his eyes sad.
"Oh," Grover said, suddenly aware of the problem. "Whoa, yeah, I forgot! Percy has to go. I didn't mean… I'll stay. Percy should go in my place."
"He cannot," Zoe said. "He is a boy. I won't have Hunters traveling with a boy." "You traveled here with me," I reminded her.
"That was a short-term emergency, and it was ordered by the goddess. I will not go across country and fight many dangers in the company of a boy."
"What about Grover?" I demanded.
Zoe shook her head. "He does not count. He's a satyr. He is not technically a boy." "Hey!" Grover protested.
"I have to go," I said. "I need to be on this quest." "Why?" Zoe asked. "Because of thy friend Annabeth?"
I felt myself blushing. I hated that everyone was looking at me."No! I mean, partly.I just feel like I'm supposed to go!"
Nobody rose to my defense. Mr. D looked bored, still reading his magazine. Silena, the Stoll brothers, and Beckendorf were staring at the table. Bianca gave me a look of pity.
"No," Zoe said flatly. "I insist upon this. I will take a satyr if I must, but not a male hero."
Chiron sighed. "The quest is for Artemis. The Hunters should be allowed to approve their companions."
My ears were ringing as I sat down. I knew Grover and some of the others were looking at me sympathetically, but
I couldn't meet their eyes. I just sat there as Chiron concluded the council.
"So be it," he said. "Thalia and Grover will accompany Zoe, Bianca, and Phoebe. You shall leave at first light. And may the gods"—he glanced at Dionysus—"present company included, we hope—be with you."
I didn't show up for dinner that night, which was a mistake, because Chiron and Grover came looking for me.
"Percy, I'm so sorry!" Grover said, sitting next to me on the bunk. "I didn't know they'd—that you'd—Honest!"
He started to sniffle, and I figured if I didn't cheer him up he'd either start bawling or chewing up my mattress. He tends to eat household objects whenever he gets upset.
"It's okay," I lied. "Really. It's fine."
Grover's lower lip trembled. "I wasn't even thinking… I was so focused on helping Artemis. But I promise, I'll look everywhere for Annabeth. If I can find her, I will."
I nodded and tried to ignore the big crater that was opening in my chest. "Grover," Chiron said, "perhaps you'd let me have a word with Percy?" "Sure," he sniffled.
Chiron waited,
"Oh," Grover said. "You mean alone. Sure, Chiron." He looked at me miserably. "See?
Nobody needs a goat."
He trotted out the door, blowing his nose on his sleeve.
Chiron sighed and knelt on his horse legs. "Percy, I don't pretend to understand prophecies."
"Yeah," I said. "Well, maybe that's because they don't make any sense."
Chiron gazed at the saltwater spring gurgling in the corner of the room. "Thalia would not have been my first choice to go on this quest. She's too impetuous. She acts without thinking. She is too sure of herself"
"Would you have chosen me?"
"Frankly, no," he said. "You and Thalia are much alike." "Thanks a lot."
He smiled. "The difference is that you are less sure of yourself than Thalia. That could be good or bad. But one thing I can say: both of you together would be a dangerous thing."
"We could handle it."
"The way you handled it at the creek tonight?" I didn't answer. He'd nailed me.
"Perhaps it is for the best," Chiron mused. "You can go home to your mother for the holidays. If we need you, we can call."
"Yeah," I said. "Maybe."
I pulled Riptide out of my pocket and set it on my nightstand. It didn't seem that I'd be using it for anything but writing Christmas cards.
When he saw the pen, Chiron grimaced. "It's no wonder Zoe doesn't want you along, I suppose. Not while you're carrying that particular weapon."
I didn't understand what he meant. Then I remembered something he'd told me a long time ago, when he first gave me the magic sword: It has a long and tragic history, which we need not go into.
I wanted to ask him about that, but then he pulled a golden drachma from his saddlebag and tossed it to me. "Call your mother, Percy. Let her know you're coming home in the morning. And, ah, for what it's worth… I almost volunteered for this quest myself. I would have gone, if not for the last line."
"One shall perish by a parent's hand. Yeah."
I didn't need to ask. I knew Chiron's dad was Kronos, the evil Titan Lord himself. The line would make perfect sense if Chiron went on the quest. Kronos didn't care for anyone, including his own children.
"Chiron," I said. "You know what this Titan's curse is, don't you?"
His face darkened. He made a claw over his heart and pushed outward—an ancient gesture for warding off evil. "Let us hope the prophecy does not mean what I think. Now, good night, Percy. And your time will come. I'm convinced of that. There's no need to rush."
He said your time the way people did when they meant your death. I didn't know if Chiron meant it that way, but the look in his eyes made me scared to ask.
I stood at the saltwater spring, rubbing Chiron's coin in my hand and trying to figure out what to say to my mom. I really wasn't in the mood to have one more adult tell me that doing nothing was the greatest thing I could do, but I figured my mom deserved an update.
Finally, I took a deep breath and threw in the coin. "O goddess, accept my offering."
The mist shimmered. The light from the bathroom was just enough to make a faint rainbow.
"Show me Sally Jackson," I said. "Upper East Side, Manhattan."
And there in the mist was a scene I did not expect. My mom was sitting at our kitchen table with some… guy. They were laughing hysterically. There was a big stack of textbooks
between them. The man was, I don't know, thirty-something, with longish salt-and-pepper hair and a brown jacket over a black T-shirt. He looked like an actor—like a guy who might play an undercover cop on television.
I was too stunned to say anything, and fortunately, my mom and the guy were too busy laughing to notice my Iris-message.
The guy said, "Sally, you're a riot. You want some more wine?" "Ah, I shouldn't. You go ahead if you want."
"Actually, I'd better use your bathroom. May I?" "Down the hall," she said, trying not to laugh.
The actor dude smiled and got up and left. "Mom!" I said.
She jumped so hard she almost knocked her textbooks off the table. Finally she focused on me. "Percy! Oh, honey! Is everything okay?"
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
She blinked. "Homework." Then she seemed to understand the look on my face. "Oh, honey, that's just Paul—um, Mr. Blofis. He's in my writing seminar."
"Mr. Blowfish?"
"Blofis. He'll be back in a minute, Percy. Tell me what's wrong."
She always knew when something was wrong. I told her about Annabeth. The other stuff too, but mostly it boiled down to Annabeth.
My mother's eyes teared up. I could tell she was trying hard to keep it together for my sake. "Oh, Percy…"
"Yeah. So they tell me there's nothing I can do. I guess I'll be coming home."
She turned her pencil around in her fingers. "Percy, as much as I want you to come home"—she sighed like she was mad at herself—"as much as I want you to be safe, I want you to understand something. You need to do whatever you think you have to."
I stared at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you really, deep down, believe that you have to help save her? Do you think it's the right thing to do? Because I know one thing about you, Percy. Your heart is always in the right place. Listen to it."
"You're… you're telling me to go?"
My mother pursed her lips. "I'm telling you that… you're getting too old for me to tell you what to do. I'm telling you that I'll support you, even if what you decide to do is dangerous. I can't believe I'm saying this."
"Mom—"
The toilet flushed down the hall in our apartment.
"I don't have much time," my mom said. "Percy, whatever you decide, I love you. And I
know you'll do what's best for Annabeth." "How can you be sure?"
"Because she'd do the same for you."
And with that, my mother waved her hand over the mist, and the connection dissolved, leaving me with one final image of her new friend, Mr. Blowfish, smiling down at her.
I don't remember falling asleep, but I remember the dream.
I was back in that barren cave, the ceiling heavy and low above me. Annabeth was kneeling under the weight of a dark mass that looked like a pile of boulders. She was too tired even to cry out. Her legs trembled. Any second, I knew she would run out of strength and the cavern ceiling would collapse on top of her.
"How is our mortal guest?" a male voice boomed.
It wasn't Kronos. Kronos's voice was raspy and metallic, like a knife scraped across stone. I'd heard it taunting me many times before in my dreams. But this voice was deeper and lower, like a bass guitar. Its force made the ground vibrate.
Luke emerged from the shadows. He ran to Annabeth, knelt beside her, then looked back at the unseen man. "She's fading. We must hurry."
The hypocrite. Like he really cared what happened to her.
The deep voice chuckled. It belonged to someone in the shadows, at the edge of my dream. Then a meaty hand thrust someone forward into the light—Artemis—her hands and feet bound in celestial bronze chains.
I gasped. Her silvery dress was torn and tattered. Her face and arms were cut in several places, and she was bleeding ichor, the golden blood of the gods.
"You heard the boy," said the man in the shadows. "Decide!"
Artemis's eyes flashed with anger. I didn't know why she just didn't will the chains to burst, or make herself disappear, but she didn't seem able to. Maybe the chains prevented her, or some magic about this dark, horrible place.
The goddess looked at Annabeth and her expression changed to concern and outrage. "How dare you torture a maiden like this!"
"She will die soon," Luke said. "You can save her."
Annabeth made a weak sound of protest. My heart felt like it was being twisted into a knot. I wanted to run to her, but I couldn't move.
"Free my hands," Artemis said.
Luke brought out his sword, Backbiter. With one expert strike, he broke the goddess's handcuffs.
Artemis ran to Annabeth and took the burden from her shoulders. Annabeth collapsed on the ground and lay there shivering. Artemis staggered, trying to support the weight of the black rocks.
The man in the shadows chuckled. "You are as predictable as you were easy to beat, Artemis."
"You surprised me," the goddess said, straining under her burden. "It will not happen again."
"Indeed it will not," the man said. "Now you are out of the way for good! I knew you could not resist helping a young maiden. That is, after all, your specialty, my dear."
Artemis groaned "You know nothing of mercy, you swine."
"On that," the man said, "we can agree. Luke, you may kill the girl now." "No!'" Artemis shouted.
Luke hesitated. "She—she may yet be useful, sir.. Further bait." "Bah! You truly believe that?"
"Yes, General. They will come for her. I'm sure."
The man considered. "Then the dracaenae can guard her here. Assuming she does not die from her injuries, you may keep her alive until winter solstice. After that, if our sacrifice goes as planned, her life will be meaningless. The lives of all mortals will be meaningless."
Luke gathered up Annabeth's listless body and carried her away from the goddess. "You will never find the monster you seek," Artemis said. "Your plan will fail."
"How little you know, my young goddess," the man in the shadows said. "Even now, your darling attendants begin their quest to find you. They shall play directly into my hands. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a long journey to make. We must greet your Hunters and make sure their quest is… challenging."
The man's laughter echoed in the darkness, shaking the ground until it seemed the whole cavern ceiling would collapse.
I woke with a start. I was sure I'd heard a loud banging. I looked around the cabin. It was dark outside. The salt spring still gurgled. No other sounds but the hoot of an owl in the woods and the distant surf on the beach. In the moonlight, on my nightstand was Annabeth's New York Yankees cap. I stared at it for a second and then:BANG BANG.
Someone, or something, was pounding on my door. I grabbed Riptide and got out of
bed.
"Hello?" I called. THUMP. THUMP.I crept to the door.
I uncapped the blade, flung open the door, and found myself face-to-face with a black pegasus.
Whoa, boss! Its voice spoke in my mind as it clopped away from the sword blade. I don't wanna be a horse-ke-bob!
Its black wings spread in alarm, and the wind buffeted me back a step, "Blackjack," I said, relieved but a little irritated. "It's the middle of the night!"
Blackjack huffed. Ain't either, boss. It's five in the morning. What you still sleeping for? "How many times have I told you? Don't call me boss."
Whatever you say, boss. You're the man. You're my number one. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and tried not to let the pegasus read my thoughts. That's the problem with being Poseidon's son: since he created horses out of sea foam, I can understand most equestrian animals, but they can understand me, too. Sometimes, like in Blackjacks case, they kind of adopt me.
See, Blackjack had been a captive on board Luke's ship last summer, until we'd caused a little distraction that allowed him to escape. I'd really had very little to do with it, seriously, but Blackjack credited me with saving him.
"Blackjack," I said, "you're supposed to stay in the stables." Meh, the stables. You see Chiron staying in the stables? "Well… no."
Exactly. Listen, we got another little sea friend needs your help.
"Again?"
Yeah. I told the hippocampi I'd come get you.
I groaned. Anytime I was anywhere near the beach, the hippocampi would ask me to help them with their problems. And they had a lot of problems. Beached whales, porpoises caught in fishing nets, mermaids with hangnails—they'd call me to come underwater and help.
"All right," I said. "I'm coming."
You're the best, boss.
"And don't call me boss!"
Blackjack whinnied softly. It might've been a laugh.
I looked back at my comfortable bed. My bronze shield still hung on the wall, dented and unusable. And on my nightstand was Annabeth's magic Yankees cap. On an impulse, I stuck the cap in my pocket. I guess I had a feeling, even then, that I wasn't coming back to my cabin for a long, long time.
EIGHT
I MAKE A DANGEROUS PROMISE
Blackjack gave me a ride down the beach, and I have to admit it was cool. Being on a flying horse, skimming over the waves at a hundred miles an hour with the wind in my hair and the sea spray in my face—hey, it beats waterskiing any day.
Here. Blackjack slowed and turned in a circle. Straight down. "Thanks." I tumbled off his back and plunged into the icy sea.
I'd gotten more comfortable doing stunts like that the past couple of years. I could pretty much move however I wanted to underwater, just by willing the ocean currents to change around me and propel me along, I could breathe underwater, no problem, and my clothes never got wet unless I wanted them to.
I shot down into the darkness.
Twenty, thirty, forty feet. The pressure wasn't uncomfortable. I'd never tried to push it—to see if there was a limit to how deep I could dive. I knew most regular humans couldn't go past two hundred feet without crumpling like an aluminum can. I should've been blind, too, this deep in the water at night, but I could see the heat from living forms, and the cold of the currents. It's hard to describe. It wasn't like regular seeing, but I could tell where everything was.
As I got closer to the bottom, I saw three hippocampi—fish-tailed horses—swimming in a circle around an overturned boat. The hippocampi were beautiful to watch. Their fish tails shimmered in rainbow colors, glowing phosphorescent. Their manes were white, and they were galloping through the water the way nervous horses do in a thunderstorm. Something was upsetting them.
I got closer and saw the problem. A dark shape—some kind of animal—was wedged halfway under the boat and tangled in a fishing net, one of those big nets they use on trawlers to catch everything at once. I hated those things. It was bad enough they drowned porpoises and dolphins, but they also occasionally caught mythological animals. When the nets got tangled, some lazy fishermen would just cut them loose and let the trapped animals die.
Apparently this poor creature had been mucking around on the bottom of Long Island Sound and had somehow gotten itself tangled in the net of this sunken fishing boat. It had tried to get out and managed to get even more hopelessly stuck, shifting the boat in the process. Now the wreckage of the hull, which was resting against a big rock, was teetering and threatening to collapse on top of the tangled animal.
The hippocampi were swimming around frantically, wanting to help but not sure how. One was trying to chew the net, but hippocampi teeth just aren't meant for cutting rope. Hippocampi are really strong, but they don't have hands, and they're not (shhh) all that smart.
Free it, lord! A hippocampus said when it saw me. The others joined in, asking the same thing.
I swam in for a closer look at the tangled creature. At first I thought it was a young hippocampus. I'd rescued several of them before. But then I heard a strange sound, something that did not belong underwater:
"Mooooooo!"
I got next to the thing and saw that it was a cow. I mean… I'd heard of sea cows, like manatees and stuff, but this really was a cow with the back end of a serpent. The front half was a calf—a baby, with black fur and big, sad brown eyes and a white muzzle—and its back half was a black-and-brown snaky tail with fins running down the top and bottom, like an enormous eel.
"Whoa, little one," I said. "Where did you come from?" The creature looked at me sadly. "Moooo!"
But I couldn't understand its thoughts. I only speak horse.
We don't know what it is, lord, one of the hippocampi said. Many strange things are stirring.
"Yeah," I murmured. "So I've heard."
I uncapped Riptide, and the sword grew to full length in my hands, its bronze blade gleaming in the dark.
The cow serpent freaked out and started struggling against the net, its eyes full of terror. "Whoa!" I said. "I'm not going to hurt you! Just let me cut the net."
But the cow serpent thrashed around and got even more tangled. The boat started to tilt, stirring up the muck on the sea bottom and threatening to topple onto the cow serpent. The hippocampi whinnied in a panic and thrashed in the water, which didn't help.
"Okay, okay!" I said. I put away the sword and started speaking as calmly as I could so the hippocampi and the cow serpent would stop panicking. I didn't know if it was possible to get stampeded underwater, but I didn't really want to find out. "It's cool. No sword. See? No sword. Calm thoughts. Sea grass. Mama cows. Vegetarianism."
I doubted the cow serpent understood what I was saying, but it responded to the tone of my voice. The hippocampi were still skittish, but they stopped swirling around me quite so fast.
Free it, lord! they pleaded.
"Yeah," I said. "I got that part. I'm thinking."
But how could I free the cow serpent when she (I decided it was probably a "she") panicked at the sight of a blade? It was like she'd seen swords before and knew how dangerous they were.
"All right," I told the hippocampi. "I need all of you to push exactly the way I tell you." First we started with the boat. It wasn't easy, but with the strength of three horsepower,
we managed to shift the wreckage so it was no longer threatening to collapse on the baby cow serpent. Then I went to work on the net, untangling it section by section, getting lead weights and fishing hooks straightened out, yanking out knots around the cow serpent's hooves. It took forever—I mean, it was worse than the time I'd had to untangle all my video game controller wires. The whole time, I kept talking to the cow fish, telling her everything was okay while she mooed and moaned.
"It's okay, Bessie," I said. Don't ask me why I started calling her that. It just seemed like a good cow name. "Good cow. Nice cow."
Finally, the net came off and the cow serpent zipped through the water and did a happy somersault.
The hippocampi whinnied with joy. Thank you, lord!
"Moooo!"The cow serpent nuzzled me and gave me the big brown eyes. "Yeah," I said. "That's okay. Nice cow. Well… stay out of trouble."
Which reminded me, I'd been underwater how long? An hour, at least. I had to get back to my cabin before Argus or the harpies discovered I was breaking curfew.
I shot to the surface and broke through. Immediately, Blackjack zoomed down and let me catch hold of his neck. He lifted me into the air and took me back toward the shore.
Success, boss?
"Yeah. We rescued a baby… something or other. Took forever. Almost got stampeded."
Good deeds are always dangerous, boss. You saved my sorry mane, didn't you?
I couldn't help thinking about my dream, with Annabeth crumpled and lifeless in Luke's arms. Here I was rescuing baby monsters, but I couldn't save my friend.
As Blackjack flew back toward my cabin, I happened to glance at the dining pavilion. I saw a figure—a boy hunkered down behind a Greek column, like he was hiding from someone.
It was Nico, but it wasn't even dawn yet. Nowhere near time for breakfast. What was he doing up there?
I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was more time for Nico to tell me about his Mythomagic game. But something was wrong. I could tell by the way he was crouching.
"Blackjack," I said, "set me down over there, will you? Behind that column."
I almost blew it.
I was coming up the steps behind Nico. He didn't see me at all. He was behind a column, peeking around the corner, all his attention focused on the dining area. I was five feet away from him, and I was about to say What are you doing? real loud, when it occurred to me that he was pulling a Grover: he was spying on the Hunters.
There were voices—two girls talking at one of the dining tables. At this ungodly hour of the morning? Well, unless you're the goddess of dawn, I guess.
I took Annabeth's magic cap out of my pocket and put it on.
I didn't feel any different, but when I raised my arms I couldn't see them. I was invisible.
I crept up to Nico and sneaked around him. I couldn't see the girls very well in the dark, but I knew their voices: Zoe and Bianca. It sounded like they were arguing.
"It cannot be cured," Zoe was saying. "Not quickly, at any rate." "But how did it happen?" Bianca asked.
"A foolish prank," Zoe growled. "Those Stoll boys from the Hermes cabin. Centaur blood is like acid. Everyone knows that. They sprayed the inside of that Artemis Hunting Tour T-shirt with it."
"That's terrible!"
"She will live," Zoe said. "But she'll be bedridden for weeks with horrible hives. There is no way she can go. It's up to me… and thee."
"But the prophecy," Bianca said. "If Phoebe can't go, we only have four. We'll have to pick another."
"There is no time," Zoe said. "We must leave at first light. That's immediately. Besides, the prophecy said we would lose one."
"In the land without rain," Bianca said, "but that can't be here."
"It might be," Zoe said, though she didn't sound convinced. "The camp has magic borders. Nothing, not even weather, is allowed in without permission. It could be a land without rain."
"But—"
"Bianca, hear me." Zoe's voice was strained. "I… I can't explain, but I have a sense that we should not pick someone else. It would be too dangerous. They would meet an end worse than Phoebe's. I don't want Chiron choosing a camper as our fifth companion. And… I don't want to risk another Hunter."
Bianca was silent. "You should tell Thalia the rest of your dream." "No. It would not help."
"But if your suspicions are correct, about the General—"
"I have thy word not to talk about that," Zoe said. She sounded really anguished. "We will find out soon enough. Now come. Dawn is breaking."
Nico scooted out of their way. He was faster than me.
As the girls sprinted down the steps, Zoe almost ran into me. She froze, her eyes narrowing. Her hand crept toward her bow, but then Bianca said, "The lights of the Big House are on. Hurry!"
And Zoe followed her out of the pavilion.
I could tell what Nico was thinking. He took a deep breath and was about to run after his sister when I took off the invisibility cap and said, "Wait."
He almost slipped on the icy steps as he spun around to find me. "Where did you come from?"
"I've been here the whole time. Invisible."
He mouthed the word invisible. "Wow. Cool." "How did you know Zoe and your sister were here?"
He blushed. "I heard them walk by the Hermes cabin. I don't… I don't sleep too well at camp. So I heard footsteps, and them whispering. And so I kind of followed."
"And now you're thinking about following them on the quest," I guessed. "How did you know that?"
"Because if it was my sister, I'd probably be thinking the same thing. But you can't." He looked defiant. "Because I'm too young?"
"Because they won't let you. They'll catch you and send you back here. And… yeah, because you're too young. You remember the manticore? There will be lots more like that. More dangerous. Some of the heroes will die."
He shoulders sagged. He shifted from foot to foot. "Maybe you're right. But, but you
can go for me."
"Say what?"
"You can turn invisible. You can go!"
"The Hunters don't like boys," I reminded him. "If they find out—"
"Don't let them find out. Follow them invisibly. Keep an eye on my sister! You have to.
Please?"
"Nico—"
"You're planning to go anyway, aren't you?"
I wanted to say no. But he looked me in the eyes, and I somehow couldn't lie to him. "Yeah," I said. "I have to find Annabeth. I have to help, even if they don't want me to." "I won't tell on you," he said. "But you have to promise to keep my sister safe."
"I… that's a big thing to promise, Nico, on a trip like this. Besides, she's got Zoe, Grover, and Thalia—"
"Promise," he insisted.
"I'll do my best. I promise that."
"Get going, then!" he said. "Good luck!"
It was crazy. I wasn't packed. I had nothing but the cap and the sword and the clothes I was wearing. I was supposed to be going home to Manhattan this morning. "Tell Chiron—"
"I'll make something up." Nico smiled crookedly. "I'm good at that. Go on!"
I ran, putting on Annabeth's cap. As the sun came up, I turned invisible. I hit the top of Half-Blood Hill in time to see the camp's van disappearing down the farm road, probably Argus taking the quest group into the city. After that they would be on their own.
I felt a twinge of guilt, and stupidity, too. How was I supposed to keep up with them.
Run?
Then I heard the beating of huge wings. Blackjack landed next to me. He began casually nuzzling a few tufts of grass that stuck through the ice.
If I was guessing, boss, I'd say you need a getaway horse. You interested?
A lump of gratitude stuck in my throat, but I managed to say, "Yeah. Let's fly."
NINE
I LEARN HOW TO GROW ZOMBIES
The thing about flying on a pegasus during the daytime is that if you're not careful, you can cause a serious traffic accident on the Long Island Expressway. I had to keep Blackjack up in the clouds, which were, fortunately, pretty low in the winter. We darted around, trying to keep the white Camp Half-Blood van in sight. And if it was cold on the ground, it was seriously cold in the air, with icy rain stinging my skin.
I was wishing I'd brought some of that Camp Half-Blood orange thermal underwear they sold in the camp store, but after the story about Phoebe and the centaur-blood T-shirt, I wasn't sure I trusted their products anymore.
We lost the van twice, but I had a pretty good sense that they would go into Manhattan first, so it wasn't too difficult to pick up their trail again.
Traffic was bad with the holidays and all. It was mid morning before they got into the city. I landed Blackjack near the top of the Chrysler Building and watched the white camp van, thinking it would pull into the bus station, but it just kept driving.
"Where's Argus taking them?" I muttered.
Oh, Argus ain't driving, boss, Blackjack told me. That girl is. "Which girl?"
The Hunter girl. With the silver crown thing in her hair.
"Zoe?"
That's the one. Hey, look! There's a donut shop. Can we get something to go?
I tried explaining to Blackjack that taking a flying horse to a donut shop would give every cop in there a heart attack, but he didn't seem to get it. Meanwhile, the van kept snaking its way toward the Lincoln Tunnel. It had never even occurred to me that Zoe could drive. I mean, she didn't look sixteen. Then again, she was immortal. I wondered if she had a New York license, and if so, what her birth date said.
"Well," I said. "Lets get after them."
We were about to leap off the Chrysler Building when Blackjack whinnied in alarm and almost threw me. Something was curling around my leg like a snake. I reached for my sword, but when I looked down, there was no snake. Vines—grape vines—had sprouted from the cracks between the stones of the building. They were wrapping around Blackjack's legs, lashing down my ankles so we couldn't move.
"Going somewhere?" Mr. D asked.
He was leaning against the building with his feet levitating in the air, his leopard-skin warm-up suit and black hair whipping around in the wind.
God alert! Blackjack yelled. It's the wine dude!
Mr. D sighed in exasperation. "The next person, or horse, who calls me the 'wine dude' will end up in a bottle of Merlot!"
"Mr. D." I tried to keep my voice calm as the grape vines continued to wrap around my legs. "What do you want?"
"Oh, what do I want? You thought, perhaps, that the immortal, all-powerful director of camp would not notice you leaving without permission?"
"Well… maybe."
"I should throw you off this building, minus the flying horse, and see how heroic you sound on the way down."
I balled my fists. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but Mr. D was about to kill me or haul me back to camp in shame, and I couldn't stand either idea. "Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?"
Purple flames flickered in his eyes. "You're a hero, boy. I need no other reason."
"I have to go on this quest! I've got to help my friends. That's something you wouldn't understand!"
Um, boss, Blackjack said nervously. Seeing as how we're wrapped in vines nine hundred feet in the air, you might want to talk nice.
The grape vines coiled tighter around me. Below us, the white van was getting farther and farther away. Soon it would be out of sight.
"Did I ever tell you about Ariadne?" Mr. D asked. "Beautiful young princess of Crete? She liked helping her friends, too. In fact, she helped a young hero named Theseus, also a son of Poseidon. She gave him a ball of magical yarn that let him find his way out of the Labyrinth.
And do you know how Theseus rewarded her?"
The answer I wanted to give was I don't care! But I didn't figure that would make Mr. D finish his story any faster.
"They got married," I said. "Happily ever after. The end."
Mr. D sneered. "Not quite. Theseus said he would marry her. He took her aboard his ship and sailed for Athens. Halfway back, on a little island called Naxos, he… What's the
word you mortals use today?… he dumped her. I found her there, you know. Alone. Heartbroken. Crying her eyes out. She had given up everything, left everything she knew behind, to help a dashing young hero who tossed her away like a broken sandal."
"That's wrong," I said. "But that was thousands of years ago. What's that got to do with
me?"
Mr. D regarded me coldly. "I fell in love with Ariadne, boy. I healed her broken heart. And when she died, I made her my immortal wife on Olympus. She waits for me even now. I shall go back to her when I am done with this infernal century of punishment at your ridiculous camp."
I stared at him. "You're… you're married? But I thought you got in trouble for chasing a wood nymph—"
"My point is you heroes never change. You accuse us gods of being vain. You should look at yourselves. You take what you want, use whoever you have to, and then you betray everyone around you. So you'll excuse me if I have no love for heroes. They are a selfish, ungrateful lot. Ask Ariadne. Or Medea. For that matter, ask Zoe Nightshade."
"What do you mean, ask Zoe?"
He waved his hand dismissively. "Go. Follow your silly friends." The vines uncurled around my legs.
I blinked in disbelief. "You're… you're letting me go? Just like that?"
"The prophecy says at least two of you will die. Perhaps I'll get lucky and you'll be one of them. But mark my words, Son of Poseidon, live or die, you will prove no better than the other heroes."
With that, Dionysus snapped his fingers. His image folded up like a paper display. There was a pop and he was gone, leaving a faint scent of grapes that was quickly blown away by the wind.
Too close, Blackjack said.
I nodded, though I almost would have been less worried if Mr. D had hauled me back to camp. The fact that he'd let me go meant he really believed we stood a fair chance of crashing and burning on this quest.
"Come on, Blackjack," I said, trying to sound upbeat. "I'll buy you some donuts in New Jersey."
As it turned out, I didn't buy Blackjack donuts in New Jersey. Zoe drove south like a crazy person, and we were into Maryland before she finally pulled over at a rest stop. Blackjack darn near tumbled out of the sky, he was so tired.
I'll be okay, boss, he panted. Just… just catching my breath. "Stay here," I told him. "I'm going to scout."
'Stay here' I can handle. I can do that.
I put on my cap of invisibility and walked over to the convenience store. It was difficult not to sneak. I had to keep reminding myself that nobody could see me. It was hard, too, because I had to remember to get out of people's way so they wouldn't slam into me.
I thought I'd go inside and warm up, maybe get a cup of hot chocolate or something. I had a little change in my pocket. I could leave it on the counter. I was wondering if the cup would turn invisible when I picked it up, or if I'd have to deal with a floating hot chocolate problem, when my whole plan was ruined by Zoe, Thalia, Bianca, and Grover all coming out of the store.
"Grover, are you sure?" Thalia was saying.
"Well… pretty sure. Ninety-nine percent. Okay, eighty-five percent." "And you did this with acorns?" Bianca asked, like she couldn't believe it.
Grover looked offended. "It's a time-honored tracking spell. I mean, I'm pretty sure I did it right."
"D.C. is about sixty miles from here," Bianca said. "Nico and I…" She frowned. "We used to live there. That's… that's strange. I'd forgotten."
"I dislike this," Zoe said. "We should go straight west. The prophecy said west." "Oh, like your tracking skills are better?" Thalia growled.
Zoe stepped toward her. "You challenge my skills, you scullion? You know nothing of being a Hunter!"
"Oh, scullion You're calling me a scullion? What the heck is a scullion?" "Whoa, you two," Grover said nervously. "Come on. Not again!" "Grover's right," Bianca said. "D.C. is our best bet."
Zoe didn't look convinced, but she nodded reluctantly. "Very well. Let us keep moving."
"You're going to get us arrested, driving," Thalia grumbled. "I look closer to sixteen than you do."
"Perhaps," Zoe snapped. "But I have been driving since automobiles were invented. Let us go."
As Blackjack and I continued south, following the van, I wondered whether Zoe had been kidding. I didn't know exactly when cars were invented, but I figured that was like prehistoric times—back when people watched black-and-white TV and hunted dinosaurs.
How old was Zoe? And what had Mr. D been talking about? What bad experience had she had with heroes?
As we got closer to Washington, Blackjack started slowing down and dropping altitude.
He was breathing heavily. "You okay?" I asked him.
Fine, boss. I could… I could take on an army.
"You don't sound so good." And suddenly I felt guilty, because I'd been running the pegasus for half a day, nonstop, trying to keep up with highway traffic. Even for a flying horse, that had to be rough.
Don't worry about me, boss! I'm a tough one.
I figured he was right, but I also figured Blackjack would run himself into the ground before he complained, and I didn't want that.
Fortunately, the van started to slow down. It crossed the Potomac River into central Washington. I started thinking about air patrols and missiles and stuff like that. I didn't know exactly how all those defenses worked, and wasn't sure if pegasi even showed up on your typical military radar, but I didn't want to find out by getting shot out of the sky.
"Set me down there," I told Blackjack. "That's close enough."
Blackjack was so tired he didn't complain. He dropped toward the Washington Monument and set me on the grass.
The van was only a few blocks away. Zoe had parked at the curb.
I looked at Blackjack. "I want you to go back to camp. Get some rest. Graze. I'll be
fine."
Blackjack cocked his head skeptically. You sure, boss?
"You've done enough already," I said. "I'll be fine. And thanks a ton."
A ton of hay, maybe, Blackjack mused. That sounds good. All . right, but be careful, boss. I got a feeling they didn't come here to meet anything friendly and handsome like me.
I promised to be careful. Then Blackjack took off, circling twice around the monument before disappearing into the clouds.
I looked over at the white van. Everybody was getting out. Grover pointed toward one of the big buildings lining the Mall. Thalia nodded, and the four of them trudged off into the cold wind.
I started to follow. But then I froze.
A block away, the door of a black sedan opened. A man with gray hair and a military buzz cut got out. He was wearing dark shades and a black overcoat. Now, maybe in Washington, you'd expected guys like that to be everywhere. But it dawned on me that I'd seen this same car a couple of times on the highway, going south. It had been following the van.
The guy took out his mobile phone and said something into it. Then he looked around, like he was making sure the coast was clear, and started walking down the Mall in the direction of my friends.
The worst of it was: when he turned toward me, I recognized his face. It was Dr. Thorn, the manticore from Westover Hall.
Invisibility cap on, I followed Thorn from a distance. My heart was pounding. If he had survived that fall from the cliff, then Annabeth must have too. My dreams had been right. She was alive and being held prisoner.
Thorn kept well back from my friends, careful not to be seen.
Finally, Grover stopped in front of a big building that said NATIONAL AIR AND SPACE MUSEUM. The Smithsonian! I'd been here a million years ago with my mom, but everything had looked so much bigger then.
Thalia checked the door. It was open, but there weren't many people going in. Too cold, and school was out of session. They slipped inside.
Dr. Thorn hesitated. I wasn't sure why, but he didn't go into the museum. He turned and headed across the Mall. I made a split-second decision and followed him.
Thorn crossed the street and climbed the steps of the Museum of Natural History. There was a big sign on the door. At first I thought it said CLOSED FOR PIRATE EVENT. Then I realized PIRATE must be PRIVATE.
I followed Dr. Thorn inside, through a huge chamber full of mastodons and dinosaur skeletons. There were voices up ahead, coming from behind a set of closed doors. Two guards stood outside. They opened the doors for Thorn, and I had to sprint to get inside before they closed them again.
Inside, what I saw was so terrible I almost gasped out loud, which probably would've gotten me killed.
I was in a huge round room with a balcony ringing the second level. At least a dozen mortal guards stood on the balcony, plus two monsters—reptilian women with double-snake trunks instead of legs. I'd seen them before. Annabeth had called them Scythian dracaenae.
But that wasn't the worse of it. Standing between the snake women—I could swear he was looking straight down at me—was my old enemy Luke. He looked terrible. His skin was pale and his blond hair looked almost gray, as if he'd aged ten years in just a few months. The angry light in his eyes was still there, and so was the scar down the side of his face, where a dragon had once scratched him. But the scar was now ugly red, as though it had recently been reopened.
Next to him, sitting down so that the shadows covered him, was another man. All I could see were his knuckles on the gilded arms of his chair, like a throne.
"Well?" asked the man in the chair. His voice was just like the one I'd heard in my dream—not as creepy as Kronos's, but deeper and stronger, like the earth itself was talking. It filled the whole room even though he wasn't yelling.
Dr. Thorn took off his shades. His two-colored eyes, brown and blue, glittered with excitement. He made a stiff bow, then spoke in his weird French accent: "They are here, General."
"I know that, you fool," boomed the man. "But where?" "In the rocket museum."
"The Air and Space Museum," Luke corrected irritably. Dr. Thorn glared at Luke. "As you say, sir"
I got the feeling Thorn would just as soon impale Luke with one of his spikes as call him sir.
"How many?" Luke asked. Thorn pretended not to hear.
"How many?" the General demanded.
"Four, General," Thorn said. "The satyr, Grover Underwood. And the girl with the spiky black hair and the—how do you say—punk clothes and the horrible shield."
"Thalia," Luke said.
"And two other girls—Hunters. One wears a silver circlet." "That one I know," the General growled.
Everyone in the room shifted uncomfortably.
"Let me take them," Luke said to the General. "We have more than enough—"
"Patience," the General said. "They'll have their hands full already. I've sent a little playmate to keep them occupied."
"But—"
"We cannot risk you, my boy."
"Yes, boy," Dr. Thorn said with a cruel smile. "You are much too fragile to risk. Let me
finish them off."
"No." The General rose from his chair, and I got my first look at him.
He was tall and muscular, with light brown skin and slicked-back dark hair. He wore an expensive brown silk suit like the guys on Wall Street wear, but you'd never mistake this dude for a broker. He had a brutal face, huge shoulders, and hands that could snap a flagpole in half. His eyes were like stone. I felt as if I were looking at a living statue. It was amazing he could even move.
"You have already failed me, Thorn," he said. "But, General—"
"No excuses!"
Thorn flinched. I'd thought Thorn was scary when I first saw him in his black uniform at the military academy. But now, standing before the General, Thorn looked like a silly wannabe soldier. The General was the real deal. He didn't need a uniform. He was a born commander.
"I should throw you into the pits of Tartarus for your incompetence," the General said. "I send you to capture a child of the three elder gods, and you bring me a scrawny daughter of Athena."
"But you promised me revenge.'" Thorn protested. "A command of my own!"
"I am Lord Kronos's senior commander," the General said. "And I will choose lieutenants who get me results! It was only thanks to Luke that we salvaged our plan at all. Now get out of my sight, Thorn, until I find some other menial task for you."
Thorn's face turned purple with rage. I thought he was going to start frothing at the mouth or shooting spines, but he just bowed awkwardly and left the room.
"Now, my boy." The General turned to Luke. "The first thing we must do is isolate the half-blood Thalia. The monster we seek will then come to her."
"The Hunters will be difficult to dispose of," Luke said. "Zoe Nightshade—" "Do not speak her name!"
Luke swallowed. "S—sorry, General. I just—"
The General silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Let me show you, my boy, how we will bring the Hunters down."
He pointed to a guard on the ground level. "Do you have the teeth?" The guy stumbled forward with a ceramic pot. "Yes, General!" "Plant them," he said.
In the center of the room was a big circle of dirt, where I guess a dinosaur exhibit was supposed to go. I watched nervously as the guard took sharp white teeth out of the pot and pushed them into the soil. He smoothed them over while the General smiled coldly.
The guard stepped back from the dirt and wiped his hands. "Ready, General!" "Excellent! Water them, and we will let them scent their prey."
The guard picked up a little tin watering can with daisies painted on it, which was kind of bizarre, because what he poured out wasn't water. It was dark red liquid, and I got the feeling it wasn't Hawaiian Punch.
The soil began to bubble.
"Soon," the General said, "I will show you, Luke, soldiers that will make your army from that little boat look insignificant."
Luke clenched his fists. "I've spent a year training my forces! When the Princess Andromeda arrives at the mountain, they'll be the best—"
"Ha.'" the General said. "I don't deny your troops will make a fine honor guard for Lord Kronos. And you, of course, will have a role to play—"
I thought Luke turned paler when the General said that.
"—but under my leadership, the forces of Lord Kronos will increase a hundredfold. We will be unstoppable. Behold, my ultimate killing machines."
The soil erupted. I stepped back nervously.
In each spot where a tooth had been planted, a creature was struggling out of the dirt.
The first of them said: "Mew?"
It was a kitten. A little orange tabby with stripes like a tiger. Then another appeared, until there were a dozen, rolling around and playing in the dirt.
Everyone stared at them in disbelief. The General roared, "What is this? Cute cuddly kittens? Where did you find those teeth?"
The guard who'd brought the teeth cowered in fear. "From the exhibit, sir! Just like you said. The saber-toothed tiger—"
"No, you idiot! I said the tyrannosaurus! Gather up those… those infernal fuzzy little beasts and take them outside. And never let me see your face again."
The terrified guard dropped his watering can. He gathered up the kittens and scampered out of the room.
"You.'" The General pointed to another guard. "Get me the right teeth. NOW!" The new guard ran off to carry out his orders.
"Imbeciles,' muttered the General.
"This is why I don't use mortals," Luke said. "They are unreliable."
"They are weak-minded, easily bought, and violent," the General said. "I love them."
A minute later, the guard hustled into the room with his hands full of large pointy teeth. "Excellent," the General said. He climbed onto the balcony railing and jumped down,
twenty feet.
Where he landed, the marble floor cracked under his leather shoes. He stood, wincing, and rubbed his shoulders. "Curse my stiff neck."
"Another hot pad, sir?" a guard asked. "More Tylenol?"
"No! It will pass." The General brushed off his silk suit, then snatched up the teeth. "I shall do this myself."
He held up one of the teeth and smiled. "Dinosaur teeth—ha! Those foolish mortals don't even know when they have dragon teeth in their possession. And not just any dragon teeth. These come from the ancient Sybaris herself! They shall do nicely."
He planted them in the dirt, twelve in all. Then he scooped up the watering can. He sprinkled the soil with red liquid, tossed the can away, and held his arms out wide. Rise!
The dirt trembled. A single, skeletal hand shot out of the ground, grasping at the air. The General looked up at the balcony. "Quickly, do you have the scent?"
"Yesssss, lord," one of the snake ladies said. She took out a sash of silvery fabric, like the kind the Hunters wore.
"Excellent," the General said. "Once my warriors catch its scent, they will pursue its owner relentlessly. Nothing can stop them, no weapons known to half-blood or Hunter. They will tear the Hunters and their allies to shreds. Toss it here!"
As he said that, skeletons erupted from the ground. There were twelve of them, one for each tooth the General had planted. They were nothing like Halloween skeletons, or the kind you might see in cheesy movies. These were growing flesh as I watched, turning into men, but men with dull gray skin, yellow eyes, and modern clothes—gray muscle shirts, camo pants, and combat boots. If you didn't look too closely, you could almost believe they were human, but their flesh was transparent and their bones shimmered underneath, like X-ray images.
One of them looked straight at me, regarding me coldly, and I knew that no cap of invisibility would fool it.
The snake lady released the scarf and it fluttered down toward the General's hand. As soon as he gave it to the warriors, they would hunt Zoe and the others until they were extinct.
I didn't have time to think. I ran and jumped with all my might, plowing into the warriors and snatching the scarf out of the air.
"What's this?" bellowed the General.
I landed at the feet of a skeleton warrior, who hissed.
"An intruder," the General growled. "One cloaked in darkness. Seal the doors!" "It's Percy Jackson!" Luke yelled. "It has to be."
I sprinted for the exit, but heard a ripping sound and realized the skeleton warrior had taken a chunk out of my sleeve. When I glanced back, he was holding the fabric up to his nose, sniffing the scent, handing it around to his friends. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I squeezed through the door just as the guards slammed it shut behind me.
And then I ran.
TEN
I BREAK A FEW ROCKET SHIPS
I tore across the Mall, not daring to look behind me. I burst into the Air and Space Museum and took off my invisibility cap once I was through the admissions area.
The main part of the museum was one huge room with rockets and airplanes hanging from the ceiling. Three levels of balconies curled around, so you could look at the exhibits from all different heights. The place wasn't crowded, just a few families and a couple of tour groups of kids, probably doing one of those holiday school trips. I wanted to yell at them all to leave, but I figured that would only get me arrested. I had to find Thalia and Grover and the Hunters. Any minute, the skeleton dudes were going to invade the museum, and I didn't think they would settle for an audio tour.
I ran into Thalia—literally. I was barreling up the ramp to the top-floor balcony and slammed into her, knocking her into an Apollo space capsule.
Grover yelped in surprise.
Before I could regain my balance, Zoe and Bianca had arrows notched, aimed at my chest. Their bows had just appeared out of nowhere.
When Zoe realized who I was, she didn't seem anxious to lower her bow. "You! How dare you show thy face here?"
"Percy!" Grover said. "Thank goodness."
Zoe glared at him, and he blushed. "I mean, um, gosh. You're not supposed to be here!" "Luke," I said, trying to catch my breath. "He's here."
The anger in Thalia's eyes immediately melted. She put her hand on her silver bracelet. "Where?"
I told them about the Natural History Museum, Dr. Thorn, Luke, and the General. "The General is here?" Zoe looked stunned. "That is impossible! You lie."
"Why would I lie? Look, there's no time. Skeleton warriors—" "What?" Thalia demanded. "How many?"
"Twelve," I said. "And that's not all. That guy, the General, he said he was sending something, a 'playmate,' to distract you over here. A monster."
Thalia and Grover exchanged looks.
"We were following Artemis's trail," Grover said. "I was pretty sure it led here. Some powerful monster scent… She must've stopped here looking for the mystery monster. But we haven't found anything yet."
"Zoe," Bianca said nervously, "if it is the General—"
"It cannot be!" Zoe snapped. "Percy must have seen an Iris-message or some other illusion."
"Illusions don't crack marble floors," I told her.
Zoe took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. I didn't know why she was taking it so personally, or how she knew this General guy, but I figured now wasn't the time to ask. "If Percy is telling the truth about the skeleton warriors," she said, "we have no time to argue. They are the worst, the most horrible… We must leave now."
"Good idea," I said.
"I was not including thee, boy," Zoe said. "You are not part of this quest." "Hey, I'm trying to save your lives!"
"You shouldn't have come, Percy," Thalia said grimly. "But you're here now. Come on.
Let's get back to the van."
"That is not thy decision!" Zoe snapped.
Thalia scowled at her. "You're not the boss here, Zoe. I don't care how old you are!You're still a conceited little brat!"
"You never had any wisdom when it came to boys," Zoe growled. "You never could leave them behind!"
Thalia looked like she was about to hit Zoe. Then everyone froze, I heard a growl so loud I thought one of the rocket engines was starting up.
Below us, a few adults screamed. A little kid's voice screeched with delight: "Kitty!"
Something enormous bounded up the ramp. It was the size of a pick-up truck, with silver claws and golden glittering fur. I'd seen this monster once before. Two years ago, I'd glimpsed it briefly from a train. Now, up close and personal, it looked even bigger.
"The Nemean Lion," Thalia said. "Don't move."
The lion roared so loud it parted my hair. Its fangs gleamed like stainless steel. "Separate on my mark," Zoe said. "Try to keep it distracted."
"Until when?" Grover asked.
"Until I think of a way to kill it. Go!"
I uncapped Riptide and rolled to the left. Arrows whistled past me, and Grover played a sharp tweet-tweet cadence on his reed pipes. I turned and saw Zoe and Bianca climbing the Apollo capsule. They were firing arrows, one after another, all shattering harmlessly against the lions metallic fur. The lion swiped the capsule and tipped it on its side, spilling the Hunters off the back. Grover played a frantic, horrible tune, and the lion turned toward him, but Thalia stepped into its path, holding up Aegis, and the lion recoiled. "ROOOAAAR!"
"Hi-yah!" Thalia said. "Back!"
The lion growled and clawed the air, but it retreated as if the shield were a blazing fire.
For a second, I thought Thalia had it under control. Then I saw the lion crouching, its leg muscles tensing. I'd seen enough cat fights in the alleys around my apartment in New York. I knew the lion was going to pounce.
"Hey!" I yelled. I don't know what I was thinking, but I charged the beast. I just wanted to get it away from my friends. I slashed with Riptide, a good strike to the flank that should've cut the monster into Meow Mix, but the blade just clanged against its fur in a burst of sparks.
The lion raked me with its claws, ripping off a chunk of my coat. I backed against the railing. It sprang at me, one thousand pounds of monster, and I had no choice but to turn and jump.
I landed on the wing of an old-fashioned silver airplane, which pitched and almost spilled me to the floor, three stories below.
An arrow whizzed past my head. The lion jumped onto the aircraft, and the cords holding the plane began to groan.
The lion swiped at me, and I dropped onto the next exhibit, a weird-looking spacecraft with blades like a helicopter. I looked up and saw the lion roar—inside its maw, a pink tongue and throat.
Its mouth, I thought. Its fur was completely invulnerable, but if I could strike it in the mouth… The only problem was, the monster moved too quickly. Between its claws and fangs, I couldn't get close without getting sliced to pieces.
"Zoe!" I shouted. "Target the mouth!"
The monster lunged. An arrow zipped past it, missing completely, and I dropped from the spaceship onto the top of a floor exhibit, a huge model of the earth. I slid down Russia and dropped off the equator.
The Nemean Lion growled and steadied itself on the spacecraft, but its weight was too much. One of the cords snapped. As the display swung down like a pendulum, the lion leaped off onto the model earth's North Pole.
"Grover!" I yelled. "Clear the area!"
Groups of kids were running around screaming. Grover tried to corral them away from the monster just as the other cord on the spaceship snapped and the exhibit crashed to the floor. Thalia dropped off the second-floor railing and landed across from me, on the other side of the globe. The lion regarded us both, trying to decide which of us to kill first.
Zoe and Bianca were above us, bows ready, but they kept having to move around to get a good angle.
"No clear shot!" Zoe yelled. "Get it to open its mouth more!" The lion snarled from the top of the globe.
I looked around. Options. I needed…
The gift shop. I had a vague memory from my trip here as a little kid. Something I'd made my mom buy me, and I'd regretted it. If they still sold that stuff…
"Thalia," I said, "keep it occupied." She nodded grimly.
"Hi-yah!" She pointed her spear and a spidery arc of blue electricity shot out, zapping the lion in the tail.
"ROOOOOOOAR!" The lion turned and pounced. Thalia rolled out of its way, holding up Aegis to keep the monster at bay, and I ran for the gift shop.
"This is no time for souvenirs, boy!" Zoe yelled.
I dashed into the shop, knocking over rows of T-shirts, jumping over tables full of glow- in-the-dark planets and space ooze. The sales lady didn't protest. She was too busy cowering behind her cash register.
There! On the far wall—glittery silver packets. Whole racks of them. I scooped up every kind I could find and ran out of the shop with an armful.
Zoe and Bianca were still showering arrows on the monster, but it was no good. The lion seemed to know better than to open its mouth too much. It snapped at Thalia, slashing with its claws. It even kept its eyes narrowed to tiny slits.
Thalia jabbed at the monster and backed up. The lion pressed her. "Percy," she called, "whatever you're going to do—"
The lion roared and swatted her like a cat toy, sending her flying into the side of a Titan rocket. Her head hit the metal and she slid to the floor.
"Hey!" I yelled at the lion. I was too far away to strike, so I took a risk: I hurled Riptide like a throwing knife. It bounced off the lion's side, but that was enough to get the monster's attention. It turned toward me and snarled.
There was only one way to get close enough. I charged, and as the lion leaped to intercept me, I chunked a space food pouch into its maw—a chunk of cellophane-wrapped, freeze-dried strawberry parfait.
The lion's eyes got wide and it gagged like a cat with a hairball.
I couldn't blame it. I remembered feeling the same way when I'd tried to eat space food as a kid. The stuff was just plain nasty.
"Zoe, get ready!" I yelled.
Behind me, I could hear people screaming. Grover was playing another horrible song on his pipes.
I scrambled away from the lion. It managed to choke down the space food packet and looked at me with pure hate.
"Snack time!" I yelled.
It made the mistake of roaring at me, and I got an ice-cream sandwich in its throat. Fortunately, I had always been a pretty good pitcher, even though baseball wasn't my game. Before the lion could stop gagging, I shot in two more flavors of ice cream and a freeze-dried spaghetti dinner.
The lion's eyes bugged. It opened its mouth wide and reared up on its back paws, trying to get away from me.
"Now!" I yelled.
Immediately, arrows pierced the lion's maw—two, four, six. The lion thrashed wildly, turned, and fell backward. And then it was still.
Alarms wailed throughout the museum. People were flocking to the exits. Security guards were running around in a panic with no idea what was going on.
Grover knelt at Thalia's side and helped her up. She seemed okay, just a little dazed.
Zoe and Bianca dropped from the balcony and landed next to me.
Zoe eyed me cautiously. "That was… an interesting strategy." "Hey, it worked."
She didn't argue.
The lion seemed to be melting, the way dead monsters do sometimes, until there was nothing left but its glittering fur coat, and even that seemed to be shrinking to the size of a normal lion's pelt.
"Take it," Zoe told me.
I stared at her. "What, the lion's fur? Isn't that, like, an animal rights violation or something?"
"It is a spoil of war," she told me. "It is rightly thine." "You killed it," I said.
She shook her head, almost smiling. "I think thy ice-cream sandwich did that. Fair is fair, Percy Jackson. Take the fur."
I lifted it up; it was surprisingly light. The fur was smooth and soft. It didn't feel at all like something that could stop a blade. As I watched, the pelt shifted and changed into a coat—a full-length golden-brown duster.
"Not exactly my style," I murmured.
"We have to get out of here," Grover said. "The security guards won't stay confused for long."
I noticed for the first time how strange it was that the guards hadn't rushed forward to arrest us. They were scrambling in all directions except ours, like they were madly searching for something. A few were running into the walls or each other.
"You did that?" I asked Grover.
He nodded, looking a little embarrassed. "A minor confusion song. I played some Barry Manilow. It works every time. But it'll only last a few seconds."
"The security guards are not our biggest worry," Zoe said. "Look."
Through the glass walls of the museum, I could see a group of men walking across the lawn. Gray men in gray camouflage outfits. They were too far away for us to see their eyes, but I could feel their gaze aimed straight at me.
"Go," I said. "They'll be hunting me. I'll distract them." "No," Zoe said. "We go together."
I stared at her. "But, you said—"
"You are part of this quest now," Zoe said grudgingly. "I do not like it, but there is no changing fate. You are the fifth quest member. And we are not leaving anyone behind."
ELEVEN
GROVER GETS A LAMBORGHINI
We were crossing the Potomac when we spotted the helicopter. It was a sleek, black military model just like the one we'd seen at Westover Hall. And it was coming straight toward us.
"They know the van," I said. "We have to ditch it."
Zoe swerved into the fast lane. The helicopter was gaining. "Maybe the military will shoot it down," Grover said hopefully.
"The military probably thinks it's one of theirs," I said. "How can the General use mortals, anyway?"
"Mercenaries," Zoe said bitterly. "It is distasteful, but many mortals will fight for any cause as long as they are paid."
"But don't these mortals see who they're working for?" I asked. "Don't they notice all the monsters around them?"
Zoe shook her head. "I do not know how much they see through the Mist. I doubt it would matter to them if they knew the truth. Sometimes mortals can be more horrible than monsters."
The helicopter kept coming, making a lot better time than we were through D.C. traffic.
Thalia closed her eyes and prayed hard. "Hey, Dad. A lightning bolt would be nice about now. Please?"
But the sky stayed gray and snowy. No sign of a helpful thunderstorm. "There!" Bianca said. "That parking lot!"
"We'll be trapped," Zoe said. "Trust me," Bianca said.
Zoe shot across two lanes of traffic and into a mall parking lot on the south bank of the river. We left the van and followed Bianca down some steps.
"Subway entrance," Bianca said. "Let's go south. Alexandria." "Anything," Thalia agreed.
We bought tickets and got through the turnstiles, looking behind us for any signs of pursuit. A few minutes later we were safely aboard a southbound train, riding away from D.C. As our train came above ground, we could see the helicopter circling the parking lot, but it didn't come after us.
Grover let out a sigh. "Nice job, Bianca, thinking of the subway."
Bianca looked pleased. "Yeah, well. I saw that station when Nico and I came through last summer. I remember being really surprised to see it, because it wasn't here when we used to live in D.C."
Grover frowned. "New? But that station looked really old."
"I guess," Bianca said. "But trust me, when we lived here as little kids, there was no subway."
Thalia sat forward. "Wait a minute. No subway at all?" Bianca nodded.
Now, I knew nothing about D.C., but I didn't see how their whole subway system could be less than twelve years old. I guess everyone else was thinking the same thing, because they looked pretty confused.
"Bianca," Zoe said. "How long ago…" Her voice faltered. The sound of the helicopter was getting louder again.
"We need to change trains," I said. "Next station."
Over the next half hour, all we thought about was getting away safely. We changed trains twice. I had no idea where we were going, but after a while we lost the helicopter.
Unfortunately, when we finally got off the train we found ourselves at the end of the line, in an industrial area with nothing but warehouses and railway tracks. And snow. Lots of snow. It seemed much colder here. I was glad for my new lion's fur coat.
We wandered through the railway yard, thinking there might be another passenger train somewhere, but there were just rows and rows of freight cars, most of which were covered in snow, like they hadn't moved in years.
A homeless guy was standing at a trash-can fire. We must've looked pretty pathetic, because he gave us a toothless grin and said, "Y'all need to get warmed up? Come on over!'
We huddled around his fire, Thalia's teeth were chattering. She said, "Well this is g-g-g- great."
"My hooves are frozen," Grover complained. "Feet," I corrected, for the sake of the homeless guy.
"Maybe we should contact camp," Bianca said. "Chiron—"
"No," Zoe said. "They cannot help us anymore. We must finish this quest ourselves."
I gazed miserably around the rail yard. Somewhere, far to the west, Annabeth was in danger. Artemis was in chains. A doomsday monster was on the loose. And we were stuck on the outskirts of D.C., sharing a homeless persons fire.
"You know," the homeless man said, "you're never completely without friends." His face was grimy and his beard tangled, but his expression seemed kindly. "You kids need a train going west?"
"Yes, sir," I said. "You know of any?" He pointed one greasy hand.
Suddenly I noticed a freight train, gleaming and free of snow. It was one of those automobile-carrier trains, with steel mesh curtains and a triple-deck of cars inside. The side of the freight train said SUN WEST LINE.
"That's… convenient," Thalia said. "Thanks, uh…"
She turned to the homeless guy, but he was gone. The trash can in front of us was cold and empty, as if he'd taken the flames with him.
An hour later we were rumbling west. There was no problem about who would drive now, because we all got our own luxury car. Zoe and Bianca were crashed out in a Lexus on the top deck. Grover was playing race car driver behind the wheel of a Lamborghini. And Thalia had hot-wired the radio in a black Mercedes SLK so she could pick up the alt-rock stations from D.C.
"Join you?" I asked her.
She shrugged, so I climbed into the shotgun seat.
The radio was playing the White Stripes. I knew the song because it was one of the only CDs I owned that my mom liked. She said it reminded her of Led Zeppelin. Thinking about my mom made me sad, because it didn't seem likely I'd be home for Christmas. I might not live that long.
"Nice coat," Thalia told me.
I pulled the brown duster around me, thankful for the warmth. "Yeah, but the Nemean Lion wasn't the monster we're looking for."
"Not even close. We've got a long way to go."
"Whatever this mystery monster is, the General said it would come for you. They wanted to isolate you from the group, so the monster will appear and battle you one-on-one."
"He said that?"
"Well, something like that. Yeah." "That's great. I love being used as bait." "No idea what the monster might be?"
She shook her head morosely. "But you know where we're going, don't you? San Francisco. That's where Artemis was heading."
I remembered something Annabeth had said at the dance: how her dad was moving to San Francisco, and there was no way she could go. Half-bloods couldn't live there.
"Why?" I asked. "What's so bad about San Francisco?"
"The Mist is really thick there because the Mountain of Despair is so near. Titan magic—what's left of it—still lingers. Monsters are attracted to that area like you wouldn't believe."
"What's the Mountain of Despair?"
Thalia raised an eyebrow. "You really don't know? Ask stupid Zoe. She's the expert."
She glared out the windshield. I wanted to ask her what she was talking about, but I also didn't want to sound like an idiot. I hated feeling like Thalia knew more than I did, so I kept my mouth shut.
The afternoon sun shone through the steel-mesh side of the freight car, casting a shadow across Thalia's face. I thought about how different she was from Zoe—Zoe all formal and aloof like a princess, Thalia with her ratty clothes and her rebel attitude. But there was something similar about them, too. The same kind of toughness. Right now, sitting in the shadows with a gloomy expression, Thalia looked a lot like one of the Hunters.
Then suddenly, it hit me: "That's why you don't get along with Zoe." Thalia frowned. "What?"
"The Hunters tried to recruit you," I guessed.
Her eyes got dangerously bright. I thought she was going to zap me out of the Mercedes, but she just sighed. I almost joined them," she admitted. "Luke, Annabeth, and I ran into them once, and Zoe tried to convince me. She almost did, but…"
"But?"
Thalia's fingers gripped the wheel. "I would've had to leave Luke."
"Oh."
"Zoe and I got into a fight. She told me I was being stupid. She said I'd regret my choice. She said Luke would let me down someday."
I watched the sun through the metal curtain. We seemed to be traveling faster each second—shadows flickering like an old movie projector.
"That's harsh," I said. "Hard to admit Zoe was right." "She wasn't right! Luke never let me down. Never."
"We'll have to fight him," I said. "There's no way around it." Thalia didn't answer.
"You haven't seen him lately," I warned. "I know it's hard to believe, but—" "I'll do what I have to."
"Even if that means killing him?"
"Do me a favor," she said. "Get out of my car." I felt so bad for her I didn't argue.
As I was about to leave, she said, "Percy."
When I looked back, her eyes were red, but I couldn't tell if it was from anger or sadness. "Annabeth wanted to join the Hunters, too. Maybe you should think about why."
Before I could respond, she raised the power windows and shut me out.
I sat in the driver's seat of Grover's Lamborghini. Grover was asleep in the back. He'd finally given up trying to impress Zoe and Bianca with his pipe music after he played "Poison Ivy" and caused that very stuff to sprout from their Lexus's air conditioner.
As I watched the sun go down, I thought of Annabeth. I was afraid to go to sleep. I was worried what I might dream.
"Oh, don't be afraid of dreams," a voice said right next to me.
I looked over. Somehow, I wasn't surprised to find the homeless guy from the rail yard sitting in the shotgun seat. His jeans were so worn out they were almost white. His coat was ripped, with stuffing coming out. He looked kind of like a teddy bear that had been run over by a truck.
"If it weren't for dreams," he said, "I wouldn't know half the things I know about the future. They're better than Olympus tabloids." He cleared his throat, then held up his hands dramatically:
"Dreams like a podcast, Downloading truth in my ears. They tell me cool stuff"
Apollo?" I guessed, because I figured nobody else could make a haiku that bad. He put his finger to his lips. "I'm incognito. Call me Fred."
"A god named Fred?"
"Eh, well… Zeus insists on certain rules. Hands off, when there's a human quest. Even when something really major is wrong. But nobody messes with my baby sister. Nobody."
"Can you help us, then?"
"Shhh. I already have. Haven't you been looking outside?" "The train. How fast are we moving?"
Apollo chuckled. "Fast enough. Unfortunately, we're running out of time. It's almost sunset. But I imagine we'll get you across a good chunk of America, at least."
"But where is Artemis?"
His face darkened. "I know a lot, and I see a lot. But even I don't know that. She's… clouded from me. I don't like it."
"And Annabeth?"
He frowned. "Oh, you mean that girl you lost? Hmm. I don't know."
I tried not to feel mad. I knew the gods had a hard time taking mortals seriously, even half-bloods. We lived such short lives, compared to the gods.
"What about the monster Artemis was seeking?" I asked. "Do you know what it is?" "No," Apollo said. "But there is one who might. If you haven't yet found the monster
when you reach San Francisco, seek out Nereus, the Old Man of the Sea. He has a long memory and a sharp eye. He has the gift of knowledge sometimes kept obscure from my Oracle."
"But it's your Oracle," I protested. "Can't you tell us what the prophecy means?"
Apollo sighed. "You might as well ask an artist to explain his art, or ask a poet to explain his poem. It defeats the purpose. The meaning is only clear through the search."
"In other words, you don't know."
Apollo checked his watch. "Ah, look at the time! I have to run. I doubt I can risk helping you again, Percy, but remember what I said! Get some sleep! And when you return, I expect a good haiku about your journey!"
I wanted to protest that I wasn't tired and I'd never made up a haiku in my life, but Apollo snapped his fingers, and the next thing I knew I was closing my eyes.
In my dream, I was somebody else. I was wearing an old-fashioned Greek tunic, which was a little too breezy downstairs, and laced leather sandals. The Nemean Lion's skin was wrapped around my back like a cape, and I was running somewhere, being pulled along by a girl who was tightly gripping my hand.
"Hurry!" she said. It was too dark to see her face clearly, but I could hear the fear in her voice. "He will find us!"
It was nighttime. A million stars blazed above. We were running through tall grass, and the scent of a thousand different flowers made the air intoxicating. It was a beautiful garden, and yet the girl was leading me through it, as if we were about to die.
"I'm not afraid," I tried to tell her.
"You should be!" she said, pulling me along. She had long dark hair braided down her back. Her silk robes glowed faintly in the starlight.
We raced up the side of the hill. She pulled me behind a thorn bush and we collapsed, both breathing heavily. I didn't know why the girl was scared. The garden seemed so peaceful. And I felt strong. Stronger than I'd ever felt before.
"There is no need to run," I told her. My voice sounded deeper, much more confident. "I have bested a thousand monsters with my bare hands."
"Not this one," the girl said. "Ladon is too strong. You must go around, up the mountain to my father. It is the only way."
The hurt in her voice surprised me. She was really concerned, almost like she cared about me.
"I don't trust your father," I said.
"You should not," the girl agreed. "You will have to trick him. But you cannot take the prize directly. You will die.'"
I chuckled. "Then why don't you help me, pretty one?"
"I… I am afraid. Ladon will stop me. My sisters, if they found out… they would disown
me."
"Then there's nothing for it." I stood up, rubbing my hands together. "Wait.'" the girl said.
She seemed to be agonizing over a decision. Then, her fingers trembling, she reached up and plucked a long white brooch from her hair. "If you must fight, take this. My mother, Pleione, gave it to me. She was a daughter of the ocean, and the ocean's power is within it. My immortal power."
The girl breathed on the pin and it glowed faintly. It gleamed in the starlight like polished abalone.
"Take it," she told me. "And make of it a weapon."
I laughed. "A hairpin? How will this slay Ladon, pretty one?"
"It may not," she admitted. "But it is all I can offer, if you insist on being stubborn."
The girl's voice softened my heart. I reached down and took the hairpin, and as I did, it grew longer and heavier in my hand, until I held a familiar bronze sword.
"Well balanced," I said. "Though I usually prefer to use my bare hands. What shall I name this blade?"
"Anaklusmos," the girl said sadly. "The current that takes one by surprise. And before you know it, you have been swept out to sea."
Before I could thank her, there was a trampling sound in the grass, a hiss like air escaping a tire, and the girl said, "Too late! He is here!"
I sat bolt upright in the Lamborghini's drivers seat. Grover was shaking my arm. "Percy," he said. "It's morning. The train's stopped. Come on!"
I tried to shake off my drowsiness. Thalia, Zoe, and Bianca had already rolled up the metal curtains. Outside were snowy mountains dotted with pine trees, the sun rising red between two peaks.
I fished my pen out of my pocket and stared at it. Anaklusmos, the Ancient Greek name for Riptide. A different form, but I was sure it was the same blade I'd seen in my dream.
And I was sure of something else, too. The girl I had seen was Zoe Nightshade.
TWELVE
I GO SNOWBOARDINC WITH A PIG
We'd arrived on the outskirts of a little ski town nestled in the mountains. The sign said WELCOME TO CLOUDCROFT, NEW MEXICO. The air was cold and thin. The roofs of the cabins were heaped with snow, and dirty mounds of it were piled up on the sides of the streets. Tall pine trees loomed over the valley, casting pitch-black shadows, though the morning was sunny.
Even with my lion-skin coat, I was freezing by the time we got to Main Street, which was about half a mile from the train tracks. As we walked, I told Grover about my conversation with Apollo the night before—how he'd told me to seek out Nereus in San Francisco.
Grover looked uneasy. "That's good, I guess. But we've got to get there first."
I tried not to get too depressed about our chances. I didn't want to send Grover into a panic, but I knew we had another huge deadline looming, aside from saving Artemis in time for her council of the gods. The General had said Annabeth would only be kept alive until the winter solstice. That was Friday, only four days away. And he'd said something about a sacrifice. I didn't like the sound of that at all.
We stopped in the middle of town. You could pretty much see everything from there: a school, a bunch of tourist stores and cafes, some ski cabins, and a grocery store.
"Great," Thalia said, looking around. "No bus station. No taxis. No car rental. No way
out."
"There's a coffee shop!" said Grover. "Yes," Zoe said. "Coffee is good."
"And pastries," Grover said dreamily. "And wax paper."
Thalia sighed. "Fine. How about you two go get us some food. Percy, Bianca, and I will check in the grocery store. Maybe they can give us directions."
We agreed to meet back in front of the grocery store in fifteen minutes. Bianca looked a little uncomfortable coming with us, but she did.
Inside the store, we found out a few valuable things about Cloudcroft: there wasn't enough snow for skiing, the grocery store sold rubber rats for a dollar each, and there was no easy way in or out of town unless you had your own car.
"You could call for a taxi from Alamogordo," the clerk said doubtfully. "That's down at the bottom of the mountains, but it would take at least an hour to get here. Cost several hundred dollars."
The clerk looked so lonely, I bought a rubber rat. Then we headed back outside and stood on the porch.
"Wonderful," Thalia grumped. "I'm going to walk down the street, see if anybody in the other shops has a suggestion."
"But the clerk said—"
"I know," she told me. "I'm checking anyway."
I let her go. I knew how it felt to be restless. All half-bloods had attention deficit problems because of our inborn battlefield reflexes. We couldn't stand just waiting around. Also, I had a feeling Thalia was still upset over our conversation last night about Luke.
Bianca and I stood together awkwardly. I mean… I was never very comfortable talking one-on-one with girls anyway, and I'd never been alone with Bianca before. I wasn't sure what to say, especially now that she was a Hunter and everything.
"Nice rat," she said at last.
I set it on the porch railing. Maybe it would attract more business for the store. "So… how do you like being a Hunter so far?" I asked.
She pursed her lips. "You're not still mad at me for joining, are you?" "Nah. Long as, you know… you're happy."
"I'm not sure 'happy' is the right word, with Lady Artemis gone. But being a Hunter is definitely cool. I feel calmer somehow. Everything seems to have slowed down around me. I guess that's the immortality."
I stared at her, trying to see the difference. She did seem more confident than before, more at peace. She didn't hide her face under a green cap anymore. She kept her hair tied back, and she looked me right in the eyes when she spoke. With a shiver, I realized that five hundred or a thousand years from now, Bianca di Angelo would look exactly the same as she did today. She might be having a conversation like this with some other half-blood long after I was dead, but Bianca would still look twelve years old.
"Nico didn't understand my decision," Bianca murmured. She looked at me like she wanted assurance it was okay.
"He'll be all right," I said. "Camp Half-Blood takes in a lot of young kids. They did that for Annabeth."
Bianca nodded. "I hope we find her. Annabeth, I mean. She's lucky to have a friend like
you."
"Lot of good it did her."
"Don't blame yourself Percy. You risked your life to save my brother and me. I mean, that was seriously brave. If I hadn't met you, I wouldn't have felt okay about leaving Nico at the camp. I figured if there were people like you there, Nico would be fine. You're a good guy."
The compliment took me by surprise. "Even though I knocked you down in capture the flag?"
She laughed. "Okay. Except for that, you're a good guy."
A couple hundred yards away, Grover and Zoe came out of the coffee shop loaded down with pastry bags and drinks. I kind of didn't want them to come back yet. It was weird, but I realized I liked talking to Bianca. She wasn't so bad. A lot easier to hang out with than Zoe Nightshade, anyway.
"So what's the story with you and Nico?" I asked her. "Where did you go to school before Westover?"
She frowned. "I think it was a boarding school in D.C. It seems like so long ago." "You never lived with your parents? I mean, your mortal parent?"
"We were told our parents were dead. There was a bank trust for us. A lot of money, I think. A lawyer would come by once in a while to check on us. Then Nico and I had to leave that school."
"Why?"
She knit her eyebrows. "We had to go somewhere. I remember it was important. We traveled a long way. And we stayed in this hotel for a few weeks. And then… I don't know. One day a different lawyer came to get us out. He said it was time for us to leave. He drove us back east, through D.C. Then up into Maine. And we started going to Westover."
It was a strange story. Then again, Bianca and Nico were half-bloods. Nothing would be normal for them.
"So you've been raising Nico pretty much all your life?" I asked. "Just the two of you?" She nodded. "That's why I wanted to join the Hunters so bad. I mean, I know it's selfish,
but I wanted my own life and friends. I love Nico—don't get me wrong—I just needed to find out what it would be like not to be a big sister twenty-four hours a day."
I thought about last summer, the way I'd felt when I found out I had a Cyclops for a baby brother. I could relate to what Bianca was saying.
"Zoe seems to trust you,"I said."What were you guys talking about, anyway— something dangerous about the quest?"
"When?"
Yesterday morning on the pavilion," I said, before I could stop myself. "Something about the General."
Her face darkened. "How did you… The invisibility hat. Were you eavesdropping?" "No! I mean, not really. I just—"
I was saved from trying to explain when Zoe and Grover arrived with the drinks and pastries. Hot chocolate for Bianca and me. Coffee for them. I got a blueberry muffin, and it was so good I could almost ignore the outraged look Bianca was giving me.
"We should do the tracking spell," Zoe said. "Grover, do you have any acorns left?" "Umm," Grover mumbled. He was chewing on a bran muffin, wrapper and all. "I think
so. I just need to—" He froze.
I was about to ask what was wrong, when a warm breeze rustled past, like a gust of springtime had gotten lost in the middle of winter. Fresh air seasoned with wildflowers and sunshine. And something else—almost like a voice, trying to say something. A warning.
Zoe gasped. "Grover, thy cup."
Grover dropped his coffee cup, which was decorated with pictures of birds. Suddenly the birds peeled off the cup and flew away—a flock of tiny doves. My rubber rat squeaked. It scampered off the railing and into the trees—real fur, real whiskers.
Grover collapsed next to his coffee, which steamed against the snow. We gathered around him and tried to wake him up. He groaned, his eyes fluttering.
"Hey!" Thalia said, running up from the street. "I just… What's wrong with Grover?" "I don't know," I said. "He collapsed."
"Uuuuuhhhh," Grover groaned.
"Well, get him up!" Thalia said. She had her spear in her hand. She looked behind her as if she were being followed. "We have to get out of here."
We made it to the edge of the town before the first two skeleton warriors appeared. They stepped from the trees on either side of the road. Instead of gray camouflage, they were
now wearing blue New Mexico State Police uniforms, but they had the same transparent gray skin and yellow eyes.
They drew their handguns. I'll admit I used to think it would be kind of cool to learn how to shoot a gun, but I changed my mind as soon as the skeleton warriors pointed theirs at me.
Thalia tapped her bracelet. Aegis spiraled to life on her arm, but the warriors didn't flinch. Their glowing yellow eyes bored right into me.
I drew Riptide, though I wasn't sure what good it would do against guns.
Zoe and Bianca drew their bows, but Bianca was having trouble because Grover kept swooning and leaning against her.
"Back up," Thalia said.
We started to—but then I heard a rustling of branches. Two more skeletons appeared on the road behind us. We were surrounded.
I wondered where the other skeletons were. I'd seen a dozen at the Smithsonian. Then one of the warriors raised a cell phone to his mouth and spoke into it.
Except he wasn't speaking. He made a clattering, clicking sound, like dry teeth on bone. Suddenly I understood what was going on. The skeletons had split up to look for us. These skeletons were now calling their brethren. Soon we'd have a full party on our hands.
"It's near," Grover moaned. "It's here," I said.
"No," he insisted. "The gift. The gift from the Wild."
I didn't know what he was talking about, but I was worried about his condition. He was in no shape to walk, much less fight.
"We'll have to go one-on-one," Thalia said. "Four of them. Four of us. Maybe they'll ignore Grover that way."
"Agreed," said Zoe.
"The Wild!" Grover moaned.
A warm wind blew through the canyon, rustling the trees, but I kept my eyes on the skeletons. I remembered the General gloating over Annabeth's fate. I remembered the way Luke had betrayed her.
And I charged.
The first skeleton fired. Time slowed down. I won't say I could see the bullet, but I could feel its path, the same way I felt water currents in the ocean. I deflected it off the edge of my blade and kept charging.
The skeleton drew a baton and I sliced off his arms at the elbows. Then I swung Riptide through his waist and cut him in half.
His bones unknit and clattered to the asphalt in a heap. Almost immediately, they began to move, reassembling themselves. The second skeleton clattered his teeth at me and tried to fire, but I knocked his gun into the snow.
I thought I was doing pretty well, until the other two skeletons shot me in the back. "Percy!" Thalia screamed.
I landed facedown in the street. Then I realized something… I wasn't dead. The impact of the bullets had been dull, like a push from behind, but they hadn't hurt me.
The Nemean Lion's fur! My coat was bulletproof.
Thalia charged the second skeleton. Zoe and Bianca started firing arrows at the third and fourth. Grover stood there and held his hands out to the trees, looking like he wanted to hug them.
There was a crashing sound in the forest to our left, like a bulldozer. Maybe the skeletons' reinforcements were arriving. I got to my feet and ducked a police baton. The skeleton I'd cut in half was already fully re-formed, coming after me.
There was no way to stop them. Zoe and Bianca fired at their heads point-blank, but the arrows just whistled straight through their empty skulls. One lunged at Bianca, and I thought she was a goner, but she whipped out her hunting knife and stabbed the warrior in the chest. The whole skeleton erupted into flames, leaving a little pile of ashes and a police badge.
"How did you do that?" Zoe asked.
"I don't know," Bianca said nervously. "Lucky stab?" "Well, do it again!"
Bianca tried, but the remaining three skeletons were wary of her now. They pressed us back, keeping us at baton's length.
"Plan?" I said as we retreated.
Nobody answered. The trees behind the skeletons were shivering. Branches were cracking.
"A gift," Grover muttered.
And then, with a mighty roar, the largest pig I'd ever seen came crashing into the road. It was a wild boar, thirty feet high, with a snotty pink snout and tusks the size of canoes. Its back bristled with brown hair, and its eyes were wild and angry.
"REEEEEEEEET!" it squealed, and raked the three skeletons aside with its tusks. The force was so great, they went flying over the trees and into the side of the mountain, where they smashed to pieces, thigh bones and arm bones twirling everywhere.
Then the pig turned on us.
Thalia raised her spear, but Grover yelled, "Don't kill it.'" The boar grunted and pawed the ground, ready to charge.
"That's the Erymanthian Boar," Zoe said, trying to stay calm. "I don't think we can kill
it."
"It's a gift," Grover said. "A blessing from the Wild!"
The boar said "REEEEEEET!" and swung its tusk. Zoe and Bianca dived out of the way. I had to push Grover so he wouldn't get launched into the mountain on the Boar Tusk Express.
"Yeah, I feel blessed!" I said. "Scatter!"
We ran in different directions, and for a moment the boar was confused. "It wants to kill us!" Thalia said.
"Of course," Grover said. "It's wild!"
"So how is that a blessing?" Bianca asked.
It seemed a fair question to me, but the pig was offended and charged her. She was faster than I'd realized. She rolled out of the way of its hooves and came up behind the beast. It lashed out with its tusks and pulverized the WELCOME TO CLOUDCROFT sign.
I racked my brain, trying to remember the myth of the boar. I was pretty sure Hercules had fought this thing once, but I couldn't remember how he'd beaten it. I had a vague memory of the boar plowing down several Greek cities before Hercules managed to subdue it. I hoped Cloudcroft was insured against giant wild boar attacks.
"Keep moving!" Zoe yelled. She and Bianca ran in opposite directions. Grover danced around the boar, playing his pipes while the boar snorted and tried to gouge him. But Thalia and I won the prize for bad luck. When the boar turned on us, Thalia made the mistake of raising Aegis in defense. The sight of the Medusa head made the boar squeal in outrage. Maybe it looked too much like one of his relatives. The boar charged us.
We only managed to keep ahead of it because we ran uphill, and we could dodge in and out of trees while the boar had to plow through them.
On the other side of the hill, I found an old stretch of train tracks, half buried in the
snow.
"This way.'" I grabbed Thalia's arm and we ran along the rails while the boar roared behind us, slipping and sliding as it tried to navigate the steep hillside. Its hooves just were not made for this, thank the gods.
Ahead of us, I saw a covered tunnel. Past that, an old trestle bridge spanning a gorge. I had a crazy idea.
"Follow me!"
Thalia slowed down—I didn't have time to ask why—but I pulled her along and she reluctantly followed. Behind us, a ten-ton pig tank was knocking down pine trees and crushing boulders under its hooves as it chased us.
Thalia and I ran into the tunnel and came out on the other side. "No!" Thalia screamed.
She'd turned as white as ice. We were at the edge of the bridge. Below, the mountain dropped away into a snow-filled gorge about seventy feet below.
The boar was right behind us.
"Come on!" I said. "It'll hold our weight, probably." "I can't!" Thalia yelled. Her eyes were wild with fear.
The boar smashed into the covered tunnel, tearing through at full speed. "Now!" I yelled at Thalia.
She looked down and swallowed. I swear she was turning green.
I didn't have time to process why. The boar was charging through the tunnel, straight toward us. Plan B. I tackled Thalia and sent us both sideways off the edge of the bridge, into the side of the mountain. We slid on Aegis like a snow-board, over rocks and mud and snow, racing downhill. The boar was less fortunate; it couldn't turn that fast, so all ten tons of the monster charged out onto the tiny trestle, which buckled under its weight. The boar free-fell into the gorge with a mighty squeal and landed in a snowdrift with a huge POOOOOF!
Thalia and I skidded to a stop. We were both breathing hard. I was cut up and bleeding. Thalia had pine needles in her hair. Next to us, the wild boar was squealing and struggling. All I could see was the bristly tip of its back. It was wedged completely in the snow like Styrofoam packing. It didn't seem to be hurt, but it wasn't going anywhere, either.
I looked at Thalia. "You're afraid of heights."
Now that we were safely down the mountain, her eyes had their usual angry look. "Don't be stupid."
"That explains why you freaked out on Apollo's bus. Why you didn't want to talk about
it."
She took a deep breath. Then she brushed the pine needles out of her hair. "If you tell anyone, I swear—"
"No, no," I said. "That's cool. It's just… the daughter of Zeus, the Lord of the Sky, afraid of heights?"
She was about to knock me into the snow when, above us, Grover's voice called, "Helloooooo?"
"Down here!" I shouted.
A few minutes later, Zoe, Bianca, and Grover joined us. We stood watching the wild boar struggle in the snow.
"A blessing of the Wild," Grover said, though he now looked agitated. "I agree," Zoe said. "We must use it."
"Hold up," Thalia said irritably. She still looked like 1 she'd just lost a fight with a Christmas tree. "Explain to me why you're so sure this pig is a blessing."
Grover looked over, distracted. "It's our ride west. Do you have any idea how fast this boar can travel?"
"Fun," I said. "Like… pig cowboys."
Grover nodded. "We need to get aboard. I wish… I wish I had more time to look around. But it's gone now."
"What's gone?"
Grover didn't seem to hear me. He walked over to the boar and jumped onto its back. Already the boar was starting to make some headway through the drift. Once it broke free, there'd be no stopping it. Grover took out his pipes. He started playing a snappy tune and tossed an apple in front of the boar. The apple floated and spun right above the boar's nose, and the boar went nuts, straining to get it.
"Automatic steering," Thalia murmured. "Great."
She trudged over and jumped on behind Grover, which still left plenty of room for the rest of us.
Zoe and Bianca walked toward the boar.
"Wait a second," I said. "Do you two know what Grover is talking about—this wild blessing?"
"Of course," Zoe said. "Did you not feel it in the wind? It was so strong… I never thought I would sense that presence again."
"What presence?"
She stared at me like I was an idiot. "The Lord of the Wild, of course. Just for a moment, in the arrival of the boar, I felt the presence of Pan."
THIRTEEN
WE VISIT THE JUNKYARD OF THE GODS
We rode the boar until sunset, which was about as much as my back end could take. Imagine riding a giant steel brush over a bed of gravel all day. That's about how comfortable boar-riding was.
I have no idea how many miles we covered, but the mountains faded into the distance and were replaced by miles of flat, dry land. The grass and scrub brush got sparser until we were galloping (do boars gallop?) across the desert.
As night fell, the boar came to a stop at a creek bed and snorted. He started drinking the muddy water, then ripped a saguaro cactus out of the ground and chewed it, needles and all.
"This is as far as he'll go," Grover said. "We need to get off while he's eating."
Nobody needed convincing. We slipped off the boar's back while he was busy ripping up cacti. Then we waddled away as best we could with our saddle sores.
After its third saguaro and another drink of muddy water, the boar squealed and belched, then whirled around and galloped back toward the east.
"It likes the mountains better," I guessed. "I can't blame it," Thalia said. "Look."
Ahead of us was a two-lane road half covered with sand. On the other side of the road was a cluster of buildings too small to be a town: a boarded-up house, a taco shop that looked like it hadn't been open since before Zoe Nightshade was born, and a white stucco post office with a sign that said GILA CLAW, ARIZONA hanging crooked above the door. Beyond that was a range of hills… but then I noticed they weren't regular hills. The countryside was way too flat for that. The hills were enormous mounds of old cars, appliances, and other scrap metal. It was a junkyard that seemed to go on forever.
"Whoa," I said.
"Something tells me we're not going to find a car rental here," Thalia said. She looked at Graver. "I don't suppose you got another wild boar up your sleeve?"
Grover was sniffing the wind, looking nervous. He fished out his acorns and threw them into the sand, then played his pipes. They rearranged themselves in a pattern that made no sense to me, but Grover looked concerned.
"That's us," he said. "Those five nuts right there." "Which one is me?" I asked.
"The little deformed one," Zoe suggested. "Oh, shut up."
"That cluster right there," Grover said, pointing to the left, "that's trouble." "A monster?" Thalia asked.
Grover looked uneasy. "I don't smell anything, which doesn't make sense. But the acorns don't lie. Our next challenge…"
He pointed straight toward the junkyard. With the sunlight almost gone now, the hills of metal looked like something on an alien planet.
We decided to camp for the night and try the junkyard in the morning. None of us wanted to go Dumpster-diving in the dark.
Zoe and Bianca produced five sleeping bags and foam mattresses out of their backpacks. I don't know how they did it, because the packs were tiny, but must've been enchanted to hold so much stuff. I'd noticed their bows and quivers were also magic. I never really thought about it, but when the Hunters needed them, they just appeared slung over their backs. And when they didn't, they were gone.
The night got chilly fast, so Grover and I collected old boards from the ruined house, and Thalia zapped them with an electric shock to start a campfire. Pretty soon we were about as comfy as you can get in a rundown ghost town in the middle of nowhere.
"The stars are out," Zoe said.
She was right. There were millions of them, with no city lights to turn the sky orange. "Amazing," Bianca said. "I've never actually seen the Milky Way."
"This is nothing," Zoe said. "In the old days, there were more. Whole constellations have disappeared because of human light pollution."
"You talk like you're not human," I said.
Zoe raised an eyebrow. "I am a Hunter. I care what happens to the wild places of the world. Can the same be said for thee?"
"For you," Thalia corrected. "Not thee"
"But you use you for the beginning of a sentence."
"And for the end," Thalia said. "No thou. No thee. Just you"
Zoe threw up her hands in exasperation. "I hate this language. It changes too often!"
Grover sighed. He was still looking up at the stars like he was thinking about the light pollution problem. "If only Pan were here, he would set things right."
Zoe nodded sadly.
"Maybe it was the coffee," Grover said. "I was drinking coffee, and the wind came.
Maybe if I drank more coffee…"
I was pretty sure coffee had nothing to do with what had happened in Cloudcroft, but I didn't have the heart to tell Grover. I thought about the rubber rat and the tiny birds that had suddenly come alive when the wind blew. "Grover, do you really think that was Pan? I mean, I know you want it to be."
"He sent us help," Grover insisted. "I don't know how or why. But it was his presence. After this quest is done, I'm going back to New Mexico and drinking a lot of coffee. It's the best lead we've gotten in two thousand years. I was so close."
I didn't answer. I didn't want to squash Grover's hopes.
"What I want to know," Thalia said, looking at Bianca, "is how you destroyed one of the zombies. There are a lot more out there somewhere. We need to figure out how to fight them."
Bianca shook her head. "I don't know. I just stabbed it and it went up in flames." "Maybe there's something special about your knife," I said.
"It is the same as mine," Zoe said. "Celestial bronze, yes. But mine did not affect the warriors that way."
"Maybe you have to hit the skeleton in a certain spot," I said.
Bianca looked uncomfortable with everybody paying attention to her.
"Never mind," Zoe told her. "We will find the answer. In the meantime, we should plan our next move. When we get through this junkyard, we must continue west. If we can find a road, we can hitchhike to the nearest city. I think that would be Las Vegas."
I was about to protest that Grover and I had had bad experiences in that town, but Bianca beat us to it.
"No!" she said. "Not there!"
She looked really freaked out, like she'd just been dropped off the steep end of a roller coaster.
Zoe frowned. "Why?"
Bianca took a shaky breath. "I… I think we stayed there for a while. Nico and I. When we were traveling. And then, I can't remember…"
Suddenly I had a really bad thought. I remembered what
Bianca had told me about Nico and her staying in a hotel for a while. I met Graver's eyes, and I got the feeling he was thinking the same thing.
"Bianca," I said. "That hotel you stayed at. Was it possibly called the Lotus Hotel and Casino?"
Her eyes widened. "How could you know that?" "Oh, great," I said.
"Wait," Thalia said. "What is the Lotus Casino?"
"A couple of years ago," I said, "Grover, Annabeth, and I got trapped there. It's designed so you never want to leave. We stayed for about an hour. When we came out, five days had passed. It makes time speed up."
"No," Bianca said. "No, that's not possible."
"You said somebody came and got you out," I remembered. "Yes."
"What did he look like? What did he say?"
"I… I don't remember. Please, I really don't want to talk about this."
Zoe sat forward, her eyebrows knit with concern. "You said that Washington, D.C., had changed when you went back last summer. You didn't remember the subway being there."
"Yes, but—"
"Bianca," Zoe said, "can you tell me the name of the president of the United States right now?"
"Don't be silly," Bianca said. She told us the correct name of the president. "And who was the president before that?" Zoe asked.
Bianca thought for a while. "Roosevelt." Zoe swallowed. "Theodore or Franklin'?" "Franklin," Bianca said. "F.D.R."
"Like FDR Drive?" I asked. Because seriously, that's about all I knew about F.D.R.
"Bianca," Zoe said. "F.D.R. was not the last president. That was about seventy years
ago."
"That's impossible," Bianca said. "I… I'm not that old."
She stared at her hands as if to make sure they weren't wrinkled.
Thalia's eyes turned sad. I guess she knew what it was like to get pulled out of time for a while. "It's okay, Bianca, The important thing is you and Nico are safe. You made it out."
"But how?" I said. "We were only in there for an hour and we barely escaped. How could you have escaped after being there for so long?"
"I told you." Bianca looked about ready to cry. "A man came and said it was time to leave. And—"
"But who? Why did he do it?"
Before she could answer, we were hit with a blazing light from down the road. The headlights of a car appeared out of nowhere. I was half hoping it was Apollo, come to give us a ride again, but the engine was way too silent for the sun chariot, and besides, it was nighttime. We grabbed our sleeping bags and got out of the way as a deathly white limousine slid to a stop in front of us.
The back door of the limo opened right next to me. Before I could step away, the point of a sword touched my throat.
I heard the sound of Zoe and Bianca drawing their bows. As the owner of the sword got out of the car, I moved back very slowly. I had to, because he was pushing the point under my chin.
He smiled cruelly. "Not so fast now, are you, punk?"
He was a big man with a crew cut, a black leather biker's jacket, black jeans, a white muscle shirt, and combat boots. Wraparound shades hid his eyes, but I knew what was behind those glasses—hollow sockets filled with flames.
"Ares," I growled.
The war god glanced at my friends. "At ease, people."
He snapped his fingers, and their weapons fell to the ground.
"This is a friendly meeting." He dug the point of his blade a little farther under my chin. "Of course I'd like to take your head for a trophy, but someone wants to see you. And I never behead my enemies in front of a lady."
"What lady?" Thalia asked.
Ares looked over at her. "Well, well. I heard you were back."
He lowered his sword and pushed me away.
"Thalia, daughter of Zeus," Ares mused. "You're not hanging out with very good company."
"What's your business, Ares?" she said. "Who's in the car?"
Ares smiled, enjoying the attention. "Oh, I doubt she wants to meet the rest of you. Particularly not them." He jutted his chin toward Zoe and Bianca. "Why don't you all go get some tacos while you wait? Only take Percy a few minutes."
"We will not leave him alone with thee, Lord Ares," Zoe said. "Besides," Grover managed, "the taco place is closed."
Ares snapped his fingers again. The lights inside the taqueria suddenly blazed to life. The boards flew off the door and the CLOSED sign flipped to OPEN. "You were saying, goat boy?"
"Go on," I told my friends. "I'll handle this."
I tried to sound more confident than I felt. I don't think Ares was fooled.
"You heard the boy," Ares said. "He's big and strong. He's got things under control."
My friends reluctantly headed over to the taco restaurant. Ares regarded me with loathing, then opened the limousine door like a chauffeur.
"Get inside, punk," he said. "And mind your manners. She's not as forgiving of rudeness as I am."
When I saw her, my jaw dropped.
I forgot my name. I forgot where I was. I forgot how to speak in complete sentences.
She was wearing a red satin dress and her hair was curled in a cascade of ringlets. Her face was the most beautiful I'd ever seen: perfect makeup, dazzling eyes, a smile that would've lit up the dark side of the moon.
Thinking back on it, I can't tell you who she looked like.
Or even what color her hair or her eyes were. Pick the most beautiful actress you can think of. The goddess was ten times more beautiful than that. Pick your favorite hair color, eye color, whatever. The goddess had that.
When she smiled at me, just for a moment she looked a little like Annabeth. Then like this television actress I used to have a crush on in fifth grade. Then… well, you get the idea.
"Ah, there you are, Percy," the goddess said. "I am Aphrodite."
I slipped into the seat across from her and said something like, "Um uh gah." She smiled. "Aren't you sweet. Hold this, please."
She handed me a polished mirror the size of a dinner plate and had me hold it up for her. She leaned forward and dabbed at her lipstick, though I couldn't see anything wrong with it.
"Do you know why you're here?" she asked.
I wanted to respond. Why couldn't I form a complete sentence? She was only a lady. A seriously beautiful lady. With eyes like pools of spring water… Whoa.
I pinched my own arm, hard. "I… I don't know," I managed.
"Oh, dear," Aphrodite said. "Still in denial?"
Outside the car, I could hear Ares chuckling. I had a feeling he could hear every word we said. The idea of him being out there made me angry, and that helped clear my mind.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said. "Well then, why are you on this quest?" "Artemis has been captured!"
Aphrodite rolled her eyes. "Oh, Artemis. Please. Talk about a hopeless case. I mean, if they were going to kidnap a goddess, she should be breathtakingly beautiful, don't you think? I pity the poor dears who have to imprison Artemis. Bo-ring!"
"But she was chasing a monster," I protested. "A really, really bad monster. We have to find it!"
Aphrodite made me hold the mirror a little higher. She seemed to have found a microscopic problem at the corner of her eye and dabbed at her mascara. "Always some monster. But my dear Percy, that is why the others are on this quest. I'm more interested in you."
My heart pounded. I didn't want to answer, but her eyes drew an answer right out of my mouth. "Annabeth is in trouble."
Aphrodite beamed. "Exactly!"
"I have to help her," I said. "I've been having these dreams." "Ah, you even dream about her! That's so cute!"
"No! I mean… that's not what I meant."
She made a tsk-tsk sound. "Percy, I'm on your side. I'm the reason you're here, after all." I stared at her. "What?"
"The poisoned T-shirt the Stoll brothers gave Phoebe," she said. "Did you think that was an accident? Sending Blackjack to find you? Helping you sneak out of the camp?"
"You did that?"
"Of course! Because really, how boring these Hunters . are! A quest for some monster, blah blah blah. Saving Artemis. Let her stay lost, I say. But a quest for true love—"
"Wait a second, I never said—"
"Oh, my dear. You don't need to say it. You do know Annabeth was close to joining the Hunters, don't you?"
I blushed. "I wasn't sure—"
"She was about to throw her life away! And you, my dear, you can save her from that.
It's so romantic!"
"Uh…"
"Oh, put the mirror down," Aphrodite ordered. "I look fine."
I hadn't realized I was still holding it, but as soon as I put it down, I noticed my arms were sore.
"Now listen, Percy," Aphrodite said. "The Hunters are your enemies. Forget them and Artemis and the monster. That's not important. You just concentrate on finding and saving Annabeth."
"Do you know where she is?"
Aphrodite waved her hand irritably. "No, no. I leave the details to you. But it's been ages since we've had a good tragic love story."
"Whoa, first of all, I never said anything about love. And second, what's up with
tragic!"
"Love conquers all," Aphrodite promised. "Look at Helen and Paris. Did they let anything come between them?"
"Didn't they start the Trojan War and get thousands of people killed?" "Pfft. That's not the point. Follow your heart."
"But… I don't know where it's going. My heart, I mean."
She smiled sympathetically. She really was beautiful. And not just because she had a pretty face or anything. She believed in love so much, it was impossible not to feel giddy when she talked about it.
"Not knowing is half the fun," Aphrodite said. "Exquisitely painful, isn't it? Not being sure who you love and who loves you? Oh, you kids! It's so cute I'm going to cry."
"No, no," I said. "Don't do that."
"And don't worry," she said. "I'm not going to let this be easy and boring for you. No, I have some wonderful surprises in store. Anguish. Indecision. Oh, you just wait."
"That's really okay," I told her. "Don't go to any trouble."
"You're so cute. I wish all my daughters could break the heart of a boy as nice as you." Aphrodite's eyes were tearing up. "Now, you'd better go. And do be careful in my husband's territory, Percy. Don't take anything. He is awfully fussy about his trinkets and trash."
"What?" I asked. "You mean Hephaestus?"
But the car door opened and Ares grabbed my shoulder, pulling me out of the car and back into the desert night.
My audience with the goddess of love was over.
"You're lucky, punk." Ares pushed me away from the limo. "Be grateful." "For what?"
"That we're being so nice. If it was up to me—"
"So why haven't you killed me?" I shot back. It was a stupid thing to say to the god of war, but being around him always made me feel angry and reckless.
Ares nodded, like I'd finally said something intelligent.
"I'd love to kill you, seriously," he said. "But see, I got a situation. Word on Olympus is that you might start the biggest war in history. I can't risk messing that up. Besides, Aphrodite thinks you're some kinda soap-opera star or something. I kill you, that makes me look bad with her. But don't worry. I haven't forgotten my promise. Some day soon, kid—real soon— you're going to raise your sword to fight, and you're going to remember the wrath of Ares."
I balled my fists. "Why wait? I beat you once. How's that ankle healing up?"
He grinned crookedly. "Not bad, punk. But you got nothing on the master of taunts. I'll start the fight when I'm good and ready. Until then… Get lost."
He snapped his fingers and the world did a three-sixty, spinning in a cloud of red dust. I fell to the ground.
When I stood up again, the limousine was gone. The road, the taco restaurant, the whole town of Gila Claw was gone. My friends and I were standing in the middle of the junkyard, mountains of scrap metal stretched out in every direction.
"What did she want with you?" Bianca asked, once I'd told them about Aphrodite.
"Oh, uh, not sure," I lied. "She said to be careful in her husband's junkyard. She said not to pick anything up."
Zoe narrowed her eyes. "The goddess of love would not make a special trip to tell thee that. Be careful, Percy. Aphrodite has led many heroes astray."
"For once I agree with Zoe," Thalia said. "You can't trust Aphrodite."
Grover was looking at me funny. Being empathic and all, he could usually read my emotions, and I got the feeling he knew exactly what Aphrodite had talked to me about.
"So," I said, anxious to change the subject, "how do we get out of here?" "That way," Zoe said. "That is west."
"How can you tell?"
In the light of the full moon, I was surprised how well I could see her roll her eyes at me. "Ursa Major is in the north," she said, "which means that must be west."
She pointed west, then at the northern constellation, which was hard to make out because there were so many other stars.
"Oh, yeah," I said. "The bear thing."
Zoe looked offended. "Show some respect. It was a fine bear. A worthy opponent." "You act like it was real."
"Guys," Grover broke in. "Look!"
We'd reached the crest of a junk mountain. Piles of metal objects glinted in the moonlight: broken heads of bronze horses, metal legs from human statues, smashed chariots, tons of shields and swords and other weapons, along with more modern stuff, like cars that gleamed gold and silver, refrigerators, washing machines, and computer monitors.
"Whoa," Bianca said. "That stuff… some of it looks like real gold."
"It is," Thalia said grimly. "Like Percy said, don't touch anything. This is the junkyard of the gods."
"Junk?" Grover picked up a beautiful crown made of gold, silver, and jewels. It was broken on one side, as if it had been split by an axe. "You call this junk?"
He bit off a point and began to chew. "It's delicious!" Thalia swatted the crown out of his hands. "I'm serious!"
"Look!" Bianca said. She raced down the hill, tripping over bronze coils and golden plates. She picked up a bow that glowed silver in moonlight. "A Hunter's bow!"
She yelped in surprise as the bow began to shrink, and became a hair clip shaped like a crescent moon. "It's just like Percys sword!"
Zoe's face was grim. "Leave it, Bianca." "But—"
"It is here for a reason. Anything thrown away in this junkyard must stay in this yard. It is defective. Or cursed."
Bianca reluctantly set the hair clip down.
"I don't like this place," Thalia said. She gripped the shaft of her spear. "You think we're going to get attacked by killer refrigerators?" I asked.
She gave me a hard look. "Zoe is right, Percy. Things get thrown away here for a reason. Now come on, let's get across the yard."
"That's the second time you've agreed with Zoe," I muttered, but Thalia ignored me.
We started picking our way through the hills and valleys of junk. The stuff seemed to go on forever, and if it hadn't been for Ursa Major, we would've gotten lost. All the hills pretty much looked the same.
I'd like to say we left the stuff alone, but there was too much cool junk not to check out some of it. I found an electric guitar shaped like Apollo's lyre that was so sweet I had to pick it up. Grover found a broken tree made out of metal. It had been chopped to pieces, but some of the branches still had golden birds in them, and they whirred around when Grover picked them up, trying to flap their wings.
Finally, we saw the edge of the junkyard about half a mile ahead of us, the lights of a highway stretching through the desert. But between us and the road…
"What is that?" Bianca gasped.
Ahead of us was a hill much bigger and longer than the others. It was like a metal mesa, the length of a football field and as tall as goalposts. At one end of the mesa was a row of ten thick metal columns, wedged tightly together.
Bianca frowned. "They look like—" "Toes," Grover said.
Bianca nodded. "Really, really large toes." Zoe and Thalia exchanged nervous looks. "Let's go around," Thalia said. "Far around."
"But the road is right over there," I protested. "Quicker to climb over."
Ping.
Thalia hefted her spear and Zoe drew her bow, but then I realized it was only Grover. He had thrown a piece of scrap metal at the toes and hit one, making a deep echo, as if the column were hollow.
"Why did you do that?" Zoe demanded.
Grover cringed. "I don't know. I, uh, don't like fake feet?" "Come on." Thalia looked at me. "Around."
I didn't argue. The toes were starting to freak me out, too. I mean, who sculpts ten-foot- tall metal toes and sticks them in a junkyard?
After several minutes of walking, we finally stepped onto the highway, an abandoned but well-lit stretch of black asphalt.
"We made it out," Zoe said. "Thank the gods."
But apparently the gods didn't want to be thanked. At that moment, I heard a sound like a thousand trash compactors crushing metal.
I whirled around. Behind us, the scrap mountain was boiling, rising up. The ten toes tilted over, and I realized why they looked like toes. They were toes. The thing that rose up from the metal was a bronze giant in full Greek battle armor. He was impossibly tall—a skyscraper with legs and arms. He gleamed wickedly in the moonlight. He looked down at us, and his face was deformed. The left side was partially melted off. His joints creaked with rust, and across his armored chest, written in thick dust by some giant finger, were the words WASH ME.
"Talos!" Zoe gasped. "Who—who's Talos?" I stuttered.
"One of Hephaestus's creations," Thalia said. "But that can't be the original. It's too small. A prototype, maybe. A defective model.
The metal giant didn't like the word defective.
He moved one hand to his sword belt and drew his weapon. The sound of it coming out of its sheath was horrible, metal screeching against metal. The blade was a hundred feet long, easy. It looked rusty and dull, but I didn't figure that mattered. Getting hit with that thing would be like getting hit with a battleship.
"Someone took something," Zoe said. "Who took something?" She stared accusingly at me.
I shook my head. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a thief."
Bianca didn't say anything. I could swear she looked guilty, but I didn't have much time to think about it, because the giant defective Talos took one step toward us, closing half the distance and making the ground shake.
"Run!" Grover yelped.
Great advice, except that it was hopeless. At a leisurely stroll, this thing could outdistance us easily.
We split up, the way we'd done with the Nemean Lion. Thalia drew her shield and held it up as she ran down the highway. The giant swung his sword and took out a row of power lines, which exploded in sparks and scattered across Thalia's path.
Zoe's arrows whistled toward the creature's face but shattered harmlessly against the metal. Grover brayed like a baby goat and went climbing up a mountain of metal.
Bianca and I ended up next to each other, hiding behind a broken chariot. "You took something," I said. "That bow."
"No!" she said, but her voice was quivering. "Give it back!" I said. "Throw it down!"
"I… I didn't take the bow! Besides, it's too late." "What did. you take?"
Before she could answer, I heard a massive creaking noise, and a shadow blotted out the
sky.
"Move!" I tore down the hill, Bianca right behind me, as the giant's foot smashed a crater in the ground where we'd been hiding.
"Hey, Talos!" Grover yelled, but the monster raised his sword, looking down at Bianca and me.
Grover played a quick melody on his pipes. Over at the highway, the downed power lines began to dance. I understood what Grover was going to do a split second before it happened. One of the poles with power lines still attached flew toward Talos's back leg and wrapped around his calf The lines sparked and sent a jolt of electricity up the giant's backside.
Talos whirled around, creaking and sparking. Grover had bought us a few seconds. "Come on!" I told Bianca. But she stayed frozen. From her pocket, she brought out a
small metal figurine, a statue of a god. "It… it was for Nico. It was the only statue he didn't have."
"How can you think of Mythomagic at a time like this?" I said. There were tears in her eyes.
"Throw it down," I said. "Maybe the giant will leave us alone." She dropped it reluctantly, but nothing happened.
The giant kept coming after Grover. It stabbed its sword into a junk hill, missing Grover by a few feet, but scrap metal made an avalanche over him, and then I couldn't see him anymore.
"No!" Thalia yelled. She pointed her spear, and a blue arc of lightning shot out, hitting the monster in his rusty knee, which buckled. The giant collapsed, but immediately started to rise again. It was hard to tell if it could feel anything. There weren't any emotions in its half- melted face, but I got the sense that it was about as ticked off as a twenty-story-tall metal warrior could be.
He raised his foot to stomp and I saw that his sole was treaded like the bottom of a sneaker. There was a hole in his heel, like a large manhole, and there were red words painted around it, which I deciphered only after the foot came down: FOR MAINTENANCE ONLY.
"Crazy-idea time," I said.
Bianca looked at me nervously. "Anything."
I told her about the maintenance hatch. "There may be a way to control the thing.
Switches or something. I'm going to get inside."
"How? You'll have to stand under its foot! You'll be crushed" "Distract it," I said. "I'll just have to time it right."
Bianca's jaw tightened. "No. I'll go."
"You can't. You're new at this! You'll die."
"It's my fault the monster came after us," she said. "It's my responsibility. Here." She picked up the little god statue and pressed it into my hand. "If anything happens, give that to Nico. Tell him… tell him I'm sorry."
"Bianca, no!"
But she wasn't waiting for me. She charged at the monster's left foot.
Thalia had its attention for the moment. She'd learned that the giant was big but slow. If you could stay close to it and not get smashed, you could run around it and stay alive. At least, it was working so far.
Bianca got right next to the giant's foot, trying to balance herself on the metal scraps that swayed and shifted with his weight.
Zoe yelled, "What are you doing?" "Get it to raise its foot!" she said.
Zoe shot an arrow toward the monster's face and it flew straight into one nostril. The giant straightened and shook its head.
"Hey, Junk Boy!" I yelled. "Down here."
I ran up to its big toe and stabbed it with Riptide. The magic blade cut a gash in the bronze.
Unfortunately, my plan worked. Talos looked down at me and raised his foot to squash me like a bug. I didn't see what Bianca was doing. I had to turn and run. The foot came down about two inches behind me and I was knocked into the air. I hit something hard and sat up, dazed. I'd been thrown into an Olympus-Air refrigerator.
The monster was about to finish me off, but Grover somehow dug himself out of the junk pile. He played his pipes frantically, and his music sent another power line pole whacking against Talos's thigh. The monster turned. Grover should've run, but he must've been too exhausted from the effort of so much magic. He took two steps, fell, and didn't get back up.
"Grover!" Thalia and I both ran toward him, but I knew we'd be too late. The monster raised his sword to smash Grover. Then he froze.
Talos cocked his head to one side, like he was hearing strange new music. He started moving his arms and legs in weird ways, doing the Funky Chicken. Then he made a fist and punched himself in the face.
"Go, Bianca!" I yelled.
Zoe looked horrified. "She is inside?"
The monster staggered around, and I realized we were still in danger. Thalia and I grabbed Grover and ran with him toward the highway. Zoe was already ahead of us. She yelled, "How will Bianca get out?"
The giant hit itself in the head again and dropped his sword. A shudder ran through his whole body and he staggered toward the power lines.
"Look out!" I yelled, but it was too late.
The giant's ankle snared the lines, and blue flickers of electricity shot up his body. I hoped the inside was insulated. I had no idea what was going on in there. The giant careened back into the junkyard, and his right hand fell off, landing in the scrap metal with a horrible CLANG!
His left arm came loose, too. He was falling apart at the joints. Talos began to run.
"Wait!" Zoe yelled. We ran after him, but there was no way we could keep up. Pieces of the robot kept falling off, getting in our way.
The giant crumbled from the top down: his head, his chest, and finally, his legs collapsed. When we reached the wreckage we searched frantically, yelling Bianca's name. We crawled around in the vast hollow pieces and the legs and the head. We searched until the sun started to rise, but no luck.
Zoe sat down and wept. I was stunned to see her cry.
Thalia yelled in rage and impaled her sword in the giant's smashed face. "We can keep searching," I said. "It's light now. We'll find her."
"No we won't," Grover said miserably. "It happened just as it was supposed to." "What are you talking about?" I demanded.
He looked up at me with big watery eyes. "The prophecy. One shall he lost in the land without rain."
Why hadn't I seen it? Why had I let her go instead of me? Here we were in the desert. And Bianca di Angelo was gone.
FOURTEEN
I HAVE A DAM PROBLEM
At the edge of the dump, we found a tow truck so old it might've been thrown away itself. But the engine started, and it had a full tank of gas, so we decided to borrow it.
Thalia drove. She didn't seem as stunned as Zoe or Grover or me.
"The skeletons are still out there," she reminded us. "We need to keep moving."
She navigated us through the desert, under clear blue skies, the sand so bright it hurt to look at. Zoe sat up front with Thalia. Grover and I sat in the pickup bed, leaning against the tow wench. The air was cool and dry, but the nice weather just seemed like an insult after losing Bianca.
My hand closed around the little figurine that had cost her life. I still couldn't even tell what god it was supposed to be. Nico would know.
Oh, gods… what was I going to tell Nico?
I wanted to believe that Bianca was still alive somewhere. But I had a bad feeling that she was gone for good.
"It should've been me," I said. "I should've gone into the giant." "Don't say that!" Grover panicked. "It's bad enough
Annabeth is gone, and now Bianca. Do you think I could stand it if…" He sniffled. "Do you think anybody else would be my best friend?"
"Ah, Grover…"
He wiped under his eyes with an oily cloth that left his face grimy, like he had on war paint. "I'm… I'm okay."
But he wasn't okay. Ever since the encounter in New Mexico—whatever had happened when that wild wind blew through—he seemed really fragile, even more emotional than usual. I was afraid to talk to him about it, because he might start bawling.
At least there's one good thing about having a friend who gets freaked out more than you do. I realized I couldn't stay depressed. I had to set aside thinking about Bianca and keep us going forward, the way Thalia was doing. I wondered what she and Zoe were talking about in the front of the truck.
The tow truck ran out of gas at the edge of a river canyon. That was just as well, because the road dead-ended.
Thalia got out and slammed the door. Immediately, one of the tires blew. "Great. What now?"
I scanned the horizon. There wasn't much to see. Desert in all directions, occasional clumps of barren mountains plopped here and there. The canyon was the only thing interesting. The river itself wasn't very big, maybe fifty yards across, green water with a few rapids, but it carved a huge scar out of the desert. The rock cliffs dropped away below us.
"There's a path," Grover said. "We could get to the river."
I tried to see what he was talking about, and finally noticed a tiny ledge winding down the cliff face. "That's a goat path," I said.
"So?" he asked.
"The rest of us aren't goats."
"We can make it," Grover said. "I think."
I thought about that. I'd done cliffs before, but I didn't like them. Then I looked over at Thalia and saw how pale she'd gotten. Her problem with heights… she'd never be able to do it.
"No," I said. "I, uh, think we should go farther upstream." Grover said, "But—"
"Come on," I said. "A walk won't hurt us."
I glanced at Thalia. Her eyes said a quick Thank you.
We followed the river about half a mile before coming to an easier slope that led down to the water. On the shore was a canoe rental operation that was closed for the season, but I left a stack of golden drachmas on the counter and a note saying IOU two canoes.
"We need to go upstream," Zoe said. It was the first time I'd heard her speak since the junkyard, and I was worried about how bad she sounded, like somebody with the flu. "The rapids are too swift."
"Leave that to me," I said. We put the canoes in the water.
Thalia pulled me aside as we were getting the oars. "Thanks for back there." "Don't mention it."
"Can you really…" She nodded to the rapids. "You know."
"I think so. Usually I'm good with water."
"Would you take Zoe?" she asked. "I think, ah, maybe you can talk to her." "She's not going to like that."
"Please? I don't know if I can stand being in the same boat with her. She's… she's starting to worry me."
It was about the last thing I wanted to do, but I nodded. Thalia's shoulders relaxed. "I owe you one."
"Two."
"One and a half," Thalia said.
She smiled, and for a second, I remembered that I actually liked her when she wasn't yelling at me. She turned and helped Grover get their canoe into the water.
As it turned out, I didn't even need to control the currents. As soon as we got in the river, I looked over the edge of the boat and found a couple of naiads staring at me.
They looked like regular teenage girls, the kind you'd see in any mall, except for the fact that they were underwater.
Hey, I said.
They made a bubbling sound that may have been giggling. I wasn't sure. I had a hard time understanding naiads.
We're heading upstream, I told them. Do you think you could—
Before I could even finish, the naiads each chose a canoe and began pushing us up the river. We started so fast
Grover fell into his canoe with his hooves sticking up in the air. "I hate naiads," Zoe grumbled.
A stream of water squirted up from the back of the boat and hit Zoe in the face. "She-devils!" Zoe went for her bow.
"Whoa," I said. "They're just playing."
"Cursed water spirits. They've never forgiven me." "Forgiven you for what?"
She slung her bow back over her shoulder. "It was a long time ago. Never mind." We sped up the river, the cliffs looming up on either side of us.
"What happened to Bianca wasn't your fault," I told her. "It was my fault. I let her go."
I figured this would give Zoe an excuse to start yelling at me. At least that might shake her out of feeling depressed.
Instead, her shoulders slumped. "No, Percy. I pushed her into going on the quest. I was too anxious. She was a powerful half-blood. She had a kind heart, as well. I… I thought she would be the next lieutenant."
"But you're the lieutenant."
She gripped the strap of her quiver. She looked more tired than I'd ever seen her. "Nothing can last forever, Percy. Over two thousand years I have led the Hunt, and my wisdom has not improved. Now Artemis herself is in danger."
"Look, you can't blame yourself for that." "If I had insisted on going with her—"
"You think you could've fought something powerful enough to kidnap Artemis? There's nothing you could have done."
Zoe didn't answer.
The cliffs along the river were getting taller. Long shadows fell across the water, making it a lot colder, even though the day was bright.
Without thinking about it, I took Riptide out of my pocket. Zoe looked at the pen, and her expression was pained.
"You made this," I said. "Who told thee?"
"I had a dream about it."
She studied me. I was sure she was going to call me crazy, but she just sighed. "It was a gift. And a mistake."
"Who was the hero?" I asked.
Zoe shook her head. "Do not make me say his name. I swore never to speak it again." "You act like I should know him."
"I am sure you do, hero. Don't all you boys want to be just like him?"
Her voice was so bitter, I decided not to ask what she meant. I looked down at Riptide, and for the first time, I wondered if it was cursed.
"Your mother was a water goddess?" I asked.
"Yes, Pleione. She had five daughters. My sisters and I. The Hesperides."
"Those were the girls who lived in a garden at the edge of the West. With the golden apple tree and a dragon guarding it."
"Yes," Zoe said wistfully. "Ladon." "But weren't there only four sisters'?"
"There are now. I was exiled. Forgotten. Blotted out as if I never existed." "Why?"
Zoe pointed to my pen. "Because I betrayed my family and helped a hero. You won't find that in the legend either. He never spoke of me. After his direct assault on Ladon failed, I gave him the idea of how to steal the apples, how to trick my father, but he took all the credit."
"But—"
Gurgle, gurgle, the naiad spoke in my mind. The canoe was slowing down. I looked ahead, and I saw why.
This was as far as they could take us. The river was blocked. A dam the size of a football stadium stood in our path.
"Hoover Dam," Thalia said. "It's huge."
We stood at the river's edge, looking up at a curve of concrete that loomed between the cliffs. People were walking along the top of the dam. They were so tiny they looked like fleas.
The naiads had left with a lot of grumbling—not in words I could understand, but it was obvious they hated this dam blocking up their nice river. Our canoes floated back downstream, swirling in the wake from the dam's discharge vents.
"Seven hundred feet tall," I said. "Built in the 1930s." "Five million cubic acres of water," Thalia said.
Graver sighed. "Largest construction project in the United States." Zoe stared at us. "How do you know all that?"
"Annabeth," I said. "She liked architecture." "She was nuts about monuments," Thalia said.
"Spouted facts all the time." Grover sniffled. "So annoying." "I wish she were here," I said.
The others nodded. Zoe was still looking at us strangely, but I didn't care. It seemed like cruel fate that we'd come to Hoover Dam, one of Annabeth's personal favorites, and she wasn't here to see it.
"We should go up there," I said. "For her sake. Just to say we've been."
"You are mad," Zoe decided. "But that's where the road is." She pointed to a huge parking garage next to the top of the dam. "And so, sightseeing it is."
We had to walk for almost an hour before we found a path that led up to the road. It came up on the east side of the river. Then we straggled back toward the dam. It was cold and windy on top. On one side, a big lake spread out, ringed by barren desert mountains. On the other side, the dam dropped away like the world's most dangerous skateboard ramp, down to the river seven hundred feet below, and water that churned from the dam's vents.
Thalia walked in the middle of the road, far away from the edges. Grover kept sniffing the wind and looking nervous. He didn't say anything, but I knew he smelled monsters.
"How close are they?" I asked him.
He shook his head. "Maybe not close. The wind on the dam, the desert all around us… the scent can probably carry for miles. But it's coming from several directions. I don't like that."
I didn't either. It was already Wednesday, only two days until winter solstice, and we still had a long way to go. We didn't need any more monsters,
"There's a snack bar in the visitor center," Thalia said. "You've been here before?" I asked.
"Once. To see the guardians." She pointed to the far end of the dam. Carved into the side of the cliff was a little plaza with two big bronze statues. They looked kind of like Oscar statues with wings.
"They were dedicated to Zeus when the dam was built," Thalia said. "A gift from Athena."
Tourists were clustered all around them. They seemed to be looking at the statues' feet.
"What are they doing?" I asked.
"Rubbing the toes," Thalia said. "They think it's good luck." "Why?"
She shook her head. "Mortals get crazy ideas. They don't know the statues are sacred to Zeus, but they know there's something special about them."
"When you were here last, did they talk to you or anything?"
Thalia's expression darkened. I could tell that she'd come here before hoping for exactly that—some kind of sign from her dad. Some connection. "No. They don't do anything. They're just big metal statues."
I thought about the last big metal statue we'd run into. That hadn't gone so well. But I decided not to bring it up.
"Let us find the dam snack bar," Zoe said. "We should eat while we can." Grover cracked a smile. "The dam snack bar?"
Zoe blinked. "Yes. What is funny?"
"Nothing," Grover said, trying to keep a straight face. "I could use some dam french fries."
Even Thalia smiled at that. "And I need to use the dam restroom."
Maybe it was the fact that we were so tired and strung out emotionally, but I started cracking up, and Thalia and Grover joined in, while Zoe just looked at us. "I do not understand."
"I want to use the dam water fountain," Grover said.
"And…" Thalia tried to catch her breath. "I want to buy a dam T-shirt."
I busted up, and I probably would've kept laughing all day, but then I heard a noise: "Moooo."
The smile melted off my face. I wondered if the noise was just in my head, but Grover had stopped laughing too. He was looking around, confused. "Did I just hear a cow?"
"A dam cow?" Thalia laughed. "No," Grover said. "I'm serious." Zoe listened. "I hear nothing."
Thalia was looking at me. "Percy, are you okay?" "Yeah," I said. "You guys go ahead. I'll be right in." "What's wrong?" Grover asked.
"Nothing," I said. "I… I just need a minute. To think."
They hesitated, but I guess I must've looked upset, because they finally went into the visitor center without me. As soon as they were gone, I jogged to the north edge of the dam and looked over.
"Moo."
She was about thirty feet below in the lake, but I could see her clearly: my friend from Long Island Sound, Bessie the cow serpent.
I looked around. There were groups of kids running along the dam. A lot of senior citizens. Some families. But nobody seemed to be paying Bessie any attention yet.
"What are you doing here?" I asked her. "Moo!"
Her voice was urgent, like she was trying to warn me of something.
"How did you get here?" I asked. We were thousands of miles from Long Island, hundreds of miles inland. There was no way she could've swum all the way here. And yet, here she was.
Bessie swam in a circle and butted her head against the side of the dam. "Moo!" She wanted me to come with her. She was telling me to hurry.
"I can't," I told her. "My friends are inside."
She looked at me with her sad brown eyes. Then she gave one more urgent "Mooo!," did a flip, and disappeared into the water.
I hesitated. Something was wrong. She was trying to tell me that. I considered jumping over the side and following her, but then I tensed. The hairs on my arms bristled. I looked down the dam road to the east and I saw two men walking slowly toward me. They wore gray camouflage outfits that flickered over skeletal bodies.
They passed through a group of kids and pushed them aside. A kid yelled, "Hey!" One of the warriors turned, his face changing momentarily into a skull.
"Ah!" the kid yelled, and his whole group backed away. I ran for the visitor center.
I was almost to the stairs when I heard tires squeal. On the west side of the dam, a black van swerved to a stop in the middle of the road, nearly plowing into some old people.
The van doors opened and more skeleton warriors piled out. I was surrounded.
I bolted down the stairs and through the museum entrance. The security guard at the metal detector yelled, "Hey, kid!" But I didn't stop.
I ran through the exhibits and ducked behind a tour group. I looked for my friends, but I couldn't see them anywhere. Where was the dam snack bar?
"Stop!" The metal-detector guy yelled.
There was no place to go but into an elevator with the tour group. I ducked inside just as the door closed.
"We'll be going down seven hundred feet," our tour guide said cheerfully. She was a park ranger, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and tinted glasses. I guess she hadn't noticed that I was being chased. "Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, the elevator hardly ever breaks."
"Does this go to the snack bar?" I asked her.
A few people behind me chuckled. The tour guide looked at me. Something about her gaze made my skin tingle.
"To the turbines, young man," the lady said. "Weren't you listening to my fascinating presentation upstairs?"
"Oh, uh, sure. Is there another way out of the dam?"
"It's a dead end," a tourist behind me said. "For heaven's sake. The only way out is the other elevator."
The doors opened.
"Go right ahead, folks," the tour guide told us. "Another ranger is waiting for you at the end of the corridor."
I didn't have much choice but to go out with the group.
"And young man," the tour guide called. I looked back. She'd taken off her glasses. Her eyes were startlingly gray, like storm clouds. "There is always a way out for those clever enough to find it."
The doors closed with the tour guide still inside, leaving me alone.
Before I could think too much about the woman in the elevator, a ding came from around the corner. The second elevator was opening, and I heard an unmistakable sound—the clattering of skeleton teeth.
I ran after the tour group, through a tunnel carved out of solid rock. It seemed to run forever. The walls were moist, and the air hummed with electricity and the roar of water. I came out on a U-shaped balcony that overlooked this huge warehouse area. Fifty feet below, enormous turbines were running. It was a big room, but I didn't see any other exit, unless I wanted to jump into the turbines and get churned up to make electricity. I didn't.
Another tour guide was talking over the microphone, telling the tourists about water supplies in Nevada. I prayed that Thalia, Zoe, and Grover were okay. They might already be captured, or eating at the snack bar, completely unaware that we were being surrounded. And stupid me: I had trapped myself in a hole hundreds of feet below the surface.
I worked my way around the crowd, trying not to be too obvious about it. There was a hallway at the other side of the balcony—maybe some place I could hide. I kept my hand on Riptide, ready to strike.
By the time I got to the opposite side of the balcony, my nerves were shot. I backed into the little hallway and watched the tunnel I'd come from.
Then right behind me I heard a sharp Chhh! like the voice of a skeleton. Without thinking, I uncapped Riptide and spun, slashing with my sword. The girl I'd just tried to slice in half yelped and dropped her Kleenex.
"Oh my god.'" she shouted. "Do you always kill people when they blow their nose?"
The first thing that went through my head was that the sword hadn't hurt her. It had passed clean through her body, harmlessly. "You're mortal!"
She looked at me in disbelief. "What's that supposed to mean? Of course I'm mortal!
How did you get that sword past security?"
"I didn't—Wait, you can see it's a sword?"
The girl rolled her eyes, which were green like mine. She had frizzy reddish-brown hair. Her nose was also red, like she had a cold. She wore a big maroon Harvard sweatshirt and jeans that were covered with marker stains and little holes, like she spent her free time poking them with a fork.
"Well, it's either a sword or the biggest toothpick in the world," she said. "And why didn't it hurt me? I mean, not that I'm complaining. Who are you? And whoa, what is that you're wearing? Is that made of lion fur?"
She asked so many questions so fast, it was like she was throwing rocks at me. I couldn't think of what to say. I looked at my sleeves to see if the Nemean Lion pelt had somehow changed back to fur, but it still looked like a brown winter coat to me.
I knew the skeleton warriors were still chasing me. I had no time to waste. But I just stared at the redheaded girl. Then I remembered what Thalia had done at Westover Hall to fool the teachers. Maybe I could manipulate the Mist.
I concentrated hard and snapped my fingers. "You don't see a sword," I told the girl. "It's just a ballpoint pen."
She blinked. "Um… no. It's a sword, weirdo." "Who are you?" I demanded.
She huffed indignantly. "Rachel Elizabeth Dare. Now, are you going to answer my
questions or should I scream for security?"
"No!" I said. "I mean, I'm kind of in a hurry. I'm in trouble." "In a hurry or in trouble?"
"Um, sort of both."
She looked over my shoulder and her eyes widened. "Bathroom!" "What?"
"Bathroom! Behind me! Now!"
I don't know why, but I listened to her. I slipped inside the boys' bathroom and left Rachel Elizabeth Dare standing outside. Later, that seemed cowardly to me. I'm also pretty sure it saved my life.
I heard the clattering, hissing sounds of skeletons as they came closer.
My grip tightened on Riptide. What was I thinking? I'd left a mortal girl out there to die. I was preparing to burst out and fight when Rachel Elizabeth Dare started talking in that rapid-fire machine gun way of hers.
"Oh my god! Did you see that kid? It's about time you got here. He tried to kill me! He had a sword, for god's sake. You security guys let a sword-swinging lunatic inside a national landmark? I mean, jeez! He ran that way toward those turbine thingies. I think he went over the side or something. Maybe he fell."
The skeletons clattered excitedly. I heard them moving off. Rachel opened the door. "All clear. But you'd better hurry." She looked shaken. Her face was gray and sweaty.
I peeked around the corner. Three skeleton warriors were running toward the other end of the balcony. The way to the elevator was clear for a few seconds.
"I owe you one, Rachel Elizabeth Dare."
"What are those things?" she asked. "They looked like—"
"Skeletons?"
She nodded uneasily.
"Do yourself a favor," I said. "Forget it. Forget you ever saw me." "Forget you tried to kill me?"
"Yeah. That, too." "But who are you?"
"Percy—" I started to say. Then the skeletons turned around. "Gotta go!" "What kind of name is Percy Gotta-go?"
I bolted for the exit.
The cafe was packed with kids enjoying the best part of the tour—the dam lunch.
Thalia, Zoe, and Grover were just sitting down with their food.
We need to leave," I gasped. "Now!" But we just got our burritos!" Thalia said. Zoe stood up, muttering an Ancient Greek curse. "He's right! Look."
The cafe windows wrapped all the way around the observation floor, which gave us a beautiful panoramic view of the skeletal army that had come to kill us.
I counted two on the east side of the dam road, blocking the way to Arizona. Three more on the west side, guarding Nevada. All of them were armed with batons and pistols.
But our immediate problem was a lot closer. The three skeletal warriors who'd been chasing me in the turbine room now appeared on the stairs. They saw me from across the cafeteria and clattered their teeth.
"Elevator!" Grover said. We bolted that direction, but the doors opened with a pleasant ding, and three more warriors stepped out. Every warrior was accounted for, minus the one Bianca had blasted to flames in New Mexico. We were completely surrounded.
Then Grover had a brilliant, totally Grover-like idea.
"Burrito fight!" he yelled, and flung his Guacamole Grande at the nearest skeleton.
Now, if you have never been hit by a flying burrito, count yourself lucky. In terms of deadly projectiles, it's right up there with grenades and cannonballs. Grover's lunch hit the skeleton and knocked his skull clean off his shoulders. I'm not sure what the other kids in the cafe saw, but they went crazy and started throwing their burritos and baskets of chips and sodas at each other, shrieking and screaming.
The skeletons tried to aim their guns, but it was hopeless. Bodies and food and drinks were flying everywhere.
In the chaos, Thalia and I tackled the other two skeletons on the stairs and sent them flying into the condiment table. Then we all raced downstairs, Guacamole Grandes whizzing past our heads.
"What now?" Grover asked as we burst outside.
I didn't have an answer. The warriors on the road were closing in from either direction. We ran across the street to the pavilion with the winged bronze statues, but that just put our backs to the mountain.
The skeletons moved forward, forming a crescent around us. Their brethren from the cafe were running up to join them. One was still putting its skull back on its shoulders. Another was covered in ketchup and mustard. Two more had burritos lodged in their rib cages. They didn't look happy about it. They drew batons and advanced.
"Four against eleven," Zoe muttered. "And they cannot die."
"It's been nice adventuring with you guys," Grover said, his voice trembling.
Something shiny caught the corner of my eye. I glanced behind me at the statue's feet. "Whoa," I said. "Their toes really are bright."
"Percy!" Thalia said. "This isn't the time."
But I couldn't help staring at the two giant bronze guys with tall bladed wings like letter openers. They were weathered brown except for their toes, which shone like new pennies from all the times people had rubbed them for good luck.
Good luck. The blessing of Zeus.
I thought about the tour guide in the elevator. Her gray eyes and her smile. What had she said? There is always a way for those clever enough to find it.
"Thalia," I said. "Pray to your dad." She glared at me. "He never answers."
"Just this once," I pleaded. "Ask for help. I think… I think the statues can give us some luck."
Six skeletons raised their guns. The other five came forward with batons. Fifty feet away. Forty feet.
"Do it!" I yelled.
"No!" Thalia said. "He won't answer me."
"This time is different!" "Who says?"
I hesitated. "Athena, I think."
Thalia scowled like she was sure I'd gone crazy. "Try it," Grover pleaded.
Thalia closed her eyes. Her lips moved in a silent prayer. I put in my own prayer to Annabeth's mom, hoping I was right that it had been her in that elevator—that she was trying to help us save her daughter.
And nothing happened.
The skeletons closed in. I raised Riptide to defend myself. Thalia held up her shield.
Zoe pushed Grover behind her and aimed an arrow at a skeleton's head.
A shadow fell over me. I thought maybe it was the shadow of death. Then I realized it was the shadow of an enormous wing. The skeletons looked up too late. A flash of bronze, and all five of the baton-wielders were swept aside.
The other skeletons opened fire. I raised my lion coat for protection, but I didn't need it. The bronze angels stepped in front of us and folded their wings like shields. Bullets pinged off of them like rain off a corrugated roof. Both angels slashed outward, and the skeletons went flying across the road.
"Man, it feels good to stand up!" the first angel said. His voice sounded tinny and rusty, like he hadn't had a drink since he'd been built.
"Will ya look at my toes?" the other said. "Holy Zeus, what were those tourists thinking?"
As stunned as I was by the angels, I was more concerned with the skeletons. A few of them were getting up again, reassembling, bony hands groping for their weapons.
"Trouble!" I said.
"Get us out of here!" Thalia yelled.
Both angels looked down at her. "Zeus's kid?" Yes! "Could I get a please, Miss Zeus's Kid?" an angel asked. "Please!"
The angels looked at each other and shrugged. "Could use a stretch," one decided.
And the next thing I knew, one of them grabbed Thalia and me, the other grabbed Zoe and Grover, and we flew straight up, over the dam and the river, the skeleton warriors shrinking to tiny specks below us and the sound of gunfire echoing off the sides of the mountains.
FIFTEEN
I WRESTLE SANTA'S EVIL TWIN
"Tell me when it's over," Thalia said. Her eyes were shut tight. The statue was holding on to us so we couldn't fall, but still Thalia clutched his arm like it was the most important thing in the world.
"Everything's fine," I promised. "Are… are we very high?"
I looked down. Below us, a range of snowy mountains zipped by. I stretched out my foot and kicked snow off one of the peaks.
"Nah," I said. "Not that high."
"We are in the Sierras.'" Zoe yelled. She and Grover were hanging from the arms of the other statue. "I have hunted here before. At this speed, we should be in San Francisco in a few hours."
"Hey, hey, Frisco!" our angel said. "Yo, Chuck! We could visit those guys at the Mechanics Monument again! They know how to party!"
"Oh, man," the other angel said. "I am so there!" "You guys have visited San Francisco?" I asked.
"We automatons gotta have some fun once in a while, right?" our statue said. "Those mechanics took us over to the de Young Museum and introduced us to these marble lady statues, see. And—"
"Hank!" the other statue Chuck cut in. "They're kids, man."
"Oh, right." If bronze statues could blush, I swear Hank did. "Back to flying."
We sped up, so I could tell the angels were excited. The mountains fell away into hills, and then we were zipping along over farmland and towns and highways.
Grover played his pipes to pass the time. Zoe got bored and started shooting arrows at random billboards as we flew by. Every time she saw a Target department store—and we passed dozens of them—she would peg the store's sign with a few bulls-eyes at a hundred miles an hour.
Thalia kept her eyes closed the whole way. She muttered to herself a lot, like she was praying.
"You did good back there," I told her. "Zeus listened."
It was hard to tell what she was thinking with her eyes closed.
"Maybe," she said. "How did you get away from the skeletons in the generator room, anyway? You said they cornered you."
I told her about the weird mortal girl, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, who seemed to be able to see right through the Mist. I thought Thalia was going to call me crazy, but she just nodded.
"Some mortals are like that," she said. "Nobody knows why." Suddenly I flashed on something I'd never considered.
My mom was like that. She had seen the Minotaur on Half-Blood Hill and known exactly what it was. She hadn't been surprised at all last year when I'd told her my friend Tyson was really a Cyclops. Maybe she'd known all along. No wonder she'd been so scared for me as I was growing up. She saw through the Mist even better than I did.
"Well, the girl was annoying," I said. "But I'm glad I didn't vaporize her. That would've been bad."
Thalia nodded. "Must be nice to be a regular mortal." She said that as if she'd given it a lot of thought.
"Where you guys want to land?" Hank asked, waking me up from a nap. I looked down and said, "Whoa."
I'd seen San Francisco in pictures before, but never in real life. It was probably the most beautiful city I'd ever seen: kind of like a smaller, cleaner Manhattan, if Manhattan had been surrounded by green hills and fog. There was a huge bay and ships, islands and sailboats, and the Golden Gate Bridge sticking up out of the fog. I felt like I should take a picture or something. Greetings from Frisco. Haven't Died Yet. Wish You Were Here.
"There," Zoe suggested. "By the Embarcadero Building."
"Good thinking," Chuck said. "Me and Hank can blend in with the pigeons." We all looked at him.
"Kidding," he said. "Sheesh, can't statues have a sense of humor?"
As it turned out, there wasn't much need to blend in. It was early morning and not many people were around. We freaked out a homeless guy on the ferry dock when we landed. He screamed when he saw Hank and Chuck and ran off yelling something about metal angels from Mars.
We said our good-byes to the angels, who flew off to party with their statue friends.
That's when I realized I had no idea what we were going to do next.
We'd made it to the West Coast. Artemis was here somewhere. Annabeth too, I hoped. But I had no idea how to find them, and tomorrow was the winter solstice. Nor did I have any clue what monster Artemis had been hunting. It was supposed to find us on the quest. It was supposed to "show the trail," but it never had. Now we were stuck on the ferry dock with not much money, no friends, and no luck.
After a brief discussion, we agreed that we needed to figure out just what this mystery monster was.
"But how?" I asked. "Nereus," Grover said.
I looked at him. "What?"
"Isn't that what Apollo told you to do? Find Nereus?"
I nodded. I'd completely forgotten my last conversation with the sun god.
The old man of the sea," I remembered. "I'm supposed to find him and force him to tell us what he knows. But how do I find him?"
Zoe made a face. "Old Nereus, eh?" "You know him?" Thalia asked.
My mother was a sea goddess. Yes, I know him.Unfortunately, he is never very hard to find. Just follow the smell."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Come," she said without enthusiasm. "I will show thee."
I knew I was in trouble when we stopped at the Goodwill drop box. Five minutes later, Zoe had me outfitted in a ragged flannel shirt and jeans three sizes too big, bright red sneakers, and a floppy rainbow hat.
"Oh, yeah," Grover said, trying not to bust out laughing, "you look completely inconspicuous now."
Zoe nodded with satisfaction. "A typical male vagrant." "Thanks a lot," I grumbled. "Why am I doing this again?" "I told thee. To blend in."
She led the way back down to the waterfront. After a long time spent searching the docks, Zoe finally stopped in her tracks. She pointed down a pier where a bunch of homeless guys were huddled together in blankets, waiting for the soup kitchen to open for lunch.
"He will be down there somewhere," Zoe said. "He never travels very far from the water. He likes to sun himself during the day."
"How do I know which one is him?"
"Sneak up," she said. "Act homeless. You will know him. He will smell… different." "Great." I didn't want to ask for particulars. "And once I find him?"
"Grab him," she said. "And hold on. He will try anything to get rid of thee. Whatever he does, do not let go. Force him to tell thee about the monster."
"We've got your back," Thalia said. She picked something off the back of my shirt—a big clump of fuzz that came from who-knows-where. "Eww. On second thought… I don't want your back. But we'll be rooting for you."
Grover gave me a big thumbs-up.
I grumbled how nice it was to have super-powerful friends. Then I headed toward the
dock.
I pulled my hat down and stumbled like I was about to pass out, which wasn't hard considering how tired I was. I passed our homeless friend from the Embarcadero, who was still trying to warn the other guys about the metal angels from Mars.
He didn't smell good, but he didn't smell… different. I kept walking.
A couple of grimy dudes with plastic grocery bags for hats checked me out as I came
close.
"Beat it, kid!" one of them muttered.
I moved away. They smelled pretty bad, but just regular old bad. Nothing unusual.
There was a lady with a bunch of plastic flamingos sticking out of a shopping cart. She glared at me like I was going to steal her birds.
At the end of the pier, a guy who looked about a million years old was passed out in a patch of sunlight. He wore pajamas and a fuzzy bathrobe that probably used to be white. He was fat, with a white beard that had turned yellow, kind of like Santa Claus, if Santa had been rolled out of bed and dragged through a landfill.
And his smell?
As I got closer, I froze. He smelled bad, all right—but ocean bad. Like hot seaweed and dead fish and brine. If the ocean had an ugly side… this guy was it.
I tried not to gag as I sat down near him like I was tired. Santa opened one eye suspiciously. I could feel him staring at me, but I didn't look. I muttered something about stupid school and stupid parents, figuring that might sound reasonable.
Santa Claus went back to sleep.
I tensed. I knew this was going to look strange. I didn't know how the other homeless people would react. But I jumped Santa Claus.
"Ahhhhhl" he screamed. I meant to grab him, but he seemed to grab me instead. It was as if he'd never been asleep at all. He certainly didn't act like a weak old man. He had a grip like steel. "Help me!" he screamed as he squeezed me to death.
"That's a crime!" one of the other homeless guys yelled. "Kid rolling an old man like
that!"
I rolled, all right—straight down the pier until my head slammed into a post. I was dazed for a second, and Nereus's grip slackened. He was making a break for it. Before he could, I regained my senses and tackled him from behind.
"I don't have any money!" He tried to get up and run, but I locked my arms around his chest. His rotten fish smell was awful, but I held on.
"I don't want money," I said as he fought. "I'm a half-blood! I want information.'" That just made him struggle harder. "Heroes! Why do you always pick on me?" "Because you know everything!"
He growled and tried to shake me off his back. It was like holding on to a roller coaster. He thrashed around, making it impossible for me to keep on my feet, but I gritted my teeth and squeezed tighter. We staggered toward the edge of the pier and I got an idea.
"Oh, no!" I said. "Not the water!"
The plan worked. Immediately, Nereus yelled in triumph and jumped off the edge.
Together, we plunged into San Francisco Bay.
He must've been surprised when I tightened my grip, the ocean filling me with extra strength. But Nereus had a few tricks left, too. He changed shape until I was holding a sleek black seal.
I've heard people make jokes about trying to hold a greased pig, but I'm telling you, holding on to a seal in the water is harder. Nereus plunged straight down, wriggling and thrashing and spiraling through the dark water. If I hadn't been Poseidon's son, there's no way I could've stayed with him.
Nereus spun and expanded, turning into a killer whale, but I grabbed his dorsal fin as he burst out of the water.
A whole bunch of tourists went, "Whoa!"
I managed to wave at the crowd. Yeah, we do this every day here in San Francisco.
Nereus plunged into the water and turned into a slimy eel. I started to tie him into a knot until he realized what was going on and changed back to human form. "Why won't you drown?" he wailed, pummelmg me with his fists.
"I'm Poseidon's son," I said.
"Curse that upstart! I was here first!"
Finally he collapsed on the edge of the boat dock. Above us was one of those tourist piers lined with shops, like a mall on water. Nereus was heaving and gasping. I was feeling great. I could've gone on all day, but I didn't tell him that. I wanted him to feel like he'd put up a good fight.
My friends ran down the steps from the pier. "You got him!" Zoe said.
"You don't have to sound so amazed," I said.
Nereus moaned. "Oh, wonderful. An audience for my humiliation! The normal deal, I suppose? You'll let me go if I answer your question?"
"I've got more than one question," I said.
"Only one question per capture! That's the rule." I looked at my friends.
This wasn't good. I needed to find Artemis, and I needed to figure out what the doomsday creature was. I also needed to know if Annabeth was still alive, and how to rescue her. How could I ask that all in one question?
A voice inside me was screaming Ask about Annabeth! That's what I cared about most.
But then I imagined what Annabeth might say. She would never forgive me if I saved her and didn't save Olympus. Zoe would want me to ask about Artemis, but Chiron had told us the monster was even more important.
I sighed. "All right, Nereus. Tell me where to find this terrible monster that could bring an end to the gods. The one Artemis was hunting."
The Old Man of the Sea smiled, showing off his mossy green teeth. "Oh, that's too easy," he said evilly. "He's right there."
Nereus pointed to the water at my feet.
"Where?" I said.
"The deal is complete!" Nereus gloated. With a pop, he turned into a goldfish and did a backflip into the sea.
"You tricked me!" I yelled.
"Wait." Thalia's eyes widened. "What is that?" "MOOOOOOOO!"
I looked down, and there was my friend the cow serpent, swimming next to the dock.
She nudged my shoe and gave me the sad brown eyes. "Ah, Bessie," I said. "Not now."
"Mooo!"
Grover gasped. "He says his name isn't Bessie." "You can understand her… er, him?"
Grover nodded. "It's a very old form of animal speech. But he says his name is the Ophiotaurus."
"The Ophi-what?"
"It means serpent bull in Greek," Thalia said. "But what's it doing here?" "Moooooooo!"
"He says Percy is his protector," Grover announced.
"And he's running from the bad people. He says they are close." I was wondering how you got all that out of a single moooooo. "Wait," Zoe said, looking at me. "You know this cow?"
I was feeling impatient, but I told them the story.
Thalia shook her head in disbelief. "And you just forgot to mention this before?" "Well… yeah." It seemed silly, now that she said it, but things had been happening so
fast. Bessie, the Ophiotaurus, seemed like a minor detail. "I am a fool," Zoe said suddenly. "I know this story!" "What story?"
"From the War of the Titans," she said. "My… my father told me this tale, thousands of years ago. This is the beast we are looking for."
"Bessie?" I looked down at the bull serpent. "But… he's too cute. He couldn't destroy the world."
"That is how we were wrong," Zoe said. "We've been anticipating a huge dangerous monster, but the Ophiotaurus does not bring down the gods that way. He must be sacrificed."
"MMMM," Bessie lowed.
"I don't think he likes the S-word," Grover said.
I patted Bessie on the head, trying to calm him down. He let me scratch his ear, but he was trembling.
"How could anyone hurt him?" I said. "He's harmless." Zoe nodded. "But there is power in killing innocence.
Terrible power. The Fates ordained a prophecy eons ago, when this creature was born. They said that whoever killed the Ophiotaurus and sacrificed its entrails to fire would have the power to destroy the gods."
"MMMMMM!"
"Um," Grover said. "Maybe we could avoid talking about entrails, too."
Thalia stared at the cow serpent with wonder. "The power to destroy the gods… how? I mean, what would happen?"
"No one knows," Zoe said. "The first time, during the Titan war, the Ophiotaurus was in fact slain by a giant ally of the Titans, but thy father, Zeus, sent an eagle to snatch the entrails away before they could be tossed into the fire. It was a close call. Now, after three thousand years, the Ophiotaurus is reborn."
Thalia sat down on the dock. She stretched out her hand. Bessie went right to her.
Thalia placed her hand on his head. Bessie shivered.
Thalia's expression bothered me. She almost looked… hungry. "We have to protect him," I told her. "If Luke gets hold of him—"
"Luke wouldn't hesitate," Thalia muttered. "The power to overthrow Olympus. That's… that's huge."
"Yes, it is, my dear," said a man's voice in a heavy French accent. "And it is a power
you shall unleash."
The Ophiotaurus made a whimpering sound and submerged.
I looked up. We'd been so busy talking, we'd allowed ourselves to be ambushed.
Standing behind us, his two-color eyes gleaming wickedly, was Dr. Thorn, the manticore himself.
"This is just pairrr-fect," the manticore gloated.
He was wearing a ratty black trench coat over his Westover Hall uniform, which was torn and stained. His military haircut had grown out spiky and greasy. He hadn't shaved recently, so his face was covered in silver stubble. Basically he didn't look much better than the guys down at the soup kitchen.
"Long ago, the gods banished me to Persia," the manticore said. "I was forced to scrounge for food on the edges of the world, hiding in forests, devouring insignificant human farmers for my meals. I never got to fight any great heroes. I was not feared and admired in the old stories! But now that will change. The Titans shall honor me, and I shall feast on the flesh of half-bloods!"
On either side of him stood two armed security guys, some of the mortal mercenaries I'd seen in D.C. Two more stood on the next boat dock over, just in case we tried to escape that way. There were tourists all around—walking down the waterfront, shopping at the pier above us—but I knew that wouldn't stop the manticore from acting.
"Where… where are the skeletons?" I asked the manticore.
He sneered. "I do not need those foolish undead! The General thinks I am worthless? He will change his mind when I defeat you myself!"
I needed time to think. I had to save Bessie. I could dive into the sea, but how could I make a quick getaway with a five-hundred-pound cow serpent? And what about my friends?
"We beat you once before," I said.
"Ha! You could barely fight me with a goddess on your side. And, alas… that goddess is preoccupied at the moment. There will be no help for you now."
Zoe notched an arrow and aimed it straight at the manticore's head. The guards on either side of us raised their guns.
"Wait!" I said. "Zoe, don't!"
The manticore smiled. "The boy is right, Zoe Nightshade. Put away your bow. It would be a shame to kill you before you witnessed Thalia's great victory."
"What are you talking about?" Thalia growled. She had her shield and spear ready. "Surely it is clear," the manticore said. "This is your moment. This is why Lord Kronos
brought you back to life. You will sacrifice the Ophiotaurus. You will bring its entrails to the
sacred fire on the mountain. You will gain unlimited power. And for your sixteenth birthday, you will overthrow Olympus."
No one spoke. It made terrible sense. Thalia was only two days away from turning sixteen. She was a child of the Big Three. And here was a choice, a terrible choice that could mean the end of the gods. It was just like the prophecy said. I wasn't sure if I felt relieved, horrified, or disappointed. I wasn't the prophecy kid after all. Doomsday was happening right now.
I waited for Thalia to tell the manticore off, but she hesitated. She looked completely stunned.
"You know it is the right choice," the manticore told her. "Your friend Luke recognized it. You shall be reunited with him. You shall rule this world together under the auspices of the Titans. Your father abandoned you, Thalia. He cares nothing for you. And now you shall gain power over him. Crush the Olympians underfoot, as they deserve. Call the beast! It will come to you. Use your spear."
"Thalia," I said, "snap out of it!"
She looked at me the same way she had the morning she woke up on Half-Blood Hill, dazed and uncertain. It was almost like she didn't know me. "I… I don't—"
"Your father helped you," I said. "He sent the metal angels. He turned you into a tree to preserve you."
Her hand tightened on the shaft of her spear.
I looked at Grover desperately. Thank the gods, he understood what I needed. He raised his pipes to his mouth and played a quick riff.
The manticore yelled, "Stop him!"
The guards had been targeting Zoe, and before they could figure out that the kid with the pipes was the bigger problem, the wooden planks at their feet sprouted new branches and tangled their legs. Zoe let loose two quick arrows that exploded at their feet in clouds of sulfurous yellow smoke. Fart arrows!
The guards started coughing. The manticore shot spines in our direction, but they ricocheted off my lion's coat.
"Grover," I said, "tell Bessie to dive deep and stay down!"
"Moooooo!" Grover translated. I could only hope that Bessie got the message. "The cow…" Thalia muttered, still in a daze.
"Come on!" I pulled her along as we ran up the stairs to the shopping center on the pier. We dashed around the corner of the nearest store. I heard the manticore shouting at his minions, "Get them!" Tourists screamed as the guards shot blindly into the air.
We scrambled to the end of the pier. We hid behind a little kiosk filled with souvenir crystals—wind chimes and dream catchers and stuff like that, glittering in the sunlight. There was a water fountain next to us. Down below, a bunch of sea lions were sunning themselves on the rocks. The whole of San Francisco Bay spread out before us: the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz Island, and the green hills and fog beyond that to the north. A picture-perfect moment, except for the fact that we were about to die and the world was going to end.
"Go over the side!" Zoe told me. "You can escape in the sea, Percy. Call on thy father for help. Maybe you can save the Ophiotaurus."
She was right, but I couldn't do it.
"I won't leave you guys," I said. "We fight together."
"You have to get word to camp!" Grover said. "At least let them know what's going
on!"
Then I noticed the crystals making rainbows in the sunlight. There was a drinking fountain next to me…
"Get word to camp," I muttered. "Good idea."
I uncapped Riptide and slashed off the top of the water fountain. Water burst out of the busted pipe and sprayed all over us.
Thalia gasped as the water hit her. The fog seemed to clear from her eyes. "Are you crazy?" she asked.
But Grover understood. He was already fishing around in his pockets for a coin. He threw a golden drachma into the rainbows created by the mist and yelled, "O goddess, accept my offering!"
The mist rippled.
"Camp Half-Blood!" I said.
And there, shimmering in the Mist right next to us, was the last person I wanted to see: Mr. D, wearing his leopard-skin jogging suit and rummaging through the refrigerator.
He looked up lazily. "Do you mind?" "Where's Chiron!" I shouted.
"How rude." Mr. D took a swig from a jug of grape juice. "Is that how you say hello?" "Hello," I amended. "We're about to die! Where's Chiron?"
Mr. D considered that. I wanted to scream at him to hurry up, but I knew that wouldn't work. Behind us, footsteps and shouting—the manticore's troops were closing in.
"About to die," Mr. D mused. "How exciting. I'm afraid Chiron isn't here. Would you like me to take a message?"
I looked at my friends. "We're dead."
Thalia gripped her spear. She looked like her old angry self again. "Then we'll die fighting."
"How noble," Mr. D said, stifling a yawn. "So what is the problem, exactly?"
I didn't see that it would make any difference, but I told him about the Ophiotaurus. "Mmm." He studied the contents of the fridge. "So that's it. I see."
"You don't even care!" I screamed. "You'd just as soon watch us die!" "Let's see. I think I'm in the mood for pizza tonight."
I wanted to slash through the rainbow and disconnect, but I didn't have time. The manticore screamed, "There!" And we were surrounded. Two of the guards stood behind him. The other two appeared on the roofs of the pier shops above us. The manticore threw off his coat and transformed into his true self, his lion claws extended and his spiky tail bristling with poison barbs.
"Excellent," he said. He glanced at the apparition in the mist and snorted. "Alone, without any real help. Wonderful."
"You could ask for help," Mr. D murmured to me, as if this were an amusing thought. "You could say please."
When wild boars fly, I thought. There was no way I was going to die begging a slob like Mr. D, just so he could laugh as we all got gunned down.
Zoe readied her arrows. Grover lifted his pipes. Thalia raised her shield, and I noticed a tear running down her cheek. Suddenly it occurred to me: this had happened to her before. She had been cornered on Half-Blood Hill. She'd willingly given her life for her friends. But this time, she couldn't save us.
How could I let that happen to her? "Please, Mr. D," I muttered. "Help." Of course, nothing happened.
The manticore grinned. "Spare the daughter of Zeus. She will join us soon enough. Kill the others."
The men raised their guns, and something strange happened. You know how you feel when all the blood rushes to your head, like if you hang upside down and turn right-side up
too quickly? There was a rush like that all around me, and a sound like a huge sigh. The sunlight tinged with purple. I smelled grapes and something more sour—wine.
SNAP!
It was the sound of many minds breaking at the same time. The sound of madness. One guard put his pistol between his teeth like it was a bone and ran around on all fours. Two others dropped their guns and started waltzing with each other. The fourth began doing what looked like an Irish clogging dance. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so terrifying.
"No!" screamed the manticore. "I will deal with you myself!"
His tail bristled, but the planks under his paws erupted into grape vines, which immediately began wrapping around the monster's body, sprouting new leaves and clusters of green baby grapes that ripened in seconds as the manticore shrieked, until he was engulfed in a huge mass of vines, leaves, and full clusters of purple grapes. Finally the grapes stopped shivering, and I had a feeling that somewhere inside there, the manticore was no more.
"Well," said Dionysus, closing his refrigerator. "That was fun." I stared at him, horrified. "How could you… How did you—"
"Such gratitude," he muttered. "The mortals will come out of it. Too much explaining to do if I made their condition permanent. I hate writing reports to Father."
He stared resentfully at Thalia. "I hope you learned your lesson, girl. It isn't easy to resist power, is it?"
Thalia blushed as if she were ashamed.
"Mr. D," Grover said in amazement. "You… you saved us.
"Mmm. Don't make me regret it, satyr. Now get going, Percy Jackson. I've bought you a few hours at most."
"The Ophiotaurus," I said. "Can you get it to camp?"
Mr. D sniffed. "I do not transport livestock. That's your problem." "But where do we go?"
Dionysus looked at Zoe. "Oh, I think the huntress knows. You must enter at sunset today, you know, or all is lost. Now good-bye. My pizza is waiting."
"Mr. D," I said.
He raised his eyebrow.
"You called me by my right name," I said. "You called me Percy Jackson."
"I most certainly did not, Peter Johnson. Now off with you!" He waved his hand, and his image disappeared in the mist.
All around us, the manticore's minions were still acting completely nuts. One of them had found our friend the homeless guy, and they were having a serious conversation about metal angels from Mars. Several other guards were harassing the tourists, making animal noises and trying to steal their shoes.
I looked at Zoe. "What did he mean… 'You know where to go'?"
Her face was the color of the fog. She pointed across the bay, past the Golden Gate. In the distance, a single mountain rose up above the cloud layer.
"The garden of my sisters," she said. "I must go home."
SIXTEEN
WE MEET THE DRAGON OF ETERNAL BAD BREATH
"We will never make it," Zoe said. "We are moving too slow. But we cannot leave the Ophiotaurus."
"Mooo," Bessie said. He swam next to me as we jogged along the waterfront. We'd left the shopping center pier far behind. We were heading toward the Golden Gate Bridge, but it was a lot farther than I'd realized. The sun was already dipping in the west.
"I don't get it," I said. "Why do we have to get there at sunset?"
"The Hesperides are the nymphs of the sunset," Zoe said. "We can only enter their garden as day changes to night."
"What happens if we miss it?"
"Tomorrow is winter solstice. If we miss sunset tonight, we would have to wait until tomorrow evening. And by then, the Olympian Council will be over. We must free Lady Artemis tonight."
Or Annabeth will be dead, I thought, but I didn't say that. "We need a car," Thalia said.
"But what about Bessie?" I asked.
Grover stopped in his tracks. "I've got an idea! The Ophiotaurus can appear in different bodies of water, right?"
"Well, yeah," I said. "I mean, he was in Long Island Sound. Then he just popped into the water at Hoover Dam. And now he's here."
"So maybe we could coax him back to Long Island Sound," Grover said. "Then Chiron could help us get him to Olympus."
"But he was following me" I said. "If I'm not there, would he know where he's going?" "Moo," Bessie said forlornly.
"I… I can show him," Grover said. "I'll go with him."
I stared at him. Grover was no fan of the water. He'd almost drowned last summer in the Sea of Monsters, and he couldn't swim very well with his goat hooves.
"I'm the only one who can talk to him," Grover said. "It makes sense."
He bent down and said something in Bessie's ear. Bessie shivered, then made a contented, lowing sound.
"The blessing of the Wild," Grover said. "That should help with safe passage. Percy, pray to your dad, too. See if he will grant us safe passage through the seas."
I didn't understand how they could possibly swim back to Long Island from California.
Then again, monsters didn't travel the same way as humans. I'd seen plenty evidence of that.
I tried to concentrate on the waves, the smell of the ocean, the sound of the tide.
"Dad," I said. "Help us. Get the Ophiotaurus and Grover safely to camp. Protect them at
sea."
"A prayer like that needs a sacrifice," Thalia said. "Something big." I thought for a second. Then I took off my coat.
"Percy," Grover said. "Are you sure? That lion skin… that's really helpful. Hercules used it!"
As soon as he said that, I realized something.
I glanced at Zoe, who was watching me carefully. I realized I did know who Zoe's hero had been—the one who'd ruined her life, gotten her kicked out of her family, and never even mentioned how she'd helped him: Hercules, a hero I'd admired all my life.
"If I'm going to survive," I said, "it won't be because I've got a lion-skin cloak. I'm not Hercules."
I threw the coat into the bay. It turned back into a golden lion skin, flashing in the light.
Then, as it began to sink beneath the waves, it seemed to dissolve into sunlight on the water.
The sea breeze picked up.
Grover took a deep breath. "Well, no time to lose."
He jumped in the water and immediately began to sink. Bessie glided next to him and let Grover take hold of his neck.
"Be careful," I told them.
"We will," Grover said. "Okay, um… Bessie? We're going to Long Island. It's east.
Over that way."
"Moooo?" Bessie said.
"Yes," Grover answered. "Long Island. It's this island. And… it's long. Oh, let's just start."
"Mooo!"
Bessie lurched forward. He started to submerge and Grover said, "I can't breathe underwater! Just thought I'd mention—" Glub!
Under they went, and I hoped my father's protection would extend to little things, like breathing.
"Well, that is one problem addressed," Zoe said. "But how can we get to my sisters' garden?"
"Thalia's right," I said. "We need a car. But there's nobody to help us here. Unless we, uh, borrowed one."
I didn't like that option. I mean, sure this was a life-or-death situation, but still, it was stealing, and it was bound to get us noticed.
"Wait," Thalia said. She started rifling through her backpack. "There is somebody in San Francisco who can help us. I've got the address here somewhere."
"Who?" I asked.
Thalia pulled out a crumpled piece of notebook paper and held it up. "Professor Chase.
Annabeth's dad."
After hearing Annabeth gripe about her dad for two years, I was expecting him to have devil horns and fangs. I was not expecting him to be wearing an old-fashioned aviator's cap and goggles. He looked so weird, with his eyes bugging out through the glasses, that we all took a step back on the front porch.
"Hello," he said in a friendly voice, "Are you delivering my airplanes?" Thalia, Zoe, and I looked at each other warily.
"Um, no, sir," I said.
"Drat," he said. "I need three more Sopwith Camels."
"Right," I said, though I had no clue what he was talking about. "We're friends of Annabeth."
"Annabeth?" He straightened as if I'd just given him an electric shock. "Is she all right?
Has something happened?"
None of us answered, but our faces must've told him that something was very wrong. He took off his cap and goggles. He had sandy-colored hair like Annabeth and intense brown eyes. He was handsome, I guess, for an older guy, but it looked like he hadn't shaved in a
couple of days, and his shirt was buttoned wrong, so one side of his collar stuck up higher than the other side.
"You'd better come in," he said.
It didn't look like a house they'd just moved into. There were LEGO robots on the stairs and two cats sleeping on the sofa in the living room. The coffee table was stacked with magazines, and a little kid's winter coat was spread on the floor. The whole house smelled like fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies. There was jazz music coming from the kitchen. It seemed like a messy, happy kind of home—the kind of place that had been lived in forever.
"Dad!" a little boy screamed. "He's taking apart my robots!"
"Bobby," Dr. Chase called absently, "don't take apart your brother's robots." "I'm Bobby," the little boy protested. "He's Matthew!"
"Matthew," Dr. Chase called, "don't take apart your brother's robots!" "Okay, Dad!"
Dr. Chase turned to us. "We'll go upstairs to my study. This way."
"Honey?" a woman called. Annabeth's stepmom appeared in the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was a pretty Asian woman with red highlighted hair tied in a bun.
"Who are our guests?" she asked. "Oh," Dr. Chase said. "This is…" He stared at us blankly.
"Frederick," she chided. "You forgot to ask them their names?"
We introduced ourselves a little uneasily, but Mrs. Chase seemed really nice. She asked if we were hungry. We admitted we were, and she told us she'd bring us some cookies and sandwiches and sodas.
"Dear," Dr. Chase said. "They came about Annabeth."
I half expected Mrs. Chase to turn into a raving lunatic at the mention of her stepdaughter, but she just pursed her lips and looked concerned. "All right. Go on up to the study and I'll bring you some food." She smiled at me. "Nice meeting you, Percy. I've heard a lot about you."
Upstairs, we walked into Dr. Chase's study and I said, "Whoa!"
The room was wall-to-wall books, but what really caught my attention were the war toys. There was a huge table with miniature tanks and soldiers fighting along a blue painted river, with hills and fake trees and stuff. Old-fashioned biplanes hung on strings from the ceiling, tilted at crazy angles like they were in the middle of a dogfight.
Dr. Chase smiled. "Yes. The Third Battle of Ypres. I'm writing a paper, you see, on the use of Sopwith Camels to strafe enemy lines. I believe they played a much greater role than they've been given credit for."
He plucked a biplane from its string and swept it across the battlefield, making airplane engine noises as he knocked down little German soldiers.
"Oh, right," I said. I knew Annabeth's dad was a professor of military history. She'd never mentioned he played with toy soldiers.
Zoe came over and studied the battlefield. "The German lines were farther from the river."
Dr. Chase stared at her. "How do you know that?"
"I was there," she said matter-of-factly. "Artemis wanted to show us how horrible war was, the way mortal men fight each other. And how foolish, too. The battle was a complete waste."
Dr. Chase opened his mouth in shock. "You—"
"She's a Hunter, sir," Thalia said. "But that's not why we're here. We need—"
"You saw the Sopwith Camels?" Dr. Chase said. "How many were there? What formations did they fly?"
"Sir," Thalia broke in again. "Annabeth is in danger." That got his attention. He set the biplane down.
"Of course," he said. "Tell me everything."
It wasn't easy, but we tried. Meanwhile, the afternoon light was fading outside. We were running out of time.
When we'd finished, Dr. Chase collapsed in his leather recliner. He laced his hands. "My poor brave Annabeth. We must hurry."
"Sir, we need transportation to Mount Tamalpais," Zoe said. "And we need it immediately."
"I'll drive you. Hmm. it would be faster to fly in my Camel, but it only seats two." "Whoa, you have an actual biplane?" I said.
"Down at Crissy Field," Dr. Chase said proudly. "That's the reason I had to move here. My sponsor is a private collector with some of the finest World War I relics in the world. He let me restore the Sopwith Camel—"
"Sir," Thalia said. "Just a car would be great. And it might be better if we went without you. It's too dangerous." .
Dr. Chase frowned uncomfortably. "Now wait a minute, young lady. Annabeth is my daughter. Dangerous or not, I… I can't just—"
"Snacks," Mrs. Chase announced. She pushed through the door with a tray full of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches and Cokes and cookies fresh out of the oven, the chocolate chips still gooey. Thalia and I inhaled a few cookies while Zoe said, "I can drive, sir. I'm not as young as I look. I promise not to destroy your car."
Mrs. Chase knit her eyebrows. "What's this about?"
"Annabeth is in danger," Dr. Chase said. "On Mount Tam. I would drive them, but… apparently it's no place for mortals."
It sounded like it was really hard for him to get that last part out.
I waited for Mrs. Chase to say no. I mean, what mortal parent would allow three underage teenagers to borrow their car? To my surprise, Mrs. Chase nodded. "Then they'd better get going."
"Right!" Dr. Chase jumped up and started patting his pockets. "My keys…"
His wife sighed. "Frederick, honestly. You'd lose your head if it weren't wrapped inside your aviator hat. The keys are hanging on the peg by the front door."
"Right!" Dr. Chase said.
Zoe grabbed a sandwich. "Thank you both. We should go. Now"
We hustled out the door and down the stairs, the Chases right behind us.
"Percy," Mrs. Chase called as I was leaving, "tell Annabeth… Tell her she still has a home here, will you? Remind her of that."
I took one last look at the messy living room, Annabeth's half brothers spilling LEGOs and arguing, the smell of cookies filling the air. Not a bad place, I thought.
"I'll tell her," I promised.
We ran out to the yellow VW convertible parked in the driveway. The sun was going down. I figured we had less than an hour to save Annabeth.
"Can't this thing go any faster?" Thalia demanded. Zoe glared at her. "I cannot control traffic."
"You both sound like my mother," I said. "Shut up!" they said in unison.
Zoe weaved in and out of traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge. The sun was sinking on the horizon when we finally got into Marin County and exited the highway.
The roads were insanely narrow, winding through forests and up the sides of hills and around the edges of steep ravines. Zoe didn't slow down at all.
"Why does everything smell like cough drops?" I asked. "Eucalyptus." Zoe pointed to the huge trees all around us. "The stuff koala bears eat?"
"And monsters," she said. "They love chewing the leaves. Especially dragons." "Dragons chew eucalyptus leaves?"
"Believe me," Zoe said, "if you had dragon breath, you would chew eucalyptus too."
I didn't question her, but I did keep my eyes peeled more closely as we drove. Ahead of us loomed Mount Tamalpais. I guess, in terms of mountains, it was a small one, but it looked plenty huge as we were driving toward it.
"So that's the Mountain of Despair?" I asked. "Yes," Zoe said tightly.
"Why do they call it that?"
She was silent for almost a mile before answering. "After the war between the Titans and the gods, many of the Titans were punished and imprisoned. Kronos was sliced to pieces and thrown into Tartarus. Kronos's right-hand man, the general of his forces, was imprisoned up there, on the summit, just beyond the Garden of the Hesperides."
"The General," I said. Clouds seemed to be swirling around its peak, as though the mountain was drawing them in, spinning them like a top. "What's going on up there? A storm?"
Zoe didn't answer. I got the feeing she knew exactly what the clouds meant, and she didn't like it.
"We have to concentrate," Thalia said. "The Mist is really strong here." "The magical kind or the natural kind?" I asked.
"Both."
The gray clouds swirled even thicker over the mountain, and we kept driving straight toward them. We were out of the forest now, into wide open spaces of cliffs and grass and rocks and fog.
I happened to glance down at the ocean as we passed a scenic curve, and I saw something that made me jump out of my seat.
"Look!" But we turned a corner and the ocean disappeared behind the hills. "What?" Thalia asked.
"A big white ship," I said. "Docked near the beach. It looked like a cruise ship." Her eyes widened. "Luke's ship?"
I wanted to say I wasn't sure. It might be a coincidence. But I knew better. The Princess Andromeda, Luke's demon cruise ship, was docked at that beach. That's why he'd sent his ship all the way down to the Panama Canal. It was the only way to sail it from the East Coast to California.
"We will have company, then," Zoe said grimly. "Kronos's army."
I was about to answer, when suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Thalia shouted, "Stop the car. NOW!"
Zoe must've sensed something was wrong, because she slammed on the brakes without question. The yellow VW spun twice before coming to a stop at the edge of the cliff.
"Out!" Thalia opened the door and pushed me hard. We both rolled onto the pavement.
The next second: BOOOM!
Lightning flashed, and Dr. Chase's Volkswagen erupted like a canary-yellow grenade. I probably would've been killed by shrapnel except for Thalia's shield, which appeared over me. I heard a sound like metal ram, and when I opened my eyes, we were surrounded by wreckage. Part of the VW's fender had impaled itself in the street. The smoking hood was spinning in circles. Pieces of yellow metal were strewn across the road.
I swallowed the taste of smoke out of my mouth, and looked at Thalia. "You saved my
life."
"One shall perish by a parent's hand" she muttered. "Curse him. He would destroy me?
Me?"
It took me a second to realize she was talking about her dad. "Oh, hey, that couldn't have been Zeus's lightning bolt. No way."
"Whose, then?" Thalia demanded.
"I don't know. Zoe said Kronos's name. Maybe he—"
Thalia shook her head, looking angry and stunned. "No. That wasn't it." "Wait," I said. "Where's Zoe? Zoe!"
We both got up and ran around the blasted VW. Nothing inside. Nothing either direction down the road. I looked down the cliff. No sign of her.
"Zoe!" I shouted.
Then she was standing right next to me, pulling me by my arm. "Silence, fool! Do you want to wake Ladon?"
"You mean we're here?"
"Very close," she said. "Follow me."
Sheets of fog were drifting right across the road. Zoe stepped into one of them, and when the fog passed, she was no longer there. Thalia and I looked at each other.
"Concentrate on Zoe," Thalia advised. "We are following her. Go straight into the fog and keep that in mind."
"Wait, Thalia. About what happened back on the pier… I mean, with the manticore and the sacrifice—"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"You wouldn't actually have… you know?" She hesitated. "I was just shocked. That's all."
"Zeus didn't send that lighting bolt at the car. It was Kronos. He's trying to manipulate you, make you angry at your dad."
She took a deep breath. "Percy, I know you're trying to make me feel better. Thanks.
But come on. We need to go."
She stepped into the fog, into the Mist, and I followed.
When the fog cleared, I was still on the side of the mountain, but the road was dirt. The grass was thicker. The sunset made a bloodred slash across the sea. The summit of the mountain seemed closer now, swirling with storm clouds and raw power. There was only one path to the top, directly in front of us. And it led through a lush meadow of shadows and flowers: the garden of twilight, just like I'd seen in my dream.
If it hadn't been for the enormous dragon, the garden would've been the most beautiful place I'd ever seen. The grass shimmered with silvery evening light, and the flowers were such brilliant colors they almost glowed in the dark. Stepping stones of polished black marble
led around either side of a five-story-tall apple tree, every bough glittering with golden apples, and I don't mean yellow golden apples like in the grocery store. I mean real golden apples. I can't describe why they were so appealing, but as soon as I smelled their fragrance, I knew that one bite would be the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted.
"The apples of immortality," Thalia said. "Hera's wedding gift from Zeus."
I wanted to step right up and pluck one, except for the dragon coiled around the tree.
Now, I don't know what you think of when I say dragon. Whatever it is, it's not scary enough. The serpent's body was as thick as a booster rocket, glinting with coppery scales. He had more heads than I could count, as if a hundred deadly pythons had been fused together. He appeared to be asleep. The heads lay curled in a big spaghetti-like mound on the grass, all the eyes closed.
Then the shadows in front of us began to move. There was a beautiful, eerie singing, like voices from the bottom of a well. I reached for Riptide, but Zoe stopped my hand.
Four figures shimmered into existence, four young women who looked very much like Zoe. They all wore white Greek chitons. Their skin was like caramel. Silky black hair tumbled loose around their shoulders. It was strange, but I'd never realized how beautiful Zoe was until I saw her siblings, the Hesperides. They looked just like Zoe—gorgeous, and probably very dangerous.
"Sisters," Zoe said.
"We do not see any sister," one of the girls said coldly. "We see two half-bloods and a Hunter. All of whom shall soon die."
"You've got it wrong." I stepped forward. "Nobody is going to die."
The girls studied me. They had eyes like volcanic rock, glassy and completely black. "Perseus Jackson," one of them said.
"Yes," mused another. "I do not see why he is a threat." "Who said I was a threat?"
The first Hesperid glanced behind her, toward the top of the mountain. "They fear thee.
They are unhappy that this one has not yet killed thee." She pointed at Thalia.
"Tempting sometimes," Thalia admitted. "But no, thanks. He's my friend."
"There are no friends here, daughter of Zeus," the girl said. "Only enemies. Go back." "Not without Annabeth," Thalia said.
"And Artemis," Zoe said. "We must approach the mountain."
"You know he will kill thee," the girl said. "You are no match for him." "Artemis must be freed," Zoe insisted. "Let us pass."
The girl shook her head. "You have no rights here anymore. We have only to raise our voices and Ladon will wake."
"He will not hurt me," Zoe said.
"No? And what about thy so-called friends?"
Then Zoe did the last thing I expected. She shouted, "Ladon! Wake!"
The dragon stirred, glittering like a mountain of pennies. The Hesperides yelped and scattered. The lead girl said to Zoe, "Are you mad?"
"You never had any courage, sister," Zoe said. "That is thy problem."
The dragon Ladon was writhing now, a hundred heads whipping around, tongues flickering and tasting the air. Zoe took a step forward, her arms raised.
"Zoe, don't," Thalia said. "You're not a Hesperid anymore. He'll kill you."
"Ladon is trained to protect the tree," Zoe said. "Skirt around the edges of the garden.
Go up the mountain. As long as I am a bigger threat, he should ignore thee." "Should," I said. "Not exactly reassuring."
"It is the only way," she said. "Even the three of us together cannot fight him."
Ladon opened his mouths. The sound of a hundred heads hissing at once sent a shiver down my back, and that was before his breath hit me. The smell was like acid. It made my eyes burn, my skin crawl, and my hair stand on end. I remembered the time a rat had died inside our apartment wall in New York in the middle of the summer. This stench was like that, except a hundred times stronger, and mixed with the smell of chewed eucalyptus. I promised myself right then that I would never ask a school nurse for another cough drop.
I wanted to draw my sword. But then I remembered my dream of Zoe and Hercules, and how Hercules had failed in a head-on assault. I decided to trust Zoe's judgment.
Thalia went left. I went right. Zoe walked straight toward the monster. "It's me, my little dragon," Zoe said. "Zoe has come back."
Ladon shifted forward, then back. Some of the mouths closed. Some kept hissing. Dragon confusion. Meanwhile, the Hesperides shimmered and turned into shadows. The voice of the eldest whispered, "Fool."
"I used to feed thee by hand," Zoe continued, speaking in a soothing voice as she stepped toward the golden tree. "Do you still like lamb's meat?"
The dragon's eyes glinted.
Thalia and I were about halfway around the garden. Ahead, I could see a single rocky trail leading up to the black peak of the mountain. The storm swirled above it, spinning on the summit like it was the axis for the whole world.
We'd almost made it out of the meadow when something went wrong. I felt the dragon's mood shift. Maybe
Zoe got too close. Maybe the dragon realized he was hungry. Whatever the reason, he lunged at Zoe.
Two thousand years of training kept her alive. She dodged one set of slashing fangs and tumbled under another, weaving through the dragon's heads as she ran in our direction, gagging from the monster's horrible breath.
I drew Riptide to help. "No!" Zoe panted. "Run!"
The dragon snapped at her side, and Zoe cried out. Thalia uncovered Aegis, and the dragon hissed. In his moment of indecision, Zoe sprinted past us up the mountain, and we followed.
The dragon didn't try to pursue. He hissed and stomped the ground, but I guess he was well trained to guard that tree. He wasn't going to be lured off even by the tasty prospect of eating some heroes.
We ran up the mountain as the Hesperides resumed their song in the shadows behind us.
The music didn't sound so beautiful to me now—more like the sound track for a funeral.
At the top of mountain were ruins, blocks of black granite and marble as big as houses.
Broken columns. Statues of bronze that looked as though they'd been half melted. "The ruins of Mount Othrys," Thalia whispered in awe.
"Yes," Zoe said. "It was not here before. This is bad." "What's Mount Othrys?" I asked, feeling like a fool as usual.
"The mountain fortress of the Titans," Zoe said. "In the first war, Olympus and Othrys were the two rival capitals of the world. Othrys was—" She winced and held her side.
"You're hurt," I said. "Let me see."
"No! It is nothing. I was saying… in the first war, Othrys was blasted to pieces."
"But… how is it here?"
Thalia looked around cautiously as we picked our way through the rubble, past blocks of marble and broken archways. "It moves in the same way that Olympus moves. It always exists on the edges of civilization. But the fact that it is here, on this mountain, is not good."
"Why?"
"This is Atlas's mountain," Zoe said. "Where he holds—" She froze. Her voice was ragged with despair. "Where he used to hold up the sky."
We had reached the summit. A few yards ahead of us, gray clouds swirled in a heavy vortex, making a funnel cloud that almost touched the mountaintop, but instead rested on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old girl with auburn hair and a tattered silvery dress: Artemis, her legs bound to the rock with celestial bronze chains. This is what I had seen in my dream. It hadn't been a cavern roof that Artemis was forced to hold. It was the roof of the world.
"My lady!" Zoe rushed forward, but Artemis said, "Stop! It is a trap. You must leave now."
Her voice was strained. She was drenched in sweat. I had never seen a goddess in pain before, but the weight of the sky was clearly too much for Artemis.
Zoe was crying. She ran forward despite Artemis's protests, and tugged at the chains. A booming voice spoke behind us: "Ah, how touching."
We turned. The General was standing there in his brown silk suit. At his side were Luke and half a dozen dracaenae bearing the golden sarcophagus of Kronos. Annabeth stood at Luke's side. She had her hands cuffed behind her back, a gag in her mouth, and Luke was holding the point of his sword to her throat.
I met her eyes, trying to ask her a thousand questions. There was just one message she was sending me, though: RUN.
"Luke," Thalia snarled. "Let her go."
Luke's smile was weak and pale. He looked even worse than he had three days ago in
D.C. "That is the General's decision, Thalia. But it's good to see you again." Thalia spat at him.
The General chuckled. "So much for old friends. And you, Zoe. It's been a long time.
How is my little traitor? I will enjoy killing you."
"Do not respond," Artemis groaned. "Do not challenge him." "Wait a second," I said. "You're Atlas?"
The General glanced at me. "So, even the stupidest of heroes can finally figure something out. Yes, I am Atlas, the general of the Titans and terror of the gods. Congratulations. I will kill you presently, as soon as I deal with this wretched girl."
"You're not going to hurt Zoe" I said. "I won't let you."
The General sneered. "You have no right to interfere, little hero. This is a family matter." I frowned. "A family matter?"
"Yes," Zoe said bleakly. "Atlas is my father."
SEVENTEEN
I PUT ON A FEW MILLION EXTRA POUNDS
The horrible thing was: I could see the family resemblance. Atlas had the same regal expression as Zoe, the same cold proud look in his eyes that Zoe sometimes got when she was mad, though on him it looked a thousand times more evil. He was all the things I'd originally disliked about Zoe, with none of the good I'd come to appreciate.
"Let Artemis go," Zoe demanded.
Atlas walked closer to the chained goddess. "Perhaps you'd like to take the sky for her, then? Be my guest."
Zoe opened her mouth to speak, but Artemis said, "No! Do not offer, Zoe! I forbid you."
Atlas smirked. He knelt next to Artemis and tried to touch her face, but the goddess bit at him, almost taking off his fingers.
"Hoo-hoo," Atlas chuckled. "You see, daughter? Lady Artemis likes her new job. I think I will have all the Olympians take turns carrying my burden, once Lord Kronos rules again, and this is the center of our palace. It will teach those weaklings some humility."
I looked at Annabeth. She was desperately trying to tell me something. She motioned her head toward Luke. But all
I could do was stare at her. I hadn't noticed before, but something about her had changed. Her blond hair was now streaked with gray.
"From holding the sky," Thalia muttered, as if she'd read my mind. "The weight should've killed her."
"I don't understand," I said. "Why can't Artemis just let go of the sky?"
Atlas laughed. "How little you understand, young one. This is the point where the sky and the earth first met, where Ouranos and Gaia first brought forth their mighty children, the Titans. The sky still yearns to embrace the earth. Someone must hold it at bay, or else it would crush down upon this place, instantly flattening the mountain and everything within a hundred leagues. Once you have taken the burden, there is no escape." Atlas smiled. "Unless someone else takes it from you."
He approached us, studying Thalia and me. "So these are the best heroes of the age, eh?
Not much of a challenge."
"Fight us," I said. "And let's see."
"Have the gods taught you nothing? An immortal does not fight a mere mortal directly.
It is beneath our dignity. I will have Luke crush you instead." "So you're another coward," I said.
Atlas's eyes glowed with hatred. With difficulty, he turned his attention to Thalia. "As for you, daughter of Zeus, it seems Luke was wrong about you."
"I wasn't wrong," Luke managed. He looked terribly weak, and he spoke every word as if it were painful. If I didn't hate his guts so much, I almost would've felt sorry for Kim. "Thalia, you still can join us. Call the Ophiotaurus. It will come to you. Look!"
He waved his hand, and next to us a pool of water appeared: a pond ringed in black marble, big enough for the Ophiotaurus. I could imagine Bessie in that pool. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I was sure I could hear Bessie mooing.
Don't think about him! Suddenly Grover's voice was inside my mind—the empathy link. I could feel his emotions. He was on the verge of panic. I'm losing Bessie. Block the thoughts!
I tried to make my mind go blank. I tried to think about basketball players, skateboards, the different kinds of candy in my mom's shop. Anything but Bessie.
"Thalia, call the Ophiotaurus," Luke persisted. "And you will be more powerful than the gods."
"Luke…" Her voice was full of pain. "What happened to you?"
"Don't you remember all those times we talked? All those times we cursed the gods?
Our fathers have done nothing for us. They have no right to rule the world!" Thalia shook her head. "Free Annabeth. Let her go."
"If you join me," Luke promised, "it can be like old times. The three of us together.
Fighting for a better world. Please, Thalia, if you don't agree…"
His voice faltered. "It's my last chance. He will use the other way if you don't agree.
Please."
I didn't know what he meant, but the fear in his voice sounded real enough. I believed that Luke was in danger.
His life depended on Thalia's joining his cause. And I was afraid Thalia might believe it,
too.
"Do not, Thalia," Zoe warned. "We must fight them."
Luke waved his hand again, and a fire appeared. A bronze brazier, just like the one at camp. A sacrificial flame.
"Thalia," I said. "No."
Behind Luke, the golden sarcophagus began to glow. As it did, I saw images in the mist all around us: black marble walls rising, the ruins becoming whole, a terrible and beautiful palace rising around us, made of fear and shadow.
"We will raise Mount Othrys right here," Luke promised, in a voice so strained it was hardly his. "Once more, it will be stronger and greater than Olympus. Look, Thalia. We are not weak."
He pointed toward the ocean, and my heart fell. Marching up the side of the mountain, from the beach where the Princess Andromeda was docked, was a great army. Dracaenae and Laestrygonians, monsters and half-bloods, hell hounds, harpies, and other things I couldn't even name. The whole ship must've been emptied, because there were hundreds, many more than I'd seen on board last summer. And they were marching toward us. In a few minutes, they would be here.
"This is only a taste of what is to come," Luke said. "Soon we will be ready to storm Camp Half-Blood. And after that, Olympus itself. All we need is your help."
For a terrible moment, Thalia hesitated. She gazed at Luke, her eyes full of pain, as if the only thing she wanted in the world was to believe him. Then she leveled her spear. "You aren't Luke. I don't know you anymore."
"Yes, you do, Thalia," he pleaded. "Please. Don't make me… Don't make him destroy
you."
There was no time. If that army got to the top of the hill, we would be overwhelmed. I met Annabeth's eyes again. She nodded.
I looked at Thalia and Zoe, and I decided it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to die fighting with friends like this.
"Now," I said.
Together, we charged.
Thalia went straight for Luke. The power of her shield was so great that his dragon- women bodyguards fled in a panic, dropping the golden coffin and leaving him alone. But despite his sickly appearance, Luke was still quick with his sword. He snarled like a wild animal and counterattacked. When his sword, Backbiter, met Thalia's shield, a ball of lightning erupted between them, frying the air with yellow tendrils of power.
As for me, I did the stupidest thing in my life, which is saying a lot. I attacked the Titan Lord Atlas.
He laughed as I approached. A huge javelin appeared in his hands. His silk suit melted into full Greek battle armor. "Go on, then!"
"Percy!" Zoe said. "Beware!"
I knew what she was warning me about. Chiron had told me long ago: Immortals are constrained by ancient rules. But a hero can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as he has the nerve. Once I attacked, however, Atlas was free to attack back directly, with all his might.
I swung my sword, and Atlas knocked me aside with the shaft of his javelin. I flew through the air and slammed into a black wall. It wasn't Mist anymore. The palace was rising, brick by brick. It was becoming real.
"Fool!" Atlas screamed gleefully, swatting aside one of Zoe's arrows. "Did you think, simply because you could challenge that petty war god, that you could stand up to me?"
The mention of Ares sent a jolt through me. I shook off my daze and charged again. If I could get to that pool of water, I could double my strength.
The javelins point slashed toward me like a scythe. I raised Riptide, planning to cut off his weapon at the shaft, but my arm felt like lead. My sword suddenly weighed a ton.
And I remembered Ares's warning, spoken on the beach in Los Angeles so long ago:
When you need it most, your sword will fail you.
Not now! I pleaded. But it was no good. I tried to dodge, but the javelin caught me in the chest and sent me flying like a rag doll. I slammed into the ground, my head spinning. I looked up and found I was at the feet of Artemis, still straining under the weight of the sky.
"Run, boy," she told me. "You must run!"
Atlas was taking his time coming toward me. My sword was gone. It had skittered away over the edge of the cliff. It might reappear in my pocket—maybe in a few seconds—but it didn't matter. I'd be dead by then. Luke and Thalia were fighting like demons, lightning crackling around them. Annabeth was on the ground, desperately struggling to free her hands.
"Die, little hero," Atlas said.
He raised his javelin to impale me.
"No!" Zoe yelled, and a volley of silver arrows sprouted from the armpit chink in Atlas's armor.
"ARGH!" He bellowed and turned toward his daughter.
I reached down and felt Riptide back in my pocket. I couldn't fight Atlas, even with a sword. And then a chill went down my back. I remembered the words of the prophecy: The Titan's curse must one withstand. I couldn't hope to beat Atlas. But there was someone else who might stand a chance.
"The sky," I told the goddess. "Give it to me."
"No, boy," Artemis said. Her forehead was beaded with metallic sweat, like quicksilver. "You don't know what you're asking. It will crush you!"
"Annabeth took it!"
"She barely survived. She had the spirit of a true huntress. You will not last so long." "I'll die anyway," I said. "Give me the weight of the sky!"
I didn't wait for her answer. I took out Riptide and slashed through her chains. Then I stepped next to her and braced myself on one knee—holding up my hands—and touched the cold, heavy clouds. For a moment, Artemis and I bore the weight together. It was the heaviest thing I'd ever felt, as if I were being crushed under a thousand trucks. I wanted to black out from the pain, but I breathed deeply. I can do this.
Then Artemis slipped out from under the burden, and I held it alone. Afterward, I tried many times to explain what it felt like. I couldn't.
Every muscle in my body turned to fire. My bones felt like they were melting. I wanted to scream, but I didn't have the strength to open my mouth. I began to sink, lower and lower to the ground, the sky's weight crushing me.
Fight back! Grover's voice said inside my head. Don't give up.
I concentrated on breathing. If I could just keep the sky aloft a few more seconds. I thought about Bianca, who had given her life so we could get here. If she could do that, I could hold the sky.
My vision turned fuzzy. Everything was tinged with red. I caught glimpses of the battle, but I wasn't sure if I was seeing clearly. There was Atlas in full battle armor, jabbing with his javelin, laughing insanely as he fought. And Artemis, a blur of silver. She had two wicked hunting knives, each as long as her arm, and she slashed wildly at the Titan, dodging and leaping with unbelievable grace. She seemed to change form as she maneuvered. She was a tiger, a gazelle, a bear, a falcon. Or perhaps that was just my fevered brain. Zoe shot arrows at her father, aiming for the chinks in his armor. He roared in pain each time one found its mark, but they affected him like bee stings. He just got madder and kept fighting.
Thalia and Luke went spear on sword, lightning still flashing around them. Thalia pressed Luke back with the aura of her shield. Even he was not immune to it. He retreated, wincing and growling in frustration.
"Yield!" Thalia yelled. "You never could beat me, Luke." He bared his teeth. "Well see, my old friend."
Sweat poured down my face. My hands were slippery. My shoulders would've screamed with agony if they could. I felt like the vertebrae in my spine were being welded together by a blowtorch.
Atlas advanced, pressing Artemis. She was fast, but his strength was unstoppable. His javelin slammed into the earth where Artemis had been a split second before, and a fissure opened in the rocks. He leaped over it and kept pursuing her. She was leading him back toward me.
Get ready, she spoke in my mind.
I was losing the ability to think through the pain. My response was something like
Agggghh-owwwwwwww.
"You fight well for a girl." Atlas laughed. "But you are no match for me."
He feinted with the tip of his javelin and Artemis dodged. I saw the trick coming. Atlas's javelin swept around and knocked Artemis's legs off the ground. She fell, and Atlas brought up his javelin tip for the kill.
"No!" Zoe screamed. She leaped between her father and Artemis and shot an arrow straight into the Titan's forehead, where it lodged like a unicorn's horn. Atlas bellowed in rage. He swept aside his daughter with the back of his hand, sending her flying into the black rocks.
I wanted to shout her name, run to her aid, but I couldn't speak or move. I couldn't even see where Zoe had landed. Then Atlas turned on Artemis with a look of triumph in his face. Artemis seemed to be wounded. She didn't get up.
"The first blood in a new war," Atlas gloated. And he stabbed downward.
As fast as thought, Artemis grabbed his javelin shaft. It hit the earth right next to her and she pulled backward, using the javelin like a lever, kicking the Titan Lord and sending him flying over her, I saw him coming down on top of me and I realized what would happen. I loosened my grip on the sky, and as Atlas slammed into me I didn't try to hold on. I let myself be pushed out of the way and rolled for all I was worth.
The weight of the sky dropped onto Atlas's back, almost smashing him flat until he managed to get to his knees, struggling to get out from under the crushing weight of the sky. But it was too late.
"Noooooo!" He bellowed so hard it shook the mountain. "Not again!" Atlas was trapped under his old burden.
I tried to stand and fell back again, dazed from pain. My body felt like it was burning
up.
Thalia backed Luke to the edge of a cliff, but still they fought on, next to the golden coffin. Thalia had tears in her eyes. Luke had a bloody slash across his chest and his pale face glistened with sweat.
He lunged at Thalia and she slammed him with her shield. Luke's sword spun out of his hands and clattered to the rocks. Thalia put her spear point to his throat.
For a moment, there was silence.
"Well?" Luke asked. He tried to hide it, but I could hear fear in his voice. Thalia trembled with fury.
Behind her, Annabeth came scrambling, finally free from her bonds. Her face was bruised and streaked with dirt. "Don't kill him!"
"He's a traitor," Thalia said. "A traitor!"
In my daze, I realized that Artemis was no longer with me. She had run off toward the black rocks where Zoe had fallen.
"We'll bring Luke back," Annabeth pleaded. "To Olympus. He… he'll be useful."
"Is that what you want, Thalia?" Luke sneered. "To go back to Olympus in triumph? To please your dad?"
Thalia hesitated, and Luke made a desperate grab for her spear.
"No!" Annabeth shouted. But it was too late. Without thinking, Thalia kicked Luke away. He lost his balance, terror on his face, and then he fell.
"Luke!" Annabeth screamed.
We rushed to the cliff's edge. Below us, the army from the Princess Andromeda had stopped in amazement. They were staring at Luke's broken form on the rocks. Despite how much I hated him, I couldn't stand to see it. I wanted to believe he was still alive, but that was impossible. The fall was fifty feet at least, and he wasn't moving.
One of the giants looked up and growled, "Kill them!"
Thalia was stiff with grief, tears streaming down her cheeks. I pulled her back as a wave of javelins sailed over our heads. We ran for the rocks, ignoring the curses and threats of Atlas as we passed.
"Artemis!" I yelled.
The goddess looked up, her face almost as grief-stricken as Thalia's. Zoe lay in the goddess's arms. She was breathing. Her eyes were open. But still…
"The wound is poisoned," Artemis said. "Atlas poisoned her?" I asked.
"No," the goddess said. "Not Atlas."
She showed us the wound in Zoe's side. I'd almost forgotten her scrape with Ladon the dragon. The bite was much worse than Zoe had let on. I could barely look at the wound. She had charged into battle against her father with a horrible cut already sapping her strength.
"The stars," Zoe murmured. "I cannot see them."
"Nectar and ambrosia," I said. "Come on! We have to get her some."
No one moved. Grief hung in air. The army of Kronos was just below the rise. Even Artemis was too shocked to stir. We might've met our doom right there, but then I heard a strange buzzing noise.
Just as the army of monsters came over the hill, a Sopwith Camel swooped down out of the sky.
"Get away from my daughter!" Dr. Chase called down, and his machine guns burst to life, peppering the ground with bullet holes and startling the whole group of monsters into scattering.
"Dad?" yelled Annabeth in disbelief.
"Run!" he called back, his voice growing fainter as the biplane swooped by.
This shook Artemis out of her grief. She stared up at the antique plane, which was now banking around for another strafe.
"A brave man," Artemis said with grudging approval. "Come, We must get Zoe away from here."
She raised her hunting horn to her lips, and its clear sound echoed down the valleys of Marin. Zoe's eyes were fluttering.
"Hang in there!" I told her. "It'll be all right!"
The Sopwith Camel swooped down again. A few giants threw javelins, and one flew straight between the wings of the plane, but the machine guns blazed. I realized with amazement that somehow Dr. Chase must've gotten hold of celestial bronze to fashion his bullets. The first row of snake women wailed as the machine gun's volley blew them into sulfurous yellow powder.
"That's… my dad!" Annabeth said in amazement.
We didn't have time to admire his flying. The giants and snake women were already recovering from their surprise. Dr. Chase would be in trouble soon.
Just then, the moonlight brightened, and a silver chariot appeared from the sky, drawn by the most beautiful deer I had ever seen. It landed right next to us.
"Get in," Artemis said.
Annabeth helped me get Thalia on board. Then I helped Artemis with Zoe. We wrapped Zoe in a blanket as Artemis pulled the reins and the chariot sped away from the mountain, straight into the air.
"Like Santa Claus's sleigh," I murmured, still dazed with pain.
Artemis took time to look back at me. "Indeed, young half-blood. And where do you think that legend came from?"
Seeing us safely away, Dr. Chase turned his biplane and followed us like an honor guard. It must have been one of the strangest sights ever, even for the Bay Area: a silver flying chariot pulled by deer, escorted by a Sopwith Camel.
Behind us, the army of Kronos roared in anger as they gathered on the summit of Mount Tamalpais, but the loudest sound was the voice of Atlas, bellowing curses against the gods as he struggled under the weight of the sky.
EIGHTEEN
A FRIEND SAYS GOOD-BYE
We landed at Crissy Field after nightfall.
As soon as Dr. Chase stepped out of his Sopwith Camel, Annabeth ran to him and gave him a huge hug. "Dad! You flew… you shot… oh my gods! That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen!"
Her father blushed. "Well, not bad for a middle-aged mortal, I suppose." "But the celestial bronze bullets! How did you get those?"
"Ah, well. You did leave quite a few half-blood weapons in your room in Virginia, the last time you… left."
Annabeth looked down, embarrassed. I noticed Dr. Chase was very careful not to say
ran away.
"I decided to try melting some down to make bullet casings," he continued. "Just a little experiment."
He said it like it was no big deal, but he had a gleam in his eye. I could understand all of a sudden why Athena, Goddess of Crafts and Wisdom, had taken a liking to him. He was an excellent mad scientist at heart.
"Dad…" Annabeth faltered.
"Annabeth, Percy," Thalia interrupted. Her voice was urgent. She and Artemis were kneeling at Zoe's side, binding the huntress's wounds.
Annabeth and I ran over to help, but there wasn't much we could do. We had no ambrosia or nectar. No regular medicine would help. It was dark, but I could see that Zoe didn't look good. She was shivering, and the faint glow that usually hung around her was fading.
"Can't you heal her with magic?" I asked Artemis. "I mean… you're a goddess."
Artemis looked troubled. "Life is a fragile thing, Percy. If the Fates will the string to be cut, there is little I can do. But I can try."
She tried to set her hand on Zoe's side, but Zoe gripped her wrist. She looked into the goddess's eyes, and some kind of understanding passed between them.
"Have I… served thee well?" Zoe whispered.
"With great honor," Artemis said softly. "The finest of my attendants." Zoe's face relaxed. "Rest. At last."
"I can try to heal the poison, my brave one."
But in that moment, I knew it wasn't just the poison that was killing her. It was her father's final blow. Zoe had known all along that the Oracle's prophecy was about her: she would die by a parent's hand. And yet she'd taken the quest anyway. She had chosen to save me, and Atlas's fury had broken her inside.
She saw Thalia, and took her hand.
"I am sorry we argued," Zoe said. "We could have been sisters."
"It's my fault," Thalia said, blinking hard. "You were right about Luke, about heroes, men—everything."
"Perhaps not all men," Zoe murmured. She smiled weakly at me. "Do you still have the sword, Percy?"
I couldn't speak, but I brought out Riptide and put the pen in her hand. She grasped it contentedly. "You spoke the truth, Percy Jackson. You are nothing like… like Hercules. I am honored that you carry this sword."
A shudder ran through her body. "Zoe—" I said.
"Stars," she whispered. "I can see the stars again, my lady."
A tear trickled down Artemis's cheek. "Yes, my brave one. They are beautiful tonight." "Stars," Zoe repeated. Her eyes fixed on the night sky. And she did not move again.
Thalia lowered her head. Annabeth gulped down a sob, and her father put his hands on her shoulders. I watched as Artemis cupped her hand above Zoe's mouth and spoke a few words in Ancient Greek. A silvery wisp of smoke exhaled from Zoe's lips and was caught in the hand of the goddess. Zoe's body shimmered and disappeared.
Artemis stood, said a kind of blessing, breathed into her cupped hand and released the silver dust to the sky. It flew up, sparkling, and vanished.
For a moment I didn't see anything different. Then Annabeth gasped. Looking up in the sky, I saw that the stars were brighter now. They made a pattern I had never noticed before—a gleaming constellation that looked a lot like a girl's figure—a girl with a bow, running across the sky.
"Let the world honor you, my Huntress," Artemis said. "Live forever in the stars."
It wasn't easy saying our good-byes. The thunder and lightning were still boiling over Mount Tamalpais in the north. Artemis was so upset she flickered with silver light. This made me nervous, because if she suddenly lost control and appeared in her fully divine form, we would disintegrate by looking at her.
"I must go to Olympus immediately," Artemis said. "I will not be able to take you, but I will send help."
The goddess set her hand on Annabeth's shoulder. "You are brave beyond measure, my girl. You will do what is right."
Then she looked quizzically at Thalia, as if she weren't sure what to make of this younger daughter of Zeus. Thalia seemed reluctant to look up, but something made her, and she held the goddess's eyes. I wasn't sure what passed between them, but Artemis's gaze softened with sympathy. Then she turned to me.
"You did well," she said. "For a man."
I wanted to protest. But then I realized it was the first time she hadn't called me a boy.
She mounted her chariot, which began to glow. We averted our eyes. There was a flash of silver, and the goddess was gone.
"Well," Dr. Chase sighed. "She was impressive; though I must say I still prefer Athena." Annabeth turned toward him. "Dad, I… I'm sorry that—"
"Shh." He hugged her. "Do what you must, my dear. I know this isn't easy for you." His voice was a little shaky, but he gave Annabeth a brave smile.
Then I heard the whoosh of large wings. Three pegasi descended through the fog: two white winged horses and one pure black one.
"Blackjack!" I called.
Yo,boss! he called. You manage to stay alive okay without me? "It was rough," I admitted.
I brought Guido and Porkpie with me.
How ya doin? The other two pegasi spoke in my mind.
Blackjack looked me over with concern, then checked out Dr. Chase, Thalia, and Annabeth. Any of these goons you want us to stampede?
"Nah," I said aloud. "These are my friends. We need to get to Olympus pretty fast."
No problem, Blackjack said. Except for the mortal over there. Hope he's not going.
I assured him Dr. Chase was not. The professor was staring openmouthed at the pegasi.
"Fascinating," he said. "Such maneuverability! How does the wingspan compensate for the weight of the horse's body, I wonder?"
Blackjack cocked his head. Whaaaat?
"Why, if the British had had these pegasi in the cavalry charges on the Crimea," Dr.
Chase said, "the charge of the light brigade—" "Dad!" Annabeth interrupted.
Dr. Chase blinked. He looked at his daughter and managed a smile. "I'm sorry, my dear, I know you must go."
He gave her one last awkward, well-meaning hug. As she turned to climb aboard the pegasus Guido, Dr. Chase called, "Annabeth. I know… I know San Francisco is a dangerous place for you. But please remember, you always have a home with us. We will keep you safe."
Annabeth didn't answer, but her eyes were red as she turned away. Dr. Chase started to say more, then apparently thought better of it. He raised his hand in a sad farewell and trudged away across the dark field.
Thalia and Annabeth and I mounted our pegasi. Together we soared over the bay and flew toward the eastern hills. Soon San Francisco was only a glittering crescent behind us, with an occasional flicker of lightning in the north.
Thalia was so exhausted she fell asleep on Porkpie's back. I knew she had to be really tired to sleep in the air, despite her fear of heights, but she didn't have much to worry about. Her pegasus flew with ease, adjusting himself every once in a while so Thalia stayed safely on his back.
Annabeth and I flew along side by side. "Your dad seems cool," I told her.
It was too dark to see her expression. She looked back, even though California was far behind us now.
"I guess so," she said. "We've been arguing for so many years." "Yeah, you said."
"You think I was lying about that?" It sounded like a challenge, but a pretty halfhearted one, like she was asking it of herself.
"I didn't say you were lying. It's just… he seems okay. Your stepmom, too. Maybe they've, uh, gotten cooler since you saw them last."
She hesitated. "They're still in San Francisco, Percy. I can't live so far from camp."
I didn't want to ask my next question. I was scared to know the answer. But I asked it anyway. "So what are you going to do now?"
We flew over a town, an island of lights in the middle of the dark. It whisked by so fast we might've been in an airplane.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But thank you for rescuing me." "Hey, no big deal. We're friends."
"You didn't believe I was dead?" "Never."
She hesitated. "Neither is Luke, you know. I mean… he isn't dead."
I stared at her. I didn't know if she was cracking under the stress or what. "Annabeth, that fall was pretty bad. There's no way—"
"He isn't dead," she insisted. "I know it. The same way you knew about me." That comparison didn't make me too happy.
The towns were zipping by faster now, islands of light thicker together, until the whole landscape below was a glittering carpet. Dawn was close. The eastern sky was turning gray. And up ahead, a huge white-and-yellow glow spread out before us—the lights of New York.
How's that for speedy, loss? Blackjack bragged. We get extra hay for breakfast or what? "You're the man, Blackjack," I told him. "Er, the horse, I mean."
"You don't believe me about Luke," Annabeth said, "but we'll see him again. He's in trouble, Percy. He's under Kronos's spell."
I didn't feel like arguing, though it made me mad. How could she still have any feelings for that creep? How could she possibly make excuses for him? He deserved that fall. He deserved… okay, I'll say it. He deserved to die. Unlike Bianca. Unlike Zoe. Luke couldn't be alive. It wouldn't be fair.
"There it is." Thalia's voice; she'd woken up. She was pointing toward Manhattan, which was quickly zooming into view. "It's started."
"What's started?" I asked.
Then I looked where she was pointing. High above the Empire State Building, Olympus was its own island of light, a floating mountain ablaze with torches and braziers, white marble palaces gleaming in the early morning air.
"The winter solstice," Thalia said. "The Council of the Gods."
NINETEEN
THE GODS VOTE HOW TO KILL US
Flying was bad enough for a son of Poseidon, but flying straight up to Zeus's palace, with thunder and lightning swirling around it, was even worse.
We circled over midtown Manhattan, making one complete orbit around Mount Olympus. I'd only been there once before, traveling by elevator up to the secret six hundredth floor of the Empire State Building. This time, if it was possible, Olympus amazed me even more.
In the early-morning darkness, torches and fires made the mountainside palaces glow twenty different colors, from bloodred to indigo. Apparently no one ever slept on Olympus. The twisting streets were full of demigods and nature spirits and minor godlings bustling about, riding chariots or sedan chairs carried by Cyclopes. Winter didn't seem to exist here. I caught the scent of the gardens in full bloom, jasmine and roses and even sweeter things I couldn't name. Music drifted up from many windows, the soft sounds of lyres and reed pipes.
Towering at the peak of the mountain was the greatest palace of all, the glowing white hall of the gods.
Our pegasi set us down in the outer courtyard, in front of huge silver gates. Before I could even think to knock, the gates opened by themselves.
Good luck, boss, Blackjack said.
"Yeah." I didn't know why, but I had a sense of doom. I'd never seen all the gods together. I knew any one of them could blast me to dust, and a few of them would like to.
Hey, if ya don't come back, can I have your cabin for my stable?
I looked at the pegasus.
Just a thought, he said. Sorry.
Blackjack and his friends flew off, leaving Thalia, Annabeth, and me alone. For a minute we stood there regarding the palace, the way we'd stood together in front of Westover Hall, what seemed like a million years ago.
And then, side by side, we walked into the throne room.
Twelve enormous thrones made a U around a central hearth, just like the placement of the cabins at camp. The ceiling above glittered with constellations—even the newest one, Zoe the Huntress, making her way across the heavens with her bow drawn.
All of the seats were occupied. Each god and goddess was about fifteen feet tall, and I'm telling you, if you've ever had a dozen all-powerful super-huge beings turn their eyes on you at once… Well, suddenly, facing monsters seemed like a picnic.
"Welcome, heroes," Artemis said. "Mooo!"
That's when I noticed Bessie and Grover.
A sphere of water was hovering in the center of the room, next to the hearth fire. Bessie was swimming happily around, swishing his serpent tail and poking his head out the sides and bottom of the sphere. He seemed to be enjoying the novelty of swimming in a magic bubble. Grover was kneeling at Zeus's throne, as if he'd just been giving a report, but when he saw us, he cried, "You made it!"
He started to run toward me, then remembered he was turning his back on Zeus, and looked for permission.
"Go on," Zeus said. But he wasn't really paying attention to Grover. The lord of the sky was staring intently at Thalia.
Grover trotted over. None of the gods spoke. Every clop of Grover's hooves echoed on the marble floor. Bessie splashed in his bubble of water. The hearth fire crackled.
I looked nervously at my father, Poseidon. He was dressed similar to the last time I'd seen him: beach shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and sandals. He had a weathered, suntanned face with a dark beard and deep green eyes. I wasn't sure how he would feel about seeing me again, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with smile lines. He nodded as if to say It's okay.
Grover gave Annabeth and Thalia big hugs. Then he grasped my arms. "Percy, Bessie and I made it! But you have to convince them! They can't do it!"
"Do what?" I asked. "Heroes," Artemis called.
The goddess slid down from her throne and turned to human size, a young auburn- haired girl, perfectly at ease in the midst of the giant Olympians. She walked toward us, her silver robes shimmering. There was no emotion in her face. She seemed to walk in a column of moonlight.
"The Council has been informed of your deeds," Artemis told us. "They know that Mount Othrys is rising in the West. They know of Atlas's attempt for freedom, and the gathering armies of Kronos. We have voted to act."
There was some mumbling and shuffling among the gods, as if they weren't all happy with this plan, but nobody protested.
"At my Lord Zeus's command," Artemis said, "my brother Apollo and I shall hunt the most powerful monsters, seeking to strike them down before they can join the Titans' cause. Lady Athena shall personally check on the other Titans to make sure they do not escape their various prisons. Lord Poseidon has been given permission to unleash his full fury on the cruise ship Princess Andromeda and send it to the bottom of the sea. And as for you, my heroes…"
She turned to face the other immortals. "These half-bloods have done Olympus a great service. Would any here deny that?"
She looked around at the assembled gods, meeting their faces individually. Zeus in his dark pin-striped suit, his black beard neatly trimmed, and his eyes sparking with energy. Next to him sat a beautiful woman with silver hair braided over one shoulder and a dress that shimmered colors like peacock feathers. The Lady Hera.
On Zeus's right, my father Poseidon. Next to him, a huge lump of a man with a leg in a steel brace, a misshapen head, and a wild brown beard, fire flickering through his whiskers. The Lord of the Forges, Hephaestus.
Hermes winked at me. He was wearing a business suit today, checking messages on his caduceus mobile phone. Apollo leaned back in his golden throne with his shades on. He had iPod headphones on, so I wasn't sure he was even listening, but he gave me a thumbs-up. Dionysus looked bored, twirling a grape vine between his fingers. And Ares, well, he sat on his chrome-and-leather throne, glowering at me while he sharpened a knife.
On the ladies' side of the throne room, a dark-haired goddess in green robes sat next to Hera on a throne woven of apple-tree branches. Demeter, Goddess of the Harvest. Next to her sat a beautiful gray-eyed woman in an elegant white dress. She could only be Annabeth's mother, Athena. Then there was Aphrodite, who smiled at me knowingly and made me blush in spite of myself.
All the Olympians in one place. So much power in this room it was a miracle the whole palace didn't blow apart.
"I gotta say"—Apollo broke the silence—"these kids did okay." He cleared his throat and began to recite: "Heroes win laurels—"
"Um, yes, first class," Hermes interrupted, like he was anxious to avoid Apollo's poetry. "All in favor of not disintegrating them?"
A few tentative hands went up—Demeter, Aphrodite.
"Wait just a minute," Ares growled. He pointed at Thalia and me. "These two are dangerous. It'd be much safer, while we've got them here—"
"Ares," Poseidon interrupted, "they are worthy heroes. We will not blast my son to
bits."
"Nor my daughter," Zeus grumbled. "She has done well."
Thalia blushed. She studied the floor. I knew how she felt. I'd hardly ever talked to my father, much less gotten a compliment.
The goddess Athena cleared her throat and sat forward. "I am proud of my daughter as well. But there is a security risk here with the other two."
"Mother!" Annabeth said. "How can you—"
Athena cut her off with a calm but firm look. "It is unfortunate that my father, Zeus, and my uncle, Poseidon, chose to break their oath not to have more children. Only Hades kept his word, a fact that I find ironic. As we know from the Great Prophecy, children of the three elder gods… such as Thalia and Percy… are dangerous. As thickheaded as he is, Ares has a point."
"Right!" Ares said. "Hey, wait a minute. Who you callin'—"
He started to get up, but a grape vine grew around his waist like a seat belt and pulled him back down.
"Oh, please, Ares," Dionysus sighed. "Save the fighting for later."
Ares cursed and ripped away the vine. "You're one to talk, you old drunk. You seriously want to protect these brats?"
Dionysus gazed down at us wearily. "I have no love for them. Athena, do you truly think it safest to destroy them?"
"I do not pass judgment," Athena said. "I only point out the risk. What we do, the Council must decide."
"I will not have them punished," Artemis said. "I will have them rewarded. If we destroy heroes who do us a great favor, then we are no better than the Titans. If this is Olympian justice, I will have none of it."
"Calm down, sis," Apollo said. "Jeez, you need to lighten up." "Don't call me sis! I will reward them."
"Well," Zeus grumbled. "Perhaps. But the monster at least must be destroyed. We have agreement on that?"
A lot of nodding heads.
It took me a second to realize what they were saying. Then my heart turned to lead. "Bessie? You want to destroy Bessie?"
"Mooooooo!" Bessie protested.
My father frowned. "You have named the Ophiotaurus Bessie?"
"Dad," I said, "he's just a sea creature. A really nice sea creature. You can't destroy
him."
Poseidon shifted uncomfortably. "Percy, the monster's power is considerable. If the Titans were to steal it, or—"
"You can't," I insisted. I looked at Zeus. I probably should have been afraid of him, but I stared him right in the eye. "Controlling the prophecies never works. Isn't that true? Besides, Bess—the Ophiotaurus is innocent. Killing something like that is wrong. It's just as wrong as… as Kronos eating his children, just because of something they might do. It's wrong!"
Zeus seemed to consider this. His eyes drifted to his daughter Thalia. "And what of the risk? Kronos knows full well, if one of you were to sacrifice the beast's entrails, you would have the power to destroy us. Do you think we can let that possibility remain? You, my daughter, will turn sixteen on the morrow, just as the prophecy says."
"You have to trust them," Annabeth spoke up. "Sir, you have to trust them." Zeus scowled. "Trust a hero?"
"Annabeth is right," Artemis said. "Which is why I must first make a reward. My faithful companion, Zoe Nightshade, has passed into the stars. I must have a new lieutenant. And I intend to choose one. But first, Father Zeus, I must speak to you privately."
Zeus beckoned Artemis forward. He leaned down and listened as she spoke in his ear. A feeling of panic seized me. "Annabeth," I said under my breath. "Don't."
She frowned at me. "What?"
"Look, I need to tell you something," I continued. The words came stumbling out of me. "I couldn't stand it if… I don't want you to—"
"Percy?" she said. "You look like you're going to be sick."
And that's how I felt. I wanted to say more, but my tongue betrayed me. It wouldn't move because of the fear in my stomach. And then Artemis turned.
"I shall have a new lieutenant," she announced. "If she will accept it." "No," I murmured.
"Thalia," Artemis said. "Daughter of Zeus. Will you join the Hunt?"
Stunned silence filled the room. I stared at Thalia, unable to believe what I was hearing. Annabeth smiled. She squeezed Thalia's hand and let it go, as if she'd been expecting this all along.
"I will," Thalia said firmly.
Zeus rose, his eyes full of concern. "My daughter, consider well—"
"Father," she said. "I will not turn sixteen tomorrow. I will never turn sixteen. I won't let this prophecy be mine. I stand with my sister Artemis. Kronos will never tempt me again."
She knelt before the goddess and began the words I remembered from Bianca's oath, what seemed like so long ago. "I pledge myself to the goddess Artemis. I turn my back on the company of men…"
Afterward, Thalia did something that surprised me almost as much as the pledge. She came over to me, smiled, and in front of the whole assembly, she gave me a big hug.
I blushed.
When she pulled away and gripped my shoulders, I said, "Um… aren't you supposed to not do that anymore? Hug boys, I mean?"
"I'm honoring a friend," she corrected. "I must join the Hunt, Percy. I haven't known peace since… since Half-Blood Hill. I finally feel like I have a home. But you're a hero. You will be the one of the prophecy."
"Great," I muttered.
"I'm proud to be your friend."
She hugged Annabeth, who was trying hard not to cry. Then she even hugged Grover, who looked ready to pass out, like somebody had just given him an all-you-can-eat enchilada coupon.
Then Thalia went to stand by Artemis's side. "Now for the Ophiotaurus," Artemis said.
"This boy is still dangerous," Dionysus warned. "The beast is a temptation to great power. Even if we spare the boy—"
"No." I looked around at all the gods. "Please. Keep the Ophiotaurus safe. My dad can hide him under the sea somewhere, or keep him in an aquarium here in Olympus. But you have to protect him."
"And why should we trust you?" rumbled Hephaestus.
"I'm only fourteen," I said. "If this prophecy is about me, that's two more years."
"Two years for Kronos to deceive you," Athena said. "Much can change in two years, my young hero."
"Mother!" Annabeth said, exasperated.
"It is only the truth, child. It is bad strategy to keep the animal alive. Or the boy."
My father stood. "I will not have a sea creature destroyed, if I can help it. And I can
help it."
He held out his hand, and a trident appeared in it: a twenty foot long bronze shaft with three spear tips that shimmered with blue, watery light. "I will vouch for the boy and the safety of the Ophiotaurus."
"You won't take it under the sea!" Zeus stood suddenly. "I won't have that kind of bargaining chip in your possession."
"Brother, please," Poseidon sighed.
Zeus's lightning bolt appeared in his hand, a shaft of electricity that filled the whole room with the smell of ozone.
"Fine," Poseidon said. "I will build an aquarium for the creature here. Hephaestus can help me. The creature will be safe. We shall protect it with all our powers. The boy will not betray us. I vouch for this on my honor."
Zeus thought about this. "All in favor?"
To my surprise, a lot of hands went up. Dionysus abstained. So did Ares and Athena.
But everybody else…
"We have a majority," Zeus decreed. "And so, since we will not be destroying these heroes… I imagine we should honor them. Let the triumph celebration begin!"
There are parties, and then there are huge, major, blowout parties. And then there are Olympian parties. If you ever get a choice, go for the Olympian.
The Nine Muses cranked up the tunes, and I realized the music was whatever you wanted it to be: the gods could listen to classical and the younger demigods heard hip-hop or whatever, and it was all the same sound track. No arguments. No fights to change the radio station. Just requests to crank it up.
Dionysus went around growing refreshment stands out of the ground, and a beautiful woman walked with him arm in arm—his wife, Ariadne. Dionysus looked happy for the first time. Nectar and ambrosia overflowed from golden fountains, and platters of mortal snack food crowded the banquet tables. Golden goblets filled with whatever drink you wanted. Grover trotted around with a full plate of tin cans and enchiladas, and his goblet was full of double-espresso latte, which he kept muttering over like an incantation: "Pan! Pan!"
Gods kept coming over to congratulate me. Thankfully, they had reduced themselves to human size, so they didn't accidentally trample partygoers under their feet. Hermes started chatting with me, and he was so cheerful I hated to tell him what had happened to his least- favorite son, Luke, but before I could even get up the courage, Hermes got a call on his caduceus and walked away.
Apollo told me I could drive his sun chariot any time, and if I ever wanted archery lessons—
"Thanks," I told him. "But seriously, I'm no good at archery."
"Ah, nonsense," he said. "Target practice from the chariot as we fly over the U.S.? Best fun there is!"
I made some excuses and wove through the crowds that were dancing in the palace courtyards. I was looking for Annabeth. Last I saw her, she'd been dancing with some minor godling.
Then a man's voice behind me said, "You won't let me down, I hope." I turned and found Poseidon smiling at me.
"Dad… hi."
"Hello, Percy. You've done well."
His praise made me uneasy. I mean, it felt good, but I knew just how much he'd put himself on the line, vouching for me. It would've been a lot easier to let the others disintegrate me.
"I won't let you down," I promised.
He nodded. I had trouble reading gods' emotions, but I wondered if he had some doubts. "Your friend Luke—"
"He's not my friend," I blurted out. Then I realized it was probably rude to interrupt. "Sorry."
"Your former friend Luke," Poseidon corrected. "He once promised things like that. He was Hermes's pride and joy. Just bear that in mind, Percy. Even the bravest can fall."
"Luke fell pretty hard," I agreed. "He's dead." Poseidon shook his head. "No, Percy. He is not." I stared at him. "What?"
"I believe Annabeth told you this. Luke still lives. I have seen it. His boat sails from San Francisco with the remains of Kronos even now. He will retreat and regroup before assaulting you again. I will do my best to destroy his boat with storms, but he is making alliances with my enemies, the older spirits of the ocean. They will fight to protect him."
"How can he be alive?" I said. "That fall should've killed him!"
Poseidon looked troubled. "I don't know, Percy, but beware of him. He is more dangerous than ever. And the golden coffin is still with him, still growing in strength."
"What about Atlas?" I said. "What's to prevent him from escaping again? Couldn't he just force some giant or something to take the sky for him?"
My father snorted in derision. "If it were so easy, he would have escaped long ago. No, my son. The curse of the sky can only be forced upon a Titan, one of the children of Gaia and Ouranous. Anyone else must choose to take the burden of their own free will. Only a hero, someone with strength, a true heart, and great courage, would do such a thing. No one in Kronos's army would dare try to bear that weight, even upon pain of death."
"Luke did it," I said. "He let Atlas go. Then he tricked Annabeth into saving him and used her to convince Artemis to take the sky."
"Yes," Poseidon said. "Luke is… an interesting case."
I think he wanted to say more, but just then, Bessie started mooing from across the courtyard. Some demigods were playing with his water sphere, joyously pushing it back and forth over the top of the crowd,
"I'd better take care of that," Poseidon grumbled. "We can't have the Ophiotaurus tossed around like a beach ball. Be good, my son. We may not speak again for some time."
And just like that he was gone.
I was about to keep searching the crowd when another voice spoke. "Your father takes a great risk, you know."
I found myself face-to-face with a gray-eyed woman who looked so much like Annabeth I almost called her that.
"Athena." I tried not to sound resentful, after the way she'd written me off in the council, but I guess I didn't hide it very well.
She smiled dryly. "Do not judge me too harshly, half-blood. Wise counsel is not always popular, but I spoke the truth. You are dangerous."
"You never take risks?"
She nodded. "I concede the point. You may perhaps be useful. And yet… your fatal flaw may destroy us as well as yourself."
My heart crept into my throat. A year ago, Annabeth and I had had a talk about fatal flaws. Every hero had one. Hers, she said, was pride. She believed she could do anything… like holding up the world, for instance. Or saving Luke. But I didn't really know what mine was.
Athena looked almost sorry for me. "Kronos knows your flaw, even if you do not. He knows how to study his enemies. Think, Percy. How has he manipulated you? First, your
mother was taken from you. Then your best friend, Grover. Now my daughter, Annabeth." She paused, disapproving. "In each case, your loved ones have been used to lure you into Kronos's traps. Your fatal flaw is personal loyalty, Percy. You do not know when it is time to cut your losses. To save a friend, you would sacrifice the world. In a hero of the prophecy, that is very, very dangerous."
I balled my fists. "That's not a flaw. Just because I want to help my friends—"
"The most dangerous flaws are those which are good in moderation," she said. "Evil is easy to fight. Lack of wisdom… that is very hard indeed."
I wanted to argue, but I found I couldn't. Athena was pretty darn smart.
"I hope the Council's decisions prove wise," Athena said. "But I will be watching, Percy Jackson. I do not approve of your friendship with my daughter. I do not think it wise for either of you. And should you begin to waver in your loyalties…"
She fixed me with her cold gray stare, and I realized what a terrible enemy Athena would make, ten times worse than Ares or Dionysus or maybe even my father. Athena would never give up. She would never do something rash or stupid just because she hated you, and if she made a plan to destroy you, it would not fail.
"Percy!" Annabeth said, running through the crowd. She stopped short when she saw who I was talking to. "Oh… Mom."
"I will leave you," Athena said. "For now."
She turned and strode through the crowds, which parted before her as if she were carrying Aegis.
"Was she giving you a hard time?" Annabeth asked. "No," I said. "It's… fine."
She studied me with concern. She touched the new streak of gray in my hair that matched hers exactly—our painful souvenir from holding Atlas's burden. There was a lot I'd wanted to say to Annabeth, but Athena had taken the confidence out of me. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
I do not approve of your friendship with my daughter.
"So," Annabeth said. "What did you want to tell me earlier?"
The music was playing. People were dancing in the streets. I said, "I, uh, was thinking we got interrupted at Westover Hall. And… I think I owe you a dance."
She smiled slowly. "All right, Seaweed Brain."
So I took her hand, and I don't know what everybody else heard, but to me it sounded like a slow dance: a little sad, but maybe a little hopeful, too.
TWENTY
I GET A NEW ENEMY FOR CHRISTMAS
Before I left Olympus, I decided to make a few calls. It wasn't easy, but I finally found a quiet fountain in a corner garden and sent an Iris-message to my brother, Tyson, under the sea. I told him about our adventures, and Bessie—he wanted to hear every detail about the cute baby cow serpent—and I assured him that Annabeth was safe. Finally I got around to explaining how the shield he'd made me last summer had been damaged in the manticore attack.
"Yay!" Tyson said. "That means it was good! It saved your life!" "It sure did, big guy," I said. "But now it's ruined."
"Not ruined!" Tyson promised. "I will visit and fix it next summer."
The idea picked me up instantly. I guess I hadn't realized how much I missed having Tyson around.
"Seriously?" I asked. "They'll let you take time off?"
"Yes! I have made two thousand seven hundred and forty-one magic swords," Tyson said proudly, showing me the newest blade. "The boss says 'good work'! He will let me take the whole summer off. I will visit camp!"
We talked for a while about war preparations and our dad's fight with the old sea gods, and all the cool things we could do together next summer, but then Tyson's boss started yelling at him and he had to get back to work.
I dug out my last golden drachma and made one more Iris-message. "Sally Jackson," I said. "Upper East Side, Manhattan."
The mist shimmered, and there was my mom at our kitchen table, laughing and holding hands with her friend Mr. Blowfish.
I felt so embarrassed, I was about to wave my hand through the mist and cut the connection, but before I could, my mom saw me.
Her eyes got wide. She let go of Mr. Blowfish's hand real quick. "Oh, Paul! You know what? I left my writing journal in the living room. Would you mind getting it for me?"
"Sure, Sally. No problem."
He left the room, and instantly my mom leaned toward the Iris-message. "Percy! Are you all right?"
"I'm, uh, fine. How's that writing seminar going?"
She pursed her lips. "It's fine. But that's not important. Tell me what's happened!"
I filled her in as quickly as I could. She sighed with relief when she heard that Annabeth was safe.
"I knew you could do it!" she said. "I'm so proud."
"Yeah, well, I'd better let you get back to your homework." "Percy, I… Paul and I—"
"Mom, are you happy?"
The question seemed to take her by surprise. She thought for a moment. "Yes. I really am, Percy. Being around him makes me happy."
"Then it's cool. Seriously. Don't worry about me." The funny thing was, I meant it. Considering the quest I'd just had, maybe I should have been worried for my mom. I'd seen just how mean people could be to each other, like Hercules was to Zoe Nightshade, like Luke was to Thalia. I'd met Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, in person, and her powers had scared me worse than Ares. But seeing my mother laughing and smiling, after all the years she'd suffered with my nasty ex-stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, I couldn't help feeling happy for her.
"You promise not to call him Mr. Blowfish?" she asked. I shrugged. "Well, maybe not to his face, anyway."
"Sally?" Mr. Blofis called from our living room. "You need the green binder or the red
one?"
"I'd better go," she told me. "See you for Christmas?" "Are you putting blue candy in my stocking?"
She smiled. "If you're not too old for that." "I'm never too old for candy."
"I'll see you then."
She waved her hand across the mist. Her image disappeared, and I thought to myself that Thalia had been right, so many days ago at Westover Hall: my mom really was pretty cool.
Compared to Mount Olympus, Manhattan was quiet. Friday before Christmas, but it was early in the morning, and hardly anyone was on Fifth Avenue. Argus, the many-eyed
security chief, picked up Annabeth, Grover, and me at the Empire State Building and ferried us back to camp through a light snowstorm. The Long Island Expressway was almost deserted.
As we trudged back up Half-Blood Hill to the pine tree where the Golden Fleece glittered, I half expected to see Thalia there, waiting for us. But she wasn't. She was long gone with Artemis and the rest of the Hunters, off on their next adventure.
Chiron greeted us at the Big House with hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. Grover went off with his satyr friends to spread the word about our strange encounter with the magic of Pan. Within an hour, the satyrs were all running around agitated, asking where the nearest espresso bar was.
Annabeth and I sat with Chiron and some of the other senior campers—Beckendorf, Silena Beauregard, and the Stoll brothers. Even Clarisse from the Ares cabin was there, back from her secretive scouting mission. I knew she must've had a difficult quest, because she didn't even try to pulverize me. She had a new scar on her chin, and her dirty blond hair had been cut short and ragged, like someone had attacked it with a pair of safety scissors.
"I got news," she mumbled uneasily. "Bad news."
"I'll fill you in later," Chiron said with forced cheerfulness. "The important thing is you have prevailed. And you saved Annabeth!"
Annabeth smiled at me gratefully, which made me look away.
For some strange reason, I found myself thinking about Hoover Dam, and the odd mortal girl I'd run into there, Rachel Elizabeth Dare. I didn't know why, but her annoying comments kept coming back to me. Do you always kill people when they blow their nose? I was only alive because so many people had helped me, even a random mortal girl like that. I'd never even explained to her who I was.
"Luke is alive," I said. "Annabeth was right." Annabeth sat up. "How do you know?"
I tried not to feel annoyed by her interest. I told her what my dad had said about the
Princess Andromeda.
"Well." Annabeth shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "If the final battle does come when Percy is sixteen, at least we have two more years to figure something out."
I had a feeling that when she said "figure something out," she meant "get Luke to change his ways," which annoyed me even more.
Chiron's expression was gloomy. Sitting by the fire in his wheelchair, he looked really old. I mean… he was really old, but he usually didn't look it.
"Two years may seem like a long time," he said. "But it is the blink of an eye. I still hope you are not the child of the prophecy, Percy. But if you are, then the second Titan war is almost upon us. Kronos's first strike will be here."
"How do you know?" I asked. "Why would he care about camp?"
"Because the gods use heroes as their tools," Chiron said simply. "Destroy the tools, and the gods will be crippled. Luke's forces will come here. Mortal, demigod, monstrous… We must be prepared. Clarisse's news may give us a clue as to how they will attack, but—"
There was a knock on the door, and Nico di Angelo came huffing into the parlor, his cheeks bright red from the cold.
He was smiling, but he looked around anxiously. "Hey! Where's… where's my sister?"
Dead silence. I stared at Chiron. I couldn't believe nobody had told him yet. And then I realized why. They'd been waiting for us to appear, to tell Nico in person.
That was the last thing I wanted to do. But I owed it to Bianca.
"Hey, Nico." I got up from my comfortable chair. "Let's take a walk, okay? We need to
talk."
He took the news in silence, which somehow made it worse. I kept talking, trying to explain how it had happened, how Bianca had sacrificed herself to save the quest. But I felt like I was only making things worse.
"She wanted you to have this." I brought out the little god figurine Bianca had found in the junkyard. Nico held it in his palm and stared at it.
We were standing at the dining pavilion, just where we'd last spoken before I went on the quest. The wind was bitter cold, even with the camp's magical weather protection. Snow fell lightly against the marble steps. I figured outside the camp borders, there must be a blizzard happening.
"You promised you would protect her," Nico said.
He might as well have stabbed me with a rusty dagger. It would've hurt less than reminding me of my promise.
"Nico," I said. "I tried. But Bianca gave herself up to save the rest of us. I told her not to. But she—"
"You promised!"
He glared at me, his eyes rimmed with red. He closed his small fist around the god statue.
"I shouldn't have trusted you." His voice broke. "You lied to me. My nightmares were right!"
"Wait. What nightmares?"
He flung the god statue to the ground. It clattered across the icy marble. "I hate you!" "She might be alive," I said desperately. "I don't know for sure—"
"She's dead." He closed his eyes. His whole body trembled with rage. "I should've known it earlier. She's in the Fields of Asphodel, standing before the judges right now, being evaluated. I can feel it."
"What do you mean, you can feel it?"
Before he could answer, I heard a new sound behind me. A hissing, clattering noise I recognized all too well.
I drew my sword and Nico gasped. I whirled and found myself facing four skeleton warriors. They grinned fleshless grins and advanced with swords drawn. I wasn't sure how they'd made it inside the camp, but it didn't matter. I'd never get help in time.
"You're trying to kill me!" Nico screamed. "You brought these… these things?" "No! I mean, yes, they followed me, but no! Nico, run. They can't be destroyed." "I don't trust you!"
The first skeleton charged. I knocked aside its blade, but the other three kept coming. I sliced one in half, but immediately it began to knit back together. I knocked another's head off but it just kept fighting.
"Run, Nico!" I yelled. "Get help!" "No!" He pressed his hands to his ears.
I couldn't fight four at once, not if they wouldn't die. I slashed, whirled, blocked, jabbed, but they just kept advancing. It was only a matter of seconds before the zombies overpowered me.
"No!" Nico shouted louder. "Go away!"
The ground rumbled beneath me. The skeletons froze. I rolled out of the way just as a crack opened at the feet of the four warriors. The ground ripped apart like a snapping mouth. Flames erupted from the fissure, and the earth swallowed the skeletons in one loud CRUNCH!
Silence.
In the place where the skeletons had stood, a twenty-foot-long scar wove across the marble floor of the pavilion. Otherwise there was no sign of the warriors.
Awestruck, I looked to Nico. "How did you—"
"Go away!" he yelled. "I hate you! I wish you were dead!"
The ground didn't swallow me up, but Nico ran down the steps, heading toward the woods. I started to follow but slipped and fell to the icy steps. When I got up, I noticed what I'd slipped on.
I picked up the god statue Bianca had retrieved from the junkyard for Nico. The only statue he didn't have, she'd said. A last gift from his sister.
I stared at it with dread, because now I understood why the face looked familiar. I'd seen it before.
It was a statue of Hades, Lord of the Dead.
Annabeth and Grover helped me search the woods for hours, but there was no sign of Nico di Angelo.
"We have to tell Chiron," Annabeth said, out of breath. "No," I said.
She and Grover both stared at me.
"Um," Grover said nervously, "what do you mean… no?
I was still trying to figure out why I'd said that, but the words spilled out of me. "We can't let anyone know. I don't think anyone realizes that Nico is a—"
"A son of Hades," Annabeth said. "Percy, do you have any idea how serious this is?
Even Hades broke the oath! This is horrible!"
"I don't think so," I said. "I don't think Hades broke the oath."
"What?"
"He's their dad," I said, "but Bianca and Nico have been out of commission for a long time, since even before World War II."
"The Lotus Casino!" Grover said, and he told Annabeth about the conversations we'd had with Bianca on the quest. "She and Nico were stuck there for decades. They were born before the oath was made."
I nodded.
"But how did they get out?" Annabeth protested.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Bianca said a lawyer came and got them and drove them to Westover Hall. I don't know who that could've been, or why. Maybe it's part of this Great Stirring thing. I don't think Nico understands who he is. But we can't go telling anyone. Not even Chiron. If the Olympians find out—"
"It might start them fighting among each other again," Annabeth said. "That's the last thing we need."
Grover looked worried. "But you can't hide things from the gods. Not forever." "I don't need forever," I said. "Just two years. Until I'm sixteen."
Annabeth paled. "But, Percy, this means the prophecy might not be about you. It might be about Nico.We have to—"
"No," I said. "I choose the prophecy. It will be about me."
"Why are you saying that?" she cried. "You want to be responsible for the whole world?"
It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger," I said. "I owe that much to his sister. I… let
them both down. I'm not going to let that poor kid suffer any more."
"The poor kid who hates you and wants to see you dead," Grover reminded me.
"Maybe we can find him," I said. "We can convince him it's okay, hide him someplace
safe."
Annabeth shivered. "If Luke gets hold of him—"
"Luke won't," I said. "I'll make sure he's got other things to worry about. Namely, me."
I wasn't sure Chiron believed the story Annabeth and I told him. I think he could tell I was holding something back about Nico's disappearance, but in the end, he accepted it. Unfortunately, Nico wasn't the first half-blood to disappear.
"So young," Chiron sighed, his hands on the rail of the front porch. "Alas, I hope he was eaten by monsters. Much better than being recruited into the Titans' army."
That idea made me really uneasy. I almost changed my mind about telling Chiron, but I didn't.
"You really think the first attack will be here?" I asked.
Chiron stared at the snow falling on the hills. I could see smoke from the dragon guardian at the pine tree, the glitter of the distant Fleece.
"It will not be until summer, at least," Chiron said. This winter will be hard… the hardest for many centuries. It's best that you go home to the city, Percy; try to keep your mind on school. And rest. You will need rest."
I looked at Annabeth. "What about you?"
Her cheeks flushed. "I'm going to try San Francisco after all. Maybe I can keep an eye on Mount Tam, make sure the Titans don't try anything else."
"You'll send an Iris-message if anything goes wrong?"
She nodded. "But I think Chiron's right. It won't be until the summer. Luke will need time to regain his strength."
I didn't like the idea of waiting. Then again, next August I would be turning fifteen. So close to sixteen I didn't want to think about it.
"All right," I said. "Just take care of yourself. And no crazy stunts in the Sopwith Camel."
She smiled tentatively. "Deal. And, Percy—"
Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by Grover, who stumbled out of the Big House, tripping over tin cans. His face was haggard and pale, like he'd seen a specter.
"He spoke.'" Grover cried.
"Calm down, my young satyr," Chiron said, frowning. "What is the matter?"
"I… I was playing music in the parlor," he stammered, "and drinking coffee. Lots and lots of coffee! And he spoke in my mind!"
"Who?" Annabeth demanded.
"Pan!" Grover wailed. "The Lord of the Wild himself. I heard him! I have to… I have to find a suitcase."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I said. "What did he say?"
Grover stared at me. "Just three words. He said, 'I await you...'"
👁 :
The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the steamers one hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it. The “Mongolia,” thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so rapid was her speed, to reach her destination considerably within that time. The greater part of the passengers from Brindisi were bound for India some for Bombay, others for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses the Indian peninsula. Among the passengers was a number of officials and military officers of various grades, the latter being either attached to the regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops, and receiving high salaries ever since the central government has assumed the powers of the East India Company: for the sub-lieutenants get £280, brigadiers, £2,400, and generals of divisions, £4,000. What with the military men, a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the “Mongolia.” The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the eight o’clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously changed their toilets twice a day; and the hours were whirled away, when the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games.
But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most long and narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African or Asian coast the “Mongolia,” with her long hull, rolled fearfully. Then the ladies speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancing suddenly ceased. Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. What was Phileas Fogg doing all this time? It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would be constantly watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging of the billows—every chance, in short, which might force the “Mongolia” to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey. But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by any outward sign.
Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship’s chronometers, and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference; did not care to recognise the historic towns and villages which, along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky; and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices. How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the “Mongolia”? He made his four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent rolling and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist indefatigably, for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself. A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith, returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-general of the English army, who was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party, and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence.
As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his meals conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed the voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in the scenes through which they were passing, and consoled himself with the delusion that his master’s whim would end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day after leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging person with whom he had walked and chatted on the quays.
“If I am not mistaken,” said he, approaching this person, with his most amiable smile, “you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered to guide me at Suez?”
“Ah! I quite recognise you. You are the servant of the strange Englishman—”
“Just so, monsieur—”
“Fix.”
“Monsieur Fix,” resumed Passepartout, “I’m charmed to find you on board. Where are you bound?”
“Like you, to Bombay.”
“That’s capital! Have you made this trip before?”
“Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company.”
“Then you know India?”
“Why yes,” replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.
“A curious place, this India?”
“Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas, tigers, snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see the sights.”
“I hope so, Monsieur Fix. You see, a man of sound sense ought not to spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train, and from a railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour of the world in eighty days! No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure, will cease at Bombay.”
“And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?” asked Fix, in the most natural tone in the world.
“Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre; it’s the sea air.”
“But I never see your master on deck.”
“Never; he hasn’t the least curiosity.”
“Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty days may conceal some secret errand—perhaps a diplomatic mission?”
“Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor would I give half a crown to find out.”
After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of chatting together, the latter making it a point to gain the worthy man’s confidence. He frequently offered him a glass of whiskey or pale ale in the steamer bar-room, which Passepartout never failed to accept with graceful alacrity, mentally pronouncing Fix the best of good fellows.
Meanwhile the “Mongolia” was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th, Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing, was sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields. Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought that, with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an immense coffee-cup and saucer. The following night they passed through the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic “The Bridge of Tears,” and the next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of Aden harbour, to take in coal. This matter of fuelling steamers is a serious one at such distances from the coal-mines; it costs the Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a year. In these distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds sterling a ton.
The “Mongolia” had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to traverse before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at Steamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was foreseen, did not affect Phileas Fogg’s programme; besides, the “Mongolia,” instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due, arrived there on the evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.
Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport again visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa procured, Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits; while Passepartout, according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed population of Somalis, Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who comprise the twenty-five thousand inhabitants of Aden. He gazed with wonder upon the fortifications which make this place the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns where the English engineers were still at work, two thousand years after the engineers of Solomon.
“Very curious, very curious,” said Passepartout to himself, on returning to the steamer. “I see that it is by no means useless to travel, if a man wants to see something new.” At six p.m. the “Mongolia” slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon once more on the Indian Ocean. She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours in which to reach Bombay, and the sea was favourable, the wind being in the north-west, and all sails aiding the engine. The steamer rolled but little, the ladies, in fresh toilets, reappeared on deck, and the singing and dancing were resumed. The trip was being accomplished most successfully, and Passepartout was enchanted with the congenial companion which chance had secured him in the person of the delightful Fix. On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they came in sight of the Indian coast: two hours later the pilot came on board. A range of hills lay against the sky in the horizon, and soon the rows of palms which adorn Bombay came distinctly into view. The steamer entered the road formed by the islands in the bay, and at half-past four she hauled up at the quays of Bombay.
Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber of the voyage, and his partner and himself having, by a bold stroke, captured all thirteen of the tricks, concluded this fine campaign with a brilliant victory.
The “Mongolia” was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the 20th. This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his departure from London, and he calmly entered the fact in the itinerary, in the column of gains.
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Take nine-and-twenty sunny, bracing English May days, steal from March as many still, starry nights, to these add two rainy mornings and evenings, and the product will resemble a typical Indian January. This is the coolest month in the year, a month when the climate is invigorating and the sunshine temperate. But even in January the sun's rays have sufficient power to cause the thermometer to register 70° in the shade at noon, save on an occasional cloudy day.
Sunset is marked by a sudden fall of temperature. The village smoke then hangs a few feet above the earth like a blue-grey diaphanous cloud.
The cold increases throughout the hours of darkness. In the Punjab hoar-frosts form daily; and in the milder United Provinces the temperature often falls sufficiently to allow of the formation of thin sheets of ice. Towards dawn mists collect which are not dispersed until the sun has shone upon them for several hours. The vultures await the dissipation of these vapours before they ascend to the upper air, there to soar on outstretched wings and scan the earth for food.
On New Year's Day the wheat, the barley, the gram, and the other Spring crops are well above the ground, and, ere January has given place to February, the emerald shoots of the corn attain a height of fully sixteen inches. On these the geese levy toll.
Light showers usually fall in January. These are very welcome to the agriculturalist because they impart vigour to the young crops. In the seasons when the earth is not blessed with the refreshing winter rain men and oxen are kept busy irrigating the fields. The cutting and the pressing of the sugar-cane employ thousands of husbandmen and their cattle. In almost every village little sugar-cane presses are being worked by oxen from sunrise to sunset. At night-time the country-side is illumined by the flames of the megas burned by the rustic sugar-boilers.
January is the month in which the avian population attains its maximum. Geese, ducks, teal, pelicans, cormorants, snake-birds and ospreys abound in the rivers and jhils; the marshes and swamps are the resort of millions of snipe and other waders; the fields and groves swarm with flycatchers, chats, starlings, warblers, finches, birds of prey and the other migrants which in winter visit the plains from the Himalayas and the country beyond.
The bracing climate of the Punjab attracts some cold-loving species for which the milder United Provinces have no charms. Conspicuous among these are rooks, ravens and jackdaws. On the other hand, frosts drive away from the Land of the Five Rivers certain of the feathered folk which do not leave the United Provinces or Bengal: to wit, the purple sunbird, the bee-eater and, to a large extent, the king-crow.
The activity of the feathered folk is not at its height in January. Birds are warm-blooded creatures and they love not the cold. Comparatively few of them are in song, and still fewer nest, at this season.
Song and sound are expressions of energy. Birds have more vitality, more life in them than has any other class of organism. They are, therefore, the most noisy of beings.
Many of the calls of birds are purposeful, being used to express pleasure or anger, or to apprise members of a flock of one another's presence. Others appear to serve no useful end. These are simply the outpourings of superfluous energy, the expressions of the supreme happiness that perfect health engenders. Since the vigour of birds is greatest at the nesting season, it follows that that is the time when they are most vociferous. Some birds sing only at the breeding season, while others emit their cries at all times. Hence the avian choir in India, as in all other countries, is composed of two sets of vocalists—those who perform throughout the year, "the musicians of all times and places," and those who join the chorus only for a few weeks or months. The calls of the former class go far to create for India its characteristic atmosphere. To enumerate all such bird calls would be wearisome. For the purposes of this calendar it is necessary to describe only the common daily cries—the sounds that at all times and all seasons form the basis of the avian chorus.
From early dawn till nightfall the welkin rings with the harsh caw of the house-crow, the deeper note of the black crow or corby, the tinkling music of the bulbuls, the cheery keky, keky, kek, kek ... chur, chur, kok, kok, kok of the myna, the monotonous cuckoo-coo-coo of the spotted dove (Turtur suratensis), the soft subdued cuk-cuk-coo-coo-coo of the little brown dove (T. cambayensis), the mechanical ku-ku—ku of the ring-dove (T. risorius), the loud penetrating shrieks of the green parrot, the trumpet-like calls of the saras crane, the high-pitched did-he-do-it of the red-wattled lapwing, the wailing trill chee-hee-hee-hee hee—hee of the kite, the hard grating notes and the metallic coch-lee, coch-lee of the tree-pie; the sharp towee, towee, towee of the tailor-bird, the soft melodious cheeping calls of the flocks of little white-eyes, the chit, chit, chitter of the sparrow, the screaming cries of the golden-backed woodpecker, the screams and the trills of the white-breasted kingfisher, the curious harsh clamour of the cuckoo-shrike, and, last but by no means least, the sweet and cheerful whistling refrain of the fan-tail flycatcher, which at frequent intervals emanates from a tree in the garden or the mango tope. Nor is the bird choir altogether hushed during the hours of darkness. Throughout the year, more especially on moonlit nights, the shrieking kucha, kwachee, kwachee, kwachee, kwachee of the little spotted owlet disturbs the silences of the moon. Few nights pass on which the dusky horned owl fails to utter his grunting hoot, or the jungle owlet to emit his curious but not unpleasant turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, turtuck, tukatu, chatuckatuckatuck.
The above are the commonest of the bird calls heard throughout the year. They form the basis of the avian melody in India. This melody is reinforced from time to time by the songs of those birds that may be termed the seasonal choristers. It is the presence or absence of the voices of these latter which imparts distinctive features to the minstrelsy of every month of the year.
In January the sprightly little metallic purple sunbird pours forth, from almost every tree or bush, his powerful song, which, were it a little less sharp, might easily be mistaken for that of a canary.
From every mango tope emanates a loud "Think of me ... Never to be." This is the call of the grey-headed flycatcher (Culicicapa ceylonensis), a bird that visits the plains of northern India every winter. In summer it retires to the Himalayas for nesting purposes. Still more melodious is the call of the wood-shrike, which is frequently heard at this season, and indeed during the greater part of the year.
Every now and again the green barbet emits his curious chuckling laugh, followed by a monotonous kutur, kutur, kuturuk. At rare intervals his cousin, the coppersmith, utters a soft wow and thereby reminds us that he is in the land of the living. These two species, more especially the latter, seem to dislike the cold weather. They revel in the heat; it is when the thermometer stands at something over 100° in the shade that they feel like giants refreshed, and repeat their loud calls with wearying insistence throughout the hours of daylight.
The nuthatches begin to tune up in January. They sing with more cheer than harmony, their love-song being a sharp penetrating tee-tee-tee-tee-tee.
The hoopoe reminds us of his presence by an occasional soft uk-uk-uk. His breeding season, like that of the nuthatch, is about to begin.
The magpie-robin or dhayal, who for months past has uttered no sound, save a scolding note when occasion demanded, now begins to make melody. His January song, however, is harsh and crude, and not such as to lead one to expect the rich deep-toned music that will compel admiration in April, May and June.
Towards the end of the month the fluty call of the koel, another hot-weather chorister, may be heard in the eastern portions of northern India.
Most of the cock sunbirds cast off their workaday plumage and assumed their splendid metallic purple wedding garment in November and December, a few, however, do not attain their full glory until January. By the end of the month it is difficult to find a cock that is not bravely attired from head to tail in iridescent purple.
Comparatively few birds build their nests in January. Needless to state, doves' nests containing eggs may be found at this season as at all other seasons. It is no exaggeration to assert that some pairs of doves rear up seven or eight broods in the course of the year. The consequence is that, notwithstanding the fact that the full clutch consists of but two eggs, doves share with crows, mynas, sparrows and green parrots the distinction of being the most successful birds in India.
The nest of the dove is a subject over which most ornithologists have waxed sarcastic. One writer compares the structure to a bundle of spillikins. Another says, "Upset a box of matches in a bush and you will have produced a very fair imitation of a dove's nursery!" According to a third, the best way to make an imitation dove's nest is to take four slender twigs, lay two of them on a branch and then place the remaining two crosswise on top of the first pair. For all this, the dove's nest is a wonderful structure; it is a lesson in how to make a little go a long way. Doves seem to place their nurseries haphazard on the first branch or ledge they come across after the spirit has moved them to build. The nest appears to be built solely on considerations of hygiene. Ample light and air are a sine qua non; concealment appears to be a matter of no importance.
In India winter is the time of year at which the larger birds of prey, both diurnal and nocturnal, rear up their broods. Throughout January the white-backed vultures are occupied in parental duties. The breeding season of these birds begins in October or November and ends in February or March. The nest, which is placed high up in a lofty tree, is a large platform composed of twigs which the birds themselves break off from the growing tree. Much amusement may be derived from watching the struggles of a white-backed vulture when severing a tough branch. Its wing-flapping and its tugging cause a great commotion in the tree. The boughs used by vultures for their nests are mostly covered with green leaves. These last wither soon after the branch has been plucked, so that, after the first few days of its existence, the nest looks like a great ball of dead leaves caught in a tree.
The nurseries of birds of prey can be described neither as picturesque nor as triumphs of architecture, but they have the great merit of being easy to see. January is the month in which to look for the eyries of Bonelli's eagles (Hieraetus fasciatus); not that the search is likely to be successful. The high cliffs of the Jumna and the Chambal in the Etawah district are the only places where the nests of this fine eagle have been recorded in the United Provinces. Mr. A. J. Currie has found the nest on two occasions in a mango tree in a tope at Lahore. In each case the eyrie was a flat platform of sticks about twice the size of a kite's nest. The ground beneath the eyrie was littered with fowls' feathers and pellets of skin, fur and bone. Most of these pellets contained squirrels' skulls; and Mr. Currie actually saw one of the parent birds fly to the nest with a squirrel in its talons.
Bonelli's eagle, when sailing through the air, may be recognised by the long, hawk-like wings and tail, the pale body and dark brown wings. It soars in circles, beating its pinions only occasionally.
The majority of the tawny eagles (Aquila vindhiana) build their nests in December. By the middle of January many of the eggs have yielded nestlings which are covered with white down. In size and appearance the tawny eagle is not unlike a kite. The shape of the tail, however, enables the observer to distinguish between the two species at a glance. The tail of the kite is long and forked, while that of the eagle is short and rounded at the extremity. The Pallas's fishing-eagles (Haliaetus leucoryphus) are likewise busy feeding their young. These fine birds are readily identified by the broad white band in the tail. Their loud resonant but unmelodious calls make it possible to recognise them when they are too far off for the white tail band to be distinguished.
This species is called a fishing-eagle; but it does not indulge much in the piscatorial art. It prefers to obtain its food by robbing ospreys, kites, marsh-harriers and other birds weaker than itself. So bold is it that it frequently swoops down and carries off a dead or wounded duck shot by the sportsman. Another raptorial bird of which the nest is likely to be found in January is the Turumti or red-headed merlin (Aesalon chicquera). The nesting season of this ferocious pigmy extends from January to May, reaching its height during March in the United Provinces and during April in the Punjab.
As a general rule birds begin nesting operations in the Punjab from fifteen to thirty days later than in the United Provinces. Unless expressly stated the times mentioned in this calendar relate to the United Provinces. The nest of the red-headed merlin is a compact circular platform, about twelve inches in diameter, placed in a fork near the top of a tree.
The attention of the observer is often drawn to the nests of this species, as also to those of other small birds of prey and of the kite, by the squabbles that occur between them and the crows. Both species of crow seem to take great delight in teasing raptorial birds. Sometimes two or three of the corvi act as if they had formed a league for the prevention of nest-building on the part of white-eyed buzzards, kites, shikras and other of the lesser birds of prey. The modus operandi of the league is for two or more of its members to hie themselves to the tree in which the victim is building its nest, take up positions near that structure and begin to caw derisively. This invariably provokes the owners of the nest to attack the black villains, who do not resist, but take to their wings. The angry, swearing builders follow in hot pursuit for a short distance and then fly back to the nest. After a few minutes the crows return. Then the performance is repeated; and so on, almost ad infinitum. The result is that many pairs of birds of prey take three weeks or longer to construct a nest which they could have completed within a week had they been unmolested.
Most of the larger owls are now building nests or sitting on eggs; a few are seeking food for their offspring. As owls work on silent wing at night, they escape the attentions of the crows and the notice of the average human being. The nocturnal birds of prey of which nests are likely to be found in January are the brown fish-owl (Ketupa ceylonensis) and the rock and the dusky horned-owls (Bubo bengalensis and B. coromandus). The dusky horned-owl builds a stick nest in a tree, the rock horned-owl lays its eggs on the bare ground or on the ledge of a cliff, while the brown fish-owl makes a nest among the branches or in a hollow in the trunk of a tree or on the ledge of a cliff.
In the Punjab the ravens, which in many respects ape the manners of birds of prey, are now nesting. A raven's nest is a compact collection of twigs. It is usually placed in an isolated tree of no great size.
The Indian raven has not the austere habits of its English brother. It is fond of the society of its fellows. The range of this fine bird in the plains of India is confined to the North-West Frontier Province Sind, and the Punjab.
An occasional pair of kites may be seen at work nest-building during the present month.
Some of the sand-martins (Cotyle sinensis), likewise, are engaged in family duties. The river bank in which a colony of these birds is nesting is the scene of much animation. The bank is riddled with holes, each of which, being the entrance to a martin's nest, is visited a score of times an hour by the parent birds, bringing insects captured while flying over the water.
Some species of munia breed at this time of the year. The red munia, or amadavat, or lal (Estrelda amandava) is, next to the paroquet, the bird most commonly caged in India. This little exquisite is considerably smaller than a sparrow. Its bill is bright crimson, and there is some red or crimson in the plumage—more in the cock than in the hen, and most in both sexes at the breeding season. The remainder of the plumage is brown, but is everywhere heavily spotted with white. In a state of nature these birds affect long grass, for they feed largely, if not entirely, on grass seed. The cock has a sweet voice, which, although feeble, is sufficiently loud to be heard at some distance and is frequently uttered.
The nest of the amadavat is large for the size of the bird, being a loosely-woven cup, which is egg-shaped and has a hole at or near the narrow end. It is composed of fine grass stems and is often lined with soft material. It is usually placed in the middle of a bush, sometimes in a tussock of grass. From six to fourteen eggs are laid. These are white in colour. This species appears to breed twice in the year—from October to February and again from June to August.
The white-throated munia (Uroloncha malabarica) is a dull brown bird, with a white patch above the tail. Its throat is yellowish white. The old name for the bird—the plain brown munia—seems more appropriate than that with which the species has since been saddled by Blanford. The nest of this little bird is more loosely put together and more globular than that of the amadavat. It is usually placed low down in a thorny bush. The number of eggs laid varies from six to fifteen. These, like those of the red munia, are white. June seems to be the only month in the year in which the eggs of this species have not been found. In the United Provinces more nests containing eggs are discovered in January than in any other month.
Occasionally in January a pair of hoopoes (Upupa indica) steals a march on its brethren by selecting a nesting site and laying eggs. Hoopoes nest in holes in trees or buildings. The aperture to the nest cavity is invariably small. The hen hoopoe alone incubates, and as, when once she has begun to sit, she rarely, if ever, leaves the nest till the eggs are hatched, the cock has to bring food to her. But, to describe the nesting operations of the hoopoe in January is like talking of cricket in April. It is in February and March that the hoopoes nest in their millions, and call softly, from morn till eve, uk-uk-uk.
Of the other birds which nest later in the season mention must be made in the calendar for the present month of the Indian cliff-swallow (Hirundo fluvicola) and the blue rock-pigeon (Columba intermedia), because their nests are sometimes seen in January.
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There's perfume upon every wind,
Music in every tree,
Dews for the moisture-loving flowers,
Sweets for the sucking-bee.
N. P. WILLIS.
Even as January in northern India may be compared to a month made up of English May days and March nights, so may the Indian February be likened to a halcyon month composed of sparkling, sun-steeped June days and cool starlit April nights.
February is the most pleasant month of the whole year in both the Punjab and the United Provinces; even November must yield the palm to it. The climate is perfect. The nights and early mornings are cool and invigorating; the remainder of each day is pleasantly warm; the sun's rays, although gaining strength day by day, do not become uncomfortably hot save in the extreme south of the United Provinces. The night mists, so characteristic of December and January, are almost unknown in February, and the light dews that form during the hours of darkness disappear shortly after sunrise.
The Indian countryside is now good to look upon; it possesses all the beauties of the landscape of July; save the sunsets. The soft emerald hue of the young wheat and barley is rendered more vivid by contrast with the deep rich green of the mango trees. Into the earth's verdant carpet is worked a gay pattern of white poppies, purple linseed blooms, blue and pink gram flowers, and yellow blossoms of mimosa, mustard and arhar. Towards the end of the month the silk-cotton trees (Bombax malabarica) begin to put forth their great red flowers, but not until March does each look like a great scarlet nosegay.
The patches of sugar-cane grow smaller day by day, and in nearly every village the little presses are at work from morn till eve.
From the guava groves issue the rattle of tin pots and the shouts of the boys told off to protect the ripening fruit from the attacks of crows, parrots and other feathered marauders. Nor do these sounds terminate at night-fall; indeed they become louder after dark, for it is then that the flying-foxes come forth and work sad havoc among fruit of all descriptions.
The fowls of the air are more vivacious than they were in January. The bulbuls tinkle more blithely, the purple sunbirds sing more lustily; the kutur, kutur, kuturuk of the green barbets is uttered more vociferously; the nuthatches now put their whole soul into their loud, sharp tee-tee-tee-tee, the hoopoes call uk-uk-uk more vigorously.
The coppersmiths (Xantholaema haematocephala) begin to hammer on their anvils—tonk-tonk-tonk-tonk, softly and spasmodically in the early days of the month, but with greater frequency and intensity as the days pass. The brain-fever bird (Hierococcyx varius) announces his arrival in the United Provinces by uttering an occasional "brain-fever." As the month draws to its close his utterances become more frequent. But his time is not yet. He merely gives us in February a foretaste of what is to come.
The tew of the black-headed oriole (Oriolus melanocephalus), which is the only note uttered by the bird in the colder months, is occasionally replaced in February by the summer call of the species—a liquid, musical peeho. In the latter half of the month the Indian robin (Thamnobia cambayensis) begins to find his voice. Although not the peer of his English cousin, he is no mean singer. At this time of year, however, his notes are harsh. He is merely "getting into form."
The feeble, but sweet, song of the crested lark or Chandul is one of the features of February. The Indian skylark likewise may now be heard singing at Heaven's gate in places where there are large tracts of uncultivated land. As in January so in February the joyous "Think of me ... Never to be" of the grey-headed flycatcher emanates from every tope.
By the middle of the month the pied wagtails and pied bush chats are in full song. Their melodies, though of small volume, are very sweet.
The large grey shrikes add the clamour of their courtship to the avian chorus.
Large numbers of doves, vultures, eagles, red-headed merlins, martins and munias—birds whose nests were described in January—are still busy feeding their young.
The majority of the brown fish-owls (Ketupa ceylonensis) and rock horned-owls (Bubo bengalensis) are sitting; a few of them are feeding young birds. The dusky horned-owls (B. coromandus) have either finished breeding or are tending nestlings. In addition to the nests of the above-mentioned owls those of the collared scops owl (Scops bakkamaena) and the mottled wood-owl (Syrnium ocellatum) are likely to be found at this season of the year. The scops is a small owl with aigrettes or "horns," the wood-owl is a large bird without aigrettes.
Both nest in holes in trees and lay white eggs after the manner of their kind. The scops owl breeds from January till April, while February and March are the months in which to look for the eggs of the wood-owl.
In the western districts of the United Provinces the Indian cliff-swallows (Hirundo fluvicola) are beginning to construct their curious nests. Here and there a pair of blue rock-pigeons (Colombia intermedia) is busy with eggs or young ones. In the Punjab the ravens are likewise employed.
The nesting season of the hoopoe has now fairly commenced. Courtship is the order of the day. The display of this beautiful species is not at all elaborate. The bird that "shows off" merely runs along the ground with corona fully expanded. Mating hoopoes, however, perform strange antics in the air; they twist and turn and double, just as a flycatcher does when chasing a fleet insect. Both the hoopoe and the roller are veritable aerial acrobats. By the end of the month all but a few of the hoopoes have begun to nest; most of them have eggs, while the early birds, described in January as stealing a march on their brethren, are feeding their offspring. The 6th February is the earliest date on which the writer has observed a hoopoe carrying food to the nest; that was at Ghazipur.
March and April are the months in which the majority of coppersmiths or crimson-breasted barbets rear up their families. Some, however, are already working at their nests. The eggs are hatched in a cavity in a tree—a cavity made by means of the bird's bill. Both sexes take part in nest construction. A neatly-cut circular hole, about the size of a rupee, on the lower surface or the side of a branch is assuredly the entrance to the nest of a coppersmith, a green barbet, or a woodpecker.
As the month draws to its close many a pair of nuthatches (Sitta castaneiventris) may be observed seeking for a hollow in which to nestle. The site selected is usually a small hole in the trunk of a mango tree that has weathered many monsoons. The birds reduce the orifice of the cavity to a very small size by plastering up the greater part of it with mud. Hence the nest of the nuthatch, unless discovered when in course of construction, is difficult to locate.
All the cock sunbirds (Arachnechthra asiatica) are now in the full glory of their nuptial plumage. Here and there an energetic little hen is busily constructing her wonderful pendent nest. Great is the variety of building material used by the sunbird. Fibres, slender roots, pliable stems, pieces of decayed wood, lichen, thorns and even paper, cotton and rags, are pressed into service. All are held together by cobweb, which is the favourite cement of bird masons. The general shape of the nest is that of a pear. Its contour is often irregular, because some of the materials hang loosely from the outer surface.
The nursery is attached by means of cobweb to the beam or branch from which it hangs. It is cosily lined with cotton or other soft material. The hen, who alone builds the nest and incubates the eggs, enters and leaves the chamber by a hole at one side. This is protected by a little penthouse. The door serves also as window. The hen rests her chin on the lower part of this while she is incubating her eggs, and thus is able, as she sits, to see what is going on in the great world without. She displays little fear of man and takes no pains to conceal her nest, which is often built in the verandah of an inhabited bungalow.
As the month nears its end the big black crows (Corvus macrorhynchus) begin to construct their nests. The site selected is usually a forked branch of a large tree. The nest is a clumsy platform of sticks with a slight depression, lined by human or horse hair or other soft material, for the reception of the eggs. Both sexes take part in incubation. From the time the first egg is laid until the young are big enough to leave the nest this is very rarely left unguarded. When one parent is away the other remains sitting on the eggs, or, after the young have hatched out, on the edge of the nest. Crows are confirmed egg-stealers and nestling-lifters, and, knowing the guile that is in their own hearts, keep a careful watch over their offspring.
The kites (Milvus govinda) are likewise busy at their nurseries. At this season of the year they are noisier than usual, which is saying a great deal. They not only utter unceasingly their shrill chee-hee-hee-hee, but engage in many a squabble with the crows.
The nest of the kite, like that of the corby, is an untidy mass of sticks and twigs placed conspicuously in a lofty tree. Dozens of these nests are to be seen in every Indian cantonment in February and March. Why the crows and the kites should prefer the trees in a cantonment to those in the town or surrounding country has yet to be discovered.
Mention has already been made of the fact that January is the month in which the majority of the tawny eagles nest; not a few, however, defer operations till February. Hume states that, of the 159 eggs of this species of which he has a record, 38 were taken in December, 83 in January and 28 in February.
The nesting season of the white-backed vulture is drawing to a close. On the other hand, that of the black or Pondicherry vulture (Otogyps calvus) is beginning. This species may be readily distinguished from the other vultures, by its large size, its white thighs and the red wattles that hang down from the sides of the head like drooping ears.
The nest of this bird is a massive platform of sticks, large enough to accommodate two or three men. Hume once demolished one of these vulturine nurseries and found that it weighed over eight maunds, that is to say about six hundredweight. This vulture usually builds its nest in a lofty pipal tree, but in localities devoid of tall trees the platform is placed on the top of a bush.
February marks the beginning of the nesting season of the handsome pied kingfisher (Ceryle rudis). This is the familiar, black-and-white bird that fishes by hovering kestrel-like on rapidly-vibrating wings and then dropping from a height of some twenty feet into the water below; it is a bird greatly addicted to goldfish and makes sad havoc of these where they are exposed in ornamental ponds. The nest of the pied kingfisher is a circular tunnel or burrow, more than a yard in length, excavated in a river bank. The burrow, which is dug out by the bird, is about three inches in diameter and terminates in a larger chamber in which the eggs are laid.
Another spotted black-and-white bird which now begins nesting operations is the yellow-fronted pied woodpecker (Liopicus mahrattensis)—a species only a little less common than the beautiful golden-backed woodpecker. Like all the Picidae this bird nests in the trunk or a branch of a tree. Selecting a part of a tree which is decayed—sometimes a portion of the bole quite close to the ground—the woodpecker hews out with its chisel-like beak a neat circular tunnel leading to the cavity in the decayed wood in which the eggs will be deposited. The tap, tap, tap of the bill as it cuts into the wood serves to guide the observer to the spot where the woodpecker, with legs apart and tail adpressed to the tree, is at work. In the same way a barbet's nest, while under construction, may be located with ease. A woodpecker when excavating its nest will often allow a human being to approach sufficiently dose to witness it throw over its shoulder the chips of wood it has cut away with its bill.
In the United Provinces many of the ashy-crowned finch-larks (Pyrrhulauda grisea) build their nests during February. In the Punjab they breed later; April and May being the months in which their eggs are most often found in that province. These curious squat-figured little birds are rendered easy of recognition by the unusual scheme of colouring displayed by the cock—his upper parts are earthy grey and his lower plumage is black.
The habit of the finch-lark is to soar to a little height and then drop to the ground, with wings closed, singing as it descends. It invariably affects open plains. There are very few tracts of treeless land in India which are not tenanted by finch-larks. The nest is a mere pad of grass and feathers placed on the ground in a tussock of grass, beside a clod of earth, or in a depression, such as a hoof-print. The most expeditious way of finding nests of these birds in places where they are abundant is to walk with a line of beaters over a tract of fallow land and mark carefully the spots from which the birds rise.
With February the nesting season of the barn-owls (Strix flammea) begins in the United Provinces, where their eggs have been taken as early as the 17th.
Towards the end of the month the white-browed fantail flycatchers (Rhipidura albifrontata) begin to nest. The loud and cheerful song of this little feathered exquisite is a tune of six or seven notes that ascend and descend the musical scale. It is one of the most familiar of the sounds that gladden the Indian countryside. The broad white eyebrow and the manner in which, with drooping wings and tail spread into a fan, this flycatcher waltzes and pirouettes among the branches of a tree render it unmistakable. The nest is a dainty little cup, covered with cobweb, attached to one of the lower boughs of a tree. So small is the nursery that sometimes the incubating bird looks as though it were sitting across a branch. This species appears to rear two broods every year. The first comes into existence in March or late February in the United Provinces and five or six weeks later in the Punjab; the second brood emerges during the monsoon.
The white-eyed buzzards—weakest of all the birds of prey—begin to pair towards the end of the month. At this season they frequently rise high above the earth and soar, emitting plaintive cries.
The handsome, but destructive, green parrots are now seeking, or making, cavities in trees or buildings in which to deposit their white eggs.
The breeding season for the alexandrine (Palaeornis eupatrius) and the rose-ringed paroquet (P. torquatus) begins at the end of January or early in February. March is the month in which most eggs are taken.
In April and May the bird-catchers go round and collect the nestlings in order to sell them at four annas apiece. Green parrots are the most popular cage birds in India. Destructive though they be and a scourge to the husbandman, one cannot but pity the luckless captives doomed to spend practically the whole of their existence in small iron cages, which, when exposed to the sun in the hot weather, as they often are, must be veritable infernos.
The courtship of a pair of green parrots is as amusing to watch as that of any 'Arry and 'Arriet. Not possessing hats the amorous birds are unable to exchange them, but otherwise their actions are quite coster-like. The female twists herself into all manner of ridiculous postures and utters low twittering notes. The cock sits at her side and admires. Every now and then he shows his appreciation of her antics by tickling her head with his beak or by joining his bill to hers.
Both the grey shrike and the wood-shrike begin nesting operations in February. As, however, most of their nests are likely to be found later in the year they are dealt with in the calendar for March.
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Columbus Learns About Corn
1492 Christopher Columbus learns how to grow and harvest maize (corn) from Cuba's indigenous population
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Copernicus Observes Eclipse
1500 -6th Nov astronomer Copernicus observes a lunar eclipse in Rome
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Second Battle of Panipat
1556 Second Battle of Panipat: Hindu Emperor of North India Hem Chandra Vikramaditya is defeated by forces of Mughal Emperor Akbar, who captures and later beheads Hem Chandra
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Gunpowder Plot
Celebrated with fireworks as Guy Fawkes Day, this English holiday marks the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot, when Roman Catholics led by Robert Catesby tried to blow up Parliament, the king, and his family this day in 1605.
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Pacific Scandal
1873 Due to the fallout from the Pacific Scandal, John A. Macdonald resigns as Prime Minister of Canada
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The order is given: Bomb Pearl Harbor
On November 5, 1941, the Combined Japanese Fleet receive Top-Secret Order No. 1: In just over a month's time, Pearl Harbor is to be bombed, along with Malaya (now known as Malaysia), the Dutch East Indies and the Philippines.
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George Foreman, age 45
On this day in 1994, George Foreman, age 45, becomes boxing's oldest heavyweight champion when he defeats 26-year-old Michael Moorer in the 10th round of their WBA fight in Las Vegas. More than 12,000 spectators at the MGM Grand Hotel watched Foreman dethrone Moorer, who went into the fight with a 35-0 record.
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Army major kills 13 people in Fort Hood shooting spree
On November 5, 2009, 13 people are killed and more than 30 others are wounded, nearly all of them unarmed soldiers, when a U.S. Army officer goes on a shooting rampage at Fort Hood in central Texas. The deadly assault, carried out by Major Nidal Malik Hasan, an Army psychiatrist, was the worst mass shooting at a U.S. military installation.
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Susan B. Anthony defies law, casts vote for president
This is an undated sketch drawing of suffragette Susan B. Anthony. Anthony, who was active in the anti-slavery movements, became a leader in women’s rights in 1854 and co-founded the National American Woman Suffrage Association in 1869. She was born in Adams, Ma., in 1820 and died in 1906.
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"By Nature's swift and secret working hand The garden glows, and fills the liberal air With lavish odors. There let me draw Ethereal soul, there drink reviving gales, Profusely breathing from the spicy groves And vales of fragrance."—Thomson.
Among the numerous gratifications derived from the cultivation of flowers, that of rearing them for the sake of their perfumes stands pre-eminent. It is proved from the oldest records, that perfumes have been in use from the earliest periods. The origin of this, like that of many other arts, is lost in the depth of its antiquity; though it had its rise, no doubt, in religious observances. Among the nations of antiquity, an offering of perfumes was regarded as a token of the most profound respect and homage. Incense, or Frankincense, which exudes by incision and dries as a gum, from Arbor-thurifera, was formerly burnt in the temples of all religions, in honor of the divinities that were there adored. Many of the primitive Christians were put to death because they would not offer incense to idols.
"Of the use of these luxuries by the Greeks, and afterwards by the Romans, Pliny and Seneca gives much information respecting perfume drugs, the method of collecting them, and the prices at which they sold. Oils and powder perfumery were most lavishly used, for even three times a day did some of the luxurious people anoint and scent themselves, carrying their precious perfumes with them to the baths in costly and elegant boxes called Narthecia."
In the Romish Church incense is used in many ceremonies, and particularly at the solemn funerals of the hierarchy, and other personages of exalted rank.
Pliny makes a note of the tree from which frankincense is procured, and certain passages in his works indicate that dried flowers were used in his time by way of perfume, and that they were, as now, mixed with spices, a compound which the modern perfumer calls pot-pourri, used for scenting apartments, and generally placed in some ornamental Vase.
It was not uncommon among the Egyptian ladies to carry about the person a little pouch of odoriferous gums, as is the case to the present day among the Chinese, and to wear beads made of scented wood. The "bdellium" mentioned by Moses in Genesis is a perfuming gum, resembling frankincense, if not identical with it.
Several passages in Exodus prove the use of perfumes at a very early period among the Hebrews. In the thirtieth chapter of Exodus the Lord said unto Moses: "1. And thou shalt make an altar to burn incense upon; of Shittim wood shalt thou make it." "7. And Aaron shall burn thereon sweet incense every morning; when he dresseth the lamps he shall burn incense upon it." "34. Take unto thee sweet spices, stacte, and onycha, and galbanum; these sweet spices with pure frankincense: of each shall there be a like weight." "35. And thou shalt make it a perfume, a confection after the art of the apothecary, tempered together pure and holy." "36. And thou shalt beat some of it very small, and put of it before the testimony in the tabernacle of the congregation, where I will meet with thee; it shall be unto you most holy." "37. And as for the perfume which thou shalt make, ye shall not make to yourselves according to the composition thereof; it shall be unto thee holy for the Lord." "38. Whosoever shall make like unto that to smell thereto, shall even be cut off from his people."
"It was from this religious custom, of employing incense in the ancient temples, that the royal prophet drew that beautiful simile of his, when he petitioned that his prayers might ascend before the Lord like incense, Luke 1:10. It was while all the multitude was praying without, at the hour of incense, that there appeared to Zachary an angel of the Lord, standing on the right side of the altar of incense. That the nations attached a meaning not only of personal reverence, but also of religious homage, to an offering of incense, is demonstrable from the instance of the Magi, who, having fallen down to adore the new-born Jesus, and recognized his Divinity, presented Him with gold, myrrh and frankincense. The primitive Christians imitated the example of the Jews, and adopted the use of incense at the celebration of the Liturgy. St. Ephræm, a father of the Syriac Church, directed in his will that no aromatic perfumes should be bestowed upon him at his funeral, but that the spices should rather be given to the sanctuary. The use of incense in all the Oriental churches is perpetual, and almost daily; nor do any of them ever celebrate their Liturgy without it, unless compelled by necessity. The Coptic, as well as other Eastern Christians, observe the same ceremonial as the Latin Church in incensing their altar, the sacred vessels, and ecclesiastical personages."—Dr. Rock's Hierurgia.
Perfumes were used in the Church service, not only under the form of incense, but also mixed in the oil and wax for the lamps and lights commanded to be burned in the house of the Lord. The brilliancy and fragrance which were often shed around a martyr's sepulchre, at the celebration of his festival, by multitudes of lamps and tapers, fed with aromatics, have been noticed by St. Paulinus:—
"With crowded lamps are these bright altars crowned, And waxen tapers, shedding perfume round From fragrant wicks, beam calm a scented ray, To gladden night, and joy e'en radiant day."
Dr. Rock's Hierurgia.
Constantine the Great provided fragrant oils, to be burned at the altars of the greater churches in Rome; and St. Paulinus, of Nola, a writer of the end of the fourth and beginning of the fifth century, tells us how, in his times, wax tapers were made for church use, so as to shed fragrance as they burned:—
"Lumina cerates adolentur odora papyris."
A perfume in common use, even to this day, was the invention of one of the earliest of the Roman nobles, named Frangipani, and still bears his name; it is a powder, or sachet, composed of every known spice, in equal proportions, to which is added ground iris or orris root, in weight equal to the whole, with one per cent. of musk or civet. A liquid of the same name, invented by his grandson Mercutio Frangipani, is also in common use, prepared by digesting the Frangipane powder in rectified spirits, which dissolves out the fragrant principles. This has the merit of being the most lasting perfume made.
"The trade for the East in perfume-drugs caused many a vessel to spread its sails to the Red Sea, and many a camel to plod over that tract which gave to Greece and Syria their importance as markets, and vitality to the rocky city of Petra. Southern Italy was not long ere it occupied itself in ministering to the luxury of the wealthy, by manufacturing scented unguents and perfumes. So numerous were the Unguentarii, or perfumers, that they are said to have filled the great street of ancient Capua."—Hofmann.
As an art, in England, perfumery has attained little or no distinction. This has arisen from those who follow it as a trade, maintaining a mysterious secrecy about their processes. No manufacture can ever become great or important to the community that is carried on under a veil of mystery.
"On the subject of trade mystery I will only observe, that I am convinced that it would be far more to the interest of manufacturers if they were more willing to profit by the experience of others, and less fearful and jealous of the supposed secrets of their craft. It is a great mistake to think that a successful manufacturer is one who has carefully preserved the secrets of his trade, or that peculiar modes of effecting simple things, processes unknown in other factories, and mysteries beyond the comprehension of the vulgar, are in any way essential to skill as a manufacturer, or to success as a trader."—Professor Solly.
If the horticulturists of England were instructed how to collect the odors of flowers, a new branch of manufacture would spring up to vie with our neighbors' skill in it across the Channel.
Of our five senses, that of Smelling has been treated with comparative indifference. However, as knowledge progresses, the various faculties with which the Creator has thought proper in his wisdom to endow man will become developed, and the faculty of Smelling will meet with its share of tuition as well as Sight, Hearing, Touch, and Taste.
Flowers yield perfumes in all climates, but those growing in the warmer latitudes are most prolific in their odor, while those from the colder are the sweetest. Hooker, in his travels in Iceland, speaks of the delightful fragrance of the flowers in the valley of Skardsheidi; we know that winter-green, violets, and primroses are found here, and the wild thyme, in great abundance. Mr. Louis Piesse, in company with Captain Sturt, exploring the wild regions of South Australia, writes: "The rains have clothed the earth with a green as beautiful as a Shropshire meadow in May, and with flowers, too, as sweet as an English violet; the pure white anemone resembles it in scent. The Yellow Wattle, when in flower, is splendid, and emits a most fragrant odor."
Though many of the finest perfumes come from the East Indies, Ceylon, Mexico, and Peru, the South of Europe is the only real garden of utility to the perfumer. Grasse and Nice are the principal seats of the art; from their geographical position, the grower, within comparatively short distances, has at command that change of climate best fitted to bring to perfection the plants required for his trade. On the seacoast his Cassiæ grows without fear of frost, one night of which would destroy all the plants for a season; while, nearer the Alps, his violets are found sweeter than if grown in the warmer situations, where the orange tree and mignionette bloom to perfection. England can claim the superiority in the growth of lavender and peppermint; the essential oils extracted from these plants grown at Mitcham, in Surrey, realize eight times the price in the market of those produced in France or elsewhere, and are fully worth the difference for delicacy of odor.
The odors of plants reside in different parts of them, sometimes in the roots, as in the iris and vitivert; the stem or wood, in cedar and sandal; the leaves, in mint, patchouly, and thyme; the flower, in the roses and violets; the seeds in the Tonquin bean and caraway; the bark, in cinnamon, &c.
Some plants yield more than one odor, which are quite distinct and characteristic. The orange tree, for instance, gives three—from the leaves one called petit grain; from the flowers we procure neroli; and from the rind of the fruit, essential oil of orange, essence of Portugal. On this account, perhaps, this tree is the most valuable of all to the operative perfumer.
The fragrance or odor of plants is owing, in nearly all cases, to a perfectly volatile oil, either contained in small vessels, or sacs within them, or generated from time to time, during their life, as when in blossom. Some few exude, by incision, odoriferous gums, as benzoin, olibanum, myrrh, &c.; others give, by the same act, what are called balsams, which appear to be mixtures of an odorous oil and an inodorous gum. Some of these balsams are procured in the country to which the plant is indigenous by boiling it in water for a time, straining, and then boiling again, or evaporating it down till it assumes the consistency of treacle. In this latter way is balsam of Peru procured from the Myroxylon peruiferum, and the balsam of Tolu from the Myroxylon toluiferum. Though their odors are agreeable, they are not much applied in perfumery for handkerchief use, but by some they are mixed with soap, and in England they are valued more for their medicinal properties than for their fragrance.
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"Were not summer's distillations left A liquid prisoner, pent in walls of glass, Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was; But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet, Leese but their show, their substance still lives sweet."
Shakspeare.
The extensive flower farms in the neighborhood of Nice, Grasse, Montpellier, and Cannes, in France, at Adrianople (Turkey in Asia), at Broussa and Uslak (Turkey in Asia), and at Mitcham, in England, in a measure indicate the commercial importance of that branch of chemistry called perfumery.
British India and Europe consume annually, at the very lowest estimate, 150,000 gallons of perfumed spirits, under various titles, such as eau de Cologne, essence of lavender, esprit de rose, &c. The art of perfumery does not, however, confine itself to the production of scents for the handkerchief and bath, but extends to imparting odor to inodorous bodies, such as soap, oil, starch, and grease, which are consumed at the toilette of fashion. Some idea of the commercial importance of this art may be formed, when we state that one of the large perfumers of Grasse and Paris employs annually 80,000 lbs. of orange flowers, 60,000 lbs. of cassia flowers, 54,000 lbs. of rose-leaves, 32,000 lbs. of jasmine blossoms, 32,000 lbs. of violets, 20,000 lbs. of tubereuse, 16,000 lbs. of lilac, besides rosemary, mint, lemon, citron, thyme, and other odorous plants in large proportion. In fact, the quantity of odoriferous substances used in this way is far beyond the conception of those even used to abstract statistics.
To the chemical philosopher, the study of perfumery opens a book as yet unread; for the practical perfumer, on his laboratory shelves, exhibits many rare essential oils, such as essential oil of the flower of the Acacia farnesiana, essential oil of violets, tubereuse, jasmine, and others, the compositions of which have yet to be determined.
The exquisite pleasure derived from smelling fragrant flowers would almost instinctively induce man to attempt to separate the odoriferous principle from them, so as to have the perfume when the season denies the flowers. Thus we find the alchemists of old, torturing the plants in every way their invention could devise for this end; and it is on their experiments that the whole art of perfumery has been reared. Without recapitulating those facts which may be found diffused through nearly all the old authors on medical botany, chemistry, pharmacy, and works of this character, from the time of Paracelsus to Celnart, we may state at once the mode of operation adopted by the practical perfumer of the present day for preparing the various extracts or essences, waters, oils, pomades, &c., used in his calling.
The processes are divided into four distinct operations; viz.—
1. Expression; 2. Distillation; 3. Maceration; 4. Absorption.
1. Expression is only adopted where the plant is very prolific in its volatile or essential oil,—i.e. its odor; such, for instance, as is found in the pellicle or outer peel of the orange, lemon, and citron, and a few others. In these cases, the parts of the plant containing the odoriferous principle are put sometimes in a cloth bag, and at others by themselves into a press, and by mere mechanical force it is squeezed out. The press is an iron vessel of immense strength, varying in size from six inches in diameter, and twelve deep, and upwards, to contain one hundred weight or more; it has a small aperture at the bottom to allow the expressed material to run for collection; in the interior is placed a perforated false bottom, and on this the substance to be squeezed is placed, covered with an iron plate fitting the interior; this is connected with a powerful screw, which, being turned, forces the substance so closely together, that the little vessels containing the essential oils are burst, and it thus escapes. The common tincture press is indeed a model of such an instrument. The oils which are thus collected are contaminated with watery extracts, which exudes at the same time, and from which it has to be separated; this it does by itself in a measure, by standing in a quiet place, and it is then poured off and strained.
Pipette to draw off small portions of otto from water. Pipette to draw off small portions of otto from water.
2. Distillation.—The plant, or part of it, which contains the odoriferous principle, is placed in an iron, copper, or glass pan, varying in size from that capable of holding from one to twenty gallons, and covered with water; to the pan a dome-shaped lid is fitted, terminating with a pipe, which is twisted corkscrew fashion, and fixed in a bucket, with the end peeping out like a tap in a barrel. The water in the still—for such is the name of the apparatus—is made to boil; and having no other exit, the steam must pass through the coiled pipe; which, being surrounded with cold water in the bucket, condenses the vapor before it can arrive at the tap. With the steam, the volatile oils—i.e. perfume—rises, and is liquefied at the same time. The liquids which thus run over, on standing for a time, separate into two portions, and are finally divided with a funnel having a stopcock in the narrow part of it. By this process, the majority of the volatile or essential oils are procured. In some few instances alcohol—i.e. rectified spirit of wine—is placed upon the odorous materials in lieu of water, which, on being distilled, comes away with the perfuming substance dissolved in it. But this process is now nearly obsolete, as it is found more beneficial to draw the oil or essence first with water, and afterwards to dissolve it in the spirit. The low temperature at which spirit boils, compared with water, causes a great loss of essential oil, the heat not being sufficient to disengage it from the plant, especially where seeds such as cloves or caraway are employed. It so happens, however, that the finest odors, the recherché as the Parisians say, cannot be procured by this method; then recourse is had to the next process.
Tap funnel for separating ottos from water and spirits from oil. Tap funnel for separating ottos from water and spirits from oil.
3. Maceration.—Of all the processes for procuring the perfumes of flowers, this is the most important to the perfumer, and is the least understood in England; as this operation yields not only the most exquisite essences indirectly, but also nearly all those fine pomades known here as "French pomatums," so much admired for the strength of fragrance, together with "French oils" equally perfumed. The operation is conducted thus:—For what is called pomade, a certain quantity of purified mutton or deer suet is put into a clean metal or porcelain pan, this being melted by a steam heat; the kind of flowers required for the odor wanted are carefully picked and put into the liquid fat, and allowed to remain from twelve to forty-eight hours; the fat has a particular affinity or attraction for the oil of flowers, and thus, as it were, draws it out of them, and becomes itself, by their aid, highly perfumed; the fat is strained from the spent flowers, and fresh are added four or five times over, till the pomade is of the required strength; these various strengths of pomatums are noted by the French makers as Nos. 6, 12, 18, and 24, the higher numerals indicating the amount of fragrance in them. For perfumed oils the same operation is followed; but, in lieu of suet, fine olive oil or oil of ben, derived from the ben nuts of the Levant, is used, and the same results are obtained. These oils are called "Huile Antique" of such and such a flower.
When neither of the foregoing processes gives satisfactory results, the method of procedure adopted is by,—
4. Absorption, or Enfleurage.—The odors of some flowers are so delicate and volatile, that the heat required in the previously named processes would greatly modify, if not entirely spoil them; this process is, therefore, conducted cold, thus:—Square frames, about three inches deep, with a glass bottom, say two feet wide and three feet long, are procured; over the glass a layer of fat is spread, about half an inch thick, with a kind of plaster knife or spatula; into this the flower buds are stuck, cup downwards, and ranged completely over it, and there left from twelve to seventy-two hours.
Some houses, such as that of Messrs. Pilar and Sons; Pascal Brothers; H. Herman, and a few others, have 3000 such frames at work during the season; as they are filled, they are piled one over the other, the flowers are changed so long as the plants continue to bloom, which now and then exceeds two or three months.
For oils of the same plants, coarse linen cloths are imbued with the finest olive oil or oil of ben, and stretched upon a frame made of iron; on these the flowers are laid and suffered to remain a few days. This operation is repeated several times, after which the cloths are subjected to great pressure, to remove the now perfumed oil.
As we cannot give any general rule for working, without misleading the reader, we prefer explaining the process required for each when we come to speak of the individual flower or plant.
