The Hidden Oracle (21 page)

The nighttime shot showed the upper floors of a glass residential tower. Judging from the background, it was somewhere in downtown Manhattan.

“That is the building you described last summer,” Chiron said, “where you parleyed with the Romans.”

“Yeah,” Rachel said. “Something didn’t feel right about that place. I got to thinking…how did the Romans take over such prime Manhattan real estate on such short notice? Who owns it? I tried to contact Reyna, to see if she could tell me anything, but—”

“Communications problems?” Chiron guessed.

“Exactly. I even sent physical mail to Camp Jupiter’s drop box in Berkeley. No response. So I asked my dad’s real estate lawyers to do some digging.”

Meg peeked over the top of her glasses. “Your dad has lawyers? And a helicopter?”

“Several helicopters.” Rachel sighed. “He’s annoying. Anyway, that building is owned by a shell corporation, which is owned by another shell corporation, blah, blah, blah. The mother company is something called Triumvirate Holdings.”

I felt a trickle like white paint rolling down my back. “
Triumvirate
…”

Meg made a sour face. “What does that mean?”

“A triumvirate is a ruling council of three,” I said. “At least, that’s what it meant in ancient Rome.”

“Which is interesting,” Rachel said, “because of this next shot.” She tapped her screen. The new photo zoomed in on the building’s penthouse terrace, where three shadowy figures stood talking together—men in business suits, illuminated only by the light from inside the apartment. I couldn’t see their faces.

“These are the owners of Triumvirate Holdings,” Rachel said. “Just getting this
one
picture wasn’t easy.” She blew a frizzy strand of hair out of her face. “I’ve spent the last two months investigating them, and I don’t even know their names. I don’t know where they live or where they came from. But I can tell you they own so much property and have so much money, they make my dad’s company look like a kid’s lemonade stand.”

I stared at the picture of the three shadowy figures. I could almost imagine that the one on the left was the Beast. His slouching posture and the over-large shape of his head reminded me of the man in purple from my dream.

“The Beast said that his organization was everywhere,” I recalled. “He mentioned he had colleagues.”

Chiron’s tail flicked, sending a paintbrush skidding across the cave floor. “Adult demigods? I can’t imagine they would be Greek, but perhaps Roman? If they helped Octavian with his war—”

“Oh, they helped,” Rachel said. “I found a paper trail—not much, but you remember those siege weapons Octavian built to destroy Camp Half-Blood?”

“No,” said Meg.

I would have ignored her, but Rachel was a more generous soul.

She smiled patiently. “Sorry, Meg. You seem so at home here, I forgot you were new. Basically, the Roman demigods attacked this camp with giant catapulty things called onagers. It was all a big misunderstanding. Anyway, the weapons were paid for by Triumvirate Holdings.”

Chiron frowned. “That is not good.”

“I found something even more disturbing,” Rachel continued. “You remember before that, during the Titan War, Luke Castellan mentioned he had backers in the mortal world? They had enough money to buy a cruise ship, helicopters, weapons. They even hired mortal mercenaries.”

“Don’t remember that, either,” Meg said.

I rolled my eyes. “Meg, we can’t stop and explain every major war to you! Luke Castellan was a child of Hermes. He betrayed this camp and allied himself with the Titans. They attacked New York. Big battle. I saved the day. Et cetera.”

Chiron coughed. “At any rate, I do remember Luke claiming that he had lots of supporters. We never found out exactly who they were.”

“Now we know,” Rachel said. “That cruise ship, the
Princess Andromeda
, was property of Triumvirate Holdings.”

A cold sense of unease gripped me. I felt I should know something about this, but my mortal brain was betraying me again. I was more certain than ever that Zeus was toying with me, keeping my vision and memory limited. I remembered some assurances Octavian had given me, though—how easy it would be to win his little war, to raise new temples to me, how much support he had.

Rachel’s phone screen went dark—much like my brain—but the grainy photo remained burned into my retinas.

“These men…” I picked up an empty tube of burnt sienna paint. “I’m afraid they are not modern demigods.”

Rachel frowned. “You think they’re ancient demigods who came through the Doors of Death—like Medea, or Midas? The thing is, Triumvirate Holdings has been around since way before Gaea started to wake. Decades, at least.”

“Centuries,” I said. “The Beast said that he’d been building his empire for centuries.”

The cave became so silent, I imagined the hiss of Python, the soft exhale of fumes from deep in the earth. I wished we had some background music to drown it out…jazz or classical. I would have settled for death metal polka.

Rachel shook her head. “Then who—?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But the Beast…in my dream, he called me his forefather. He assumed I would recognize him. And if my godly memory was intact, I think I would. His demeanor, his accent, his facial structure—I have met him before, just not in modern times.”

Meg had grown very quiet. I got the distinct impression she was trying to disappear into the couch cushions. Normally, this would not have bothered me, but after our experience in the Labyrinth, I felt guilty every time I mentioned the Beast. My pesky mortal conscience must have been acting up.

“The name Triumvirate…” I tapped my forehead, trying to shake loose information that was no longer there. “The last triumvirate I dealt with included Lepidus, Marc Antony, and my son, the
original
Octavian. A triumvirate is a very Roman concept…like patriotism, skullduggery, and assassination.”

Chiron stroked his beard. “You think these men are ancient Romans? How is that possible? Hades is quite good at tracking down escaped spirits from the Underworld. He would not allow three men from ancient times to run amok in the modern world for centuries.”

“Again, I do not know.” Saying this so often offended my divine sensibilities. I decided that when I returned to Olympus, I would have to gargle the bad taste out of my mouth with Tabasco-flavored nectar. “But it seems these men have been plotting against us for a very long time. They funded Luke Castellan’s war. They supplied aid to Camp Jupiter when the Romans attacked Camp Half-Blood. And despite those two wars, the Triumvirate is still out there—still plotting. What if this company is the root cause of…well, everything?”

Chiron looked at me as if I were digging his grave. “That is a very troubling thought. Could three men be so powerful?”

I spread my hands. “You’ve lived long enough to know, my friend. Gods, monsters, Titans…these are always dangerous. But the greatest threat to demigods has always been other demigods. Whoever this Triumvirate is, we must stop them before they take control of the Oracles.”

Rachel sat up straight. “Excuse me? Oracles plural?”

“Ah…didn’t I tell you about them when I was a god?”

Her eyes regained some of their dark green intensity. I feared she was envisioning ways she might inflict pain upon me with her art supplies.

“No,” she said levelly, “you did not tell me about them.”

“Oh…well, my mortal memory has been faulty, you see. I had to read some books in order to—”

“Oracles,” she repeated. “Plural.”

I took a deep breath. I wanted to assure her that those other Oracles didn’t mean a thing to me! Rachel was special! Unfortunately, I doubted she was in a place where she could hear that right now. I decided it was best to speak plainly.

“In ancient times,” I said, “there were many Oracles. Of course Delphi was the most famous, but there were four others of comparable power.”

Chiron shook his head. “But those were destroyed ages ago.”

“So I thought,” I agreed. “Now I am not so sure. I believe Triumvirate Holdings wants to control
all
the ancient Oracles. And I believe the most ancient Oracle of all, the Grove of Dodona, is right here at Camp Half-Blood.”

Up in my business

Always burning Oracles

Romans gonna hate

I WAS A DRAMATIC GOD.

I thought my last statement was a great line. I expected gasps, perhaps some organ music in the background. Maybe the lights would go out just before I could say more. Moments later, I would be found dead with a knife in my back. That would be exciting!

Wait. I’m mortal. Murder would kill me. Never mind.

At any rate, none of that happened. My three companions just stared at me.

“Four other Oracles,” Rachel said. “You mean you have four other Pythias—”

“No, my dear. There is only one Pythia—
you.
Delphi is absolutely unique.”

Rachel still looked like she wanted to jam a number ten bristle paintbrush up my nose. “So these other four
non-unique
Oracles…”

“Well, one was the Sybil of Cumae.” I wiped the sweat off my palms. (Why did mortal palms sweat?) “You know, she wrote the Sibylline Books—those prophecies that Ella the harpy memorized.”

Meg looked back and forth between us. “A harpy…like those chicken ladies who clean up after lunch?”

Chiron smiled. “Ella is a very special harpy, Meg. Years ago, she somehow came across a copy of the prophetic books, which we thought were burned before the Fall of Rome. Right now, our friends at Camp Jupiter are trying to reconstruct them based on Ella’s recollections.”

Rachel crossed her arms. “And the other three Oracles? I’m sure none of them was a beautiful young priestess whom you praised for her…what was it?…‘scintillating conversation’?”

“Ah…” I wasn’t sure why, but it felt like my acne was turning into live insects and crawling across my face. “Well, according to my extensive research—”

“Some books he flipped through last night,” Meg clarified.

“Ahem! There was an Oracle at Erythaea, and another at the Cave of Trophonius.”

“Goodness,” Chiron said. “I’d forgotten about those two.”

I shrugged. I remembered almost nothing about them either. They had been some of my less successful prophetic franchises.

“And the fifth,” I said, “was the Grove of Dodona.”

“A grove,” Meg said. “Like trees.”

“Yes, Meg, like trees. Groves are typically composed of trees, rather than, say, Fudgsicles. Dodona was a stand of sacred oaks planted by the Mother Goddess in the first days of the world. They were ancient even when the Olympians were born.”

“The Mother Goddess?” Rachel shivered in her patina jacket. “Please tell me you don’t mean Gaea.”

“No, thankfully. I mean Rhea, Queen of the Titans, the mother of the first generation of Olympian gods. Her sacred trees could actually speak. Sometimes they issued prophecies.”

“The voices in the woods,” Meg guessed.

“Exactly. I believe the Grove of Dodona has regrown itself here in the woods at camp. In my dreams, I saw a crowned woman imploring me to find her Oracle. I believe it was Rhea, though I still don’t understand why she was wearing a peace symbol or using the term
dig it
.”

“A peace symbol?” Chiron asked.

“A large brass one,” I confirmed.

Rachel drummed her fingers on the couch’s armrest. “If Rhea is a Titan, isn’t she evil?”

“Not all Titans were bad,” I said. “Rhea was a gentle soul. She sided with the gods in their first great war. I think she wants us to succeed. She doesn’t want her grove in the hands of our enemies.”

Chiron’s tail twitched. “My friend, Rhea has not been seen for millennia. Her grove was burned in the ancient times. Emperor Theodosius ordered the last oak cut down in—”

“I know.” I got a stabbing pain right between my eyes, as I always did when someone mentioned Theodosius. I now recalled that the bully had closed all the ancient temples across the empire, basically evicting us Olympian gods. I used to have an archery target with his face on it. “Nevertheless, many things from the old days have survived or regenerated. The Labyrinth has rebuilt itself. Why couldn’t a grove of sacred trees spring up again right here in this valley?”

Meg pushed herself deeper into the cushions. “This is all weird.” Leave it to the young McCaffrey to summarize our conversation so effectively. “So if the tree voices are sacred and stuff, why are they making people get lost?”

“For once, you ask a good question.” I hoped such praise wouldn’t go to Meg’s head. “In the old days, the priests of Dodona would take care of the trees, pruning them, watering them, and channeling their voices by hanging wind chimes in their branches.”

“How would that help?” Meg asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not a tree priest. But with proper care, these trees could divine the future.”

Rachel smoothed her skirt. “And without proper care?”

“The voices were unfocused,” I said. “A wild choir of disharmony.” I paused, quite pleased with that line. I was hoping someone might write it down for posterity, but no one did. “Untended, the grove could most definitely drive mortals to madness.”