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chapter sixty-four. ☄︎. *. ⋆
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THE BLADE WAS unlike any I'd ever seen: short, sharp, and dark as midnight. If I had to guess, I'd say it was made from Stygian iron, or something. But I wasn't focused on that; more or less, my attention was on the fact that the blade was about two inches away from slitting my neck.
Geryon snarled when he saw it. "Put that away, Mr. di Angelo. I ain't gonna have my guests killin' each other."
"But that's—"
"Theodosia Scott," Geryon supplied. "Percy Jackson. And a couple of their monster friends. Yes, I know."
"Monster friends?" Grover said indignantly.
"That man is wearing three shirts," Tyson said, like he was just realizing this.
"They let my sister die!" Nico's voice trembled with rage. "They're here to kill me!"
"Nico, nobody's here to kill you," I told him sincerely. "What happened to Bianca—"
"Don't speak her name! You're not worthy to even talk about her!"
"Wait a minute." Percy pointed at Geryon. "How do you know our names?"
The three-bodied man smiled. "I make it my business to keep informed. Everybody pops into the ranch from time to time. Everyone needs something from ole Geryon. Now, Mr. di Angelo, put that ugly sword away before I have Eurytion take it from you."
Eurytion sighed, but he hefted his spiked club. At his feet, Orthus growled.
Nico hesitated. He looked thinner and paler than the last time I'd seen him. I wondered if he'd eaten in the last week. His black clothes were dusty from traveling in the Labyrinth, and his dark eyes were full of hate. He was too young to look so angry. I still remembered him as the cheerful little kid who played with Mythomagic cards.
Reluctantly, he sheathed his sword. "If you come near me—either of you—I'll summon help. You don't want to meet my helpers, I promise."
"I believe you," I said, because I did.
Geryon patted Nico's shoulder. "There, we've all made nice. Now come along, folks. I want to give you a tour of the ranch."
Geryon had a trolley thing—like one of those kiddie trains that take you around zoos. It was painted black and white in a cowhide pattern. The driver's car had a set of longhorns stuck to the hood, and the horn sounded like a cowbell. I figured maybe this was how he tortured people. He embarrassed them to death riding around in the moo-mobile.
