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chapter seventy-four. ☄︎. *. ⋆
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I PRESSED THE SYMBOL on the doors and they hissed open.
"So much for ancient architecture," Percy said.
I scowled. Together we walked inside.
The first thing that struck me was the daylight—blazing sun coming through giant windows. Not the kind of thing you expect in the heart of a dungeon. The workshop was like an artist's studio, with thirty-foot ceilings and industrial lighting, polished stone floors, and workbenches along with windows. A spiral staircase led up to a second-story loft. Half a dozen easels displayed hand-drawn diagrams for buildings and machines that looked like Leonardo da Vinci sketches. Several laptop computers were scattered around on the tables. Glass jars of green oil— Greek fire—lined one shelf. There were inventions, too— weird metal machines I couldn't make sense of. One was a bronze chair with a bunch of electrical wires attached to it, like some kind of torture device. In another corner stood a giant metal egg about the size of a man. There was a grandfather clock that appeared to be made entirely of glass, so you could see all the gears turning. And hanging on the wall were several sets of bronze and silver wings.
"Zeus almighty," I muttered. I moved to the nearest easel and looked at the sketch. "He's a genius."
"And an artist," Rachel said in amazement. "These wings are amazing!"
The wings looked more advanced than the ones I'd seen in any illustrations of Daedalus's myth. The feathers were more tightly interwoven, and instead of wax seals, self-adhesive strips ran down the sides. I figured that was for good reason.
I kept an arrow nocked in my bow. Apparently Daedalus was not at home, but the workshop looked like it had been recently used. The laptops were running their screen savers. A half-eaten blueberry muffin and a coffee cup sat on a workbench.
I walked to the window. The view outside was amazing. I recognized the Rocky Mountains in the distance.
"Woah, look at those rocky mountains," Percy said in wonder.
I looked to him, deadpanning, "You mean the Rocky Mountains?"
We were high up in the foothills, at least five hundred feet, and down below a valley spread out, filled with a tumbled collection of red mesas and boulders and spires of stone. It looked like some huge kid had been building a toy city with skyscraper-size blocks, and then decided to knock it over.
"Where are we?" Percy asked.
"Colorado Springs," a voice said behind us. "The Garden of the Gods."
