Reconnected [Book 3]

17 - Books and scrolls

Piper shuddered. She didn't know what time it was, but the sun was already starting to sink. How had the day passed so quickly? She would have welcomed sundown for the cooler temperatures, except it was also their deadline. A cool night breeze wouldn't mean much if they were dead. Besides, tomorrow was July 1, the Kalends of July. If their information was correct, it would be Nico di Angelo's last day of life, and the day Rome was destroyed.

"Stop," Adelia said a hand splayed wide, Jason tripped over another rock and Adelia sighed catching him by the t-shirt and hauled him up.

Piper wasn't sure what was wrong. Then she realized she could hear running water up ahead. They crept through the trees and found themselves on the bank of a river. It was maybe forty feet wide but only a few inches deep, a silver sheet of water racing over a smooth bed of stones. A few yards downstream, the rapids plunged into a dark blue swimming hole.

Something about the river bothered her. The cicadas in the trees had gone quiet. No birds were chirping. It was as if the water was giving a lecture and would only allow its own voice.

Piper shook herself. These thoughts weren't hers. Something was wrong. It almost felt like the river was charmspeaking.

Jason sat on a rock and started taking off his shoes. He grinned at the swimming hole like he couldn't wait to get in. Adelia had started to take off the jacket that had been wrapped around her waist.

"Cut it out!" Piper yelled at the river.

Jason looked startled. "Cut what out?"

"Not you," Piper said. "Him."

Adelia frowned, "I'm a she."

Piper pointed at the river and she felt silly pointing at the water, but she was certain it was working some sort of magic, swaying their feelings.

Just when she thought she had lost it and Jason would tell her so, the river spoke:
Forgive me. Singing is one of the few pleasures I have left.

A figure emerged from the swimming hole as if rising on an elevator.

Piper's shoulders tensed. It was the creature she'd seen in her knife blade, the bull with the human face. His skin was as blue as the water. His hooves levitated on the river's surface. At the top of his bovine neck was the head of a man with short curly black hair, a beard done in ringlets Ancient Greek style, deep, mournful eyes behind bifocal glasses, and a mouth that seemed set in a permanent pout. Sprouting from the left side of his head was a single bull's horn—a curved black-and-white one like warriors might turn into drinking cups. The imbalance made his head tilt to the left, so that he looked like he was trying to get water out of his ear.

Adelia let out a yell and said, "Oh god not another Minotaur." Piper looked at her incredulously, and Adelia gave her an I'll explain later look.

"Hello," he said sadly. "Come to kill me, I suppose."

Jason put his shoes back on and stood slowly. "Um, well—"

"No!" Piper intervened. "I'm sorry. This is embarrassing. We didn't want to bother you, but Hercules sent us."

"Hercules!" The bull-man sighed. His hooves pawed the water as if ready to charge. "To me, he'll always be Heracles. That's his Greek name, you know: the glory of Hera."

"Funny name," Jason said. "Since he hates her."

"Indeed," the bull-man said. "Perhaps that's why he didn't protest when the Romans renamed him Hercules. Of course, that's the name most people know him by...his brand, if you will. Hercules is nothing if not image-conscious."