ONE LAST TIME . . . heroes of olympus

70

KAT HAD NEVER, not once in her life, thought of Mr. D as a calming influence, but suddenly everything got quiet. The machines ground to a halt. The wild animals stopped growling.

The two leopards paced over — still licking their lips from Piper's pot roast — and butted their heads affectionately against the god's legs. Mr. D scratched their ears.

"Really, Ephialtes," he chided. "Killing demigods is one thing. But using leopards for your spectacle? That's over the line."

The giant made a squeaking sound. "This — this is impossible. D-D—"

"It's Bacchus, actually, my old friend," said the god. "And of course it's possible. Someone told me there was a party going on."

He looked the same as he had in Kansas, but Kat still couldn't get over the differences between Bacchus and Mr. D.

Bacchus was meaner and leaner, with less of a potbelly. He had longer hair, more spring in his step, and a lot more anger in his eyes. He even managed to make a pinecone on a stick look intimidating. That's impressive for anyone.

Ephialtes's spear quivered. "You — you gods are doomed! Be gone, in the name of Gaea!"

"Hmm." Bacchus sounded unimpressed. He strolled through the ruined props, platforms, and special effects.

"Tacky." He waved his hand at a painted wooden gladiator, then turned to a machine that looked like an oversized rolling pin studded with knives. "Cheap. Boring. And this . . ." He inspected the rocket-launching contraption Percy had been working with, which was still smoking. "Tacky, cheap, and boring. Honestly, Ephialtes. You have no sense of style."

"STYLE?" The giant's face flushed. "I have mountains of style. I define style. I — I—"

"My brother oozes style," Otis suggested.

"Thank you!" Ephialtes cried.

Bacchus stepped forward, and the giants stumbled back. "Have you two gotten shorter?" asked the god.

"Oh, that's low," Ephialtes growled. "I'm quite tall enough to destroy you, Bacchus! You gods, always hiding behind your mortal heroes, trusting the fate of Olympus to the likes of these."

He sneered at Kat, who gave him the middle finger. He didn't react to it. Man, imagine being so old that the middle finger means nothing to you. What a shame.

Jason hefted his sword. "Lord Bacchus, are we going to kill these giants or what?"

"Well, I certainly hope so," Bacchus said. "Please, carry on."

Percy stared at him. "Didn't you come here to help?"

Bacchus shrugged. "Oh, I appreciated the sacrifice at sea. A whole ship full of Diet Coke. Very nice. Although I would've preferred Diet Pepsi."

"And six million in gold and jewels that everyone wouldn't let me steal," muttered Kat.

"Yes," said Bacchus, "although with demigod parties of five or more the gratuity is included, so that wasn't necessary."

"Huh?" said Kat.

"Never mind," Bacchus waved her away. "At any rate, you got my attention. I'm here. Now I need to see if you're worthy of my help. Go ahead. Battle. If I'm impressed, I'll jump in for the grand finale."

"We speared one," Percy said. "Dropped the roof on the other. What do you consider impressive?"

"Ah, a good question . . ." Bacchus tapped his thyrsus. Then he smiled in a way that made Kat think, well, we're fucked. "Perhaps you need inspiration! The stage hasn't been properly set. You call this a spectacle, Ephialtes? Let me show you how it's done."