The Shadow Summoner | Book Three - PJO Universe

six

PIPER

Driving from Palm Springs to Malibu with Meg and Apollo would have been bad enough. Skirting wildfire evacuation zones and the LA morning rush hour made it worse.

But did they have to make the journey in Gleeson Hedge's mustard-colored 1979 Ford Pinto coupe?

"Are you kidding?" Apollo asked when he found his friends waiting with Gleeson at the car. "Don't any of the cacti own a better-I mean another vehicle?"

Coach Hedge glowered. "Hey, buddy, you should be grateful. This is a classic! Belonged to my granddaddy goat. I've kept it in great shape, so don't you guys dare wreck it."

"We'll take good care of it." Ariana promised.

Coach Hedge conferred with Grover, making sure he knew how to find the McLean house in Malibu.

"The McLeans should still be there," Hedge mused. "At least, I hope so."

"What do you mean?" Grover asked. "Why would they not be there?"

Hedge coughed. "Anyway, good luck! Give Piper my best if you see her. Poor kid...."

He turned and trotted back up the hill.

The inside of the Pinto smelled like hot polyester and patchouli, which brought back bad memories of disco-dancing with Travolta. (Fun fact: In Italian, his surname means overwhelmed, which perfectly describes what his cologne does according to Apollo.)

Grover took the wheel, since Gleeson trusted only him with the keys. (Rude.)

Meg rode shotgun, her red sneakers propped on the dashboard as she amused herself by growing bougainvillea vines around her ankles.

She seemed in good spirits, considering last night's share session of childhood tragedy. That made one of them.

Ariana could barely think about the losses she'd suffered without blinking back tears. Luckily, she and Apollo had lots of room to cry in privacy, since they were stuck in the backseat.

They started west on Interstate 10.

As they passed by Moreno Valley, it took Ariana a while to realize what was wrong: rather than slowly changing to green, the landscape remained brown, the temperature oppressive, and the air dry and sour, as if the Mojave Desert had forgotten its boundaries and spread all the way to Riverside.

To the north, the sky was a soupy haze, like the entire San Bernardino Forest was on fire.

By the time they reached Pomona and hit bumper-to-bumper traffic, their Pinto was shuddering and wheezing like a warthog with heatstroke.

Grover glanced in the rearview mirror at a BMW riding their tail.

"Don't Pintos explode if they're hit from behind?" he asked.

"Only sometimes." Apollo said.

Back in his sun-chariot days, riding a vehicle that burst into flames was never something that bothered him, but after Grover brought it up, Apollo kept looking behind him.

Ariana was in desperate need of breakfast-not just cold leftovers from last night's enchilada run.

She would've smote a Greek city for a good cup of coffee and perhaps a nice long drive in the opposite direction from where they were going.

Grover navigated around the northern edge of Los Angeles, through traffic that moved almost as slowly as Athena's brainstorming process.

For once, Ariana understood why Hades had located the main entrance to the Underworld here.