The Shadow Summoner | Book Three - PJO Universe

thirteen

APOLLO OPENS A DOOR TO A SOUNDLESS GOD (WOO)

As soon as Ariana reached the catwalk, she gripped the rail.

She wasn't sure if her legs were wobbly or if the entire tower was swaying.

Below, San Francisco stretched out in a rumpled quilt of green and gray, the edges frayed with fog.

The ravens were nowhere in sight. That didn't mean anything. A blanket of fog still obscured the top of the tower.

The killers might swoop out of it at any minute. It wasn't fair that birds with twenty-foot wingspans could sneak up on them so easily.

At the far end of the catwalk sat the shipping container. The scent of roses was so strong now even Ariana could smell it, and it seemed to be coming from the box.

Apollo took a step toward it and immediately stumbled.

"Careful." Reyna grabbed his arm.

Ariana carefully got to his side, grabbing onto his other arm - Reyna immediately let go off his arm, looking at Ariana.

Her eyes seemed to be asking 'are you alright?' Ariana nodded.

Then the praetor turned to Apollo.

"I'm okay," Apollo said.

"You need medical attention," Reyna said. "Your face is a horror show."

"Thanks."

"I've got supplies," Meg announced.

She rummaged through the pouches of her gardening belt. Ariana was terrified she might try to patch his face with flowering bougainvillea, but instead she pulled out tape, gauze, and alcohol wipes.

Ariana supposed her time with Pranjal had taught her more than just how to use a cheese grater.

She fussed over his face, then checked Apollo and Reyna for any especially deep cuts and punctures.

They had plenty.

Soon all three of them looked like refugees from George Washington's camp at Valley Forge.

They could have spent the whole afternoon bandaging each other, but they didn't have that much time.

Meg turned to regard the shipping container. She still had a stubborn geranium stuck in her hair. Her tattered dress rippled around her like shreds of seaweed.

"What is that thing?" she wondered. "What's it doing up here, and why does it smell like roses?"

Good questions.

Judging scale and distance on the tower was difficult. Tucked against the girders, the shipping container looked close and small, but it was probably a full city block away from them, and larger than Marlon Brando's personal trailer on the set of The Godfather. (Wow, where did that memory come from? Crazy times.)

Installing that huge red box on Sutro Tower would have been a massive undertaking. Then again, the Triumvirate had enough cash to purchase fifty luxury yachts, so they could probably afford a few cargo helicopters.

The bigger question was why?

From the sides of the container, glimmering bronze and gold cables snaked outward, weaving around the pylon and crossbeams like grounding wires, connecting to satellite dishes, cellular arrays, and power boxes.

Was there some sort of monitoring station inside? The world's most expensive hothouse for roses? Or perhaps the most elaborate scheme ever to steal premium cable-TV channels.