ENTRAPPED ₂

70

MADELEINE HAD NEVER THOUGHT OF DIONYSUS 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. Dionysus 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." His eyes flashed toward Madeleine again. She could have cried.

Bacchus looked the same as he had in Kansas, but this time, somehow, he seemed to know her more openly. She could see the physical differences in him—he was meaner and leaner, with longer hair and more anger in his eyes. But he was also the Dionysus she had known since she was fifteen, the one that had introduced her to her knives and healed her brother's mind and asked her to watch out for his sons. There would never be anything to make her forget him, no matter his form.

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

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

"Tacky." He waved a 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, 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.

Dionysus 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 Percy.

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

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

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

Dionysus 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," Percy muttered.

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

"What?"

"Never mind," Dionysus said. "At any rate, you got my attention. I'm here. Truthfully, I'm here for the girl more than the rest of you"—he pointed his chin at Madeleine—"but, sure, I can watch a battle. Supervise, referee. Whatever you mortals call it these days. I'll see if you're worthy of my time. Go ahead. Fight. If I'm impressed, I'll jump in for the grand finale."

Percy was gaping at him. He was looking from Dionysus to Madeleine like they were in league. "We speared one," he said. "Dropped the roof on the other. What do you consider impressive?"