Where You Go ― Jason Grace

xiii. three ghosts in a department store

AFTER QUITE A BIT of walking, the group of teenage demigods found a pair of polished steel elevator doors. Each door was engraved with a cursive M, and next to the elevator was a directory, like what one might find in a department store.

"M for Macy's?" Piper guessed. "I think they have one in downtown Chicago."

"Or Monocle Motors still?" Leo said. "Guys, read the directory. It's messed up."

Parking, Kennels, Main Entrance: Sewer Level 
Furnishings and Café M: 1 
Women's Fashion and Magical Appliances: 2 
Men's Wear and Weaponry: 3 
Cosmetics, Potions, Poisons & Sundries: 4

"Why's the weaponry in the men's section?" Ophelia asked with a scowl.

"Kennels for what?" Piper questioned. "And what kind of department store has its entrance in a sewer?"

"Or sells poisons," Leo said. "Man, what does 'sundries' even mean? Is that like underwear?"

Jason took a deep breath, squeezing Ophelia's hand. "When in doubt, start at the top."

When the elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor, Jason stepped out first, his sword ready. The smell of perfume and cologne immediately drifted into the elevator car, making Ophelia wrinkle her nose and grimace. 

"Guys," Jason said. "You've got to see this."

The rest of them stepped out of the elevator after him, taking in the sight before them. 

"This is not Macy's," Piper breathed.

The department store looked like the inside of a kaleidoscope. The whole ceiling was a stained glass mosaic of astrological signs around a giant sun. Balconies ringed around a huge central atrium, giving them a chance to see all the way to the ground floor. Apart from the ceiling, there were no other windows or doors, but two sets of glass escalators ran between the levels. There was normal stuff like shirt racks and shoe trees mixed in with armored mannequins, various tools of torture, and fur coats that were definitely moving.

All in all, it seemed more like a magical flea market than a typical department store.

Leo stepped to the railing and looked down. "Check it out."

In the middle of the atrium was a fountain spraying water twenty feet in the air, changing color from red to yellow to blue. The pool glittered with gold coins, and on either side of the fountain stood a gilded cage—like an oversized canary cage.

Inside of one cage, a miniature hurricane swirled. Somebody had imprisoned the storm spirits, and the cage shuddered as they struggled to escape. In the other, frozen like a statue, was a short, buff satyr holding a tree-branch club.

But none of that was what caught Ophelia's attention. Her gaze was focused, not on the cages or the fountain, but on the trio of ghosts looking up at her.

There were two boys and one girl, all of them around Ophelia's age. One of the boys had burns on his translucent skin and his shirt—an orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt—was riddled with holes, as if he'd been sprayed with acid. The other boy kept touching his throat like it ached, his lips blue and his eyes bloodshot. The girl's shirt—another Camp Half-Blood shirt—was covered in slashes and blood, and there was a nasty gash across her throat. 

They had all died in this store—brutal, horrific deaths from the looks of it.

Ophelia's breath caught in her throat. "Oh, gods," she whispered. She shook her head, her grip tightening on Jason's hand. "We have to get out of here. Something's wrong."