Piper shook her head. Never mind.

Meg offered us bluebonnet seeds. We both declined. Piper, I guessed, was naturally resistant to other charmspeakers. As for me, I did not intend to get close enough to be Medea’s primary target. Nor did I have Meg’s weakness—a conflicted desire, misguided but powerful, to please her stepfather and reclaim some semblance of home and family—which Medea could and would exploit. Besides, the idea of walking around with lupines sticking out of my ears made me queasy.

“Get ready,” I warned.

“WHAT?” Meg asked.

I pointed at Medea’s chariot, now charging toward us out of the gloom. I traced my finger across my throat, the universal sign for kill that sorceress and her dragons.

Meg summoned her swords.

She charged the sun dragons as if they were not ten times her size.

Medea yelled with what sounded like real concern, “Move, Meg!”

Meg charged on, her festive ear protection bouncing up and down like giant blue dragonfly wings. Just before a head-on collision, Piper shouted, “DRAGONS, HALT!”

Medea countered, “DRAGONS, GO!”

The result: chaos not seen since Plan Thermopylae.

The beasts lurched in their harnesses, Right Dragon charging forward, Left Dragon stopping completely. Right stumbled, pulling Left forward so the two dragons crashed together. The yoke twisted and the chariot toppled sideways, throwing Medea across the pavement like a cow from a catapult.

Before the dragons could recover, Meg plunged in with her double blades. She beheaded Left and Right, releasing from their bodies a blast of heat so intense my sinuses sizzled.

Piper ran forward and yanked her dagger from the dead dragon’s eye.

“Good job,” she told Meg.

“WHAT?” Meg asked.

I emerged from behind a cement column, where I had courageously taken cover, waiting in case my friends required backup.

Pools of dragon blood steamed at Meg’s feet. Her lupine ear accessories smoked, and her cheeks were burned, but otherwise she looked unharmed. The heat radiating from the sun dragon bodies had already started to cool.

Thirty feet away, in a COMPACT CAR ONLY spot, Medea struggled to her feet. Her dark braided hairdo had come undone, spilling down one side of her face like oil from a punctured tanker. She staggered forward, baring her teeth.

I slung my bow from my shoulder and fired a shot. My aim was decent, but even for a mortal, my strength was feeble. Medea flicked her fingers. A gust of wind sent my arrow spinning into the dark.

“You killed Phil and Don!” snarled the sorceress. “They’ve been with me for millennia!”

“WHAT?” Meg asked.

With a wave of her hand, Medea summoned a stronger blast of air. Meg flew across the parking garage, crashed into the pillar, and crumpled, her swords clattering against the asphalt.

“Meg!” I tried to run to her, but more wind swirled around me, caging me in a vortex.

Medea laughed. “Stay right there, Apollo. I’ll get to you in a moment. Don’t worry about Meg. The descendants of Plemnaeus are of hardy stock. I won’t kill her unless I have to. Nero wants her alive.”

The descendants of Plemnaeus? I wasn’t sure what that meant, or how it applied to Meg, but the thought of her being returned to Nero made me struggle harder.

I threw myself against the miniature cyclone. The wind shoved me back. If you’ve ever held your hand out the window of the sun Maserati as it speeds across the sky, and felt the force of a thousand-mile-an-hour wind shear threatening to rip your immortal fingers off, I’m sure you can relate.

“As for you, Piper…” Medea’s eyes glittered like black ice. “You remember my aerial servants, the venti? I could simply have one throw you against a wall and break every bone in your body, but what fun would that be?” She paused and seemed to consider her words. “Actually, that would be a lot of fun!”

“Too scared?” Piper blurted out. “Of facing me yourself, woman to woman?”

Medea sneered. “Why do heroes always do that? Why do they try to taunt me into doing something foolish?”

“Because it usually works,” Piper said sweetly. She crouched with her blowgun in one hand and her knife in the other, ready to lunge or dodge as needed. “You keep saying you’re going to kill me. You keep telling me how powerful you are. But I keep beating you. I don’t see a powerful sorceress. I see a lady with two dead dragons and a bad hairdo.”

I understood what Piper was doing, of course. She was giving us time—for Meg to regain consciousness, and for me to find a way out of my personal tornado prison. Neither event seemed likely. Meg lay motionless where she had fallen. Try as I might, I could not body-slam my way through the swirling ventus.

Medea touched her crumbling hairdo, then pulled her hand away.

“You’ve never beaten me, Piper McLean,” she growled. “In fact, you did me a favor by destroying my home in Chicago last year. If not for that, I wouldn’t have found my new friend here in Los Angeles. Our goals align very well indeed.”

“Oh, I bet,” Piper said. “You and Caligula, the most twisted Roman emperor in history? A match made in Tartarus. In fact, that’s where I’m going to send you.”

On the other side of the chariot wreckage, Meg McCaffrey’s fingers twitched. Her bluebonnet earplugs shivered as she took a deep breath. I had never been so glad to see wildflowers tremble in someone’s ears!

I pushed my shoulder against the wind. I still couldn’t break through, but the barrier seemed to be softening, as if Medea was losing focus on her minion. Venti were fickle spirits. Without Medea keeping it on task, the air servant was likely to lose interest and fly off to find some nice pigeons or airplane pilots to harass.

“Brave words, Piper,” said the sorceress. “Caligula wanted to kill you and Jason Grace, you know. It would have been simpler. But I convinced him it would be better to let you suffer in exile. I liked the idea of you and your formerly famous father stuck on a dirt farm in Oklahoma, both of you slowly going mad with boredom and hopelessness.”

Piper’s jaw muscles tensed. Suddenly she reminded me of her mother, Aphrodite, whenever someone on earth compared their own beauty to hers. “You’re going to regret letting me live.”

“Probably.” Medea shrugged. “But it has been fun watching your world fall apart. As for Jason, that lovely boy with the name of my former husband—”

“What about him?” Piper demanded. “If you’ve hurt him—”

“Hurt him? Not at all! I imagine he’s in school right now, listening to some boring lecture, or writing an essay, or whatever dreary work mortal teenagers do. The last time you two were in the maze…” She smiled. “Yes, of course I know about that. We granted him access to the Sibyl. That’s the only way to find her, you know. I have to allow you to reach the center of the maze—unless you’re wearing the emperor’s shoes, of course.” Medea laughed, as if the idea amused her. “And really, they wouldn’t go with your outfit.”

Meg tried to sit up. Her glasses had slipped sideways and were hanging from the tip of her nose.

I elbowed my cyclone cage. The wind was definitely swirling more slowly now.

Piper gripped her knife. “What did you do to Jason? What did the Sibyl say?”