Meg stopped at the water’s edge. “Looks like they’re expecting anything.”

She was right. As the sunset faded to purple, the yachts lit up like giant Fabergé eggs. Spotlights swept the sky and sea as if advertising the biggest waterbed-mattress sale in history. Dozens of small patrol boats crisscrossed the harbor, just in case any Santa Barbara locals (Santa Barbarians?) had the nerve to try using their own coast.

I wondered if Caligula always had this much security, or if he was expecting us. By now he certainly knew we’d blown up Macro’s Military Madness. He’d also probably heard about our fight with Medea in the maze, assuming the sorceress had survived.

Caligula also had the Sibyl of Erythraea, which meant he had access to the same information Herophile had given Jason. The Sibyl might not want to help an evil emperor who kept her in molten shackles, but she couldn’t refuse any earnest petitioner posing direct questions. Such was the nature of oracular magic. I imagined the best she could do was give her answers in the form of really difficult crossword-puzzle clues.

Jason studied the sweep of the searchlights. “I could fly you guys over, one at a time. Maybe they won’t see us.”

“I think we should avoid flying, if possible,” I said. “And we should find a way over there before it gets much darker.”

Piper pushed her windblown hair from her face. “Why? Darkness gives us better cover.”

“Strixes,” I said. “They become active about an hour after sundown.”

“Strixes?” Piper asked.

I recounted our experience with the birds of doom in the Labyrinth. Meg offered helpful editorial comments like yuck, uh-huh, and Apollo’s fault.

Piper shuddered. “In Cherokee stories, owls are bad news. They tend to be evil spirits or spying medicine men. If these strixes are like giant bloodsucking owls…yeah, let’s not meet them.”

“Agreed,” Jason said. “But how do we get to the ships?”

Piper stepped into the waves. “Maybe we ask for a lift.”

She raised her arms and waved at the nearest dinghy, about fifty yards out, as it swept its light across the beach.

“Uh, Piper?” Jason asked.

Meg summoned her swords. “It’s fine. When they get close, I’ll take them out.”

I stared at my young master. “Meg, those are mortals. First of all, your swords will not work on them. Second, they don’t understand whom they’re working for. We can’t—”

“They’re working for the B—the bad man,” she said. “Caligula.”

I noticed her slip of the tongue. I had a feeling she’d been about to say: working for the Beast.

She put away her blades, but her voice remained cold and determined. I had a sudden horrible image of McCaffrey the Avenger assaulting the boat with nothing but her fists and packets of gardening seeds.

Jason looked at me as if to ask Do you need to tie her down, or should I?

The dinghy veered toward us. Aboard sat three men in dark fatigues, Kevlar vests, and riot helmets. One in back operated the outboard motor. One in front manned the searchlight. The one in the middle, no doubt the friendliest, had an assault rifle propped on his knee.

Piper waved and smiled at them. “Meg, don’t attack. I’ve got this. All of you, give me some space to work, please. I can charm these guys better if you’re not glowering behind me.”

This was not a difficult request. The three of us backed away, though Jason and I had to drag Meg.

“Hello!” Piper called as the boat came closer. “Don’t shoot! We’re friendly!”

The boat ran aground with such speed I thought it might keep driving right onto Cabrillo Boulevard. Mr. Searchlight jumped out first, surprisingly agile for a guy in body armor. Mr. Assault Rifle followed, providing cover while Mr. Engine cut the outboard motor.

Searchlight sized us up, his hand on his sidearm. “Who are you?”

“I’m Piper!” said Piper. “You don’t need to call this in. And you definitely don’t need to train that rifle on us!”

Searchlight’s face contorted. He started to match Piper’s smile, then seemed to remember that his job required him to glower. Assault Rifle did not lower his gun. Engine reached for his walkie-talkie.

“IDs,” barked Searchlight. “All of you.”

Next to me, Meg tensed, ready to become McCaffrey the Avenger. Jason tried to look inconspicuous, but his dress shirt crackled with static electricity.

“Sure!” Piper agreed. “Although I have a much better idea. I’m just going to reach in my pocket, okay? Don’t get excited.”

She pulled out a wad of cash—maybe a hundred dollars total. For all I knew, it represented the last of the McLean fortune.

“My friends and I were talking,” Piper continued, “about how hard you guys work, how difficult it must be patrolling the harbor! We were sitting over there at that café, eating these incredible fish tacos, and we thought, Hey, those guys deserve a break. We should buy them dinner!”

Searchlight’s eyes seemed to become unmoored from his brain. “Dinner break…?”

“Absolutely!” Piper said. “You can put down that heavy gun, toss that walkie-talkie away. Heck, you can just leave everything with us. We’ll watch it while you eat. Grilled snapper, homemade corn tortillas, seviche salsa.” She glanced back at us. “Amazing food, right, guys?”

We mumbled our assent.

“Yum,” Meg said. She excelled at one-syllable answers.

Assault Rifle lowered his gun. “I could use some fish tacos.”

“We’ve been working hard,” Engine agreed. “We deserve a dinner break.”

“Exactly!” Piper pressed the money into Searchlight’s hand. “Our treat. Thank you for your service!”

Searchlight stared at the wad of cash. “But we’re really not supposed to—”

“Eat with all that gear on?” Piper suggested. “You’re absolutely right. Just throw it all in the boat—the Kevlar, the guns, your cell phones. That’s right. Get comfortable!”

It took several more minutes of cajoling and lighthearted banter, but finally the three mercenaries had stripped down to just their commando pajamas. They thanked Piper, gave her a hug for good measure, then jogged off to assault the beachside café.

As soon as they were gone, Piper stumbled into Jason’s arms.

“Whoa, you okay?” he asked.

“F-fine.” She pushed away awkwardly. “Just harder charming a whole group. I’ll be okay.”

“That was impressive,” I said. “Aphrodite herself could not have done better.”

Piper didn’t look pleased by my comparison. “We should hurry. The charm won’t last.”

Meg grunted. “Still would’ve been easier to kill—”

“Meg,” I chided.

“—to beat them unconscious,” she amended.

“Right.” Jason cleared his throat. “Everybody in the boat!”

We were thirty yards offshore when we heard the mercenaries shouting, “Hey! Stop!” They ran into the surf, holding half-eaten fish tacos and looking confused.

Fortunately, Piper had taken all their weapons and communications devices.