I slept miserably and had a miserable dream.

I lay at the bottom of a cold, dark river. Above me floated a woman in black silky robes—the goddess Styx, the living incarnation of the infernal waters.

“More broken promises,” she hissed.

A sob built in my throat. I did not need the reminder.

“Jason Grace is dead,” she continued. “And the young pandos.”

Crest! I wanted to scream. He had a name!

“Do you begin to feel the folly of your rash vow upon my waters?” asked Styx. “There will be more deaths. My wrath will spare no one close to you until amends are made. Enjoy your time as a mortal, Apollo!”

Water began filling my lungs, as if my body had just now remembered it needed oxygen.

I woke up gasping.

Dawn was breaking over the desert. I was hugging my ukulele so tightly it had left gouge marks on my forearms and bruised my chest. Meg’s sleeping bag was empty, but before I could look for her, she scrambled down the hill toward me—a strange, excited light in her eyes.

“Apollo, get up,” she said. “You need to see this!”

THE McCaffrey mansion had been reborn.

Or rather, regrown.

Overnight, desert hardwoods had sprouted and grown at incredible speed, forming the beams and floors of a multilevel stilt house much like the old one. Heavy vines had emerged from the stone ruins, weaving together the walls and ceilings, leaving room for windows and skylights shaded by awnings made of wisteria.

The biggest difference in the new house: the great room had been built in a horseshoe shape around the Cistern, leaving the ash grove open to the sky.

“We hope you like it,” said Aloe Vera, taking us on a tour. “We all got together and decided it was the least we could do.”

The interior was cool and comfortable, with fountains and running water in every room provided by living root pipes from subterranean springs. Blooming cacti and Joshua trees decorated the spaces. Massive branches had shaped themselves into furniture. Even Dr. McCaffrey’s old work desk had been lovingly re-created.

Meg sniffled, blinking furiously.

“Oh, dear,” said Aloe Vera. “I hope you’re not allergic to the house!”

“No, this place is amazing.” Meg threw herself into Aloe’s arms, ignoring the dryad’s many pointy bits.

“Wow,” I said. (Meg’s poetry must have been rubbing off on me.) “How many nature spirits did it take to accomplish this?”

Aloe shrugged modestly. “Every dryad in the Mojave Desert wanted to help. You saved us all! And you restored the Meliai.” She gave Meg a gooey kiss on the cheek. “Your father would be so proud. You have completed his work.”

Meg blinked back tears. “I just wish…”

She didn’t need to finish. We all knew how many lives had not been saved.

“Will you stay?” Aloe asked. “Aeithales is your home.”

Meg gazed across the desert vista. I was terrified she would say yes. Her final command to me would be to continue my quests by myself, and this time she would mean it. Why shouldn’t she? She had found her home. She had friends here, including seven very powerful dryads who would hail her and bring her enchiladas every morning. She could become the protector of Southern California, far from Nero’s grasp. She might find peace.

The idea of being free from Meg would have delighted me just a few weeks ago, but now I found the idea insupportable. Yes, I wanted her to be happy. But I knew she had many things yet to do—first among them was facing Nero once again, closing that horrible chapter of her life by confronting and conquering the Beast.

Oh, and also I needed Meg’s help. Call me selfish, but I couldn’t imagine going on without her.

Meg squeezed Aloe’s hand. “Maybe someday. I hope so. But right now…we got places to be.”

Grover had generously left us the Mercedes he’d borrowed from…wherever.

After saying our good-byes to Herophile and the dryads, who were discussing plans to create a giant Scrabble-board floor in one of the back bedrooms at Aeithales, we drove to Santa Monica to find the address Piper had given me. I kept looking in the rearview mirror, wondering if the highway patrol would pull us over for car theft. That would’ve been the perfect end to my week.

It took us a while to find the right address: a small private airfield near the Santa Monica waterfront.

A security guard let us through the gates with no questions, as if he’d been expecting two teenagers in a possibly stolen red Mercedes. We drove straight onto the tarmac.

A gleaming white Cessna was parked near the terminal, right next to Coach Hedge’s yellow Pinto. I shuddered, wondering if we were trapped in an episode of The Oracle Is Right! First prize: the Cessna. Second prize…No, I couldn’t face the idea.

Coach Hedge was changing Baby Chuck’s diaper on the hood of the Pinto, keeping Chuck distracted by letting him gnaw on a grenade. (Which was probably just an empty casing. Probably.) Mellie stood next to him, supervising.

When she saw us, she waved and gave us a sad smile, but she pointed toward the plane, where Piper stood at the base of the steps, talking with the pilot.

In her hands, Piper held something large and flat—a display board. She had a couple of books under her arm, too. To her right, near the tail of the aircraft, the luggage compartment stood open. Ground-crew members were carefully strapping down a large wooden box with brass fixtures. A coffin.

As Meg and I walked up, the captain shook Piper’s hand. His face was tight with sympathy. “Everything is in order, Ms. McLean. I’ll be on board doing preflight checks until our passengers are ready.”

He gave us a quick nod, then climbed into the Cessna.

Piper was dressed in faded denim jeans and a green camo tank top. She’d cut her hair in a shorter, choppier style—probably because so much had been singed off anyway—which gave her an eerie resemblance to Thalia Grace. Her multicolored eyes picked up the gray of the tarmac, so she might have been mistaken for a child of Athena.

The display board she held was, of course, Jason’s diorama of Temple Hill at Camp Jupiter. Tucked under her arm were Jason’s two sketchbooks.

A ball bearing lodged itself in my throat. “Ah.”

“Yeah,” she said. “The school let me clear out his stuff.”

I took the map as one might take the folded flag of a fallen soldier. Meg slid the sketchbooks into her knapsack.

“You’re off to Oklahoma?” I asked, pointing my chin toward the plane.

Piper laughed. “Well, yes. But we’re driving. My dad rented an SUV. He’s waiting for the Hedges and me at DK’s Donuts.” She smiled sadly. “First place he ever took me to breakfast when we moved out here.”

“Driving?” Meg asked. “But—”

“The plane is for you two,” Piper said. “And…Jason. Like I said, my dad had enough flight time and fuel credit for one last trip. I talked to him about sending Jason home; I mean…the home he had the longest, in the Bay Area, and how you guys could escort him up there….Dad agreed this was a much better use of the plane. We’re happy to drive.”

I looked at the diorama of Temple Hill—all the little Monopoly tokens carefully labeled in Jason’s hand. I read the label: APOLLO. I could hear Jason’s voice in my mind, saying my name, asking me for one favor: Whatever happens, when you get back to Olympus, when you’re a god again, remember. Remember what it’s like to be human.