PERCY HAD NEVER THOUGHT OF MR. D 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. Mr. D 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.”
He looked the same as he had in Kansas, but Percy still couldn’t get over the differences between Bacchus and his old not-so-much-of-a-friend Mr. D.
Bacchus was meaner and leaner, with less of a potbelly. He had longer hair, more spring in his step, and a lot more anger in his eyes. He even managed to make a pinecone on a stick look intimidating.
Ephialtes’s spear quivered. “You—you gods are doomed! Be gone, in the name of Gaea!”
“Hmm.” Bacchus sounded unimpressed. He strolled through the ruined props, platforms, and special effects.
“Tacky.” He waved his 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.
Bacchus 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,” Bacchus said. “Please, carry on.”
Percy stared at him. “Didn’t you come here to help?”
Bacchus 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,” Bacchus said. “At any rate, you got my attention. I’m here. Now I need to see if you’re worthy of my help. Go ahead. Battle. If I’m impressed, I’ll jump in for the grand finale.”
“We speared one,” Percy said. “Dropped the roof on the other. What do you consider impressive?”
“Ah, a good question…” Bacchus tapped his thyrsus. Then he smiled in a way that made Percy think, Uh-oh. “Perhaps you need inspiration! The stage hasn’t been properly set. You call this a spectacle, Ephialtes? Let me show you how it’s done.”
The god dissolved into purple mist. Piper and Nico disappeared.
“Pipes!” Jason yelled. “Bacchus, where did you—?”
The entire floor rumbled and began to rise. The ceiling opened in a series of panels. Sunlight poured in. The air shimmered like a mirage, and Percy heard the roar of a crowd above him.
The hypogeum ascended through a forest of weathered stone columns, into the middle of a ruined coliseum.
Percy’s heart did a somersault. This wasn’t just any coliseum. It was the Colosseum. The giants’ special effects machines had gone into overtime, laying planks across ruined support beams so the arena had a proper floor again. The bleachers repaired themselves until they were gleaming white. A giant red-and-gold canopy extended overhead to provide shade from the afternoon sun. The emperor’s box was draped with silk, flanked by banners and golden eagles. The roar of applause came from thousands of shimmering purple ghosts, the Lares of Rome brought back for an encore performance.
Vents opened in the floor and sprayed sand across the arena. Huge props sprang up—garage-size mountains of plaster, stone columns, and (for some reason) life-size plastic barnyard animals. A small lake appeared to one side. Ditches crisscrossed the arena floor in case anyone was in the mood for trench warfare. Percy and Jason stood together facing the twin giants.
“This is a proper show!” boomed the voice of Bacchus. He sat in the emperor’s box wearing purple robes and golden laurels. At his left sat Nico and Piper, her shoulder being tended by a nymph in a nurse’s uniform. At Bacchus’s right crouched a satyr, offering up Doritos and grapes. The god raised a can of Diet Pepsi and the crowd went respectfully quiet.
Percy glared up at him. “You’re just going to sit there?”
“The demigod is right!” Ephialtes bellowed. “Fight us yourself, coward! Um, without the demigods.”
Bacchus smiled lazily. “Juno says she’s assembled a worthy crew of demigods. Show me. Entertain me, heroes of Olympus. Give me a reason to do more. Being a god has its privileges.”
He popped his soda can top, and the crowd cheered.
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