She strolled forward and planted herself in front of us. To me, the message was clear enough: I see you, puny mortal now run along. I gave her a little parade wave-the sort of gesture I used to give my worshippers when they came to grovel at my altar. It was in fact a miserable morning-cold and cloudy with a smell of impending snow-but I felt it would be rude to ignore her completely. Either that or lots of ladies in Indianapolis wore purple-and-yellow honeysuckle-pattern dresses and had 1950s bouffant hairstyles. The woman in the flowery dress had returned. Then, from the direction of the sidewalk, a voice called, “Hello!” Maxx, Leo in boxer shorts and melted sneakers, rolling a bronze suitcase behind him. “Also, if we see a men’s clothing store, that might be good.” “Twelve hours? Fifteen?” He pushed a button on the side of the suitcase. “And if we find such a shop, how long will it take to repair Festus?” Her pink ski jacket glistened with condensation from our flight through the clouds. Guess we’re stuck here until I can find a machine shop.”Ĭalypso grimaced. “Man…I thought I fixed his gyro-capacitor. That should have been physically impossible, of course, but like any decent god, demigod, or engineer, Leo Valdez refused to be stopped by the laws of physics. In a matter of seconds, our robotic friend had been reduced to a large bronze suitcase. His wings, limbs, neck, and tail contracted into his body, his bronze plates overlapping and folding inward. Leo lunged and flipped the lever behind the dragon’s left foreleg. When the flames dissipated, Leo stood before us wearing nothing but his asbestos boxer shorts, his magical tool belt, and a pair of smoking, partially melted sneakers. If he were caught by surprise, however, it didn’t always work.
From what Leo had told me, he could generally prevent his outfits from burning up simply by concentrating. “Hey, buddy, it’s fine! I’m just going to switch you off for a while, okay? A little downtime to-”įestus projectile-vomited a column of flames that engulfed Leo. Leo ran in front of Festus and held out his arms in a classic dragon-wrangler’s stance. From inside his chest came a noise like a loose bicycle chain. “Perhaps-”įestus stumbled, shaking like a wet dog. “We should get out of the public eye,” I suggested. Their dazed smiles reminded me of ancient Athenians just before the Dionysus Festival-everyone in a good mood, distracted, thinking about the drunken riots and debauchery to come. Something about these locals bothered me. Still, I did not think heavy Mist was the problem here.