Page 50

Grover shivered. “This could get ugly. You sure we don’t want to buy some rain ponchos?”

I wished I knew more about Greek witchcraft. I usually tried to deal with such things by stabbing the magic-maker as quickly as possible and/or running away. When it came to how fast a witch could zap, what they could zap you with, and how to prevent such zappage, I was in the dark.

“I don’t think waterproof clothes are going to be enough,” I decided. “It’s a store, right? Whoever’s in there, they won’t necessarily know who we are. Let’s pretend to be customers.”

“Except Filomena recognized you.”

I frowned. “Right. And I have no idea where we met. Do you?”

Grover shook his head. “It seemed like she knewyou, not me. I could go in alone.”

“No way.” I tried to think. It wasn’t easy without Annabeth to do ninety percent of it for me. “Let’s just bluff it out. We go in looking for a gift. If a naiad recognizes me, I’ll improvise.”

Grover scratched his horns. “Let me take the lead. Not to criticize your improv talents, but…”

“Fine,” I said. “We can do this.”

I said this not because I believed it, but because 1) I wanted it to be true, and 2) I was impatient and needed to do something, even if that something was dangerous.

We strolled across the street.

Grover pushed open the door, which made a chirpy electronic welcome beep. Inside, the Great Wall of Smell smacked me in the face—so much patchouli, ginger, and pumpkin that my eyes watered. Through the haze, I could make out a few glass display counters, two salon chairs, and behind the register in back, a lady reading a magazine. She looked a lot like Filomena, except her dark hair was longer. She wore a cosmetics lab coat over a pink dress and had tortoiseshell sunglasses covering her eyes, maybe because the smells in this place were so bright they hurt.

“Welcome,” she said, without looking up from her magazine. She sounded glum, like she was used to losing sales. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

“Thanks,” Grover said.

I scanned the shop. There were no polecats on duty. No raw chicken carcasses or bags of weasel wafers. The place was spare and kind of depressing, but the sales lady was definitely a naiad. I could feel the water energy rolling off her like a river current. So far, she didn’t seem to sense me. I wanted to keep it that way.

Grover strode up to the counter, smiling. “I’m looking for a gift. For my girlfriend. She’s a juniper bush?”

The lady did a double take. I was across the room, pretending to browse, but out the corner of my eye I could see her reassessing Grover, realizing he was a satyr, and then switching into Greek-myth mode, likeOkay, you’re magical, I’m magical, let’s make a deal.

“I see.” She gave him a cautious smile. “A juniper dryad! What’s the occasion? Is it her bloom day?”

“No, just an early Saturnalia present,” Grover said. “If I don’t do my holiday shopping ahead of time, I get overwhelmed.”

“Oh, I understand! Very thoughtful. Have you been in the shop before? I don’t remember you.”

“No, but I’ve heard great things. Grover Underwood, Cloven Elder.”

He put out his hand. After a moment of shock, she shook it.

“A Cloven Elder.” Her smile warmed to just above tepid. “It’s an honor.”

“And your name is…Fancy?” he guessed. “I’ve heard you make thebestwater.”

She pursed her lips like she was trying to stay polite and not yell at the VIP. My hand crept toward Riptide in case things went south, but Grover seemed to be selling his act as a harmless knucklehead, which was usually my role.

“Actually, it’s Silbe,” said the naiad.

“Sylvie.”

“No, Sil-BEE, with ab.”

“Of course,” Grover said. “Thatismuch fancier. So, what would you recommend for my Juniper?”

“Well, let’s see.” Silbe scanned the display cases. “Juniper pairs well with citrus…say grapefruit or orange?”