Page 8 of The Court of the Dead (The Nico di Angelo Adventures #2)

T he Minotaur snorted. “The name is Asterion, thank you very much.”

His voice was deep, smooth, and surprisingly relaxing, like the narrator of an audiobook.

“I—I’m sorry,” Nico stammered, “but you can talk ?”

“Hmph.” Asterion lumbered toward him, making the floorboards creak. Every molecule in Nico’s body screamed fight-or-flight, but he managed to hold his ground and keep his sword in its sheath.

The bull-man crouched to be eye to eye with them. “It figures that a demigod would assume I could not speak. Have you not come across many of my kind?”

Will took a step back, almost tripping over Defiance. “Uh, you mean other minotaurs? I thought you were unique.”

Asterion twitched his large fuzzy ears, which Nico took as a sign of annoyance.

“I mean denizens of Tartarus in general,” said the Minotaur. “Surely some have spoken to you?”

“Oh…yes,” Will admitted. “It’s just that…well, no one ever mentioned that you , specifically, could talk.”

“I’m pretty sure Percy told us that the most you did was moo and yell,” added Nico.

Too late, he realized it might be a bad idea mentioning Percy to the Minotaur. Percy had killed the guy twice —once with an ax, and once with his own horn. Nico tensed, ready for a crash course in bullfighting. Instead, Asterion just nodded.

“Percy…as in Jackson.” His tone suggested grudging respect.

“A formidable fighter. And you’re right.

We did not do a lot of talking.” Asterion stroked his chin, which was a weird look for a bull.

“I should like to make amends with Percy Jackson the next time we meet. I believe he is not far from this very spot at the moment. But he is not to be bothered.” Asterion lowered his voice as if sharing a dangerous secret. “Something about…grades.”

“Yes,” said Hazel. “Not bothering Percy would be ideal.”

Nico took this to mean Annabeth will kill us if we interrupt them during their first semester at New Rome University.

He rubbed his temples. He still felt a bit hazy from the shadow-travel…and now this. “Lot to take in.”

“Yeah,” said Will. “We’ve seen many things, but the Mino—”

“Asterion.” The bull-man’s voice dropped to a dangerous rumble. “Names have power, little demigod. I would greatly appreciate it if you used mine instead of referring to me by the epithet I was assigned.”

Nico trembled. He didn’t often feel afraid, but up close, Asterion was intimidating—a mountain of muscle and fur in a blue bath towel.

“Sorry,” Will said. “Won’t happen again.”

The corner of Asterion’s mouth twitched…. Was that a smile ? “Thank you. I know you must be confused. My story…well, sometimes, even I cannot believe it.”

“So you’re here…why?” Will frowned at Hazel. “You’re not, like, holding him hostage, are you?”

Hazel sniffed indignantly. “Will Solace, you know me better than that.”

Asterion chuckled. “I am no hostage, my friend.” He turned to Nico. “I am actually here because of both of you, son of Hades and son of Apollo.”

Nico couldn’t take it anymore. He wobbled and reached for Will. “I think I need to sit down.”

Will guided him to one of the bunk beds. Then he whipped out a Kit Kat bar from his backpack. “Eat this.”

Nico obliged. Meanwhile, Asterion somehow managed to drop to the floor and sit cross-legged opposite him.

The Cocoa Puffs hopped around the bull-man, warily checking him out.

They seemed to be having a contest to see which of them dared to get closest. Nico felt like his mind was going to fracture at any second.

Here they were, just a few friends and demons, having a pleasant chat with a killer monster from Crete.

He glanced at Hazel, silently begging her to make it make sense.

“He arrived here last week,” Hazel explained, sitting beside Asterion. “One of the guards spotted him making his way down the hillside waving his, uh, surrender flag.”

Asterion pinched the fabric of his kilt/towel thing, indicating that it had served as the flag in question. Nico desperately hoped the bull-man had been wearing something else underneath when he surrendered.

“I made it myself,” Asterion said proudly. “It is customary for mortals to wave a blue flag when surrendering, is it not?”

“Um…close enough,” Nico said. “But why come here? And what does it have to do with me?”

The bull-man rested his enormous hands on his knees.

His fingernails were perfectly manicured, painted blue to match his kilt.

“After Percy Jackson defeated me for the second time, my regeneration in Tartarus took over a year. By the time I was made whole again, everything in Tartarus seemed changed. The Doors of Death had closed, but there was still a sense that the boundary between our world and yours had weakened…perhaps permanently. I heard stories of demigods who had survived expeditions into Tartarus and returned to the upper world.”

He paused. “Imagine how that felt—to believe that Tartarus was our realm alone, that it would mean certain death to anyone else who dared enter. And then to discover that three different demigods had successfully escaped the lowest, most terrible reaches of the Underworld!”

“ Four demigods,” Will corrected. “I’m the fourth.” He’d been nibbling on a brownie from his Bag of Infinite Snacks, but when Asterion turned to study him, he paused, suddenly looking self-conscious. “Sorry,” Will said. “Please continue.”

Asterion lowered his head. “I began to suspect that the old rules no longer applied…. I waited to see what I would be asked to do in this new regeneration, which god or spirit might call upon me to do their bidding. But I received no summons. I wandered Tartarus, waiting for a purpose.”

“A purpose?” Nico leaned forward. He still felt dizzy, but the Kit Kat bar was starting to make its way through his metabolism, shoring up his stamina through the magic of wafers and chocolate. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know the legend of my creation?” Asterion asked.

Will took another bite of brownie. “I mean…sort of? At camp, they tell the story of how Poseidon wanted revenge on King Minos, so he cursed Queen Pasiphae into falling in love with a white bull. And the baby was…” He gestured at the bull-man.

Asterion’s wet nostrils flared. “That much is true, unfortunately. My very birth was predicated on a trick. A terrible deception. Then, once I began to grow, my mother believed it was best that I be housed within a labyrinth.”

Hazel patted his hand, which was three times the size of hers. She glanced at Nico. “They said it was because he was too fierce and violent, tearing up the palace, eating people. But that wasn’t true. Minos and Pasiphae just didn’t want to be embarrassed by his presence.”

Nico felt a twinge of sympathy. He knew about being stowed away, kept out of sight by a parent.

“I guess I never thought of it from your point of view,” he told Asterion. “You didn’t get a choice, did you?”

“Correct, son of Hades.” Asterion’s mouth twitched again—definitely a sad smile.

Nico was starting to figure out bovine facial expressions.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

“No one asked me whether I wanted to have seven youths and seven maidens sacrificed to me every seven years! I don’t even like human flesh.

You taste like…what do you call it? Beef jerky? ”

Will shuddered. “That’s a fun mental image.”

Hazel nodded in agreement. “I haven’t eaten any since he said the same thing to me.”

“But that is not the point,” said Asterion. “I was never asked what I wanted to do. Not in my mortal life. Nor afterward, when I was killed for the first time and sent to the Underworld.”

“By Theseus,” Nico said.

He knew immediately he’d said something wrong. Asterion’s brown eyes turned red.

“Do not say that fool’s name in my presence.” His booming voice echoed through the barracks.

“Sorry!” Nico raised his hands in concession. “I should have figured he was a sensitive subject.”

“Did you know that nightmare of a human did not even kill me on purpose?”

Hazel leaned back. “What? I haven’t heard this part.”

“I had nearly defeated him!” Asterion huffed loudly. “Then he slipped in a pool of his own blood and accidentally stabbed me! He got lucky!”

“Am I hallucinating?” Will asked.

“No, son of Apollo,” said the bull-man. “Your mind is sound.”

“Is it?” Will whispered to himself.

The whole situation was so absurd, Nico wanted to laugh, but Asterion’s eyes still glowed like laser beams. He decided not to risk it. “So, after the Labyrinth, you regenerated in Tartarus….”

“And my existence settled into a routine,” Asterion said.

“It was the same for millennia. People in power summoned me—gods, Titans, greater primordials—and sent me after their enemies. I…I killed many over the years. I was always told You are terrifying. You are dangerous. Kill this hero. Eat that hero. Bellow and rampage! That is your job! But after Percy Jackson, when I regenerated once again in Tartarus, there was only silence. Time stretched endlessly before me. Without any real purpose, I began to wonder: What did I want to do?”

The barracks filled with a tense silence.

Finally, Will asked, “Did you figure it out?”

Asterion grunted, his eyes mellowing to a warm brown. “While I may sometimes curse my birth, I am pleased that I was born with human hands.” He wriggled his banana-size fingers. “During my years in the Labyrinth, I learned that I have a natural skill for one thing….”

“Arm wrestling?” guessed Nico.

“Singing?” asked Will.

Nico and Hazel looked at him quizzically.

“Well, he has a nice bass voice,” Will explained.

“Wrong on both counts,” said Asterion. “What I excel at is…” From the back of his kilt, he whipped out two thin metal spikes.

For a moment, Nico was afraid the bull-man was going to announce that his natural skill was shanking demigods.

Then Nico realized he’d seen spikes like those before.

His nonna in Venice had never been without a pair, along with a ball of yarn.