Daughter of Wine

Leo

"A bargain." My fingers twitch. "Yeah. Absolutely."

My hands go to work before my mind knows what I'm doing. I start pulling things out of the pockets of my magic tool belt—copper wire, some bolts, a brass funnel. For months 've been stashing away bits and pieces of machinery, because I never know what I might need. And the longer I use the belt, the more intuitive it becomes. I'll reach in and the right items simply appear.

"So the thing is," I say as my hands twist wire, "Zeus is already P.O.'ed at you, right? If you help us defeat Gaea, you could make it up to him."

Apollo wrinkles his nose. "I suppose that's possible. But it would be easier to smite you."

"What kind of ballad would that make?" My hands work furiously, attaching levers, fastening the metal funnel to an old gear shaft. "You're the god of music, right? Would you listen to a song called 'Apollo Smites a Runty Little Demigod'? I wouldn't. But 'Apollo Defeats the Earth Mother and Saves the Freaking Universe'...that sounds like a Billboard chart-topper!"

Apollo gazes into the air, as if envisioning his name on a marquee. "What do you want exactly? And what do I get out of it?"

"First thing I need: advice." I string some wires across the mouth of the funnel. "I want to know if a plan of mine will work."

I explain what I have in mind. I've been chewing on the idea for days, ever since Jason came back from the bottom of the sea and I started talking with Nike.

A primordial god has been defeated once before, Kymopoleia told Jason. You know of whom I speak.

My conversations with Nike helped me fine-tune the plan, but I still want a second opinion from another god. Because once I commit myself, there'll be no going back.

I half hope Apollo will laugh and tell me to forget it.

Instead, the god nods thoughtfully. "I will give you this advice for free. You might be able to defeat Gaea in the way you describe, similar to the way Ouranos was defeated eons ago. However, any mortal close by would be utterly..." Apollo's voice falters. "What is that you have made?"

I look down at the contraption in my hands. Layers of copper wires, like multiple sets of guitar strings, crisscross inside the funnel. Rows of striking pins are controlled by levers on the outside of the cone, which is fixed to a square metal base with a bunch of crank handles.

"Oh, this...?" My mind races furiously. The thing looks like a music box fused with an old-fashioned phonograph, but what is it?

A bargaining chip.

Artemis told me to make a deal with Apollo.

I remembered a story the kids in Cabin Eleven used to brag about: how their father Hermes had avoided punishment for stealing Apollo's sacred cows. When Hermes got caught, he made a musical instrument—the first lyre—and traded it to Apollo, who immediately forgave him.

A few days ago, Piper mentioned seeing the cave on Pylos where Hermes hid those cows. That must've triggered my subconscious. Without even meaning to, I built a musical instrument, which kind of surprises me, since I know nothing about music.

"Um, well," I say, "this is quite simply the most amazing instrument ever!"

"How does it work?" asks the god.

Good question.

I turn the crank handles, hoping the thing won't explode in my face. A few clear tones ring out—metallic yet warm. I manipulate the levers and gears. I recognize the song that springs forth—the same wistful melody Calypso sang for me on Ogygia about homesickness and longing. But through the strings of the brass cone, the tune sounds even sadder, like a machine with a broken heart—the way Festus might sound if he could sing.

Apollo stares in awe at the instrument. "I must have it. What is it called? What do you want for it?"

"This is the Valdezinator, of course!" I puff out my chest. "It works by, um, translating your feelings into music as you manipulate the gears. It's really meant for me, a child of Hephaestus, to use, though. I don't know if you could—"

"I am the god of music!" Apollo cries. "I can certainly master the Valdezinator. I must! It is my duty!"

"So let's wheel and deal, Music Man," I say. "I give you this; you give me the physician's cure."

"Oh..." Apollo bites his godly lip. "Well, I don't actually have the physician's cure."

"I thought you were the god of medicine."

"Yes, but I'm the god of many things! Poetry, music, the Delphic Oracle—" He breaks into a sob and covers his mouth with his fist. "Sorry. I'm fine, I'm fine. As I was saying, I have many spheres of influence. Then, of course, I have the whole 'sun god' gig, which I inherited from Helios. The point is, I'm rather like a general practitioner. For the physician's cure, you would need to see a specialist—the only one who has ever successfully cured death: my son Asclepius, the god of healers."

My heart sinks into my socks. The last thing we need is another quest to find another god who will probably demand his own commemorative T-shirt or Valdezinator.

"That's a shame, Apollo. I was hoping we could make a deal." I turn the levers on my Valdezinator, coaxing out an even sadder tune.

"Stop!" Apollo wails. "It's too beautiful! I'll give you directions to Asclepius. He's really very close!"

"How do we know he'll help us? We've only got two days until Gaea wakes."

"He'll help!" Apollo promises. "My son is very helpful. Just plead with him in my name. You'll find him at his old temple in Epidaurus."

"What's the catch?"

"Ah...well, nothing. Except, of course, he's guarded."

"Guarded by what?"

"I don't know!" Apollo spreads his hands helplessly. "I only know Zeus is keeping Asclepius under guard so he doesn't go running around the world resurrecting people. The first time Asclepius raised the dead...well, he caused quite an uproar. It's a long story. But I'm sure you can convince him to help."

"This isn't sounding like much of a deal," I say. "What about the last ingredient—the curse of Delos. What is it?"

Apollo eyes the Valdezinator greedily. I worry the god might just take it, and how could I stop him? Blasting the sun god with fire probably won't do much good.