the_blood_of_olympus_-_rick_riordan

xlv
Nico
ABOUT FIVE MILES EAST OF CAMP, a black SUV was parked on the beach.
They tied up the boat at a private dock. Nico helped Dakota and Leila haul Michael Kahale ashore.
The big guy was still only half-conscious, mumbling what Nico assumed were football calls: ‘Red
twelve. Right thirty-one. Hike.’ Then he giggled uncontrollably.
‘We’ll leave him here,’ Leila said. ‘Just don’t bind him. Poor guy …’
‘What about the car?’ Dakota asked. ‘The keys are in the glove compartment, but, uh, can you
drive?’
Leila frowned. ‘I thought you could drive. Aren’t you seventeen?’
‘I never learned!’ Dakota said. ‘I was busy.’
‘I’ve got it covered,’ Nico promised.
They both looked at him.
‘You’re, like, fourteen,’ Leila said.
Nico enjoyed how nervous the Romans acted around him, even though they were older and bigger
and more experienced fighters. ‘I didn’t say I would be behind the wheel.’
He knelt and placed his hand on the ground. He felt the nearest graves, the bones of forgotten
humans buried and scattered. He searched deeper, extending his senses into the Underworld. ‘Jules-
Albert. Let’s go.’
The ground split. A zombie in a ragged nineteenth-century motoring outfit clawed his way to the
surface. Leila stepped back. Dakota screamed like a kindergartner.
‘What is that, man?’ Dakota protested.
‘This is my driver,’ Nico said. ‘Jules-Albert finished first in the Paris–Rouen motorcar race back
in 1895, but he wasn’t awarded the prize because his steam car used a stoker.’
Leila stared at him. ‘What are you even talking about?’
‘He’s a restless soul, always looking for another chance to drive,’ Nico said. ‘The last few years,
he’s been my driver whenever I need one.’
‘You have a zombie chauffeur,’ Leila said.
‘I call shotgun.’ Nico got in on the passenger’s side. Reluctantly, the Romans climbed in the back.
One thing about Jules-Albert: he never got emotional. He could sit in crosstown traffic all day
without losing his patience. He was immune to road rage. He could even drive straight up to an
encampment of wild centaurs and navigate through them without getting nervous.
The centaurs were like nothing Nico had ever seen. They had back ends like palominos, tattoos all
over their hairy arms and chests, and bullish horns protruding from their foreheads. Nico doubted they