BLOOD OF OLYMPUS

xxii
Reyna
THE ANSWER CAME TO HER before she was fully conscious.
The initials on the sign at Barrachina: HTK.
‘Not funny,’ Reyna muttered to herself. ‘Not remotely funny.’
Years ago, Lupa had taught her how to sleep lightly, wake up alert and be ready to attack. Now, as
her senses returned, she took stock of her situation.
The cloth sack still covered her head, but it didn’t seem to be cinched around her neck. She was
tied to a hard chair – wood, by the feel of it. Cords were tight against the ribs. Her hands were bound
behind her, but her legs were free at the ankles.
Either her captors were sloppy, or they hadn’t expected her to wake up so quickly.
Reyna wriggled her fingers and toes. Whatever tranquilizer they’d used, the effects had worn off.
Somewhere in front of her, footsteps echoed down a corridor. The sound got closer. Reyna let her
muscles go slack. She rested her chin against her chest.
A lock clicked. A door creaked open. Judging from the acoustics, Reyna was in a small room with
brick or concrete walls: maybe a basement or a cell. One person entered the room.
Reyna calculated the distance. No more than five feet.
She surged upward, spinning so the chair legs smashed against her captor’s body. The force broke
the chair. Her captor fell with a pained grunt.
Shouts from the corridor. More footsteps.
Reyna shook the cloth sack off her head. She dropped into a backward roll, pulling her bound
hands under her legs so her arms were in front of her. Her captor – a teen girl in grey camouflage –
lay dazed on the floor, a knife at her belt.
Reyna grabbed the knife and straddled her, pressing the blade against her captor’s throat.
Three more girls crowded the doorway. Two drew knives. The third nocked an arrow in her bow.
For a moment, everyone froze.
Her hostage’s carotid artery pulsed under the blade. Wisely, the girl made no attempt to move.
Reyna ran scenarios on how she could overcome the three in the doorway. All of them wore grey
camouflage T-shirts, faded black jeans, black athletic shoes and utility belts as if they were going
camping or hiking … or hunting.
‘You’re the Hunters of Artemis,’ Reyna realized.
‘Take it easy,’ said the girl with the bow. Her ginger hair was shaved on the sides, long on top. She
had the build of a professional wrestler. ‘You’ve got the wrong impression.’
The girl on the floor exhaled, but Reyna knew that trick – trying to loosen an enemy’s hold. Reyna