RACHEL MAKES A BAD DEAL

 

I grabbed Will Solace from the Apollo cabin and told the rest of his siblings to

keep searching for Michael Yew. We borrowed a Yamaha FZI from a sleeping biker

and drove to the Plaza Hotel at speeds that would've given my mom a heart

attack. I'd never driven a motorcycle before, but it wasn't any harder than

riding a pegasus.

 

Along the way, I noticed a lot of empty pedestals that usually held statues.

Plan twenty-three seemed to be working. I didn't know if that was good or bad.

 

It only took us five minutes to reach the Plaza — an old-fashioned white stone

hotel with a gabled blue roof, sitting at the southeast corner of Central Park.

 

Tactically speaking, the Plaza wasn't the best place for a headquarters. It

wasn't the tallest building in town, or the most centrally located. But it had

old-school style and had attracted a lot of famous demigods over the years, like

the Beatles and Alfred Hitchcock, so I figured we were in good company.

 

I gunned the Yamaha over the curb and swerved to a stop at the fountain outside

the hotel.

 

Will and I hopped off. The statue at the top of the fountain called down, "Oh,

fine. I suppose you want me to watch your bike too!"