I didn't know where she was getting the words, but they flowed out of her as the

Mist thickened. A green column of smoke, like a huge python, uncoiled from the

mummy's mouth and slithered down the stairs, curling affectionately around

Rachel's feet. The Oracle's mummy crumbled, falling away until it was nothing

but a pile of dust in an old tie-dyed dress. Mist enveloped Rachel in a column.

 

For a moment I couldn't see her at all. Then the smoke cleared.

 

Rachel collapsed and curled into the fetal position. Annabeth, Nico, and I

rushed forward, but Apollo said, "Stop! This is the most delicate part."

 

"What's going on?" I demanded. "What do you mean?"

 

Apollo studied Rachel with concern. "Either the spirit takes hold, or it

doesn't."

 

"And if it doesn't?" Annabeth asked.

 

"Five syllables," Apollo said, counting them on his fingers. "That would be real

bad. "

 

Despite Apollo's warning, I ran forward and knelt over Rachel. The smell of the

attic was gone. The Mist sa nk into the ground and the green light faded. But

Rachel was still pale. She was barely breathing.