Rick Riordan
The Last Olympian - 05
I remembered the story. Orpheus wasn't supposed to look behind him when he was leading
his wife back to the world, but of course he did. It was one of those typical "and-so-they-died/the-
end" stories that always made us feel warm and fuzzy.
"So this is the Door of Orpheus." I tried to be impressed, but it still looked like a pile of rocks
to me. "How does it open?"
"We need music," Nico said. "How's your singing?"
"Um, no. Can't you just, like, tell it to open? You're the son of Hades and all."
"It's not so easy. We need music."
I was pretty sure if I tried to sing, all I would cause was an avalanche.
"I have a better idea." I turned and called, "GROVER!"
We waited for a long time. Mrs. O'Leary curled up and took a nap. I could hear the crickets in
the woods and an owl hooting. Traffic hummed along Central Park West. Horse hooves clopped
down a nearby path, maybe a mounted police patrol. I was sure they'd love to find two kids hanging
out in the park at one in the morning.
"It's no good," Nico said at last.
But I had a feeling. My empathy link was really tingling for the first time in months, which
either meant a whole lot of people had suddenly switched on the Nature Channel, or Grover was
close.
I shut my eyes and concentrated. Grover.
I knew he was somewhere in the park. Why couldn't I sense his emotions? All I got was a
faint hum in the base of my skull.
Grover, I thought more insistently.
Hmm-hmmmm, something said.
An image came into my head. I saw a giant elm tree deep in the woods, well off the main
paths. Gnarled roots laced the ground, making a kind of bed. Lying in it with his arms cro