𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐄

𝐗𝐗𝐕𝐈𝐈

Grover's hyperventilating was the loudest noise in the maze. "I can't stand it anymore," he whispered. "Are we there yet?"

"We've been down here maybe five minutes," Annabeth told him.

"It's been longer than that," Grover insisted. "And why would Pan be down here? This is the opposite of the wild!"

They kept shuffling forward. Just when Selene was sure the tunnel would get so narrow it would squish them, it opened into a huge room.

Percy shined his light around the walls and said, "Whoa."

The whole room was covered in mosaic tiles. The pictures were grimy and faded, but she could still make out the colors—red, blue, green, gold. The frieze showed the Olympian gods at a feast. There was Percy's dad, Poseidon, with his trident, holding out grapes for Dionysus to turn into wine. Zeus was partying with satyrs, and Hermes was flying through the air on his winged sandals. And then, she saw what should be herself, carrying the moon in a quadriga (four-horse chariot).

The pictures were beautiful, but they weren't very accurate. Selene had seen the gods. Dionysus was not that handsome, Hermes's nose wasn't that big, and she definitely didn't have those insanely big hooters.

In the middle of the room was a three-tiered fountain. It looked like it hadn't held water in a long time.

"What is this place?" Percy muttered. "It looks—"

"Roman," Annabeth said. "Those mosaics are about two thousand years old."

"But how can they be Roman?" Selene asked. She walked over to where her picture was, touching it. "Is it...?"

"Your counterpart, Luna," Annabeth nodded. "The Labyrinth is a patchwork. It's always expanding, adding pieces. It's the only work of architecture that grows by itself."

"Like... Like it's alive."

A groaning noise echoed from the tunnel ahead, causing everyone to freeze.

In a panic, Tyson clamped his hand over Selene's mouth, but it ended up covering half her face.

"I can't... breathe..." Selene's words were muffled by Tyson's hand.

"Shhh. Don't say again," he whispered urgently, his eyes wide with panic. "This word, you know."

Grover nodded. "Let's not talk about it being alive."

"All right," Annabeth said. "Forward."

"Down the hall with the bad sounds?" Tyson said. Even he looked nervous.

Selene removed her zip-up jacket, tying one end around her knapsack and offering the other end to Tyson.

"Take it, big boy," she said, offering the jacket to him. "Hold on tight and don't let go, okay? This way, you'll always be by my side."

Tyson didn't hesitate. He grabbed it and held like his life depended on it.

"The architecture is getting older," Annabeth said, analyzing the walls. "That's a good sign. Daedalus's workshop would be in the oldest part."

That made sense. But soon the maze was toying with them—they went fifty feet and the tunnel turned back to cement, with brass pipes running down the sides. The walls were spray-painted with graffiti. A neon tagger sign read MOZ RULZ.

"I'm thinking this is not Roman," Percy said helpfully.

Annabeth took a deep breath, then forged ahead.

Every few feet the tunnels twisted and turned and branched off. The floor beneath them changed from cement to mud to bricks and back again. There was no sense to any of it. They stumbled into a wince cellar—a bunch of dusty bottles in wooden racks—like they were walking through somebody's basement, only there was no exit above them, just more tunnels leading on.