Fake Hades banged his gavel. The sharp sound echoed through the cave.
“The Court of the Dead is now in session.” The judge’s voice boomed, masculine and familiar. Nico had heard it in his dreams, warning him not to help the mythics. “Bring forth the next defendant!”
What did that mean? The Court of theDead?
From the shadows to the right of the bench, the courier emerged, still holding his large box. His face and long brown hair were unchanged, as was his delivery uniform, but it was now obvious that he wasn’t human. Donkey ears sprouted from either side of his head. A donkey tail curled from his polyester shorts. His feet had become hooves. Some kind of satyr, maybe? Nico wasn’t sure.
The courier set down his delivery in front of the judges. He whipped out an X-ACTO knife, cut through the packing tape, and then tipped over the box. Out spilled a sleek humanoid creature that should have been much too big to fit in such a small cube. It was a telkhine, one of the dog-seal-human hybrid creatures who had once worked the gods’ undersea forges before they’d been replaced by Cyclopes.
The telkhine’s hands had webbed fingers with long white claws. Its wrists were shackled to a heavy iron chain. The feet were little more than stubby flippers, no good for running, but its ankles had been shackled too. The creature struggled to stand, its whiskers quivering on its canine snout. It snarled at the satyr courier, who promptly smacked it across the nose. The crowd jeered and laughed at the prisoner, until the middle judge banged his gavel again.
“Morpho the telkhine,” the judge said, his voice echoing through the chamber, “your trial begins now.”
“Nico,” said Hazel under her breath. “This feels familiar.”
The person sitting in front of them turned again and frowned. Nico now realized she was some sort of storm spirit. Her nebulous dress flashed with lightning, and her eyes glowed tornado green. When she shushed the trio this time, a cold wind swirled around them.
They all fell silent, but Nico’s mind raced. He knew exactly what Hazel was talking about. This tribunal with its masked judges…it felt like a distorted copy of the court in the Underworld, where newly arrived ghosts were assigned to their eternal fates: Elysium, Asphodel, or Punishment.
But this couldn’t be happening with Hades’s permission. Judgment in the Underworld was a somber affair. No spectators allowed. No Cyclops-at-arms, or shackles and chains. And Hades wouldneverhave permitted the main judge to wear a mask that mocked him.
The first judge was speaking again. “. . . stand trial for your crimes. My colleague will now read from your official record.”
“I have anofficial record?” Morpho shrieked, yanking on their restraints. “I did not consent to this. Let me go!”
The judge on the right, in the gorgon mask, unfurled a parchment. “Morpho,” she read with a British accent, “over the course of your career, you have been observed causing bodily harm to demigods, frightening humans, stalking your prey, committing arson, and practicing cannibalism.”
“Cannibalism?” The telkhine snarled. “Okay, I bit that annoying demigod Eric on the arm one time, but I didn’teathim. I’m not azombie!”
The judge paused for a moment, then dramatically lifted a quill and scribbled on the scroll. “You have also been known to interrupt figures of authority.”
“I—What?” Morpho screamed.
“Exactly,” said the judge. Then she continued reading.
It took her nearly five minutes to recite Morpho’s official record. The entire time, Nico’s back muscles got tighter and tighter. He didn’t know Morpho, but as the list got into ridiculous minutiae like “offensive body odor” and “lack of grooming,” Nico felt like thishadto be a joke. How could someone be hauled into court in shackles and chains because they had bad personal hygiene?
But the vibe in the cave was raucous and bloodthirsty. The onlookers howled and cheered with every detail the judge read aloud. The Cyclops-at-arms let them scream. The two other judges sat back in their velvet thrones, their gold masks glinting in the firelight, their arms crossed. They seemed to be enjoying the excitement of the crowd, soaking in its rage.
Finally, the gorgon-masked judge lowered her scroll. “Morpho, do you accept this accounting of your official record?”
“Of course not!” Morpho pulled against their chains. “What is this? What gives you the right to judge me?”
Nico turned to Hazel. Tears streamed down her face. She had to be remembering her own moment before the court in the Underworld, when she’d been sentenced to roam the Fields of Asphodel forever. Nico had never died (though not for lack of trying). He could only imagine how horrifying it would be to wake up as a ghost and find yourself standing in front of three inquisitors who could see straight into your soul, who could judge everything you’d ever thought and done, decide how good or bad a person you had been, and punish you accordingly, with no possibility of appeal.
He took his sister’s hand. In Hazel’s lap, Anger snarled and bared its teeth like it wanted to bite everyone in the courtroom.
On Nico’s other side, Will looked shaken. He held Guilt in the crook of his arm like a teddy bear of darkness. His lawyerly disguise was starting to unravel—blond curls were popping up on his clean-shaven scalp and patches of cargo pockets were erupting on his blue slacks. If their covers failed, Nico wasn’t sure if that would make them blend in less or more with the monstrous crowd.
The middle judge leaned forward, his Hades mask grinning at the telkhine. “What is your response, Morpho? If you do not answer, we will take your silence for acceptance.”
The telkhine whimpered. “I—I don’t know what to say! Some of those things…yeah, I did them.”
The crowd cheered. The judges banged their gavels, filling the room with a sound like the Fifth Cohort tap-dancing.
“But that was long ago!” Morpho wailed. “I have changed since then!”
Spectators gasped. Uneasy muttering rippled through the bleachers.
