The Blood of Olympus by Rick Riordan Page B

and Nike’s piled-up braids of dark hair circled with a gilded laurel wreath.
    Her expression was wide-eyed and a little crazy, like she’d just had twenty espressos and ridden a roller coaster, but that didn’t bother Leo. He could even deal with the gold-tipped spear pointed at his chest.
    But those
wings
– they were polished gold, right down to the last feather. Leo could admire the intricate workmanship, but it was too much, too bright, too flashy. If her wings had been solar panels, Nike would’ve produced enough energy to power Miami.
    ‘Lady,’ he said, ‘could you fold your flappers, please? You’re giving me a sunburn.’
    ‘What?’ Nike’s head jerked towards him like a startled chicken’s. ‘Oh … my brilliant plumage. Very well. I suppose you can’t die in glory if you are blinded and burned.’
    She tucked in her wings. The temperature dropped to a normal hundred-and-twenty-degree summer afternoon.
    Leo glanced at his friends. Frank stood very still, sizing up the goddess. His backpack hadn’t yet morphed into a bow and quiver, which was probably prudent. He couldn’t have been too freaked out, because he’d avoided turning into a giant goldfish.
    Hazel was having trouble with Arion. The roan stallion nickered and bucked, avoiding eye contact with the white horses pulling Nike’s chariot.
    As for Percy, he held his magic ballpoint pen like he was trying to decide whether to bust out some sword moves or autograph Nike’s chariot.
    Nobody stepped forward to talk. Leo kind of missed having Piper and Annabeth with them. They were good at the whole
talking
thing.
    He decided somebody had better say something before they all died in glory.
    ‘So!’ He pointed his index fingers at Nike. ‘I didn’t get the briefing, and I’m pretty sure the information wasn’t covered in Frank’s pamphlet. Could you tell me what’s going on here?’
    Nike’s wide-eyed stare unnerved him. Was Leo’s nose on fire? That happened sometimes when he got stressed.
    ‘We must have victory!’ the goddess shrieked. ‘The contest must be decided! You have come here to determine the winner, yes?’
    Frank cleared his throat. ‘Are you Nike or Victoria?’
    ‘Argghh!’ The goddess clutched the side of her head. Her horses reared, causing Arion to do the same.
    The goddess shuddered and split into two separate images, which reminded Leo – ridiculously – of when he used to lie on the floor in his apartment as a kid and play with the coiled doorstop on the skirting board. He would pull it back and let it fly:
sproing!
The stopper would shudder back and forth so fast it looked like it was splitting into two separate coils.
    That’s what Nike looked like: a divine doorstop, splitting in two.
    On the left was the first version: glittery sleeveless dress, dark hair circled with laurels, golden wings folded behind her. On the right was a different version, dressed for war in a Roman breastplate and greaves. Short auburn hair peeked out from the rim of a tall helmet. Her wings were feathery white, her dress purple, and the shaft of her spear was fixed with a plate-sized Roman insignia – a golden SPQR in a laurel wreath.
    ‘I am Nike!’ cried the image on the left.
    ‘I am Victoria!’ cried the one on the right.
    For the first time, Leo understood the old saying his
abuelo
used to use:
talking out of the side of your mouth.
This goddess was literally saying two different things at once. She kept shuddering and splitting, making Leo dizzy. He was tempted to get out his tools and adjust the idle on her carburettor, because that much vibration would make her engine fly apart.
    ‘I am the decider of victory!’ Nike screamed. ‘Once I stood here at the corner of Zeus’s temple, venerated by all!I oversaw the games of Olympia. Offerings from every city-state were piled at my feet!’
    ‘Games are irrelevant!’ yelled Victoria. ‘I am the goddess of success in battle! Roman generals worshipped me! Augustus