Finding Iris was the easy part. I just willed the staff to take me to her. I was afraid it might turn Annabeth and me into a rainbow and beam us to Wisconsin. Then we’d be coughing in twenty different colors all evening, and we’d also be in Wisconsin. Instead, the staff just pointed north and started pulling me along First Avenue like a dowsing rod.
It led us into lower Harlem, where we found the goddess hawking her crystals among a row of sidewalk produce sellers. I wondered if the dude selling cucumbers and the lady selling dried-pepper wreaths knew that the person between them was actually the immortal goddess of the rainbow. Probably not, but I doubt they would’ve been surprised. When you’re a street vendor in Manhattan, you’ve seen pretty much everything.
“Oh, my!” Iris gasped when she saw us. She took the staff and gave it a full inspection like it was a samurai blade just back from the sword-repair shop. “Mercedes, you look amazing!”
“You named your staff Mercedes?” Annabeth asked. Then she quickly added, “That’s a beautiful name.”
“She seems so happy!” Iris gushed, rainbow tears trickling from her eyes. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
Foolish me. I was about to accept her apology when I realized she was talking to Mercedes.
“Oh, my sweet.” She cradled the staff and continued weeping. “I should have had you cleaned years ago! I will never use you as a display rack again!”
“The quest went well,” I offered. “Completely cruelty-free.”
“What?” Iris stirred slightly. “Oh, yes. Cruelty-free. Of course. Good.”
I got the feeling that I could have destroyed acres of snakes and Iris never would have known the difference. Then again, I was glad it didn’t go down like that, since the horned serpents were cute in a deadly, eat your face off kind of way.
“So,” Annabeth said, keeping her tone upbeat, “does this mean you’ll do some of your Iris-messaging in person again?”
“Hmm?” Iris pulled her eyes away from her beautiful herald’s stick. “No, no. Those days are over, though it’s wonderful seeing Mercedes in such good condition again. I appreciate your help!” She began humming to herself as she arranged her crystal displays around the table, slowly covering up Mercedes.
I glanced at Annabeth, who gestured for me to be patient.
“Did you have a chance to ask around?” Annabeth prompted the goddess.
Iris looked startled that we were still there. “Ask around?”
My heart sank. If Iris hadn’t honored her part of the deal, we really had gone to the River Elisson for nothing—except to start a Percy-based religious cult among the reptiles of Yonkers.
“About Ganymede?” I asked. “The missing cup?”
Iris blinked. “Yes. Of course. I . . . asked around. But are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a crystal for your reward? Perhaps a package of cleansing sage bath salts?”
She kept piling merchandise over Mercedes: sashes, beads, pouches of rocks, as if she wanted to hide the staff as quickly as possible. Why did she seem so nervous?
“Just the information would be great,” Annabeth said. “You . . . did get information?”
“Mm-hmm.” Iris sighed. “It’s just that you seem like such nice young people. I would hate . . .”
She let the thought drift away into the Land of Half-Formed Thoughts About Things That Could Kill Percy Jackson. I spent a lot of my time in that land.
“You found where the cup is,” I guessed.
“I have a fairly good idea.”
Her grim tone made me wonder if I should just take the bath salts. Then I looked at Annabeth. I remembered this was about going to college with her. Being with her. That was nonnegotiable, no matter how difficult the challenge or how cleansing the sage.
“Tell all,” I said.
Iris picked at the macramé bracelet around her wrist. “I have narrowed your search down to Greenwich Village.”
Annabeth frowned. “That’s a pretty big area.”
“He will be there,” Iris insisted. “If, indeed, I am right about the thief’s identity.”
“He . . . ?” I prompted.
I waited for more. It’s never a good sign when your informant avoids naming the Big Bad. Especially when that informant is a god. Who could make Iris so nervous?
“I should have guessed,” she mumbled to herself. She picked up a bundle of incense and waved it around, maybe hoping to clear the air, which it did not. “He would, of course, hate Ganymede. And the goblet. But . . .” She shook her head. “I hope I am wrong. I am probably not wrong.”