Celadon heat spell

I picked up my sword and struggled to my feet, l tackled the golden lady, but it was like tackling a lamppost. She ignored me and launched into song.
As I wrestled her, trying to pull her off bal¬ ance, the temperature onstage began to rise.
The celedon's lyrics were in Ancient Greek, but 1 caught a few of the words: Apollo, sunlight, golden fire. It was some kind of ode to the god.
Her metal skin grew r hot. I smelled something burning and realized it was my shirt.
I stumbled aw ay from her, my clothes smol¬ dering. The wax had melted out of my ears so I could hear her song clearly. All around Times Square, people started dropping from the heat.
Over at the barricades, Grover played wildly on the lyre, but he was too anxious to focus, Random bricks tell from the sky. One of the monitor speakers on stage morphed into a chicken. A plate of enchiladas appeared at the celedon's feet.
“Not helpful!” I shouted through the pain of the rising heat. ‘ Sing about cages! Or gags!”
The air fell like a blast furnace. If the celedon kept this up* Midtown would burst into flames. I couldn't afford to play nice anymore. As the celedon started her next verse, I hinged at her with my sword.

SoA pg.27-28