The House of Hades(Heroes of Olympus, Book 4)

HAZEL



HAZEL LIKED THE GREAT OUTDOORS – but climbing a two-hundred-foot cliff on a stairway without rails, with a bad-tempered weasel on her shoulder? Not so much. Especially when she could have ridden Arion to the top in a matter of seconds.

Jason walked behind her so he could catch her if she fell. Hazel appreciated that, but it didn’t make the sheer drop any less scary.

She glanced to her right, which was a mistake. Her foot almost slipped, sending a spray of gravel over the edge. Gale squeaked in alarm.

‘You all right?’ Jason asked.

‘Yes.’ Hazel’s heart jackhammered at her ribs. ‘Fine.’

She had no room to turn and look at him. She just had to trust he wouldn’t let her plummet to her death. Since he could fly, he was the only logical backup. Still, she wished it were Frank at her back, or Nico, or Piper, or Leo. Or even … well, okay, maybe not Coach Hedge. But, still, Hazel couldn’t get a read on Jason Grace.

Ever since she’d arrived at Camp Jupiter, she’d heard stories about him. The campers spoke with reverence about the son of Jupiter who’d risen from the lowly ranks of the Fifth Cohort to become praetor, led them to victory in the Battle of Mount Tam, then disappeared. Even now, after all the events of the past couple of weeks, Jason seemed more like a legend than a person. She had a hard time warming to him, with those icy blue eyes and that careful reserve, like he was calculating every word before he said it. Also, she couldn’t forget how he had been ready to write off her brother, Nico, when they’d learned he was a captive in Rome.

Jason had thought Nico was bait for a trap. He had been right. And maybe, now that Nico was safe, Hazel could see why Jason’s caution was a good idea. Still, she didn’t quite know what to think of the guy. What if they got themselves into trouble at the top of this cliff and Jason decided that saving Hazel wasn’t in the best interest of the quest?

She glanced up. She couldn’t see the thief from here, but she sensed he was waiting. Hazel was confident she could produce enough gems and gold to impress even the greediest robber. She wondered if the treasures she summoned would still bring bad luck. She’d never been sure whether that curse had been broken when she had died the first time. This seemed like a good opportunity to find out. Anybody who robbed innocent demigods with a giant turtle deserved a few nasty curses.

Gale the weasel jumped off her shoulder and scampered ahead. She glanced back and barked eagerly.

‘Going as fast as I can,’ Hazel muttered.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that the weasel was anxious to watch her fail.

‘This, uh, controlling the Mist,’ Jason said. ‘Have you had any luck?’

‘No,’ Hazel admitted.

She didn’t like to think about her failures – the seagull she couldn’t turn into a dragon, Coach Hedge’s baseball bat stubbornly refusing to turn into a hot dog. She just couldn’t make herself believe any of it was possible.

‘You’ll get it,’ Jason said.

His tone surprised her. It wasn’t a throwaway comment just to be nice. He sounded truly convinced. She kept climbing, but she imagined him watching her with those piercing blue eyes, his jaw set with confidence.

‘How can you be sure?’ she asked.

‘Just am. I’ve got a good instinct for what people can do – demigods, anyway. Hecate wouldn’t have picked you if she didn’t believe you had power.’

Maybe that should have made Hazel feel better. It didn’t.

She had a good instinct for people too. She understood what motivated most of her friends – even her brother, Nico, who wasn’t easy to read.

But Jason? She didn’t have a clue. Everybody said he was a natural leader. She believed it. Here he was, making her feel like a valued member of the team, telling her she was capable of anything. But what was Jason capable of?

She couldn’t talk to anyone about her doubts. Frank was in awe of the guy. Piper, of course, was head-over-heels. Leo was his best friend. Even Nico seemed to follow his lead without question.

But Hazel couldn’t forget that Jason had been Hera’s first move in the war against the giants. The Queen of Olympus had dropped Jason into Camp Half-Blood, which had started this entire chain of events to stop Gaia. Why Jason first? Something told Hazel he was the linchpin. Jason would be the final play, too.

To storm or fire the world must fall. That’s what the prophecy said. As much as Hazel feared fire, she feared storms more. Jason Grace could cause some pretty huge storms.

She glanced up and saw the rim of the cliff only a few yards above her.

She reached the top, breathless and sweaty. A long sloping valley marched inland, dotted with scraggly olive trees and limestone boulders. There were no signs of civilization.

Hazel’s legs trembled from the climb. Gale seemed anxious to explore. The weasel barked and farted and scampered into the nearest bushes. Far below, the Argo II looked like a toy boat in the channel. Hazel didn’t understand how anyone could shoot an arrow accurately from this high up, accounting for the wind and the glare of the sun off the water. At the mouth of the inlet, the massive shape of the turtle’s shell glinted like a burnished coin.

Jason joined her at the top, looking no worse for the climb.

He started to say, ‘Where –’

‘Here!’ said a voice.

Hazel flinched. Only ten feet away, a man had appeared, a bow and quiver over his shoulder and two old-fashioned flintlock duelling pistols in his hands. He wore high leather boots, leather breeches and a pirate-style shirt. His curly black hair looked like a little kid’s do and his sparkly green eyes were friendly enough, but a red bandanna covered the lower half of his face.

‘Welcome!’ the bandit cried, pointing his guns at them. ‘Your money or your life!’

Hazel was certain that he hadn’t been there a second ago. He’d simply materialized, as if he’d stepped out from behind an invisible curtain.

‘Who are you?’ Hazel asked.

The bandit laughed. ‘Sciron, of course!’

‘Chiron?’ Jason asked. ‘Like the centaur?’

The bandit rolled his eyes. ‘Sky-ron, my friend. Son of Poseidon! Thief extraordinaire! All-around awesome guy! But that’s not important. I’m not seeing any valuables!’ he cried, as if this were excellent news. ‘I guess that means you want to die?’

‘Wait,’ Hazel said. ‘We’ve got valuables. But, if we give them up, how can we be sure you’ll let us go?’

‘Oh, they always ask that,’ Sciron said. ‘I promise you, on the River Styx, that as soon as you surrender what I want, I will not shoot you. I will send you right back down that cliff.’

Hazel gave Jason a wary look. River Styx or no, the way Sciron phrased his promise didn’t reassure her.

‘What if we fought you?’ Jason asked. ‘You can’t attack us and hold our ship hostage at the same –’

BANG! BANG!

It happened so fast that Hazel’s brain needed a moment to catch up.

Smoke curled from the side of Jason’s head. Just above his left ear, a groove cut through his hair like a racing stripe. One of Sciron’s flintlocks was still pointed at his face. The other flintlock was pointed down, over the side of the cliff, as if Sciron’s second shot had been fired at the Argo II.

Hazel choked from delayed shock. ‘What did you do?’

‘Oh, don’t worry!’ Sciron laughed. ‘If you could see that far – which you can’t – you’d see a hole in the deck between the shoes of the big young man, the one with the bow.’

‘Frank!’

Sciron shrugged. ‘If you say so. That was just a demonstration. I’m afraid it could have been much more serious.’

He spun his flintlocks. The hammers reset, and Hazel had a feeling the guns had just magically reloaded.

Sciron waggled his eyebrows at Jason. ‘So! To answer your question – yes, I can attack you and hold your ship hostage at the same time. Celestial bronze ammunition. Quite deadly to demigods. You two would die first – bang, bang. Then I could take my time picking off your friends on that ship. Target practice is so much more fun with live targets running around screaming!’

Jason touched the new furrow that the bullet had ploughed through his hair. For once, he didn’t look very confident.

Hazel’s ankles wobbled. Frank was the best shot she knew with a bow, but this bandit Sciron was inhumanly good.

‘You’re a son of Poseidon?’ she managed. ‘I would’ve thought Apollo, the way you shoot.’

The smile lines deepened around his eyes. ‘Why, thank you! It’s just from practice, though. The giant turtle – that’s due to my parentage. You can’t go around taming giant turtles without being a son of Poseidon! I could overwhelm your ship with a tidal wave, of course, but it’s terribly difficult work. Not nearly as fun as ambushing and shooting people.’

Hazel tried to collect her thoughts, stall for time, but it was difficult while staring down the smoking barrels of those flintlocks. ‘Uh … what’s the bandanna for?’

‘So no one recognizes me!’ Sciron said.

‘But you introduced yourself,’ Jason said. ‘You’re Sciron.’

The bandit’s eyes widened. ‘How did you – Oh. Yes, I suppose I did.’ He lowered one flintlock and scratched the side of his head with the other. ‘Terribly sloppy of me. Sorry. I’m afraid I’m a little rusty. Back from the dead and all that. Let me try again.’

He levelled his pistols. ‘Stand and deliver! I am an anonymous bandit and you do not need to know my name!’

An anonymous bandit. Something clicked in Hazel’s memory. ‘Theseus. He killed you once.’

Sciron’s shoulders slumped. ‘Now, why did you have to mention him? We were getting along so well!’

Jason frowned. ‘Hazel, you know this guy’s story?’

She nodded, though the details were murky. ‘Theseus met him on the road to Athens. Sciron would kill his victims by, um …’

Something about the turtle. Hazel couldn’t remember.

‘Theseus was such a cheater!’ Sciron complained. ‘I don’t want to talk about him. I’m back from the dead now. Gaia promised me I could stay on the coastline and rob all the demigods I wanted, and that’s what I’m going to do! Now … where were we?’

‘You were about to let us go,’ Hazel ventured.

‘Hmm …’ Sciron said. ‘No, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it. Ah, right! Money or your life. Where are your valuables? No valuables? Then I’ll have to –’

‘Wait,’ Hazel said. ‘I have our valuables. At least, I can get them.’

Sciron pointed a flintlock at Jason’s head. ‘Well, then, my dear, hop to it, or my next shot will cut off more than your friend’s hair!’

Hazel hardly needed to concentrate. She was so anxious, the ground rumbled beneath her and immediately yielded a bumper crop – precious metals popping to the surface as though the earth was anxious to expel them.

She found herself surrounded by a knee-high mound of treasure – Roman denarii, silver drachmas, ancient gold jewellery, glittering diamonds and topaz and rubies – enough to fill several lawn bags.

Sciron laughed with delight. ‘How in the world did you do that?’

Hazel didn’t answer. She thought about all the coins that had appeared at the crossroads with Hecate. Here were even more – centuries’ worth of hidden wealth from every empire that had ever claimed this land – Greek, Roman, Byzantine and so many others. Those empires were gone, leaving only a barren coastline for Sciron the bandit.

That thought made her feel small and powerless.

‘Just take the treasure,’ she said. ‘Let us go.’

Sciron chuckled. ‘Oh, but I did say all your valuables. I understand you’re holding something very special on that ship … a certain ivory-and-gold statue about, say, forty feet tall?’

The sweat started to dry on Hazel’s neck, sending a shiver down her back.

Jason stepped forward. Despite the gun pointed at his face, his eyes were as hard as sapphires. ‘The statue isn’t negotiable.’

‘You’re right, it’s not!’ Sciron agreed. ‘I must have it!’

‘Gaia told you about it,’ Hazel guessed. ‘She ordered you to take it.’

Sciron shrugged. ‘Maybe. But she told me I could keep it for myself. Hard to pass up that offer! I don’t intend to die again, my friends. I intend to live a long life as a very wealthy man!’

‘The statue won’t do you any good,’ Hazel said. ‘Not if Gaia destroys the world.’

The muzzles of Sciron’s pistols wavered. ‘Pardon?’

‘Gaia is using you,’ Hazel said. ‘If you take that statue, we won’t be able to defeat her. She’s planning on wiping all mortals and demigods off the face of the earth, letting her giants and monsters take over. So where will you spend your gold, Sciron? Assuming Gaia even lets you live.’

Hazel let that sink in. She figured Sciron would have no trouble believing in double-crosses, being a bandit and all.

He was silent for a count of ten.

Finally his smile lines returned.

‘All right!’ he said. ‘I’m not unreasonable. Keep the statue.’

Jason blinked. ‘We can go?’

‘Just one more thing,’ Sciron said. ‘I always demand a show of respect. Before I let my victims leave, I insist that they wash my feet.’

Hazel wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. Then Sciron kicked off his leather boots, one after the other. His bare feet were the most disgusting things Hazel had ever seen … and she had seen some very disgusting things.

They were puffy, wrinkled and white as dough, as if they’d been soaking in formaldehyde for a few centuries. Tufts of brown hair sprouted from each misshapen toe. His jagged toenails were green and yellow, like a tortoise’s shell.

Then the smell hit her. Hazel didn’t know if her father’s Underworld palace had a cafeteria for zombies, but if it did that cafeteria would smell like Sciron’s feet.

‘So!’ Sciron wriggled his disgusting toes. ‘Who wants the left, and who wants the right?’

Jason’s face turned almost as white as those feet. ‘You’ve … got to be kidding.’

‘Not at all!’ Sciron said. ‘Wash my feet, and we’re done. I’ll send you back down the cliff. I promise on the River Styx.’

He made that promise so easily, alarm bells rang in Hazel’s mind. Feet. Send you back down the cliff. Tortoise shell.

The story came back to her, all the missing pieces fitting into place. She remembered how Sciron killed his victims.

‘Could we have a moment?’ Hazel asked the bandit.

Sciron’s eyes narrowed. ‘What for?’

‘Well, it’s a big decision,’ she said. ‘Left foot, right foot. We need to discuss.’

She could tell he was smiling under the mask.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m so generous you can have two minutes.’

Hazel climbed out of her pile of treasure. She led Jason as far away as she dared – about fifty feet down the cliff, which she hoped was out of earshot.

‘Sciron kicks his victims off the cliff,’ she whispered.

Jason scowled. ‘What?’

‘When you kneel down to wash his feet,’ Hazel said. ‘That’s how he kills you. When you’re off-balance, woozy from the smell of his feet, he’ll kick you over the edge. You’ll fall right into the mouth of his giant turtle.’

Jason took a moment to digest that, so to speak. He glanced over the cliff, where the turtle’s massive shell glinted just under the water.

‘So we have to fight,’ Jason said.

‘Sciron’s too fast,’ Hazel said. ‘He’ll kill us both.’

‘Then I’ll be ready to fly. When he kicks me over, I’ll float halfway down the cliff. Then when he kicks you, I’ll catch you.’

Hazel shook her head. ‘If he kicks you hard and fast enough, you’ll be too dazed to fly. And, even if you can, Sciron’s got the eyes of a marksman. He’ll watch you fall. If you hover, he’ll just shoot you out of the air.’

‘Then …’ Jason clenched his sword hilt. ‘I hope you have another idea?’

A few feet away, Gale the weasel appeared from the bushes. She gnashed her teeth and peered at Hazel as if to say, Well? Do you?

Hazel calmed her nerves, trying to avoid pulling more gold from the ground. She remembered the dream she’d had of her father Pluto’s voice: The dead see what they believe they will see. So do the living. That is the secret.

She understood what she had to do. She hated the idea more than she hated that farting weasel, more than she hated Sciron’s feet.

‘Unfortunately, yes,’ Hazel said. ‘We have to let Sciron win.’

‘What?’ Jason demanded.

Hazel told him the plan.
XXVIII





HAZEL



‘FINALLY!’ SCIRON CRIED. ‘That was much longer than two minutes!’

‘Sorry,’ Jason said. ‘It was a big decision … which foot.’

Hazel tried to clear her mind and imagine the scene through Sciron’s eyes – what he desired, what he expected.

That was the key to using the Mist. She couldn’t force someone to see the world her way. She couldn’t make Sciron’s reality appear less believable. But if she showed him what he wanted to see … well, she was a child of Pluto. She’d spent decades with the dead, listening to them yearn for past lives that were only half-remembered, distorted by nostalgia.

The dead saw what they believed they would see. So did the living.

Pluto was the god of the Underworld, the god of wealth. Maybe those two spheres of influence were more connected than Hazel had realized. There wasn’t much difference between longing and greed.

If she could summon gold and diamonds, why not summon another kind of treasure – a vision of the world people wanted to see?

Of course she could be wrong, in which case she and Jason were about to be turtle food.

She rested her hand on her jacket pocket, where Frank’s magical firewood seemed heavier than usual. She wasn’t just carrying his lifeline now. She was carrying the lives of the entire crew.

Jason stepped forward, his hands open in surrender. ‘I’ll go first, Sciron. I’ll wash your left foot.’

‘Excellent choice!’ Sciron wriggled his hairy, corpse-like toes. ‘I may have stepped on something with that foot. It felt a little squishy inside my boot. But I’m sure you’ll clean it properly.’

Jason’s ears reddened. From the tension in his neck, Hazel could tell that he was tempted to drop the charade and attack – one quick slash with his Imperial gold blade. But Hazel knew if he tried, he would fail.

‘Sciron,’ she broke in, ‘do you have water? Soap? How are we supposed to wash –’

‘Like this!’ Sciron spun his left flintlock. Suddenly it became a squirt bottle with a rag. He tossed it to Jason.

Jason squinted at the label. ‘You want me to wash your feet with glass cleaner?’

‘Of course not!’ Sciron knitted his eyebrows. ‘It says multi-surface cleanser. My feet definitely qualify as multi-surface. Besides, it’s antibacterial. I need that. Believe me, water won’t do the trick on these babies.’

Sciron wiggled his toes, and more zombie café odour wafted across the cliffs.

Jason gagged. ‘Oh, gods, no …’

Sciron shrugged. ‘You can always choose what’s in my other hand.’ He hefted his right flintlock.

‘He’ll do it,’ Hazel said.

Jason glared at her, but Hazel won the staring contest.

‘Fine,’ he muttered.

‘Excellent! Now …’ Sciron hopped to the nearest chunk of limestone that was the right size for a footstool. He faced the water and planted his foot, so he looked like some explorer who’d just claimed a new country. ‘I’ll watch the horizon while you scrub my bunion    s. It’ll be much more enjoyable.’

‘Yeah,’ Jason said. ‘I bet.’

Jason knelt in front of the bandit, at the edge of the cliff where he was an easy target. One kick and he’d topple over.

Hazel concentrated. She imagined she was Sciron, the lord of bandits. She was looking down at a pathetic blond-haired kid who was no threat at all – just another defeated demigod about to become his victim.

In her mind, she saw what would happen. She summoned the Mist, calling it from the depths of the earth the way she did with gold or silver or rubies.

Jason squirted the cleaning fluid. His eyes watered. He wiped Sciron’s big toe with his rag and turned aside to gag. Hazel could barely watch. When the kick happened, she almost missed it.

Sciron slammed his foot into Jason’s chest. Jason tumbled backwards over the edge, his arms flailing, screaming as he fell. When he was about to hit the water, the turtle rose up and swallowed him in one bite, then sank below the surface.

Alarm bells sounded on the Argo II. Hazel’s friends scrambled on deck, manning the catapults. Hazel heard Piper wailing all the way from the ship.

It was so disturbing that Hazel almost lost her focus. She forced her mind to split into two parts – one intensely focused on her task, one playing the role Sciron needed to see.

She screamed in outrage. ‘What did you do?’

‘Oh, dear …’ Sciron sounded sad, but Hazel got the impression he was hiding a grin under his bandanna. ‘That was an accident, I assure you.’

‘My friends will kill you now!’

‘They can try,’ Sciron said. ‘But in the meantime I think you have time to wash my other foot! Believe me, my dear. My turtle is full now. He doesn’t want you too. You’ll be quite safe, unless you refuse.’

He levelled the flintlock pistol at her head.

She hesitated, letting him see her anguish. She couldn’t agree too easily, or he wouldn’t think she was beaten.

‘Don’t kick me,’ she said, half-sobbing.

His eyes twinkled. This was exactly what he expected. She was broken and helpless. Sciron, the son of Poseidon, had won again.

Hazel could hardly believe this guy had the same father as Percy Jackson. Then she remembered that Poseidon had a changeable personality, like the sea. Maybe his children reflected that. Percy was a child of Poseidon’s better nature – powerful, but gentle and helpful, the kind of sea that sped ships safely to distant lands. Sciron was a child of Poseidon’s other side – the kind of sea that battered relentlessly at the coastline until it crumbled away, or carried the innocents from shore and let them drown, or smashed ships and killed entire crews without mercy.

She snatched up the spray bottle Jason had dropped.

‘Sciron,’ she growled, ‘your feet are the least disgusting thing about you.’

His green eyes hardened. ‘Just clean.’

She knelt, trying to ignore the smell. She shuffled to one side, forcing Sciron to adjust his stance, but she imagined that the sea was still at her back. She held that vision in her mind as she shuffled sideways again.

‘Just get on with it!’ Sciron said.

Hazel suppressed a smile. She’d managed to turn Sciron one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, but he still saw the water in front of him, the rolling countryside at his back.

She started to clean.

Hazel had done plenty of ugly work before. She’d cleaned the unicorn stables at Camp Jupiter. She’d filled and dug latrines for the legion.

This is nothing, she told herself. But it was hard not to retch when she looked at Sciron’s toes.

When the kick came, she flew backwards, but she didn’t go far. She landed on her butt in the grass a few yards away.

Sciron stared at her. ‘But …’

Suddenly the world shifted. The illusion melted, leaving Sciron totally confused. The sea was at his back. He’d only succeeded in kicking Hazel away from the ledge.

He lowered his flintlock. ‘How –’

‘Stand and deliver,’ Hazel told him.

Jason swooped out of the sky, right over her head, and body-slammed the bandit over the cliff.

Sciron screamed as he fell, firing his flintlock wildly, but for once hitting nothing. Hazel got to her feet. She reached the cliff’s edge in time to see the turtle lunge and snap Sciron out of the air.

Jason grinned. ‘Hazel, that was amazing. Seriously … Hazel? Hey, Hazel?’

Hazel collapsed to her knees, suddenly dizzy.

Distantly, she could hear her friends cheering from the ship below. Jason stood over her, but he was moving in slow motion, his outline blurry, his voice nothing but static.

Frost crept across the rocks and grass around her. The mound of riches she’d summoned sank back into the earth. The Mist swirled.

What have I done? she thought in a panic. Something went wrong.

‘No, Hazel,’ said a deep voice behind her. ‘You have done well.’

She hardly dared to breathe. She’d only heard that voice once before, but she had replayed it in her mind thousands of times.

She turned and found herself looking up at her father.

He was dressed in Roman style – his dark hair close-cropped, his pale angular face clean-shaven. His tunic and toga were of black wool, embroidered with threads of gold. The faces of tormented souls shifted in the fabric. The edge of his toga was lined with the crimson of a senator or a praetor, but the stripe rippled like a river of blood. On Pluto’s ring finger was a massive opal, like a chunk of polished frozen Mist.

His wedding ring, Hazel thought. But Pluto had never married Hazel’s mother. Gods did not marry mortals. That ring would signify his marriage to Persephone.

The thought made Hazel so angry, she shook off her dizziness and stood.

‘What do you want?’ she demanded.

She hoped her tone would hurt him – jab him for all the pain he’d caused her. But a faint smile played across his mouth.

‘My daughter,’ he said. ‘I am impressed. You have grown strong.’

No thanks to you, she wanted to say. She didn’t want to take any pleasure in his compliment, but her eyes still prickled.

‘I thought you major gods were incapacitated,’ she managed. ‘Your Greek and Roman personalities fighting against one another.’

‘We are,’ Pluto agreed. ‘But you invoked me so strongly that you allowed me to appear … if only for a moment.’

‘I didn’t invoke you.’

But, even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. For the first time, willingly, she’d embraced her lineage as a child of Pluto. She’d tried to understand her father’s powers and use them to the fullest.

‘When you come to my house in Epirus,’ Pluto said, ‘you must be prepared. The dead will not welcome you. And the sorceress Pasipha? –’

‘Pacify?’ Hazel asked. Then she realized that must be the woman’s name.

‘She will not be fooled as easily as Sciron.’ Pluto’s eyes glittered like volcanic stone. ‘You succeeded in your first test, but Pasipha? intends to rebuild her domain, which will endanger all demigods. Unless you stop her at the House of Hades …’

His form flickered. For a moment he was bearded, in Greek robes with a golden laurel wreath in his hair. Around his feet, skeletal hands broke through the earth.

The god gritted his teeth and scowled.

His Roman form stabilized. The skeletal hands dissolved back into the earth.

‘We do not have much time.’ He looked like a man who’d just been violently ill. ‘Know that the Doors of Death are at the lowest level of the Necromanteion. You must make Pasipha? see what she wants to see. You are right. That is the secret to all magic. But it will not be easy when you are in her maze.’

‘What do you mean? What maze?’

‘You will understand,’ he promised. ‘And, Hazel Levesque … you will not believe me, but I am proud of your strength. Sometimes … sometimes the only way I can care for my children is to keep my distance.’

Hazel bit back an insult. Pluto was just another deadbeat godly dad making weak excuses. But her heart pounded as she replayed his words: I am proud of your strength.

‘Go to your friends,’ Pluto said. ‘They will be worried. The journey to Epirus still holds many perils.’

‘Wait,’ Hazel said.

Pluto raised an eyebrow.

‘When I met Thanatos,’ she said, ‘you know … Death … he told me I wasn’t on your list of rogue spirits to capture. He said maybe that’s why you were keeping your distance. If you acknowledged me, you’d have to take me back to the Underworld.’

Pluto waited. ‘What is your question?’

‘You’re here. Why don’t you take me to the Underworld? Return me to the dead?’

Pluto’s form started to fade. He smiled, but Hazel couldn’t tell if he was sad or pleased. ‘Perhaps that is not what I want to see, Hazel. Perhaps I was never here.’
XXIX





PERCY



PERCY WAS RELIEVED when the demon grandmothers closed in for the kill.

Sure, he was terrified. He didn’t like the odds of three against several dozen. But at least he understood fighting. Wandering through the darkness, waiting to be attacked – that had been driving him crazy.

Besides, he and Annabeth had fought together many times. And now they had a Titan on their side.

‘Back off.’ Percy jabbed Riptide at the nearest shrivelled hag, but she only sneered.

We are the arai, said that weird voice-over, like the entire forest was speaking. You cannot destroy us.

Annabeth pressed against his shoulder. ‘Don’t touch them,’ she warned. ‘They’re the spirits of curses.’

‘Bob doesn’t like curses,’ Bob decided. The skeleton kitten Small Bob disappeared inside his coveralls. Smart cat.

The Titan swept his broom in a wide arc, forcing the spirits back, but they came in again like the tide.

We serve the bitter and the defeated, said the arai. We serve the slain who prayed for vengeance with their final breath. We have many curses to share with you.

The firewater in Percy’s stomach started crawling up his throat. He wished Tartarus had better beverage options, or maybe a tree that dispensed antacid fruit.

‘I appreciate the offer,’ he said. ‘But my mom told me not to accept curses from strangers.’

The nearest demon lunged. Her claws extended like bony switchblades. Percy cut her in two, but as soon as she vaporized the sides of his chest flared with pain. He stumbled back, clamping his hand to his rib cage. His fingers came away wet and red.

‘Percy, you’re bleeding!’ Annabeth cried, which was kind of obvious to him at that point. ‘Oh, gods, on both sides.’

It was true. The left and right hems of his tattered shirt were sticky with blood, as if a javelin had run him through.

Or an arrow …

Queasiness almost knocked him over. Vengeance. A curse from the slain.

He flashed back to an encounter in Texas two years ago – a fight with a monstrous rancher who could only be killed if each of his three bodies was cut through simultaneously.

‘Geryon,’ Percy said. ‘This is how I killed him …’

The spirits bared their fangs. More arai leaped from the black trees, flapping their leathery wings.

Yes, they agreed. Feel the pain you inflicted upon Geryon. So many curses have been levelled at you, Percy Jackson. Which will you die from? Choose, or we will rip you apart!

Somehow he stayed on his feet. The blood stopped spreading, but he still felt like he had a hot metal curtain rod sticking through his ribs. His sword arm was heavy and weak.

‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered.

Bob’s voice seemed to echo from the end of a long tunnel: ‘If you kill one, it gives you a curse.’

‘But if we don’t kill them …’ Annabeth said.

‘They’ll kill us anyway,’ Percy guessed.

Choose! the arai cried. Will you be crushed like Kampê? Or disintegrated like the young telkhines you slaughtered under Mount St Helens? You have spread so much death and suffering, Percy Jackson. Let us repay you!

The winged hags pressed in, their breath sour, their eyes burning with hatred. They looked like Furies, but Percy decided these things were even worse. At least the three Furies were under the control of Hades. These things were wild, and they just kept multiplying.

If they really embodied the dying curses of every enemy Percy had ever destroyed … then Percy was in serious trouble. He’d faced a lot of enemies.

One of the demons lunged at Annabeth. Instinctively, she dodged. She brought her rock down on the old lady’s head and broke her into dust.

It wasn’t like Annabeth had a choice. Percy would’ve done the same thing. But instantly Annabeth dropped her rock and cried in alarm.

‘I can’t see!’ She touched her face, looking around wildly. Her eyes were pure white.

Percy ran to her side as the arai cackled.

Polyphemus cursed you when you tricked him with your invisibility in the Sea of Monsters. You called yourself Nobody. He could not see you. Now you will not see your attackers.

‘I’ve got you,’ Percy promised. He put his arm around Annabeth, but as the arai advanced he didn’t know how he could protect either of them.

A dozen demons leaped from every direction, but Bob yelled, ‘SWEEP!’

His broom whooshed over Percy’s head. The entire arai offensive line toppled backwards like bowling pins.

More surged forward. Bob whacked one over the head and speared another, blasting them to dust. The others backed away.

Percy held his breath, waiting for their Titan friend to be laid low with some terrible curse, but Bob seemed fine – a massive silvery bodyguard keeping death at bay with the world’s most terrifying cleaning implement.

‘Bob, you okay?’ Percy asked. ‘No curses?’

‘No curses for Bob!’ Bob agreed.

The arai snarled and circled, eying the broom. The Titan is already cursed. Why should we torture him further? You, Percy Jackson, have already destroyed his memory.

Bob’s spearhead dipped.

‘Bob, don’t listen to them,’ Annabeth said. ‘They’re evil!’

Time slowed. Percy wondered if the spirit of Kronos was somewhere nearby, swirling in the darkness, enjoying this moment so much that he wanted it to last forever. Percy felt exactly like he had at twelve years old, battling Ares on that beach in Los Angeles, when the shadow of the Titan lord had first passed over him.

Bob turned. His wild white hair looked like an exploded halo. ‘My memory … It was you?’

Curse him, Titan! the arai urged, their red eyes gleaming. Add to our numbers!

Percy’s heart pressed against his spine. ‘Bob, it’s a long story. I didn’t want you to be my enemy. I tried to make you a friend.’

By stealing your life, the arai said. Leaving you in the palace of Hades to scrub floors!

Annabeth gripped Percy’s hand. ‘Which way?’ she whispered. ‘If we have to run?’

He understood. If Bob wouldn’t protect them, their only chance was to run – but that wasn’t any chance at all.

‘Bob, listen,’ he tried again, ‘the arai want you to get angry. They spawn from bitter thoughts. Don’t give them what they want. We are your friends.’

Even as he said it, Percy felt like a liar. He’d left Bob in the Underworld and hadn’t given him a thought since. What made them friends? The fact that Percy needed him now? Percy always hated it when the gods used him for their errands. Now Percy was treating Bob the same way.

You see his face? the arai growled. The boy cannot even convince himself. Did he visit you, after he stole your memory?

‘No,’ Bob murmured. His lower lip quivered. ‘The other one did.’

Percy’s thoughts moved sluggishly. ‘The other one?’

‘Nico.’ Bob scowled at him, his eyes full of hurt. ‘Nico visited. Told me about Percy. Said Percy was good. Said he was a friend. That is why Bob helped.’

‘But …’ Percy’s voice disintegrated like someone had hit it with a Celestial bronze blade. He’d never felt so low and dishonourable, so unworthy of having a friend.

The arai attacked, and this time Bob did not stop them.
XXX





PERCY



‘LEFT!’ PERCY DRAGGED ANNABETH, slicing through the arai to clear a path. He probably brought down a dozen curses on himself, but he didn’t feel them right away, so he kept running.

The pain in his chest flared with every step. He weaved between the trees, leading Annabeth at a full sprint despite her blindness.

Percy realized how much she trusted him to get her out of this. He couldn’t let her down, yet how could he save her? And if she was permanently blind … No. He suppressed a surge of panic. He would figure out how to cure her later. First they had to escape.

Leathery wings beat the air above them. Angry hissing and the scuttling of clawed feet told him the demons were at their backs.

As they ran past one of the black trees, he slashed his sword across the trunk. He heard it topple, followed by the satisfying crunch of several dozen arai as they were smashed flat.

If a tree falls in the forest and crushes a demon, does the tree get cursed?

Percy slashed down another trunk, then another. It bought them a few seconds, but not enough.

Suddenly the darkness in front of them became thicker. Percy realized what it meant just in time. He grabbed Annabeth right before they both charged off the side of the cliff.

‘What?’ she cried. ‘What is it?’

‘Cliff,’ he gasped. ‘Big cliff.’

‘Which way, then?’

Percy couldn’t see how far the cliff dropped. It could be ten feet or a thousand. There was no telling what was at the bottom. They could jump and hope for the best, but he doubted ‘the best’ ever happened in Tartarus.

So, two options: right or left, following the edge.

He was about to choose randomly when a winged demon descended in front of him, hovering over the void on her bat wings, just out of sword reach.

Did you have a nice walk? asked the collective voice, echoing all around them.

Percy turned. The arai poured out of the woods, making a crescent around them. One grabbed Annabeth’s arm. Annabeth wailed in rage, judo-flipping the monster and dropping on its neck, putting her whole body weight into an elbow strike that would’ve made any pro wrestler proud.

The demon dissolved, but when Annabeth got to her feet she looked stunned and afraid as well as blind.

‘Percy?’ she called, panic creeping into her voice.

‘I’m right here.’

He tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she wasn’t standing where he thought. He tried again, only to find she was several feet further away. It was like trying to grab something in a tank of water, with the light shifting the image away.

‘Percy!’ Annabeth’s voice cracked. ‘Why did you leave me?’

‘I didn’t!’ He turned on the arai, his arms shaking with anger. ‘What did you do to her?’

We did nothing, the demons said. Your beloved has unleashed a special curse – a bitter thought from someone you abandoned. You punished an innocent soul by leaving her in her solitude. Now her most hateful wish has come to pass: Annabeth feels her despair. She, too, will perish alone and abandoned.

‘Percy?’ Annabeth spread her arms, trying to find him. The arai backed up, letting her stumble blindly through their ranks.

‘Who did I abandon?’ Percy demanded. ‘I never –’

Suddenly his stomach felt like it had dropped off the cliff.

The words rang in his head: An innocent soul. Alone and abandoned. He remembered an island, a cave lit with soft glowing crystals, a dinner table on the beach tended by invisible air spirits.

‘She wouldn’t,’ he mumbled. ‘She’d never curse me.’

The eyes of the demons blurred together like their voices. Percy’s sides throbbed. The pain in his chest was worse, as if someone were slowly twisting a dagger.

Annabeth wandered among the demons, desperately calling his name. Percy longed to run to her, but he knew the arai wouldn’t allow it. The only reason they hadn’t killed her yet was that they were enjoying her misery.

Percy clenched his jaw. He didn’t care how many curses he suffered. He had to keep these leathery old hags focused on him and protect Annabeth as long as he could.

He yelled in fury and attacked them all.
XXXI





PERCY



FOR ONE EXCITING MINUTE, Percy felt like he was winning. Riptide cut through the arai as though they were made of powdered sugar. One panicked and ran face-first into a tree. Another screeched and tried to fly away, but Percy sliced off her wings and sent her spiralling into the chasm.

Each time a demon disintegrated, Percy felt a heavier sense of dread as another curse settled on him. Some were harsh and painful: a stabbing in the gut, a burning sensation like he was being blasted by a blowtorch. Some were subtle: a chill in the blood, an uncontrollable tic in his right eye.

Seriously, who curses you with their dying breath and says: I hope your eye twitches!

Percy knew that he’d killed a lot of monsters, but he’d never really thought about it from the monsters’ point of view. Now all their pain and anger and bitterness poured over him, sapping his strength.

The arai just kept coming. For every one he cut down, six more seemed to appear.

His sword arm grew tired. His body ached, and his vision blurred. He tried to make his way towards Annabeth, but she was just out of reach, calling his name as she wandered among the demons.

As Percy blundered towards her, a demon pounced and sank its teeth into his thigh. Percy roared. He sliced the demon to dust, but immediately fell to his knees.

His mouth burned worse than when he had swallowed the firewater of the Phlegethon. He doubled over, shuddering and retching, as a dozen fiery snakes seemed to work their way down his oesophagus.

You have chosen, said the voice of the arai, the curse of Phineas … an excellent painful death.

Percy tried to speak. His tongue felt like it was being microwaved. He remembered the old blind king who had chased harpies through Portland with a weed whacker. Percy had challenged him to a contest, and the loser had drunk a deadly vial of gorgon’s blood. Percy didn’t remember the old blind man muttering a final curse, but as Phineas had dissolved and returned to the Underworld he probably hadn’t wished Percy a long and happy life.

After Percy’s victory then, Gaia had warned him: Do not press your luck. When your death comes, I promise it will be much more painful than gorgon’s blood.

Now he was in Tartarus, dying from gorgon’s blood plus a dozen other agonizing curses, while he watched his girlfriend stumble around, helpless and blind and believing he’d abandoned her. He clutched his sword. His knuckles started to steam. White smoke curled off his forearms.

I won’t die like this, he thought.

Not only because it was painful and insultingly lame, but because Annabeth needed him. Once he was dead, the demons would turn their attention to her. He couldn’t leave her alone.

The arai clustered around him, snickering and hissing.

His head will erupt first, the voice speculated.

No, the voice answered itself from another direction. He will combust all at once.

They were placing bets on how he would die … what sort of scorch mark he would leave on the ground.

‘Bob,’ he croaked. ‘I need you.’

A hopeless plea. He could barely hear himself. Why should Bob answer his call twice? The Titan knew the truth now. Percy was no friend.

He raised his eyes one last time. His surroundings seemed to flicker. The sky boiled and the ground blistered.

Percy realized that what he saw of Tartarus was only a watered-down version of its true horror – only what his demigod brain could handle. The worst of it was veiled, the same way the Mist veiled monsters from mortal sight. Now as Percy died he began to see the truth.

The air was the breath of Tartarus. All these monsters were just blood cells circulating through his body. Everything Percy saw was a dream in the mind of the dark god of the pit.

This must have been the way Nico had seen Tartarus, and it had almost destroyed his sanity. Nico … one of the many people Percy hadn’t treated well enough. He and Annabeth had only made it this far through Tartarus because Nico di Angelo had behaved like Bob’s true friend.

You see the horror of the pit? the arai said soothingly. Give up, Percy Jackson. Isn’t death better than enduring this place?

‘I’m sorry,’ Percy murmured.

He apologizes! The arai shrieked with delight. He regrets his failed life, his crimes against the children of Tartarus!

‘No,’ Percy said. ‘I’m sorry, Bob. I should’ve been honest with you. Please … forgive me. Protect Annabeth.’

He didn’t expect Bob to hear him or care, but it felt right to clear his conscience. He couldn’t blame anyone else for his troubles. Not the gods. Not Bob. He couldn’t even blame Calypso, the girl he’d left alone on that island. Maybe she’d turned bitter and cursed Percy’s girlfriend out of despair. Still … Percy should have followed up with Calypso, made sure the gods sprang her from her exile on Ogygia like they’d promised. He hadn’t treated her any better than he’d treated Bob. He hadn’t even thought much about her, though her moonlace plant still bloomed in his mom’s window box.

It took all his remaining effort, but he got to his feet. Steam rose from his whole body. His legs shook. His insides churned like a volcano.

At least Percy could go out fighting. He raised Riptide.

But, before he could strike, all the arai in front of him exploded into dust.
XXXII





PERCY



BOB SERIOUSLY KNEW HOW TO USE A BROOM.

He slashed back and forth, destroying the demons one after the other while Small Bob the kitten sat on his shoulder, arching its back and hissing.

In a matter of seconds, the arai were gone. Most had been vaporized. The smart ones had flown off into the darkness, shrieking in terror.

Percy wanted to thank the Titan, but his voice wouldn’t work. His legs buckled. His ears rang. Through a red glow of pain, he saw Annabeth a few yards away, wandering blindly towards the edge of the cliff.

‘Uh!’ Percy grunted.

Bob followed his gaze. He bounded towards Annabeth and scooped her up. She yelled and kicked, pummelling Bob’s gut, but Bob didn’t seem to care. He carried her over to Percy and put her down gently.

The Titan touched her forehead. ‘Owie.’

Annabeth stopped fighting. Her eyes cleared. ‘Where – what –?’

She saw Percy, and a series of expressions flashed across her face – relief, joy, shock, horror. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ she cried. ‘What happened?’

She cradled his shoulders and wept into his scalp.

Percy wanted to tell her it was okay, but of course it wasn’t. He couldn’t even feel his body any more. His consciousness was like a small helium balloon, loosely tied to the top of his head. It had no weight, no strength. It just kept expanding, getting lighter and lighter. He knew that soon it would either burst or the string would break, and his life would float away.

Annabeth took his face in her hands. She kissed him and tried to wipe the dust and sweat from his eyes.

Bob loomed over them, his broom planted like a flag. His face was unreadable, luminously white in the dark.

‘Lots of curses,’ Bob said. ‘Percy has done bad things to monsters.’

‘Can you fix him?’ Annabeth pleaded. ‘Like you did with my blindness? Fix Percy!’

Bob frowned. He picked at the name tag on his uniform like it was a scab.

Annabeth tried again. ‘Bob –’

‘Iapetus,’ Bob said, his voice a low rumble. ‘Before Bob. It was Iapetus.’

The air was absolutely still. Percy felt helpless, barely connected to the world.

‘I like Bob better.’ Annabeth’s voice was surprisingly calm. ‘Which do you like?’

The Titan regarded her with his pure silver eyes. ‘I do not know any more.’

He crouched next to her and studied Percy. Bob’s face looked haggard and careworn, as if he suddenly felt the weight of all his centuries.

‘I promised,’ he murmured. ‘Nico asked me to help. I do not think Iapetus or Bob likes breaking promises.’ He touched Percy’s forehead.

‘Owie,’ the Titan murmured. ‘Very big owie.’

Percy sank back into his body. The ringing in his ears faded. His vision cleared. He still felt like he had swallowed a deep fryer. His insides bubbled. He could sense that the poison had only been slowed, not removed.

But he was alive.

He tried to meet Bob’s eyes, to express his gratitude. His head lolled against his chest.

‘Bob cannot cure this,’ Bob said. ‘Too much poison. Too many curses piled up.’

Annabeth hugged Percy’s shoulders. He wanted to say: I can feel that now. Ow. Too tight.

‘What can we do, Bob?’ Annabeth asked. ‘Is there water anywhere? Water might heal him.’

‘No water,’ Bob said. ‘Tartarus is bad.’

I noticed, Percy wanted to yell.

At least the Titan called himself Bob. Even if he blamed Percy for taking his memory, maybe he would help Annabeth if Percy didn’t make it.

‘No,’ Annabeth insisted. ‘No, there has to be a way. Something to heal him.’

Bob placed his hand on Percy’s chest. A cold tingle like eucalyptus oil spread across his sternum, but as soon as Bob lifted his hand the relief stopped. Percy’s lungs felt as hot as lava again.

‘Tartarus kills demigods,’ Bob said. ‘It heals monsters, but you do not belong. Tartarus will not heal Percy. The pit hates your kind.’

‘I don’t care,’ Annabeth said. ‘Even here, there has to be someplace he can rest, some kind of cure he can take. Maybe back at the altar of Hermes, or –’

In the distance, a deep voice bellowed – a voice that Percy recognized, unfortunately.

‘I SMELL HIM!’ roared the giant. ‘BEWARE, SON OF POSEIDON! I COME FOR YOU!’

‘Polybotes,’ Bob said. ‘He hates Poseidon and his children. He is very close now.’

Annabeth struggled to get Percy to his feet. He hated making her work so hard, but he felt like a sack of billiard balls. Even with Annabeth supporting almost all his weight, he could barely stand.

‘Bob, I’m going on, with or without you,’ she said. ‘Will you help?’

The kitten Small Bob mewed and began to purr, rubbing against Bob’s chin.

Bob looked at Percy, and Percy wished he could read the Titan’s expression. Was he angry or just thoughtful? Was he planning revenge, or was he just feeling hurt because Percy had lied about being his friend?

‘There is one place,’ Bob said at last. ‘There is a giant who might know what to do.’

Annabeth almost dropped Percy. ‘A giant. Uh, Bob, giants are bad.’

‘One is good,’ Bob insisted. ‘Trust me, and I will take you … unless Polybotes and the others catch us first.’
XXXIII





JASON



JASON FELL ASLEEP ON THE JOB. Which was bad, since he was a thousand feet in the air.

He should have known better. It was the morning after their encounter with Sciron the bandit, and Jason was on duty, fighting some wild venti who were threatening the ship. When he slashed through the last one, he forgot to hold his breath.

A stupid mistake. When a wind spirit disintegrates, it creates a vacuum. Unless you’re holding your breath, the air gets sucked right out of your lungs. The pressure in your inner ears drops so fast that you black out.

That’s what happened to Jason.

Even worse, he instantly plunged into a dream. In the back of his subconscious, he thought: Really? Now?

He needed to wake up or he would die, but he wasn’t able to hold on to that thought. In the dream, he found himself on the roof of a tall building, the night-time skyline of Manhattan spread around him. A cold wind whipped through his clothes.

A few blocks away, clouds gathered above the Empire State Building – the entrance to Mount Olympus itself. Lightning flashed. The air was metallic with the smell of oncoming rain. The top of the skyscraper was lit up as usual, but the lights seemed to be malfunctioning. They flickered from purple to orange as if the colours were fighting for dominance.

On the roof of Jason’s building stood his old comrades from Camp Jupiter: an array of demigods in combat armour, their Imperial gold weapons and shields glinting in the dark. He saw Dakota and Nathan, Leila and Marcus. Octavian stood to one side, thin and pale, his eyes red-rimmed from sleeplessness or anger, a string of sacrificial stuffed animals around his waist. His augur’s white robe was draped over a purple T-shirt and cargo pants.

In the centre of the line stood Reyna, her metal dogs Aurum and Argentum at her side. Upon seeing her, Jason felt an incredible pang of guilt. He’d let her believe they had a future together. He had never been in love with her, and he hadn’t led her on, exactly … but he also hadn’t shut her down.

He’d disappeared, leaving her to run the camp on her own. (Okay, that hadn’t exactly been Jason’s idea, but still …) Then he had returned to Camp Jupiter with his new girlfriend Piper and a whole bunch of Greek friends in a warship. They’d fired on the Forum and run away, leaving Reyna with a war on her hands.

In his dream she looked tired. Others might not notice, but he’d worked with her long enough to recognize the weariness in her eyes, the tightness in her shoulders under the straps of her armour. Her dark hair was wet, like she’d taken a hasty shower.

The Romans stared at the roof-access door as if they were waiting for someone.

When the door opened, two people emerged. One was a faun – no, Jason thought – a satyr. He’d learned the difference at Camp Half-Blood, and Coach Hedge was always correcting him if he made that mistake. Roman fauns tended to hang around and beg and eat. Satyrs were more helpful, more engaged with demigod affairs. Jason didn’t think he’d seen this particular satyr before, but he was sure the guy was from the Greek side. No faun would look so purposeful walking up to an armed group of Romans in the middle of the night.

He wore a green Nature Conservancy T-shirt with pictures of endangered whales and tigers and stuff. Nothing covered his shaggy legs and hooves. He had a bushy goatee, curly brown hair tucked into a Rasta-style cap and a set of reed pipes around his neck. His hands fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, but considering the way he studied the Romans, noting their positions and their weapons, Jason figured this satyr had been in combat before.

At his side was a red-headed girl Jason recognized from Camp Half-Blood – their oracle, Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She had long frizzy hair, a plain white blouse and jeans covered with hand-drawn ink designs. She held a blue plastic hairbrush that she tapped nervously against her thigh like a good luck talisman.

Jason remembered her at the campfire, reciting lines of prophecy that sent Jason, Piper and Leo on their first quest together. She was a regular mortal teenager – not a demigod – but, for reasons Jason never understood, the spirit of Delphi had chosen her as its host.

The real question: What was she doing with the Romans?

She stepped forward, her eyes fixed on Reyna. ‘You got my message.’

Octavian snorted. ‘That’s the only reason you made it this far alive, Graecus. I hope you’ve come to discuss surrender terms.’

‘Octavian …’ Reyna warned.

‘At least search them!’ Octavian protested.

‘No need,’ Reyna said, studying Rachel Dare. ‘Do you bring weapons?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘I hit Kronos in the eye with this hairbrush once. Otherwise, no.’

The Romans didn’t seem to know what to make of that. The mortal didn’t sound like she was kidding.

‘And your friend?’ Reyna nodded to the satyr. ‘I thought you were coming alone.’

‘This is Grover Underwood,’ Rachel said. ‘He’s a leader of the Council.’

‘What council?’ Octavian demanded.

‘Cloven Elders, man.’ Grover’s voice was high and reedy, as if he were terrified, but Jason suspected the satyr had more steel than he let on. ‘Seriously, don’t you Romans have nature and trees and stuff? I’ve got some news you need to hear. Plus, I’m a card-carrying protector. I’m here to, you know, protect Rachel.’

Reyna looked like she was trying not to smile. ‘But no weapons?’

‘Just the pipes.’ Grover’s expression became wistful. ‘Percy always said my cover of “Born to be Wild” should count as a dangerous weapon, but I don’t think it’s that bad.’

Octavian sneered. ‘Another friend of Percy Jackson. That’s all I need to hear.’

Reyna held up her hand for silence. Her gold and silver dogs sniffed the air, but they remained calm and attentive at her side.

‘So far, our guests speak the truth,’ Reyna said. ‘Be warned, Rachel and Grover, if you start to lie, this conversation will not go well for you. Say what you came to say.’

From her jeans pocket, Rachel dug out a piece of paper like a napkin. ‘A message. From Annabeth.’

Jason wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. Annabeth was in Tartarus. She couldn’t send anyone a note on a napkin.

Maybe I’ve hit the water and died, his subconscious said. This isn’t a real vision. It’s some sort of after-death hallucination.

But the dream seemed very real. He could feel the wind sweeping across the roof. He could smell the storm. Lightning flickered over the Empire State Building, making the Romans’ armour flash.

Reyna took the note. As she read it, her eyebrows crept higher. Her mouth parted in shock. Finally, she looked up at Rachel. ‘Is this a joke?’

‘I wish,’ Rachel said. ‘They’re really in Tartarus.’

‘But how –’

‘I don’t know,’ Rachel said. ‘The note appeared in the sacrificial fire at our dining pavilion. That’s Annabeth’s handwriting. She asks for you by name.’

Octavian stirred. ‘Tartarus? What do you mean?’

Reyna handed him the letter.

Octavian muttered as he read: ‘Rome, Arachne, Athena – Athena Parthenos?’ He looked around in outrage, as if waiting for someone to contradict what he was reading. ‘A Greek trick! Greeks are infamous for their tricks!’

Reyna took back the note. ‘Why ask this of me?’

Rachel smiled. ‘Because Annabeth is wise. She believes you can do this, Reyna Avila Ramírez-Arellano.’

Jason felt like he’d been slapped. Nobody ever used Reyna’s full name. She hated telling anyone what it was. The only time Jason had ever said it aloud, just trying to pronounce it correctly, she’d given him a murderous look. That was the name of a little girl in San Juan, she told him. I left it behind when I left Puerto Rico.

Reyna scowled. ‘How did you –’

‘Uh,’ Grover Underwood interrupted. ‘You mean your initials are RA-RA?’

Reyna’s hand drifted towards her dagger.

‘But that’s not important!’ the satyr said quickly. ‘Look, we wouldn’t have risked coming here if we didn’t trust Annabeth’s instincts. A Roman leader returning the most important Greek statue to Camp Half-Blood – she knows that could prevent a war.’

‘This isn’t a trick,’ Rachel added. ‘We’re not lying. Ask your dogs.’

The metallic greyhounds didn’t react. Reyna stroked Aurum’s head thoughtfully. ‘The Athena Parthenos … so the legend is true.’

‘Reyna!’ Octavian cried. ‘You can’t seriously be considering this! Even if the statue still exists, you see what they’re doing. We’re on the verge of attacking them – destroying the stupid Greeks once and for all – and they concoct this stupid errand to divert your attention. They want to send you to your death!’

The other Romans muttered, glaring at their visitors. Jason remembered how persuasive Octavian could be, and he was winning the officers to his side.

Rachel Dare faced the augur. ‘Octavian, son of Apollo, you should take this more seriously. Even Romans respected your father’s Oracle of Delphi.’

‘Ha!’ Octavian said. ‘You’re the Oracle of Delphi? Right. And I’m the Emperor Nero!’

‘At least Nero could play music,’ Grover muttered.

Octavian balled his fists.

Suddenly the wind shifted. It swirled around the Romans with a hissing sound, like a nest of snakes. Rachel Dare glowed in a green aura, as if hit by a soft emerald spotlight. Then the wind faded and the aura was gone.

The sneer melted from Octavian’s face. The Romans rustled uneasily.

‘It’s your decision,’ Rachel said, as if nothing had happened. ‘I have no specific prophecy to offer you, but I can see glimpses of the future. I see the Athena Parthenos on Half-Blood Hill. I see her bringing it.’ She pointed at Reyna. ‘Also, Ella has been murmuring lines from your Sibylline Books –’

‘What?’ Reyna interrupted. ‘The Sibylline Books were destroyed centuries ago.’

‘I knew it!’ Octavian pounded his fist into his palm. ‘That harpy they brought back from the quest – Ella. I knew she was spouting prophecies! Now I understand. She – she somehow memorized a copy of the Sibylline Books.’

Reyna shook her head in disbelief. ‘How is that possible?’

‘We don’t know,’ Rachel admitted. ‘But, yes, that seems to be the case. Ella has a perfect memory. She loves books. Somewhere, somehow, she read your Roman book of prophecies. Now she’s the only source for them.’

‘Your friends lied,’ Octavian said. ‘They told us the harpy was just muttering gibberish. They stole her!’

Grover huffed indignantly. ‘Ella isn’t your property! She’s a free creature. Besides, she wants to be at Camp Half-Blood. She’s dating one of my friends, Tyson.’

‘The Cyclops,’ Reyna remembered. ‘A harpy dating a Cyclops …’

‘That’s not relevant!’ Octavian said. ‘The harpy has valuable Roman prophecies. If the Greeks won’t return her, we should take their Oracle hostage! Guards!’

Two centurions advanced, their pila levelled. Grover brought his pipes to his lips, played a quick jig and their spears turned into Christmas trees. The guards dropped them in surprise.

‘Enough!’ Reyna shouted.

She didn’t often raise her voice. When she did, everyone listened.

‘We’ve strayed from the point,’ she said. ‘Rachel Dare, you’re telling me that Annabeth is in Tartarus, yet she’s found a way to send this message. She wants me to bring this statue from the ancient lands to your camp.’

Rachel nodded. ‘Only a Roman can return it and restore peace.’

‘And why would the Romans want peace,’ Reyna asked, ‘after your ship attacked our city?’

‘You know why,’ Rachel said. ‘To avoid this war. To reconcile the gods’ Greek and Roman sides. We have to work together to defeat Gaia.’

Octavian stepped forward to speak, but Reyna shot him a withering look.

‘According to Percy Jackson,’ Reyna said, ‘the battle with Gaia will be fought in the ancient lands. In Greece.’

‘That’s where the giants are,’ Rachel agreed. ‘Whatever magic, whatever ritual the giants are planning to wake the Earth Mother, I sense it will happen in Greece. But … well, our problems aren’t limited to the ancient lands. That’s why I brought Grover to talk to you.’

The satyr tugged his goatee. ‘Yeah … see, over the last few months, I’ve been talking to satyrs and nature spirits across the continent. They’re all saying the same thing. Gaia is stirring – I mean, she’s right on the edge of consciousness. She’s whispering in the minds of naiads, trying to turn them. She’s causing earthquakes, uprooting the dryads’ trees. Last week alone, she appeared in human form in a dozen different places, scaring the horns off some of my friends. In Colorado, a giant stone fist rose out of a mountain and swatted some Party Ponies like flies.’

Reyna frowned. ‘Party Ponies?’

‘Long story,’ Rachel said. ‘The point is: Gaia will rise everywhere. She’s already stirring. No place will be safe from the battle. And we know that her first targets are going to be the demigod camps. She wants us destroyed.’

‘Speculation,’ Octavian said. ‘A distraction. The Greeks fear our attack. They’re trying to confuse us. It’s the Trojan Horse all over again!’

Reyna twisted the silver ring she always wore, with the sword and torch symbols of her mother, Bellona.

‘Marcus,’ she said, ‘bring Scipio from the stables.’

‘Reyna, no!’ Octavian protested.

She faced the Greeks. ‘I will do this for Annabeth, for the hope of peace between our camps, but do not think I have forgotten the insults to Camp Jupiter. Your ship fired on our city. You declared war – not us. Now, leave.’

Grover stamped his hoof. ‘Percy would never –’

‘Grover,’ Rachel said, ‘we should go.’

Her tone said: Before it’s too late.

After they had retreated back down the stairs, Octavian wheeled on Reyna. ‘Are you mad?’

‘I am praetor of the legion,’ Reyna said. ‘I judge this to be in the best interest of Rome.’

‘To get yourself killed? To break our oldest laws and travel to the ancient lands? How will you even find their ship, assuming you survive the journey?’

‘I will find them,’ Reyna said. ‘If they are sailing for Greece, I know a place Jason will stop. To face the ghosts in the House of Hades, he will need an army. There is only one place where he can find that sort of help.’

In Jason’s dream, the building seemed to tilt under his feet. He remembered a conversation he’d had with Reyna years ago, a promise they had made to each other. He knew what she was talking about.

‘This is insanity,’ Octavian muttered. ‘We’re already under attack. We must take the offensive! Those hairy dwarfs have been stealing our supplies, sabotaging our scouting parties – you know the Greeks sent them.’

‘Perhaps,’ Reyna said. ‘But you will not launch an attack without my orders. Continue scouting the enemy camp. Secure your positions. Gather all the allies you can, and if you catch those dwarfs you have my blessing to send them back to Tartarus. But do not attack Camp Half-Blood until I return.’

Octavian narrowed his eyes. ‘While you’re gone, the augur is the senior officer. I will be in charge.’

‘I know.’ Reyna didn’t sound happy about it. ‘But you have my orders. You all heard them.’ She scanned the faces of the centurions, daring them to question her.

She stormed off, her purple cloak billowing and her dogs at her heels.

Once she was gone, Octavian turned to the centurions. ‘Gather all the senior officers. I want a meeting as soon as Reyna has left on her fool’s quest. There will be a few changes in the legion’s plans.’

One of the centurions opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason he spoke in Piper’s voice: ‘WAKE UP!’

Jason’s eyes snapped open, and he saw the ocean’s surface hurtling towards him.
XXXIV