Heroes of Olympus

The Stolen Goddess

Chapter One: Percy

"Percy!" Rap. Rap. Rap. "Percy, where are you?"

"Five more minutes," he mumbled, propping himself blearily up on the pile of pillows.

"We're going to be late! Come on, Perce, of all the days to sleep in-"

"Wait," he croaked. "Just - wait." It came out sounding dazed and stupid, but he wasn't going to beat himself up about that right now, because something had just hit him in the face like a truck full of bricks.

He had no idea where he was.

He was half-sitting in an enormous bed in an equally humongous room, with blinding sunlight pouring in through a set of floor-to-ceiling windows. The rest of the place, from huge flatscreen to the overstuffed couch against the wall, screamed ridiculously fancy hotel room! at the top of its lungs, which would have been awesome if it wasn't completely messed up by the fact that he'd never seen the place before in his life and didn't know how he'd wound up here, or where "here" even was.

He bolted upright in the bed, battling his way through the ton of comforter toward the open windows. That's when he noticed his clothes. He was already completely dressed, and not just in a "fell asleep watching TV way," but fully decked out in a shirt and jeans, a pair of heavy boots, and a blue jacket that could have kept an Arctic explorer toasty. He probably should have roasted to death under the combo of the winter get-up and smothering-grade duvet, but the gear made a little more sense when he pressed his nose up against the glass of the windows. The view was amazing - miles and miles of snow, needley trees, and stick-figure skiers - but none of it was any more familiar than the hotel room. He tore himself from the National Geographic cover outside and unbolted the door.

He almost got a fist in the face as the girl in the doorway got ready for another round with the knocker. She was tall and black-haired, with big dark eyes and pursed lips. She was dressed for snow, like he was, except that her outfit looked wicked expensive and he was positive she hadn't fallen asleep in it, because her picture was probably up on the Wikipedia pages for "orderly" and "nothing out of place." She somehow managed to look both crazy pretty and pretty upset. "Come on," she sighed, giving him a disapproving glance. "We were supposed to meet the snowshoe lady ten minutes ago. Dean Kirchner wants you down there ASAP."

"We were?"

Her eyebrows arched, like Are you for real? "I explained it all in the paperwork. 'Tardiness will delay the entire class, so remember to set your alarms and meet at ten'. I know you got it, because you signed and handed it in..."

"I don't remember," he protested, peering up and down the long corridor. Nothing here, from the super-modern paintings or the girl in front of him jogged his memory about snowshoeing or anything else. He tried to remember someone telling him about tardiness, but drew a blank - just like everything else he tried to remember.

She wrinkled her nose. "No excuses," she said, diving around him and striding into his room. She grabbed a card off his bedside table and waved it in his face primly. "Take the key and let's get out of here."

She sounded so authoritative that he actually took it as she held it out for him and stuffed it in his pants pocket with - what was that, a pencil? Whatever. He had bigger things to deal with. "But I don't remember," he repeated, then added quickly, "Not just about being late. I mean, snowshoeing sounds great, but-" He held up his hands pleadingly, hoping she wouldn't think he was off the deep end, even though total amnesia meant he probably wasnuts - "I don't remember anything."

She opened her mouth like she was going to tell him off, then seemed to think better of it and started over with a nice, simple "What?" that pretty much summed up Percy's feelings, too.

"I don't know how I got here, or where here is-"

The girl took a step back and knit her eyebrows together. "Are you messing with me?" He could see her balling her hands into fists inside her jacket, but she sounded more hurt than angry. "Because between Ross and Nancy and Kurt, I've had enough practical jokes for the year, and I don't need you to get in on it, thanks."

He shook his head, hoping that he looked sincere. "I'm serious. Seriously."

She looked him up and down uncertainly. "I'm Camille. Camille Lee. Do you know who youare?" She seemed to have switched gears from irritated to upset to curious, but she still seemed sort of bossy, like a police lady interviewing a little kid in the case of "who ran off with Percy's brain?"

"Well, yeah, you were yelling 'Percy' over and over."

She frowned. "I was just trying to get you out of there. But you know it's your name, right?"

"Definitely."

Camille nodded slowly, then tugged him out the door and closed it herself, like she totally didn't trust him to handle any of this. He couldn't blame her. "Look, Perce. You may not remember this, but I'm your class president, and I promise to get you whatever help you need."

Alright, so part of that made sense. She looked like they could be in the same grade, whatever that was. Tenth? Eleventh? He couldn't remember how old he was, much less what year he was in. "Class presidents can do that?"

"I thought you didn't remember anything," she scowled, starting them off down the hallway.

"Well - yeah, but I also can't remember a class president being able to get my memory back."

It was a good thing I wasn't expecting her to crack up, because she sighed and kept looking worried. "I mean, I'll explain it to Dean Kirchner. He'll call a car to get you to the hospital, and they can treat you for, I don't know, dehydration or altitude sickness or whatever."

"No." He stopped dead in his tracks, stalling Camille in the middle of the empty hallway, too.

"Yes," she said firmly. "Percy, you're sick. You need help."

"I don't need to see a doctor," he insisted, because something in his gut was telling him that this had nothing to do with getting dried up. "It's not like that."

She let his arm go and put a hand on her hip. "You know a lot for a guy who doesn't remember anything."

He shook his head. "Look - Camille." She brightened a little when he used her name, as though she'd been worried his brain would reset itself and she'd have to start over halfway through her fix-it plan. It was a good look for her. "I'm not messing with you. It's just that... I feel fine, apart from the no-memory thing. Maybe - I don't know, maybe I just need time to think."

Camille drummed her perfectly-manicured nails against her hip and bit her lip, then gave him a sharp nod. "I can handle that."

The conviction in her voice caught him off guard. "What?"

"I said, I can get you time to think. Let's go," she said, starting off again. She didn't grab his jacket again, but he trailed after her anyway. It wasn't like he had any idea how to deal with whatever he'd gotten into. "I'll tell Dean Kirchner that you ate some bad oysters. It happened to Amanda last spring in London and no one questioned anything. I'll do the talking, so just look miserable and hold your stomach a lot."

"Who's Dean Kirchner? Is he in our grade?"

She frowned at him over her shoulder. "Dean of Students Kirchner. You only live in his office."

"I guess I get into a lot of trouble?" Somehow, that didn't surprise him.

"Tell me about it," she grumbled. "He complains about you all the time."

Percy winced. "And that's how we know each other?" He barely knew anything about Camille, but he was fairly sure he didn't want to get her in trouble. All things considered, she was being way cool about the fact that one of her classmates was a few knives short of a crayon box.

"What - oh, no!" She pressed the elevator down button with what seemed like a lot more force than necessary. "I was your orientation guide when you transferred in last fall, then you started doing Latin tutoring with me, and now we hang around a lot..."

"Then we, uh, what are we?" he asked, dreading the answer a bit. Not that she wasn't cute, but he guessed love and missing all your memories didn't mix.

"Friends!" she said, and she couldn't stop into the elevator quickly enough to hide the flush that rose to her cheeks. "Can't a girl just have guy friends?"

"I wouldn't know," he offered lamely, climbing in after her. "I have amnesia."

The elevator dropped them off in a lobby even sweeter than Percy's room. Their boots sunk a whole inch into the carpet, and the ceiling had about a dozen chandeliers bigger than cars. In the center of it all was a huge fountain of backflipping dolphins. If it weren't for Camille, he would have stared at that fountain all day, but she was covering ground fast.

"Where are we?" he asked, shooting one last look at the statue in the water as they turned a corner into what Percy guessed was The Hallway of Giant Mirrors and Shiny Gold Things. "I mean, this place is insane."

"Woodley Prep class trip," she said irritably. "I wanted to go to Hawaii or St. Kitts, but everyone else voted for Colorado..."

It didn't sound like she was joking - he didn't know if she ever joked, actually - but winter break in St. Kitts was ridiculous. "What kind of school do you go to?"

She didn't turn around, but she fidgeted with a ring he hadn't noticed before, a thick band shaped like a gold vine. "We. We go to Woodley Prep. It's a really nice place, actually. The teachers are all really smart, and they treat us really well - I mean, they have to, considering the tuition, but if you have to go to boarding school, Woodley's the best place you can be."

There was something wrong about that have to. "Why do we have to go to boarding school?"

"You know," Camille mumbled. "Busy parents."

He came close to blurting out Sorry, I don't know, but caught himself at the last second. "My parents are so busy they sent me to a luxury hotel? Could be worse, right?"

"You'll change your mind sooner or later," she started, but was cut off by a loud burst of laughter from a few doors down. She took Percy's hand in her own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Showtime."

A couple guys gave Percy good-natured elbowings as he and Camille squeezed through the knot of kids, and most of the girls flashed smiles at Camille, though a few of them made exaggeratedly scandalized expressions. A knot of kids in a corner made sour faces, but Percy followed Camille's lead and ignored them. If they wanted to pick a fight, they'd have to wait until he remembered who they were. Even though he didn't seen the same item of clothing on any two people in the room, the clothes still looked like a kind of uniform. The girls were all wearing short parkas with skintight leggings, topped off with an Abominable Snowman's worth of fur, and the guys had huge jackets with more pockets than anyone could ever use, ever. All of their stuff looked expensive, and Percy was fairly certain none of this cold weather gear had ever been worn before, which made him feel a little stupid in his beat-up, slept-in coat. There was a stitched-up gash on one arm like he'd ripped through all the layers with a knife, and a patch below his ribs that he guessed had hurt a lot whenever he got it. Maybe it was lucky that he didn't remember.

The only two adults in the room had the dress code down, too. The woman had curly dark hair tied severely, and looked like a twenty-something version of half the girls in the room. The man, who Percy figured was probably Dean Kirchner, was dressed in black from head to toe, with fluffy blond hair and glasses askew. He'd been talking exasperatedly with a freckly girl as Camille pulled Percy over, but his expression darkened as he caught sight of them. Percy really wanted to know what he'd done to get on this guy's bad side.

"Percy," he glared. "So glad you could join us."

"Uh," he started, but Camille cut him off. "He's got some kind of stomach bug," she said authoritatively. Was it just Percy, or did she sound even bossier than she had before? "You should see his bathroom, it's disgusting." A few of the girls turned up their noses, and a couple of the guys laughed and pantomimed hurling behind her back. Percy flashed them a weak smile. "I mean, I told him that seafood this far inland had to be disgusting, but that waitress kept flirting with him, and she was like, go for the house special, the oysters are delicious, and he actually believed it."

Dean Kirchner cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Thank you, Camille." He looked back at the curly-haired woman. "Ms. Cameron, it looks like we'll be one short."

"Two," Camille said firmly. Both the adults look curiously at her, and for a second Percy thought the hike leader was going to call their bluff. He thought Camille had a pretty good story, but, then again, he didn't actually know what had happened last night. For all he knew, he could have flirted with a waitress and gone through a bucket of oysters. "I'll make sure he rehydrates, then check in on him to make sure he doesn't get worse-"

"That's not all you'll do," one of the girls said quietly, and half the room rippled with soft catcalls and laughter. The response made Dean Kirchner hesitate, and Percy's heart sank. This guy was going to split him off from a girl who insisted she was his friend and was willing to like a champ to help him out, all because of a few dumb high schoolers.

It was the hike leader who saved them. Before Camille could get a word in, she leaned over to Dean Kirchner. "Please make a decisions, she said. Her voice was weird and breathy, like she'd just run a marathon, or had a squeaky toy lodged down her throat, or both. "If we don't start soon, the class may be stuck on the mountain at night..."

The rest of the kids booed loudly. Apparently, the idea of missing dinner, shipping, or the enormous hotel quilts was a dealbreaker for Woodley's student body, and Dean Kirchner knew it. He waved his spindly arms for attention as he bellowed "Alright! Alright. Camille, take Percy to the breakfast bar. The rest of you, follow Ms. Cameron to the rental counter."

Camille pulled Percy away from the door as the stampede of well-dressed high schoolers passed with a few whistles in their direction. The adults both gave them pretty severe looks on their way out: Dean Kirchner was scowling at Percy, and Ms. Cameron had a curious look that made Percy try a little harder at looking sick.

"What now?" he whispered, as the noise of the Woodley Prep pack faded down the hallway. "Are we really grabbing breakfast?"

"Not here," she said, peeking down the hallway in both directions. "The restaurant is closed until lunch, which he'd know if he read half the student activities emails I sent..." She tapped her foot, looking thoughtful. "We passed a pretty empty coffee place coming in yesterday. It should be quiet enough not to aggravate - whatever's happened."

"You're the president," he offered, and let her lead him back to the lobby and out into a snowy yard.

Camille took a while explaining that his was a "ski-in, ski-out" hotel, which was why they were so high up and why a snowboarder almost ran over Percy's feet. Even if she hadn't wanted to head to the mountains over break, Camille had obviously done her homework. She rattled off the history of the hotel (filled with rich people), the local nightlife (filled with fake German food, and also more rich people), and the plant life (filled with killer beetles or chopped down by rich people). "They say global warming has helped the beetles overrun the Rockies, and no one knows what to do about it..." Mostly, Percy let her talk, and tried to let the things they passed jog his memory. Chair lift? Nope. Enormous Santa Claus? Nope. Almost deserted coffee place? Definitely nope.

Camille's memory was spot on, though, because the place was near-empty. There was one little girl outside, clinging to a dog that made a point of glaring at both of them as they entered, and a few skiers cradling enormous, steaming mugs. The sight of them flipped a switch in Percy: he was suddenly ravenously hungry, and much less concerned with how he'd made it to a resort in the Rockies than with the last time he'd eaten a real meal. He rifled through his pockets for a wallet, but came up with the key card, a ballpoint pen, and a whole lot of lint. "Uh," he started, but Camille just glanced his way and waved dismissively as she pulled out a black card. "Oh. Okay. Thanks."

He probably ordered half the café, but Camille didn't seem to mind. She grabbed a coffee and headed to a table at the back, where she kept up a steady commentary on their semester at Woodley in an attempt to jog his brain. It turned out, he was a pretty lousy student (ouch) but the star of the swim team (kind of cool). She'd been helping him get his grades up (which was nice of her) but he still had a way of getting on the teachers' nerves (the dean included). "But I mean," she said, leaning toward him, "it's not like any of that explains that amnesia, and you didn't say anything about it running in the family."

"In my family?" he frowned. Something about that idea caused a flicker of recognition that nothing Camille had said and nothing he'd seen had managed to do. "I think-"

He never finished the thought, because at that moment a scream ripped through the café, and the windows shattered in a blizzard of broken glass.