"What do you think, Doctor?" said Nurse Muchhala.

Dr. Laughlin sighed. "It doesn't look good," he said. "The baby doesn't seem to want to leave the birth canal, and its methods of resistance are playing havoc with the mother's internal structure. I hate to say it, but I don't think it's likely that they're both going to live through this."

"I see," said Nurse Muchhala softly.

Dr. Laughlin got the distinct impression that he had let the young nurse down. "I didn't say I wouldn't try to get them through it," he said, almost defensively, "but I think it would be a good idea to have the suction catheter on hand just in case."

"Of course." Nurse Muchhala nodded calmly, but Dr. Laughlin could hear the quiver in her voice. "I'll just go fetch it, then, shall I?"

"I have a better idea," said a quiet treble voice. "Why don't both of you go find something else to do, and I'll call you back here when I'm done?"

Dr. Laughlin and Nurse Muchhala turned in unison, and saw a strikingly pretty thirteen-year-old girl looking up at them with an air of quiet authority.

Dr. Laughlin frowned. "Who are you?"

"My name is Diana Triformis," said the girl. "I'll be taking over this delivery."

Dr. Laughlin stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. "My dear girl," he began, "it's very nice that you want to help us, but I really don't think there's much that you'll be able to…"

His voice trailed off. A sudden cloud seemed to have settled over his brain, and he found that he was having trouble focusing on the figure in front of him. Where before he had seen only a dark-haired pre-adolescent with delusions of grandeur, he now saw a strangely ageless woman, one who radiated such cool, competent authority that he could hardly believe he had ever questioned either her ability or her right to take over his role.

"Now, then, Doctor," he heard this vision say, "why don't you and Nurse Whatever-Her-Name-Is go find my companion, Miss Grace, something to eat? We've traveled a very long way, and I'm sure she would appreciate it."

And with a good deal of effort, for his voice seemed to have gotten lost in his throat, he responded, "I would be happy to, Miss Triformis."

The next thing he knew, he was striding briskly down the corridors of Evanston Hospital, accompanied by Nurse Muchhala and a dark-haired teenage girl who was evidently Miss Grace. In an effort to start a conversation, he enquired of the latter, "So, how long have you known Miss Triformis?"

"About ten years," said Miss Grace. "She's my half-sister."

"I see," said Dr. Laughlin. "Strange that I didn't recognize her name. Is she an out-of-state obstetrician of some sort?"

"No," said Miss Grace. "She's the goddess Artemis, patroness of midwifery, and she's come to your hospital because her twin brother, the god of prophecy, told her that the baby you were about to abort would one day become one of the greatest hunters ever to walk the earth."

Dr. Laughlin stopped in his tracks, turned, and stared at Miss Grace for a full quarter of a minute. Then he laughed. "Well done, Miss Grace," he said. "For a moment, you almost had me believing you."

Miss Grace smiled mysteriously. "What can I say?" she said. "I'm convincing."

"Clearly," said Dr. Laughlin. "Well, anyway, which would you prefer, McDonald's or Burger King?"

Thalia Grace was not actually terribly interested in food at that moment. The trip to Illinois hadn't really been that long – only about three hundred miles – and, as a Huntress, she didn't get hungry any more easily than she tired. Nevertheless, she picked Burger King, mostly because she preferred their chicken. (Her mother had trained her always to favor poultry over red meat, as being easier on the figure. This had significantly affected her practice in the Hunt; she hadn't brought down a single deer in five years, but her skill with grouse was legendary.) The two medicos went off to accommodate her, and Thalia was left alone.

Unsurprisingly, after a few minutes, her heroic restlessness (or, as it was unkindly referred to by the modern era, her attention-deficit disorder) got the better of her, and she began to wander aimlessly through the corridors of the hospital. This turned out to be a rather dismal experience; Thalia hadn't realized, before now, just how much it infuriated her to watch people suffering and not be able to do anything about it. Every time she peeked into a ward and saw a chemo patient vomiting into a bucket, a car-wreck victim staring down at the place where his legs used to be, or an old woman hooked up to a forest of wires for no discernible reason, she wanted to shout to her father that if he couldn't manage his planet better than this, maybe it was time he stepped aside and let Demeter or someone take over.

Then, in Ward 215 on the third floor, she came across a different kind of invalid. A girl of about thirteen was lying motionless in a small bed, her eyes closed, her mouth hanging slightly open, and her jet-black hair lying in disarray about her pillow, shimmering in the pale fluorescence in a way that suggested that it hadn't been washed in a while. Thalia had never seen a coma victim before, but she would have guessed that this girl was one even if she hadn't seen the feeding tube in her arm.

As she slipped into the ward and tiptoed to the side of the bed, a curious feeling of kinship came over her. She thought of the six years she had spent as a pine tree on Half-Blood Hill (not that she could remember it, of course, but Chiron and Annabeth had sworn that it had happened), and she wondered if any of the other campers had felt the same tender protectiveness for her that she felt for this girl. A person who couldn't even think anymore: that had to be the ultimate in helplessness. Surely no one with mythic-hero genes could resist that.

"Persistent vegetative state," she said aloud, and laughed. "Yeah, I guess being a tree qualifies as a persistent vegetative state." She reached over and gave one of the girl's greasy bangs a flick with her forefinger.

"Just hang in there, kid," she whispered. "I know things don't look so good for you right now, but trust me, you never know. Someone could be coming down the hall right now with, I don't know, the cordial of Hermes or something."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she heard footsteps coming down the corridor, apparently heading directly for Ward 15. Startled by the sudden congruence of fact with her fancy, she scarcely had time to cloak herself in Mist and render herself invisible (a trick Artemis had taught her some months before) before the door swung open and a thirty-something couple walked in.

Curious, Thalia stole a glance at their hands, but neither of them was carrying anything that resembled the cordial of Hermes. Indeed, unless she was much mistaken, neither would have taken the cordial of Hermes if it had been offered; each of them wore the expression of one who has long since given up on miracles.

The first words out of the woman's mouth confirmed this impression. She walked over to the side of the bed opposite where Thalia was standing, stared down at the girl (who appeared, judging by the distinct resemblance between the two of them, to be her daughter), heaved a deep sigh, and said, "Brian, what are we going to do?"

Her companion, a curly-haired man with a thin, brown mustache, shrugged wearily. "We're going to keep doing what we've been doing," he said. "What else can you do in a situation like this?"

"Brian Myers, you know perfectly well that we can't go on the way we've been going," said the woman sharply. "We spent your last paycheck two weeks ago, it could take months for our Medicare application to come through, and in the meantime we have three mouths to feed."

"And one arm," Mr. Myers added, with a glance at the girl's feeding tube.

Mrs. Myers sighed. "Exactly," she said. "One arm that, according to all the doctors, is never going to lift itself again. One mouth that's never going to form words, one pair of eyes that's never going to see a deer run by, one brain that hasn't produced measurable wave activity in four months…"

Mr. Myers's eyes narrowed. "Rachel, what are you saying?" he said.

Mrs. Myers raised her head and looked her husband in the eye. "I'm saying," she said, "that maybe it's time we started thinking the unthinkable."

"I am not signing any piece of paper to let a bunch of doctors kill our daughter," said Mr. Myers.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Brian," said his wife, "when are you going to open your eyes? Jenny is already dead. Everything that makes human life worth living – the pleasures of the senses, the ability to give or receive love, even the power to know what she's missing – was taken from her when that maniac ran into her."

"I'm not disputing it," said Mr. Myers. "But…"

"But what?" said Mrs. Myers.

Mr. Myers seemed to be having trouble putting his feelings into words. "But she's still our daughter," he said at last.

Mrs. Myers sighed. "In what sense?" she said. "Because her body's still there? My father's body was still there when we buried him last year, but I didn't kid myself that that meant we had him back again. It's not the body that matters with a person, it's the mind – and Jenny's mind has long since left this world."

Mr. Myers was silent for a long moment.

"Rachel, I can't argue with you," he said at length. "I've known for fifteen years that you were the clever one in our marriage. But there are some things you just can't argue away, and one of them is the responsibility of a father to care for his daughter as long as she lives."

"And what about the responsibility of a mother?" Mrs. Myers demanded. "Or have you forgotten that Jenny is my daughter, too?"

Mr. Myers sighed. "No, of course I haven't…"

"All right, then," said Mrs. Myers. "If I, Jenny's own mother – I, who carried her next to my heart for nine months – if I can put my emotions aside and realize that it's time to end her life, surely you can agree to trust my judgment?"

Mr. Myers didn't answer, but his face bore the marks of a deep mental agony.

"Brian, I realize how horrible I must sound to you right now," said Mrs. Myers, her tone softening slightly. "Please believe that I don't want to do this any more than you do. I would give anything to have Jenny back again – but that simply isn't going to happen, and we have to think about what's best for the rest of us."

"Yes," Mr. Myers murmured, "yes, I suppose so… but how are we going to explain it to Hannah?"

His wife smiled. "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it," she said. "What we need to worry about right now is catching Dr. Kamins before he goes on his lunch break, so we can fill out all the necessary paperwork."

"He said he had to see about a consultation in the cardiac ward," Mr. Myers offered. "That was about an hour ago."

"Oh," said Mrs. Myers. "Well, then, he should be finished by now. Shall we go?"

She slipped her hand into her husband's, and the two of them left the ward – and no sooner had their footsteps faded down the corridor than Thalia dropped her sheathing of Mist, darted for the door, and began running in the opposite direction.

Whether the conversation she had just overheard merited the disgust and indignation that was currently raging through Thalia's veins is a debatable question. Certainly, it is unlikely that she would have reacted so strongly if she hadn't seen so many parallels between the unconscious Jennifer's situation and that of her own adolescence. As it was, the suggestion that being unable to see, hear, know, or think necessarily made one's life irrelevant affected her rather as though she had seen Annabeth coming out towards her tree with an axe in her hand.

It should not be supposed that she had any clear notion of how to rectify the situation. She was running partly out of a desire to put as much distance as possible between herself and the Myerses, partly because she had already stood still much longer than was comfortable for her, and partly because she had a vague, half-superstitious notion that physical activity in and of itself always made things better. She had no idea where she was trying to get to, and only the vaguest awareness of anyone else around her – and it was therefore unsurprising that, when she rounded the corner, she should have run headlong into Dr. Laughlin.

"Whoa, careful there, Miss Grace!" said the doctor with a laugh. "I'm sure you're anxious to get your food, but that's no reason to start attacking your waiter."

Thalia blinked, nonplussed, and failed to respond.

"What are you doing in this part of the hospital, anyway?" said Dr. Laughlin. "I've been wandering the corridors looking for you for at least half an hour."

"Oh, you know, just checking the place out," said Thalia vaguely. Her mind was elsewhere; Dr. Laughlin's appearance had given her a sudden idea.

"I see," said Dr. Laughlin. "And what do you think of our humble facility?"

"Great, just great," said Thalia. "Listen, Doctor, is my sister still in the maternity ward?"

Dr. Laughlin frowned. "Miss Triformis, you mean?" he said. "No, I don't believe so. I seem to remember seeing her at the water fountain outside the first-floor ladies' room."

"Thanks," said Thalia, and she snatched the Burger King bag out of the startled doctor's hand and raced for the elevator without so much as a fare-thee-well.

"So it went okay, then?" said Apollo's image in the fountain spray.

Artemis nodded. "Mrs. Schatz and the baby – they're calling him Benjamin – both managed to pull through just fine," she said. "Father only knows how, the way those other doctors were fluttering around playing Let's-Distract-the-Midwife, but we managed."

"Well," said Apollo philosophically, "at least you didn't have Python lurking right outside, the way you did when you helped Mom deliver me."

Artemis looked at her brother quizzically. "Do you know, Apollo," she said, "I think that may be the first time in three thousand years that you've ever admitted that I was born first."

"Don't be silly, 'Mis," said Apollo. "We're twins."

Artemis rolled her eyes. "Well, anyway," she said, "the little Nimrod's in perfect health, and I've been asked to stand as a godmother. Not that kind," she added irritably, as Apollo raised his eyebrows. "It's a kind of religious patron, that's all. If you'd take your head out of the clouds every now and then, you'd know that."

Apollo frowned. "You mean you're going to take part in some other god's rite?" he said. "Can we do that?"

"Well, Hades did, once," said Artemis. "There was some peasant's son in medieval Spain…"

She broke off, hearing the sound of running footsteps behind her. She turned, and saw Thalia rushing up with a Burger King bag in her hand, and with that expression on her face that Artemis had learned, over the years, to identify as meaning that something was drastically wrong with the order of the universe, and that divine intervention was the only possible remedy.

She sighed, and turned back to her twin brother in the water fountain. "Listen, Apollo, I'm going to have to call you back," she said. "Thalia seems to need my attention for something."

"Hey, no problem," said the Sun God. "Soon, on Olympus, / You and I'll kick back…"

Artemis took her thumb off the water fountain's nozzle, cutting her brother off in mid-haiku, and turned to her lieutenant. "Yes, Thalia, what is it?"

Thalia took a deep breath. "Virgin Goddess," she began, "Mistress of Animals, Lady of the Lake, Shining One of Nemi…"

Artemis raised a hand. "Thalia," she said, "please, don't go through the whole litany. I assure you, I know it better than you do. Just tell me what you want."

Thalia swallowed. "Would it be possible for you to revive a coma victim on the third floor of this building?" she said.

"No," said Artemis.

Thalia blinked. "That's it? Just 'no'?"

"Yes," said Artemis.

Thalia hesitated. "Um… okay," she said. "Can I ask why?"

"Because coma victims are under the rule of Hypnos, god of sleep," said Artemis, "and he is the one god I will have nothing to do with if I can possibly avoid it."

Thalia stared. "I don't understand."

Artemis sighed. "Ever since my cult merged with that of Selene, my relations with the Land of Sleep have been… complicated," she said. "There is something uniquely humiliating about the Virgin Goddess being expected to pay child support for fifty troglodytic hussies on Mount Latmus."

Thalia had to puzzle over that for a moment before illumination came to her. "Oh," she said. "You mean because of Endym…"

"Do not say his name in front of me," said Artemis.

"No, ma'am," said Thalia quickly.

There was silence for a number of moments; then, abruptly, Thalia burst out, "But, Mistress Artemis, they're going to kill her!"

"Who are they?" Artemis enquired.

"Her parents!" said Thalia. "They're figuring that it doesn't matter because she's not really alive, and they've gone to get a doctor to authorize them to cut off her food supply!"

Artemis's face darkened. "I see," she said.

"And I figured that, what with you being the Protectress of the Innocent and all, maybe you could do something," said Thalia. "I mean, I saw what you did for the bear cub that one time; couldn't you do something like that here?"

Artemis gazed into her lieutenant's eyes for a long moment. "Thalia," she said, "I will not pretend that what this girl's parents are doing delights me. I am sure that, if they follow through on their plans, all three Kindly Ones will be on them faster than a coyote on a jackrabbit. However, I see no reason why I should debase myself before Hypnos just to save the hides of three mortals I don't know from Pandora."

Thalia's heart sank; she knew better than to argue when Artemis took that tone. She dropped her head, and blinked her eyes fiercely two or three times to keep tears from forming in them.

"However," said Artemis – and her tone was sufficiently changed to make Thalia look up in sudden hope – "since this seems to be important to you, and since you have been a faithful companion to me for many years, I will propose an alternate solution."

"Yes?" said Thalia eagerly.

"In ancient Rome," said Artemis, "it would frequently happen that a maiden wished to join my Hunt, but was already betrothed. Aunt Hestia had such a hold on that country… anyway, as compensation, she would sometimes consecrate her first-born daughter to me. When the daughter was born, she would have all the powers of a full member of the Hunt, and, on her thirteenth birthday, I would come and claim her."

Thalia frowned. "Claim her?" she said. "You mean like Rumpelstiltskin claiming the queen's baby?"

"Something like that," said Artemis. "Except that I had no intention of eating the girl – and, of course, her mother already knew my name. But my point is that, if a maiden is, for one reason or another, unable to take the vow of a Huntress, someone else can take it on her behalf, and it will have the same effect."

Thalia stared. "You mean…"

"Yes," said Artemis. "If you wish, I will permit you to take the Vow for this coma victim of yours, so that neither her parents nor anyone else will be able to kill her except on the field of battle. Will that satisfy you?"

Thalia grinned. "Completely."

"Good," said Artemis. "Which room did you say she was in?"

The Myerses had not yet returned to Ward 215 when the two daughters of Zeus arrived; the room appeared empty except for the oblivious patient, whom Artemis examined critically. "Not quite the usual type for a Huntress, is she?" she said.

Thalia blinked. "I didn't know there was a usual type for Huntresses," she said. "I mean, you've always said any maiden could join…"

"Yes, of course," said Artemis, "but, all the same, there's a particular sort of girl who generally takes the offer, and another sort who doesn't. I'm just guessing, of course, but I would say that, if your little charity case here were still conscious, she would be the sort of girl who would rather clean the Augean Stables with her tongue than renounce the world of men."

Thalia frowned, and looked at the unconscious girl again. Now that Artemis mentioned it, there was something about her face that reminded her of some of Hollywood's more flirtatious actresses – her mother, not least. "Yeah, maybe," she said. "That's not going to disqualify her, though, is it?"

"No, of course not," said Artemis. "Whether she would have accepted the offer or not is immaterial; what matters is that she cannot now reject it." Then her face darkened. "Unless, of course…"

And, without warning, she threw back the covers, lifted Jenny's gown, and critically scrutinized a particularly private part of her anatomy.

Thalia was nonplussed. "Mistress Artemis, what are you doing?" she demanded.

"Checking her qualifications," said Artemis, dropping the gown again and replacing the blanket. "It seems they are in order."

"Well, of course they're in order!" said Thalia. "She's only thirteen, for crying out loud!"

"You can never be too careful, these days, Thalia," said Artemis mildly. "Now, to business. I trust you remember the variant form of the Vow that I taught you as we were coming up the stairs?"

Thalia nodded mutely.

"Speak, then," said Artemis. "The goddess is listening."

Thalia took a deep breath, reached out a hand, and touched Jenny's forehead. "I, Thalia, daughter of Zeus," she said, "pledge this maiden to the goddess Artemis. She shall have no commerce with the world of men…"

"Go no further, Daughter of the Sky God," said a dry, hissing voice. Thalia spun around and saw a bat-winged, hawk-clawed monster perched atop Jenny's heart-rate monitor, glaring at her with almost palpable loathing.

Artemis turned around calmly and arched an eyebrow. "Well, well," she said. "If it isn't Great-Aunt Tisiphone. And how many murderers have you dragged to Tartarus this week, O Venerable Goddess?"

"I fail to see how that is your concern, Luminous One," the bat-woman snarled.

Thalia blinked. "Wait a second," she said. "Since when are the Furies related to us?"

"This is Greek mythology, Thalia," Artemis reminded her. "Everyone is related to everyone. The more pressing question," she added, shooting a piercing glance at her chthonic relative, "might be why the children of Ouranos's blood should be stirring now. It is, to the best of my knowledge, unprecedented that the Eumenides should emerge from the Underworld to harass someone who is attempting to prevent a filicide."

Tisiphone cocked her head. "Oh, is that your motivation, Virgin Goddess?" she said. "Interesting. I see you have changed your tune somewhat since the incident at Aulis."

"Enough," said Artemis sharply. "If you have a task to perform, perform it now. If you do not, leave this room and stop wasting our time."

"As you wish," said Tisiphone. "I am here with a message from your uncle, Lord Hades. He desires that you cease at once from your intended path, and do not admit this child into the Hunt."

"How did he know about that?" said Thalia. "We only decided on it ten minutes ago."

The Fury turned and grinned at her. "The Lord of Death has eyes everywhere, demigoddess," she said. "Particularly in hospitals."

Thalia, thinking back on the grim parade of misery she had seen earlier, could scarcely argue with that.

"And what is Hades's reason for concerning himself with my affairs?" Artemis enquired.

"Lord Hades is a jealous guardian of his own rights," said Tisiphone. "Every mortal soul is promised to him eventually, unless it performs some great deed that qualifies it for entry into the company of immortals.

"The child on the bed has performed no such deed. She must die – not today, necessarily, but someday. That is the proper and seemly course of Nature. Yet you would make her a Huntress, which would make her invulnerable to any threat save that of battle – and it is surely obvious that a coma victim can never fall in battle. This is unacceptable to Lord Hades, and he will not look kindly on the Hunt of Artemis if it should come to pass."

Artemis's face darkened. "Does my uncle mean to threaten me?" she said.

"Lord Hades does not threaten," said Tisiphone. "He promises. If you, Goddess of the Hunt, put this child under your protection, he will revive all the greatest warriors of the past three millennia and send them after your Huntresses. You may be proud of your maidens, Artemis, and with justice – but do you truly believe that a small company of preadolescent girls, even when strengthened by a goddess's blessing, can withstand the combined armies of Caesar, Pizarro, and William Tecumseh Sherman?"

Thalia swallowed involuntarily, picturing hordes of undead legionnaires and conquistadors swarming into the forest where she and Artemis had left their companions. Her mistress, however, remained calm. "Certainly, I cannot put my maidens in such peril," she said. "However, I have promised my lieutenant that I would preserve this young woman's life, and I intend to fulfill that promise."

"We are at an impasse, then," said Tisiphone.

"Perhaps not," said Artemis thoughtfully. "If Hades does not wish me to make her a Huntress, and I do not wish to awaken her, there remains the possibility of hiding her by a change of form, as Father did with Io."

Tisiphone frowned. "What purpose would that serve?" she said. "An unconscious cow would have as much need of feeding as an unconscious human – in fact, rather more so. Or were you planning to turn her into a plant of some sort?"

"Certainly not," said Artemis, sounding amused. "I, the Mistress of Animals? It would be almost a heresy. But there are certain animals that live rather as plants do, and becoming one of them might perhaps be feasible for Miss Myers."

"None of those animals can survive on dry land," said the Fury.

"I know," said Artemis. "Which is why you, Thalia," she added, turning to her lieutenant, "should perhaps avert your eyes."

Thalia, who didn't quite see the connection, was puzzled, but complied.

The next moment, she thought that her head was about to split in two. A piercing silver light filled the room, so hideously bright that, even though she squeezed her eyes shut and shielded them with her arm besides, she felt sure that it would blind her – or else drive her insane. The latter seemed to her a distinct possibility, for she had before now had occasion to learn that her mistress's status as Lunar Goddess also established her, by derivation, as goddess of lunacy.

She thought that she heard, as from a distance, the sound of a rushing wind, and her tongue seemed to detect a sudden tang of salt in the sterilized hospital air, but she paid no attention to these things. A man who is drowning in a tsunami has little time to notice a sand dollar on the beach.

Then, abruptly, the light ceased, and she gingerly opened her eyes to find herself standing in an all-but-abandoned room. Tisiphone had vanished from her perch on the heart-rate monitor, and Jenny's bed was empty; the only person who remained, beside herself, was Artemis, who was straightening the covers on the bed with an ironical air.

"Where's Jenny?" said Thalia.

"In a place where she will not be harmed," said Artemis, in a tone that firmly discouraged further questions. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a call to pay on Great-Aunt Mnemosyne. The amount of memory-meddling that will be required to paper this incident over goes beyond what can be done with ordinary Mist; I think it would be wise to call in a specialist."

"Oh," said Thalia. "Should I come with you?"

"No, I need you here," said Artemis. "If Jenny's parents come back with the doctor before I come back with Mnemosyne, you'll have to stall them somehow. You can handle that, I trust?"

"Um… I hope so," said Thalia. "I'm not exactly the world's best liar, but I'll do my best."

Artemis smiled. "Not even the gods can ask more than that," she said.

And, with that, the Virgin Goddess vanished, leaving Thalia alone to wait for the approaching would-be euthanizers – and to wonder, as she stared at the now-inactive monitors, just what her mistress had done with the sleeping maiden.

"Why is it always coral reefs?" Kate Cairo said aloud, her voice distorted by her Aqua-Lung's mouthpiece but still comprehensible through her scuba radio. "Why do Nova and National Geographic never want footage of, say, hot-water vents?"

"Because," said Prof. Smith Thoreson equably, "in the first place, they're a good deal harder to light, and, in the second place, all you get to see is a bunch of giant worms. Now come on, bring that camera over here and let's see what we can… oh, boy."

These last two words were said in a tone quite different from his usual dry, abstracted manner. Kate, who had studied under him for eight years, recognized it as the tone of a marine-biology professor to whom the sea has just unveiled one of her treasures, and swam around a nearby outcropping of Diploria to see what he had found.

When she did, she caught her breath. A small, exquisite coral was growing on the ledge of the reef, so striking in its contrast with the surrounding anthozoa that it seemed to have been placed there by an appreciative decorator. It was a pale pink color, with black tentacles so slender and delicate that they almost looked like a young girl's hair as they fluttered with the movement of the water.

"That's beautiful," Kate whispered. "What is it?"

Professor Thoreson shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "Not only do I not recognize the species, I don't even recognize the genus. I think we may have something completely new on our hands here."

"No kidding?" said Kate. "After all these years, you finally found your new species?"

"So it would appear," said the Professor, staring entranced at the rippling tendrils.

"Well, what do you know," said Kate. "I guess good things really do come to those who wait. What are you going to call it?"

The Professor considered. "Dormivirgo thaliae," he said.

Kate blinked. "Why?"

"I don't know," said the Professor. "It just sounds right, somehow."

Kate shrugged. "Okay," she said. "It's your coral."

"Yes," said the Professor. "And now I think we'd better gather some evidence and head back to the boat. We don't want some other biologist swimming by and stealing our discovery away from us, now do we?"

Kate agreed that that sounded sensible, so they took several minutes of footage and gathered a number of small tissue samples (taking care not to damage the specimen as they did so, of course). Then they packed everything up and swam back to the surface, leaving behind them, glistening in the refracted sunlight, the world's only specimen of Dormivirgo thaliae.

Or, in English, "Thalia's sleeping maiden."

DISCLAIMER

As Apollo would put it:

So, gentle reader,
You think I own PJO?
You must be loopy.