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Midsummer, 1103; Black Forest, Germany

This happened every year.

Zoë shifted, finding a more comfortable position propped up against her pile of cushions. Every year, the field reports from satyrs and Chiron's heroes would be neglected over the busy summer season, when monsters were plentiful and strong and they more than had their hands full already. Every year, the y would be all but forgotten once the wild song of the autumn rut began and no Hunter in the world could bear to sit still and fiddle with papers even if they'd had the time. Every year, she and Artemis would start out in late April perfectly on top of every single report and in a few months' time would have allowed themselves to lag, indulg ing in the warmth and confidence of summer—because, after all, it was so long until winter, when the nastiest of monsters began to stir, the others grew hungry and desperate, and the true Hunt began.

And every year, without fail, they would find themselves all but buried in months-old reports come late autumn, scrambling to organize and catalog them and going entire nights without sleep in a desperate attempt to prepare their schedule for the long winter. And of course, every year once they had finally managed to trawl through every last one of the hundreds of documents—some of them duplicates or updates on previous reports—they would collapse in exhaustion and swear they would never let themselves get so far behind again.

Every single year, for over a thousand years.

Not this time, however. This year she was determined to break the cycle. Zoë glanced down the half-legible scrawl of Latin; clearly a half-blood's work, she thought, as satyrs and nature spirits were raised knowing their own ancestral languages. She didn't envy Chiron having to teach his lowborn pupils to read and write in addition to imparting basic combat training. Most half-bloods were distinctly less interested in penmanship than swordplay.

Still, at least this one formed their letters reasonably well. She was fairly certain it was an update on a dragon nest that had been causing consternation among the mortals recently. Setting the report onto the slowly-growing 'finished' pile, she tapped her quill against the side of her inkwell and drew a single line through the heading of that particular subsection of her notes. CHB, she wrote in the margin. Diana (the Hunter, that is, not the goddess) would be disappointed that they hadn't gotten to fight the dragons themselves; but they had more than enough monsters to keep themselves entertained. Let the heroes blood their swords.

Yes, she thought determinedly. This year would be different. She was almost two-thirds of the way done with her half of this week's reports already. They were dull reading for the most part, but she kept reminding herself that a few hours of boredom now was better than three solid days of panic and stress later in the year.

If only it wasn't so difficult to focus. She had very pointedly positioned herself with her back to the open tent flap, tied back to allow the cool night air to circulate; but that didn't stop the intoxicating scent of pine and wilderness from swirling around her, whispering that it was Midsummer's Eve and the whole world was bursting with life and energy; that the beautiful weather wouldn't last forever, the moon was waxing, dew was forming on the grass and there were wolves on the mountain and stardust in her veins...

Realizing her eyes had been drifting closed in reverence, Zoë forced her attention back to the next report—a satyr's excited account of having seen a drakon in the woods, scribbled on a large and slightly singed leaf. Hopefully, that would make Diana feel better about missing the chance to fight a trio of dragons. Zoë leaned over to grab the red ink, shuffled her notes until she'd found their rudimentary map, and made a careful X at roughly the location the satyr had described. Only about forty-five more minutes' worth of tedious field reports left.

She sighed heavily.

Artemis chuckled, and Zoë lowered her knees so she could look at her goddess. "My lady?"

Artemis' lips twitched, and Zoë noticed with exasperation that her goddess had made no progress whatsoever on her own pile of field reports. "I've been watching you fidget for an hour," Artemis said with a smile. "Restless, dear one?"

Zoë struggled with her tongue for several seconds, trying to find a way to refuse the invitation in Artemis' eyes without lying. Apparently her desperate desire to be somewhere in which piles of field reports didn't exist was plain on her face, because the goddess laughed again and set aside her own scroll of notes. Shifting over to her lieutenant's side of the tent, she nudged Zoe's 'finished' pile out of her way and stretched out next to her, curled against her side. "Have you found anything interesting?" she murmured, playing idly with Zoë's braid.

Zoë didn't turn her head, but managed to shoot her goddess an amused Look anyway. There was a very good reason they tended to fall so behind on their reports. The Goddess of the Hunt was profoundly patient but impossible to tame. She caught cabin fever like dogs catch fleas.

"A drakon two days north of here," she responded evenly. "Hellhounds in the forests. Signs of a worrying number of dracanae to the east..." Zoë trailed off as she realized Artemis had stopped moving, and turned to face her against her better judgment. "...My lady?"

Oh, it had been a mistake to look. Artemis' body language was neutral, even calm. Her fingers were loosely wound in the tip of Zoë's braid, her head slightly cocked and her expression unreadable. Her free hand rested lightly on the bearskin beneath them. But her eyes were shining, white wine in sunlight, a challenge and an invitation; and they held Zoe pinned and breathless for long enough that the Hesperide lost track of her heartbeats.

"Come hunting with me," Artemis said simply.

June 19th, 2005; Mount Olympus

"King me," Becky said dully. Without opening her eyes, Diana placed one of her captured checkers on Becky's piece. Cynthia, who was leaning back against a worn armchair with Diana's head in her lap, sighed and ran her fingertips over her partner's hair.

"It's your turn," she reminded her softly. Diana opened one eye and pushed at a checker.

It wasn't apathy or exhaustion. Tension filled the room as a physical presence, smothering and thick as they awaited Artemis' return. The smoke that tended to be a result of Ari being nervous and having no outlet for her energy didn't help matters, but they'd mostly aired out the room and Ari was sufficiently distracted by learning Cat's Cradle from Phoebe. Hunters did not respond well to cages; while they all understood Artemis' strict orders to remain within her main temple where they were safe from attack, understanding did not make the constant waiting more bearable.

They didn't have to be here; the Hunters at least had never been suspect in this, not even Ari. Unlike the minor deities, they were not under observation. They could have remained in the Sierras where they had been camped until a few days previous, waited there for news. But they had done what they could, scoured the country for the Master Bolt and come up empty-handed, and distance would not save them now. In two days, if the situation turned sour fast enough, Artemis might very well not be able to reach them with news until it was too late. They would remain with her, then. Until this was over.

Zoë had barely seen her goddess in the past six months; Artemis kept the Hunters away from Olympus for the most part, only bringing her lieutenant along during Council sessions because it was traditional each of the Twelve have a representative present in the city gathering. She had been too busy these last few months, trying in vain to help smooth ruffled feathers and avoid a war, to spent much time with her Hunters. Despite the fear permeating Olympus, the ominous thunder overhead and the heavy sense of dread hanging over them, Zoë was glad to be near her again. The goddess might still be unable to spend much time with the Hunters, but they were at least nearby if she needed them.

Tori shifted restlessly across the room, visibly fighting to stop herself from tapping her knee. "Do you have any sevens?" she asked distractedly.

Kim leaned over so Owen could see her cards. The wolf inspected them carefully, then whined and tapped her leg twice. Kim sighed. "Go fish. Alene, fives?"

Alene shook her head glumly.

There was a soft sound from Zoë's left as the door opened.

"I apologize for my lateness," said Artemis. Closing the door quietly behind her, she acknowledged the Hunters' cries of welcome with a serene nod. "Hera is clamoring for a preemptive attack; I fear my support only makes her more determined to punish Poseidon, but I will not withdraw it. Luckily Athena remains firmly on the side of peace, and my father still respects her."

The tension that had spiked when she entered the room began to fade back into muted anxiety. "Has there been any change, my lady?" Cynthia asked longingly. Diana squeezed her hand, sitting up to pay closer attention. Their expressions fell when Artemis shook her head. She smiled at Tori as she sat down on the corner portion of Zoë's couch, but there was something brittle about it.

Zoë cleared her throat. "Cynthia," she said, quietly. "Sleep would do thee good."

Cynthia took the hint gratefully. "I think all of us could use some sleep," she said. "Nothing's going to change tonight. Come on, Alene. Ari?"

"One sec," Ari muttered, attempting to wiggle her hands out of a tangle of faintly-glowing white yarn. "This shouldn't be harder than picking a lock. It's string."

Zoë glanced at Becky, whose fingers had the same subtle glow as Ari's yarn. She decided not to say anything. It was good that they could still play. They were children, really.

Phoebe managed to smile. "Come on, squirt," she said gently, hauling Ari to her feet.

As the door closed behind them, Artemis gave a tired sigh. "Thank you, Zoë."

Zoë fought down an urge to hug her, but didn't try to stop herself reaching out and taking Artemis' hand. The goddess squeezed her fingers gratefully.

They sat that way for several minutes before Artemis took a deep breath and pulled a pair of wine glasses seemingly out of nowhere. "Nightcap?" she asked, and her smile was much more natural.

Zoë raised an eyebrow as Artemis drew a bottle of Olympian wine from her jacket, but was hardly going to protest.

"A gift from my half-brother," she explained, and poured half a glass of water into one of the glasses.

Zoë's lips twitched. "I thought as much, my lady." Artemis very rarely drank outside of Olympian feasts, her sole exception being a gift directly from Dionysus' hands; as they were almost never on close terms, such occasions were few and far between. It wasn't sentiment on Artemis' part. She simply didn't trust her family. As capricious and unreliable as Dionysus could be, however, he would die several times over before tampering with a good vintage.

Artemis looked pained at the honorific. "Not tonight, Zoë. Please."

Zoë inclined her head. "Artemis."

Artemis gave a weak smile and lifted her glass to her lieutenant, settling back against the cushions. Zoë took a careful sip of wine. The scent alone was heady enough to make her dizzy, even cut two parts to one with water; wine intended for gods was nothing to be played with. If she hadn't been born of immortals herself, a single drop in the glass would almost have been overpowering. As it was, she couldn't help coughing. Artemis made a valiant effort not to laugh as she handed her the water bottle, but Zoë waved it off. The second sip was easier; still, she set the glass on the floor for now, shifting to lean against Artemis' shoulder. For some time they sat together in silence, enjoying the peace.

Zoë spoke first, barely over a whisper. "Will it come to war, then?"

"Yes," Artemis said simply. "The child, wherever he is, is innocent; of that much I am certain, and I think you agree. He cannot return what he does not possess; Poseidon is not a thief, and Hades seeks primarily to be left alone. If they cannot listen to reason, then yes, Zoë, I fear it will come to war again."

Zoë was suddenly much more grateful for the alcohol. "We have survived before," she said.

Artemis turned to her with a genuine, if exhausted, smile. "Yes," she agreed. She brushed Zoë's braid off her neck and put an arm around her, fingers running lightly over her scalp in a gentle caress. "Yes, we have at that. Do you remember Troy?" She frowned. "Less than an ideal example, perhaps."

A smile spread across Zoë's face. "I remember that I was proud to be at thy side at Troy," she said. "As I am today."

"Flatterer." Artemis kissed her temple, just below the silver band. "At least Athena may side with us this time. If we'd had that at Troy we would have been unstoppable."

"Speak for thyself," Zoë said mildly over the rim of her glass. "I do not recall seeing thee ensuring the walls were never breached."

Artemis shot her a dry look that held unspoken volumes about wooden horses. "You did wonderfully, my dear."

"Yes," Zoë agreed, and toasted her.

Finally, Artemis laughed. "Well, with both you and Athena on our side we can hardly lose. And when the dust settles will I be paramour to the queen of Olympus, then?"

"If I decide to keep thee," Zoë informed her.

"Insolence."

Zoë leaned into her, nuzzling gently against her goddess' neck. Artemis slipped her almost-untouched wineglass from her fingers, set it aside and shifted to a more comfortable position, with Zoë lying against her shoulder. Their free hands intertwined, and Zoë closed her eyes and tried to fight back tears.

August 2nd, 1990; Camp Half-Blood, Long Island, New York

I hate vacations.

Zoë Nightshade was not an unreasonable person.

This, of course, went rather contrary to popular belief, but it was no less true because of it. Imperfect, to be certain; prejudiced, to that she would admit. But never unreasonable. She asked very little of the world; a bow she could trust, something to track and the freedom to do so, and weather that was only intentionally malicious when it had good reason. Also difficult to convince others of was the idea that she was an inherently generous person. It was not in a Titan's nature to forgive easily; but while she was disposed to carry a grudge, she was slow to pick one up in the first place. It raised blood pressure, led to mistakes, and was generally more trouble than it was worth. There were very few things serious enough for her to hold a lasting resentment over them.

Threatening her Hunters was one of them.

"Zoë!" Cynthia hissed. Zoë had to search for a moment before she saw her; Cynthia was making her way between the trees by climbing across branches rather than risk leaving tracks. "They're using the pegasi—Hermes cabin is running an aerial search pattern, they'll have us soon enough."

Zoë swore darkly under her breath. "Where are the others?"

A dark figure quite literally melted out of the trees to her left. Zoë very nearly stabbed it before she recognized Tori's dappled skin and leaf-green eyes. Not even the lieutenant of Artemis could blend into the forest like a dryad.

"Diana's squad was pinned down by a dragon along the river," Tori reported calmly, as if she had not come within inches of being skewered. "But given it's Diana—"

"They have dragons in these woods!" Diana exclaimed right on cue, leaping out of the undergrowth and climbing up Cynthia's tree to perch next to her. "We haven't had a chance to hunt dragons in years, the lucky swine!"

"They have Myrmekes, too," Tori informed the group as a whole. "A full colony. The dryads don't go there. If we could push the half-bloods in that direction—"

"RUN!"

The rest of the Hunters stampeded past them in a chaotic rush of silver and trampled undergrowth; Cynthia threw her hands in the air at the blatant disregard for secrecy of movement. The new recruit—a girl named Kim, if memory served, who was surprisingly pleasant given her parentage—skidded to a halt when she saw Zoë sitting in the trees. "Get out of here!" she called frantically. "Charlie's right on our tail!"

Zoë blinked. "Who?"

A shout from the forest answered her question.

"There they are!"

"Get 'em!"

Charlie Hale, son of Dionysus, came charging towards them with the entire Ares cabin on his heels, brandishing assorted weapons and bellowing madly. Zoë swore again before joining Cynthia in a rain of every kind of specialty arrow their quivers would provide. She questioned the practicality of having arrows that played Yellow Submarine when fired, but as long as Apollo was also willing to include explosive, net-firing, and sulfur arrows in the monthly package, she was willing to tolerate them.

I hate vacations!

This was supposed to have been a simple, week-long assignment—a way for the Hunters to relax and keep themselves out of trouble while Artemis was on Olympus for the summer solstice. A recruiting opportunity, she'd told Zoë in an attempt to get her to agree. The Hunters' numbers were sorely depleted and it had been far too long since they had combed Camp Half-Blood for potential recruits.

In the end, of course, what had convinced Zoë was not the opportunity to swell the ranks but the fact that her goddess was practically radiating her desire to celebrate the solstice properly; she hadn't taken her rightful place in the celebrations for decades. This was, by the River Styx, meant to be a vacation.

Why must all their vacations end in guerilla warfare?

It wouldn't have been a problem, she thought bitterly, if Lord Dionysus had been able to keep his hands to himself. Lady Artemis had made the point very clear, many years ago, that her protection of her Hunters would be absolute even were they threatened by Zeus himself. Tori as well had made her opinion of the god's advances clear.

Dionysus' attempt on one of their own was as clear a challenge as any; and, as the ancient laws stated, they now had every right to respond at full strength. And they had certainly done so, Zoë thought with dark first wave of retaliation had gone perfectly. Dionysus had been forced to retreat to the Big House by the sheer fury of his attackers, and then to escape to Olympus or watch the walls torn to pieces around him.

In retrospect, it might have been better to let them land a blow or two on his physical person. Robbed of satisfaction for their ire, the enraged Hunters had effectively begun a full-scale riot. Someone—most likely Ari, transformed from charming imp to red-haired demon with fear and anger at how nearly she had lost her sister, or else Phoebe—had thrown a Molotov cocktail through the window of Cabin Twelve, and someone had thrown a spear back, and from there…

Well.

It had escalated, somewhat.

The children of Aphrodite, woken from their beauty sleep, had rushed outside in curlers and face masks—succeeding in frightening Zoë for the first time in their existence. They immediately determined that the Hunters were to blame, and began screaming insults to that effect. Which, naturally, could not have been further from the truth. This was clearlyDionysus' fault.

Diana's perfect, arcing shot through their open window had been intended as a warning. How were they to know that over the years so much hairspray, perfume and air freshener had built up in the wood grain that a single flaming arrow would be enough to transform the whole cabin into a fireball impressive enough to rate an 8.2 on the Ari Scale?

Well, all right. Admittedly Diana's casual "Oops" was not the best possible response to the situation. It was still a situation they would never have been in if Dionysus had the self-control of a dog with basic obedience training.

The Apollo Cabin, at first, had been on their side; at least Zoë assumed they had been trying to help when they ran over with swords and bows and started shouting. By that time unfortunately the rest of Camp had been woken, and when the Aphrodite children saw the Apollo clan descending on them they assumed they were under attack and responded accordingly. Then the Ares cabin had stepped in to save them, and in an attempt to rescue their newfound allies (she would claim) from certain doom, Diana had fired into the Cabin Five minefield and set that one on fire, too. And then things had become, as Phoebe called it, a shitstorm.

Zoë spared a moment while running for her life to wish the Apollo cabin luck. The last anyone had heard of them, they were being systematically hunted down by the offspring of Athena. Nobody, as far as she could tell, had any idea how it had happened.

"Ari!" she called, diving below the lip of a dry stream bed as an arrow whistled above her head. "If there are any explosives on thy person I do not know of..."

A thundering BOOM shook the earth.

"Not anymore!"

Growling expletives under her breath that Artemis would most certainly not have approved of, Zoë wiggled flatter on her back and managed to pull off a blind shot over her head without sticking any body parts out of the trench. There was a scream of pain from somewhere around the Hunters' front line. Luckily it sounded male.

"Zoë," said Cynthia as she slid into the makeshift trench. She was clutching her arm, and winced as she let go and found the shallow cut was bleeding. "I don't mean to alarm you, but Ari just said she's out of pipe bombs."

"Yes, I heard. We may need to make a tactical retreat."

Diana somersaulted into the ditch on Cynthia's far side. "Big House?" she panted.

"On my signal."

There was a sigh.

"Do I want to know what's happening, Zoë?"

"Hello, Lady Artemis," she said calmly, taking the sudden appearance of her goddess in stride. "No, I highly doubt it. There is a girl with us who would like to speak with thee, however. She shows promise. Did you enjoy the solstice?"

"Yes," said Artemis. "It was lovely. Are you aware that the camp is in flames?"