Disclaimer: I don't own PJO.

Chapter Two

The Council of Conceited Egomaniacs

It didn't take long for Luke and I to get back to Camp, but I took advantage of the ride to give a rundown of what had happened at the orientation. Luke was about as pleased to hear about Kelli's threat as I had been. He also announced that Grover had arrived back about shortly after I'd left, and was due to go in front of the Council of Cloven Elders this afternoon. The news only added to my stress, and I was openly scowling as we hiked to the crest of the hill.

The young guardian dragon was dozing, coiled around the pine tree that had once been Thalia, but he lifted his coppery head as we approached and let me scratch under his chin. Steam hissed out his nostrils like from a teakettle, and he went cross-eyed with pleasure.

"Hey, Peleus," Luke greeted him fondly, giving the top of Peleus' head a quick pat as he spoke. "Keeping everything safe?"

The first time that I'd seen the dragon he'd been six feet long. That was four months ago. Now he was at least twice that, and as thick around as the tree itself. Above his head, on the lowest branch of the pine tree, the Golden Fleece shimmered, its' magic powering our wards and protecting the camp's borders from invasion. The dragon seemed relaxed, like everything was okay.

Below us, Camp Half-Blood looked peaceful— green fields, forest, shiny white Greek buildings. The four-story farmhouse we called the Big House sat proudly in the midst of the strawberry fields. To the north, past the beach, the Long Island Sound glittered in the sunlight.

Still…something felt wrong. There was tension in the air, as if the hill itself were holding its' breath, waiting for something bad to happen. Maybe it was.

We walked down into the valley and found the summer session in full swing. I'd been away at Montauk for the past fortnight, and most people had arrived back last weekend, so the sudden crowd was a shock to my system.

The satyrs were playing their pipes in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow with woodland magic. Campers were having flying horseback lessons, swooping over the woods on their pegasi. Smoke rose from the forges, and hammers rang as kids made their own weapons for Arts & Crafts. The Athena and Demeter teams were having a chariot race around the track, and over at the canoe lake some kids in a Greek trireme were fighting a large orange sea serpent. It looked like a typical day at camp.

That is, until you spotted the medical supplies and weapons that were being stockpiled, or noticed the group of nine-year-olds being taught battlefield triage with unusual seriousness. (It had already been decided that anyone below double-digits would be acting as couriers, medics, etc, but not fighters.) Or one of the other numerous signs that Camp Half-Blood was preparing for war.

I sighed, raking a hand through my hair. I usually kept it in a braid, but it'd come undone at some point during the day. Or morning, I mentally corrected myself as I spotted the time on my watch. To think it wasn't even two o'clock yet.

"Luke!" one of the cabin eleven kids came darting up. I recognized her, but I couldn't think of a name. She had come to camp last summer, and lived with her mortal father. Unclaimed, but definitely an agricultural god's kid. Probably Demeter from her features.

"A group of Ares' kids are trying to kill the Stolls," she announced. I huffed and pressed my fingertips into my temples. Typical.

"What'd they do this time Billie?" Luke sighed in exasperation. Billie! Billie Ng, that's who she was.

Bille shrugged. "Threw a couple of multi-coloured paint bombs at Cabin 5," she explained briefly. I pressed harder on my temples while Luke groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Idiots," he grumbled. He turned to me. "Ana, I-"

I waved him off. "I'll track down Chiron and tell 'im what happened," I assured him. "You go and save the Stolls from being humiliated before their deaths."

Luke gave a dry half-smile before he and Billie hurried off. Meanwhile, I went looking for Chiron.

Okay, so I lied. I wasn't in the mood to try and track down Chiron and tell him what happened.

Yes, he's the most understanding adult ever to exist, but that just meant that disappointing him felt even worse. Especially because he actually seemed to believe that I have potential. I'd rather be stabbed than disappoint him.

So, instead of locating Chiron, I went to the arena. It was my default place to go in order to get rid of the excess energy and anger still lurking in me after the disastrous orientation at Goode High. Practicing always calms me down. Riding and swimming helped too, but A: I hate to connect with my father, and B: hacking a dummy to pieces is more effective in these situations.

I walked into the amphitheatre and my heart almost stopped. In the middle of the arena floor, with its' back to me, was the biggest hellhound I'd ever seen.

I mean, I've seen some pretty big hellhounds. One the size of a rhino tried to kill me when I was twelve. But this hellhound was bigger than a tank. I had no idea how it had gotten past the camp's magic boundaries. It looked right at home, lying on its' belly, growling contentedly as it chewed the head off a combat dummy. It hadn't noticed me yet, but if I made a sound, I knew it would sense me. There was no time to go for help.

Thankfully, I had already summoned my sword. Without hesitation, I charged. I brought down the blade on the monster's enormous backside when out of nowhere another sword blocked my strike.

CLANG!

The hellhound pricked up its' ears. "WOOF!"

I jumped back and instinctively struck at the swordsman—a grey-haired man in Greek armour. He parried my attack with no problem. It disturbed me more than I'd ever admit, and I made a mental note to increase my practise time. Given the fight with Kelli earlier, and now this guy, I clearly needed it.

"Whoa there!" he said. "Truce!"

"WOOF!" The hellhound's bark shook the arena.

"That's a hellhound!" I snapped at him. What was he thinking, stopping me from killing the damn thing?

"She's harmless," the man insisted. "That's Mrs. O'Leary."

I blinked in utter bewilderment. I wasn't sure which statement shocked me most, the thought of a hellhound being harmless, or it being called, "Mrs. O'Leary?"

At the sound of her name, the hellhound barked again. I realized she wasn't angry. She was excited. She nudged the soggy, badly chewed target dummy toward the swordsman.

"Good girl," the man said. With his free hand he grabbed the armoured mannequin by the neck and heaved it toward the bleachers with surprising strength. "Get the Greek! Get the Greek!"

Mrs. O'Leary bounded after her prey and pounced on the dummy, flattening its' armour. She began chewing on its' helmet. I suppressed a shudder. Seriously, playing 'Get the Greek' with a hellhound? What kind of lunatic was this guy?

The swordsman smiled dryly. He looked like he was in his fifties, with short grey hair and a clipped beard. He was in good shape for an older guy. He wore black mountain-climbing pants and a bronze breastplate strapped over an orange camp T-shirt. At the base of his neck was a strange mark, a purplish blotch like a birthmark or a tattoo, but before I could make out what it was, he shifted his armour straps and the mark disappeared under his collar.

I didn't recognize him.

"Mrs. O'Leary is my pet," he explained. "I couldn't let you stick a sword in her rump, now, could I? That might have scared her."

Scared her? Actually, on second thoughts, avoiding having a scared hellhound on the loose in camp sounded like an excellent idea. Nobel Prize worthy, if you ask me. Still.

"Who are you?" I didn't bother hiding the suspicion in my tone and face, nor did I put away Anaklusmos.

"Promise not to kill me if I put my sword away?"

I hesitated for a moment before giving a grudging nod. "I guess."

He sheathed his sword and held out his hand. "Quintus."

I shook his hand. It was calloused from years of swordplay and other physical work. Maybe forge-work, though I wasn't sure.

"Ana Jackson," I told him. "What's with the-" I waved in the direction of 'Mrs. O'Leary', who was still happily gnawing on the poor dummy.

"It's a long story, involving many close calls with a death and quite a few giant chew toys," Quintus explained, looking rueful. "I'm the new sword instructor, by the way. Helping out Chiron while Mr. D is away."

"Oh." I tried not to stare as Mrs. O'Leary ripped off the target dummy's shield with the arm still attached and shook it like a Frisbee. That Mr. D was gone was the only good thing going on at the moment.

Even then, it was a mixed blessing, given the fact that he was gone to try and stop various minor gods from defecting to the Titans. (If he acted remotely like he did to us towards them, more would probably defect, not less. We're so screwed.)

Off to my left, there was a loud BUMP. Six wooden crates the size of picnic tables were stacked nearby, and they were rattling. Mrs. O'Leary cocked her head and bounded toward them.

"Whoa, girl!" Quintus said. "Those aren't for you." He distracted her with the bronze shield Frisbee.

The crates thumped and shook. There were words printed on the sides, but with my dyslexia they took me a few minutes to decipher:

TRIPLE G RANCH. FRAGILE THIS END UP

Along the bottom, in smaller letters: OPEN WITH CARE. TRIPLE G RANCH IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR PROPERTY DAMAGE, MAIMING, OR EXCRUCIATINGLY PAINFUL DEATHS. What a lovely disclaimer.

"What's in the boxes?" I asked.

"A little surprise," Quintus replied. "Training activity for tomorrow night. You'll love it."

"Right," my voice was dry.

Quintus threw the bronze shield, and Mrs. O'Leary lumbered after it. "You young ones need more challenges. They didn't have camps like this when I was a boy."

"You—you're a half-blood?" I didn't mean to sound surprised, but I'd never seen a demigod older than twenty before, though I'd heard of a few. And the thing about camps didn't make sense either. After all, Camp Half-Blood had existed in various incarnations since Ancient Greece. Quintus' comment made no sense.

"Some of us do survive into adulthood, you know," Quintus chuckled. "Not all of us are the subject of terrible prophecies."

I stiffened, my jaw tensing. "You know about my prophecy?"

"I've heard a few things."

I wanted to ask what few things, but just then Chiron clip-clopped into the arena. "Ana, there you are!"

He must've just come from teaching archery. He had a quiver and bow slung over his #1 CENTAUR T-shirt. He'd trimmed his curly brown hair and beard for the summer, and his lower half, which was a white stallion, was flecked with mud and grass.

"I see you've met our new instructor." Chiron's tone was light, but there was an uneasy look in his eyes. Due to what? There were many, many, options.

"Quintus, do you mind if I borrow Ana?"

"Not at all, Master Chiron."

"No need to call me 'Master'," Chiron said, though he sounded sort of pleased. "Come, Ana. We have much to discuss."

I took one more glance at Mrs. O'Leary, who was now chewing off the target dummy's legs.

"Bye," I shrugged at Quintus, before replacing Anaklusmos in my hair and hurrying after Chiron. To tell the truth, I was glad to get away from him. Something about the guy made the hair on my arms stand up straight.

As we were walking away, I whispered to Chiron, "Quintus seemed kind of—"

"Mysterious?" Chiron suggested. "Hard to read?"

"Yeah."

Chiron nodded. "A very qualified half-blood. Excellent swordsman, I just wish I understood…"

Whatever he was going to say, he apparently changed his mind. "First things first, Ana. Luke told me you met some empousai."

"Yeah." I told him about the fight at Goode, and how Kelli had exploded into flames.

"Mm," Chiron said. "The more powerful ones can do that. She did not die, Ana. She simply escaped. It is not good that the she-demons are stirring."

"Is it the Great Stirring?" I chewed on my thumbnail, hastily putting my hand back down at Chiron's reproving look.

"I expect so," he sighed. "Many things that were believed lost are returning."

Yeah, I'd heard that before.

"What were they doing there?" I asked. "Waiting for me?"

"Possibly," Chiron frowned. "It is lucky that there were no men around. The empousai can control them even more than females, sometimes even to the point where they make them turn on their loved ones."

"I was paralyzed for a few minutes," I admitted. "If it hadn't been for RED, I'd'a been screwed."

Chiron nodded. "Ironic to be saved by a mortal, yet we owe her a debt. What the empousa said about an attack on camp—we must speak of this further. But for now, come, we should get to the woods. Grover will want you there."

"Where?" I had a feeling I knew the answer, and I felt my heart sinking as Chiron's reply confirmed it.

"At his formal hearing," Chiron declared grimly. "The Council of Cloven Elders is meeting now to decide his fate."

Chiron said we needed to hurry, so he gave me a ride on his back. He plunged into the woods where nymphs peeked out of the trees to watch us pass. Large shapes rustled in the shadows—monsters that were stocked in here as a challenge to the campers. None of them attacked.

I thought I knew the forest pretty well after playing capture the flag here for two years, but Chiron took me a way I didn't recognize, through a tunnel of old willow trees, past a little waterfall, and into a glade blanketed with wildflowers.

A bunch of satyrs were sitting in a circle in the grass. Grover stood in the middle, facing three really old, really fat satyrs who sat on topiary thrones shaped out of rose bushes. I'd never seen the three old satyrs before, but I guessed they must be the famous Council of Cloven Elders.

Grover seemed to be telling them a story. He twisted the bottom of his T-shirt, shifting nervously on his goat hooves. He hadn't changed much since April, when I'd seen him last. His acne had flared up again. His horns had gotten a little bigger so they just stuck out over his curly hair. I realized with a start that I was the same height as he was now.

Standing off to one side of the circle were Luke, Grover's girlfriend Juniper, a tree nymph, and Clarisse. Chiron dropped me next to them.

Clarisse's stringy brown hair was tied back with a camouflage bandanna. If possible, she looked even buffer, like she'd been working out. She gave me a quick nod, but said nothing. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she looked grim and strained. I made a mental note to touch base with her, because it was obvious that something was weighing on her, and I didn't think it was the war. That'd be too simple.

Luke had his arm wrapped around Juniper, who looked like she'd been crying. She was small—petite, I guess you'd call it—with wispy hair the colour of amber and a pretty, elfish face. She wore a green chiton and laced sandals, and she was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. "It's going terribly," she sniffled.

"No, no," Luke patted her shoulders. "He'll be fine, Juniper. Don't worry."

"Luke's right," I added my own assurance and pat on the back. "Grover's a hero! He's the reason we retrieved the Fleece and defeated Polyphemus. He'll be fine, I promise. The Council'd be fools to strip his license."

Of course, a universal and inter-species trait of politicians is that they all tend to be power-hungry fools. I didn't say that aloud, of course, but when I met Luke and Clarisse's eyes, I could tell they were thinking it too.

"Master Underwood!" the council member on the right shouted, cutting off whatever Grover was trying to say. "Do you seriously expect us to believe this?"

"B-but Silenus," Grover stammered. "It's the truth!"

The Council guy, Silenus, turned to his colleagues and muttered something. Chiron cantered up to the front and stood next to them. I remembered he was an honorary member of the council, but I'd never thought about it much. The elders didn't look very impressive. They reminded me of the goats in a petting zoo—huge bellies, sleepy expressions, and glazed eyes that couldn't see past the next handful of goat chow.

Still, I understood why Grover was so anxious, regardless of their looks. Lazy politicians or not, they held his dream in their hands. And they clearly weren't in favour of him. My lips thinned, and I glared. Clarisse glanced at my expression and shifted closer, no doubt intending to prevent me massacring the three billy goats if they upset one of my best friends any further.

Silenus tugged his yellow polo shirt over his belly and adjusted himself on his rosebush throne. "Master Underwood, for six months—six months— we have been hearing these scandalous claims that you heard the wild god Pan speak."

"But I did!"

"Impudence!" exclaimed the elder on the left.

"Now, Maron," Chiron soothed. "Patience."

"Patience, indeed!" Maron scoffed. "I've had it up to my horns with this nonsense. As if the wild god would speak to…to him."

I muttered a threat in Ancient Greek under my breath, while Juniper looked like she wanted to charge the old satyr and beat him up. The others exchanged quick looks, before adjusting their positions.

Luke grabbed my wrist, while Clarisse held Juniper back. "Wrong fight, girlie," Clarisse muttered, though to which of us I wasn't sure. "Wait."

As much as I hated it, I knew that Clarisse was right. There was a time and a place for fighting, and now was not that time. Gutting the three councillors would only make things worse in the long run. Right now, I couldn't do anything to help Grover. With great effort (from all four of us), both Juniper and I held back.

"For six months," Silenus continued, "we have indulged you, Master Underwood. We let you travel. We allowed you to keep your searcher's license. We waited for you to bring proof of your preposterous claim. And what have you found in six months of travel?"

"I just need more time," Grover pleaded. It broke my heart to see him so upset.

"Nothing!" the elder in the middle chimed in. "You have found nothing."

"But, Leneus—"

Silenus raised his hand. Chiron leaned in and said something to the satyrs. The satyrs didn't look happy. They muttered and argued among themselves, but Chiron said something else, and Silenus sighed. He nodded reluctantly.

"Master Underwood," Silenus announced, "we will give you one more chance."

Grover brightened. "Thank you!"

"One more week."

"What? But sir! That's impossible!"

"One more week, Master Underwood. And then, if you cannot prove your claims, it will be time for you to pursue another career. Something to suit your dramatic talents. Puppet theatre, perhaps. Or tap dancing."

"But sir, I—I can't lose my searcher's license. My whole life—"

"This meeting of the council is adjourned," Silenus said. "And now let us enjoy our noonday meal!"

The old satyr clapped his hands, and a bunch of nymphs melted out of the trees with platters of vegetables, fruits, tin cans, and other goat delicacies. The circle of satyrs broke and charged the food. Grover walked dejectedly toward us. His faded blue T-shirt had a picture of a satyr on it. It read GOT HOOVES?

"Hi, Ana," he said, so depressed he didn't even lean in to hug me. "That went well, huh?"

"Those old goats!" Juniper cried, flinging her lither arms around him. "Oh, Grover, they don't know how hard you've tried!"

"There is another option," Clarisse pointed out darkly. I frowned in confusion.

"No. No." Juniper shook her head. "Grover, I won't let you."

His face was ashen. "I—I'll have to think about it. But we don't even know where to look."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

In the distance, a conch horn sounded.

Luke grimaced, raking a hand through his hair. "I'll fill you in later, Ana. We'd better get back to our cabins. Inspection is starting."

I wasn't too worried about inspection. In the long run, it ranked really low on my list of priorities, and I wasn't exactly a complete slob, just a bit lazy when it came to picking up after myself.

Foster care meant two things in this particular area. One: I had a limited amount of stuff. Two: I kept the stuff I cared about hidden. Seeing as I was the only person in my cabin, I typically ended up the high-to-middle range of scoring.

As it so happened, however, I had a huge pile of laundry I'd been neglecting, and Silena was on inspection duty today. She was a tough inspector, with no sympathy. If I didn't want to end up helping to the dishes for everybody in camp with no help except for the harpies, I needed to get those clothes shoved under my bed before she caught a glimpse of them.

I raced toward the commons area, where the twelve cabins—one for each Olympian god—made a U around the central green.

The Demeter kids were sweeping out theirs and making fresh flowers grow in their window boxes. Just by snapping their fingers they could make honeysuckle vines bloom over their doorway and daisies cover their roof. I don't think they ever got last place in inspection.

The guys in the Hermes cabin were scrambling around in a panic, stashing dirty laundry under their beds and accusing each other of taking stuff. Luke groaned and ran over to join them, but I had no empathy for him. They were slobs, but they still had a head start on me, after all. And there were so many of them that, when they focused (which admittedly is rarely) they got the dishes done in two hours, tops.

The Poseidon cabin was at the end of the row of "male god" cabins on the right side of the green. It was made of grey shell-encrusted sea rock, long and low like a bunker, but it had windows that faced the sea and it always had a good breeze blowing through it.

I dashed inside, and I found my half-brother Tyson sweeping the floor.

"Ana!" he bellowed. He dropped his broom and ran at me. If you've never been charged by an enthusiastic Cyclops wearing a flowered apron and rubber cleaning gloves, I'm telling you, it'll wake you up quick.

"Hey, big guy!" I gasped. "Ow, watch the ribs. The ribs."

I managed to survive his bear hug. He put me down, grinning like crazy, his single calf-brown eye full of excitement. His teeth were as yellow and crooked as ever, and his hair was a rat's nest. He wore ragged XXXL jeans and a tattered flannel shirt under his flowered apron, but he was still a sight for sore eyes. I hadn't seen him in almost a year, since he'd gone under the sea to work at the Cyclopes' forges. We'd spoken over IMs, of course, but it just wasn't the same.

"You are okay?" he asked. "Not eaten by monsters?"

"Not even a little bit." I showed him that I still had both arms and both legs, and Tyson clapped happily.

"Yay!" he said. "Now we can eat peanut butter sandwiches and ride fish ponies! We can fight monsters and see Luke and make things go BOOM!"

I hoped he didn't mean all at the same time, but I told him absolutely, we'd have a lot of fun this summer. I couldn't help smiling, he was so enthusiastic about everything. Tyson was just like a mentally ill child, and so sweet, I always felt so indulgent towards him.

"But first," I continued, "we've gotta worry about inspection. We should…"

Then I looked around and realized Tyson had been busy. The floor was swept. The bunk beds were made. The saltwater fountain in the corner had been freshly scrubbed so the coral gleamed. On the windowsills, Tyson had set out water-filled vases with sea anemones and strange glowing plants from the bottom of the ocean, more beautiful than any flower bouquets the Demeter kids could whip up.

"Tyson, the cabin looks…amazing!"

He beamed. "See the fish ponies? I put them on the ceiling!"

A herd of miniature bronze hippocampi hung on wires from the ceiling, so it looked like they were swimming through the air. It always amazed me that Tyson, with his huge hands, could make things so delicate. Then I looked over at my bunk, and I saw my old shield hanging on the wall.

"You fixed it!"

The shield had been badly damaged last winter. But now it was perfect again—not a scratch. All the bronze pictures of my adventures with Tyson and Luke in the Sea of Monsters were polished and gleaming.

I looked at Tyson with shimmering eyes. I didn't know how to thank him.

Then somebody behind me said, "Oh, my."

Silena Beauregard was standing in the doorway with her inspection scroll. She stepped into the cabin, did a quick twirl, then raised her eyebrows at me. "Well, I had my doubts. But you've raised my expectations Ana. I'll remember this for next time." She winked at me and left the room.

I groaned at the prospect of keeping things like this constantly, then put it to the back of my mind, turning back to Tyson and grinning brightly at him.

The two of us spent the afternoon catching up and just hanging out, which was nice after a morning of getting attacked by demon cheerleaders.

We went down to the forge and Tyson helped Beckendorf with his metalworking. Tyson showed us how he'd learned to craft magic weapons. He fashioned a flaming double-bladed war axe so fast even Beckendorf was impressed.

While he worked, Tyson told us about his year under the sea. His eye lit up when he described the Cyclopes' forges and the palace of Poseidon, but he also told us how tense things were. The old gods of the sea, who'd ruled during Titan times, were starting to make war on our father. When Tyson had left, battles had been raging all over the Atlantic. I bit my lip when I heard that, feeling as if I should be doing more, considering I was technically his kid and all, but Tyson assured me that Poseidon wanted us both at camp.

"Lots of bad people above the sea, too," Tyson pointed out cheerily. "We can make them go boom."

After the forges, we spent some time at the canoe lake with Luke. He was glad to see Tyson, but I could tell that he was distracted. He kept looking over at the forest, like he was thinking about Grover's problem with the council. I couldn't blame him.

Grover was nowhere to be seen, and I felt terrible for him. Finding the lost god Pan had been his lifelong goal. His father and his uncle had both disappeared following the same dream. Last winter, Grover had heard a voice in his head saying I await you—a voice he was sure belonged to Pan—but his search had led nowhere. If the council took away his searcher's license now, it would crush him.

"What's this 'other way'?" I asked Luke. "The thing Clarisse mentioned?"

Luke shifted, eyes flicking away. The thing about Luke? When he's lying to someone he doesn't care about, he can convince them the sky is green. When he's lying to or hiding something from somebody he cares for however, he's shit.

"Is has something to do with whatever it is that you, Clarisse and Malcolm have been discussing, doesn't it?" They'd been discussing it for months, but I hadn't really been interested, too busy trying to get my head back on straight.

He nodded slowly. "Yes. But it'd be dangerous. Especially for Grover."

"Goat boy scares me," Tyson murmured.

I stared at him. Tyson had faced down fire-breathing bulls and sea monsters and cannibal giants. "Why would you be scared of Grover?"

"Hooves and horns," Tyson muttered nervously, shifting uncomfortably. "And goat fur makes my nose itchy."

And that pretty much ended our Grover conversation.

Before dinner, Tyson and I went down to the sword arena. Quintus seemed glad to have company. He still wouldn't tell me what was in the wooden crates, but he did teach me a few sword moves.

The guy was good. He fought the way some people play chess—like he was putting all the moves together and you couldn't see the pattern until he made the last stroke and won with a sword at your throat. If I had to guess, I'd put money on him being a child of Athena. At the same time, I found it hard to believe a child of a major god could survive so long. Then again, George Washington had been a child of Athena too.

And something about him just seemed off, though I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was.

"Good try," he complimented me after a managed to graze him. Not enough to actually cut him, though. "But your guard is too low."

He lunged and I blocked.

"Have you always been a swordsman?" I asked, trying to seem casual.

He parried my overhead cut. "I've been many things."

He jabbed and I sidestepped. His shoulder strap slipped down, and I saw that mark on his neck—the purple blotch. But it wasn't a random mark. It had a definite shape—a bird with folded wings, like a quail or something.

"What's that on your neck?" I asked, which was probably a rude question, but you can blame my ADHD. I tend to just blurt things out.

Quintus lost his rhythm. I hit his sword hilt and knocked the blade out of his hand.

He rubbed his fingers. Then he shifted his armour to hide the mark. It wasn't a tattoo, I realized. It was an old burn…like he'd been branded.

"A reminder." He picked up his sword and forced a smile. "Now, shall we go again?"

He pressed me hard, not giving me time for any more questions.

While he and I fought, Tyson played with Mrs. O'Leary, who he called the "little doggie." They had a great time wrestling for the bronze shield and playing Get the Greek. By sunset, Quintus hadn't even broken a sweat, which seemed kind of strange; but Tyson and I were hot and sticky, so we hit the showers and got ready for dinner.

I was feeling good. It was almost like a normal day at camp. Then dinner came, and all the campers lined up by cabin and marched into the dining pavilion. Most of them ignored the sealed fissure in the marble floor at the entrance—a ten-foot-long jagged scar that hadn't been there last summer— but I was careful to step over it.

"Big crack," Tyson said when we were at our table. "Earthquake, maybe?"

"No," I murmured. "Not an earthquake."

I wasn't sure I should tell him. It was a secret only Luke, Grover and I knew. But looking in Tyson's big eye, I knew I couldn't hide it from him.

"Nico di'Angelo," I said, lowering my voice. "He's this half-blood kid we brought to camp last winter. He, uh…he asked Luke to guard his sister on a quest, but she died. Now he blames Luke."

Tyson frowned. "So he put a crack in the floor?"

"They were attacked by skeletons," I corrected him. "Nico defeated them. Nico…" I looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Nico is a son of Hades."

Tyson nodded thoughtfully. "The god of dead people."

"Yeah."

"So the Nico boy is gone now?"

"I—I guess. I tried to search for him this spring. So did Luke. But we didn't have any luck. This is secret, Tyson. Okay? If anyone found out he was a son of Hades, he would be in danger. You can't even tell Chiron."

"The bad prophecy," Tyson said. "Titans might use him if they knew."

I stared at him. Sometimes it was easy to forget that as big and childlike as he was, Tyson was pretty smart. He knew that the next child of the Big Three gods—Zeus, Poseidon, or Hades—who turned sixteen was prophesied to either save or destroy Mount Olympus. Most people assumed that meant me, but if I died before I turned sixteen, the prophecy could just as easily apply to Nico. If the rest of the world could hold out long enough, that is.

"Exactly," I said. "So—"

"Mouth sealed," Tyson promised. "Like the crack in the ground."

I had trouble falling asleep that night. I lay in bed listening to the waves on the beach, and the owls and monsters in the woods. I was afraid that once I drifted off I'd have nightmares. Or worse yet, visions. If history held true, I'd be on another quest soon enough, and usually my quest-related visions began shortly before the actual quest. Though I can acknowledge that they can be helpful, in general they just gave some information that was only useful in hindsight, and watching them, unable to interfere, was utterly miserable.

So I wasn't surprised when I was still awake around midnight, staring at the bunk bed mattress above me. I was surprised, however, when I realized there was a strange light in the room. The saltwater fountain was glowing.

I threw off the covers and walked cautiously toward it. Steam rose from the hot salt water. Rainbow colours shimmered through it, though there was no light in the room except for the moon outside. Then a pleasant female voice spoke from the steam: Please deposit one drachma.

I looked over at Tyson, but he was still snoring. He sleeps about as heavily as a tranquilized elephant.

I didn't know what to think. I'd never gotten a collect Iris-message before. One golden drachma gleamed at the bottom of the fountain. I scooped it up and tossed it through the mist. The coin vanished.

"O, Iris, Goddess of the rainbow," I whispered. "Show me…Uh, whatever you need to show me."

The mist shimmered. I saw the dark shore of a river. Wisps of fog drifted across black water. The beach was strewn with jagged volcanic rock. A young boy squatted at the riverbank, tending a campfire. The flames burned an unnatural blue colour. Then I saw the boy's face. I had only spoken to him about twice, but I recognized him anyway.

It was Nico di'Angelo. He was throwing pieces of paper into the fire—Mythomagic trading cards, part of the game he'd been obsessed with last winter.

Nico was only ten, or maybe eleven by now, but he looked older. His hair had grown longer. It was shaggy and almost touched his shoulders. His eyes were dark. His olive skin had turned paler. He wore ripped black jeans and a battered aviator's jacket that was several sizes too big, unzipped over a black shirt. His face was grimy, his eyes a little wild. He looked like a kid who'd been living on the streets. Believe you me, I know what that's like from personal experience.

I waited for him to look at me, or do something at least. But he didn't seem to notice me.

I stayed quiet, not daring to move and attract attention. If he hadn't sent this Iris-message, who had?

Nico tossed another trading card into the blue flames. "Useless," he muttered. "I can't believe I ever liked this stuff."

I sighed, sympathy for him rising in my breast. Poor kid had been through a lot, and real-life had hit him right where it hurts the most.

"A childish game, master," another voice agreed. It seemed to come from near the fire, but I couldn't see who was talking.

Nico stared across the river. On the far shore was black beach shrouded in haze. I recognized it: the Underworld. Nico was camping at the edge of the river Styx. Not exactly one of TripAdvisor's top five tourist locations.

"I've failed," he muttered. "There's no way to get her back."

The other voice kept silent.

Nico turned toward it doubtfully. "Is there? Speak."

Something shimmered. I thought it was just firelight. Then I realized it was the form of a man—a wisp of blue smoke, a shadow. If you looked at him head-on, he wasn't there. But if you looked out of the corner of your eye, you could make out his shape. A ghost.

"It has never been done," the ghost said. "But there may be a way."

"Tell me," Nico commanded. His eyes shined with a fierce light. I wanted to yell at him that you couldn't trust ghosts, especially ones that were being willingly helpful, but I didn't dare risk losing the information.

"An exchange," the ghost explained. "A soul for a soul."

"I've offered!"

"Not yours," the ghost dismissed, kind of rudely in my opinion. "You cannot offer your father a soul he will eventually collect anyway. Nor will he be anxious for the death of his son. I mean a soul that should have died already. Someone who has cheated death."

Nico's face darkened. "Not that again. You're talking about murder."

"I'm talking about justice," the ghost corrected. "Vengeance."

"Those are not the same thing."

The ghost laughed dryly. "You will learn differently as you get older."

Nico stared at the flames. "Why can't I at least summon her? I want to talk to her. She would…she would help me."

"I will help you," the ghost promised. "Have I not saved you many times? Did I not lead you through the maze and teach you to use your powers? Do you want revenge for your sister or not?"

I didn't like the ghost's tone of voice. He reminded me of a kid at one of my old schools, a bully who used to convince other kids to do stupid things like steal lab equipment and vandalize the teachers' cars. The bully never got in trouble himself, but he got tons of other kids suspended.

Nico turned from the fire so the ghost couldn't see him, but I could. A tear traced its' way down his face. It was heartbreaking, and not for the first time I damned the Fates for their cruelty. "Very well. You have a plan?"

"Oh, yes," the ghost said, sounding quite pleased. "We have many dark roads to travel. We must start—"

The image shimmered. Nico vanished. The woman's voice from the mist said, Please deposit one drachma for another five minutes.

There were no other coins in the fountain. I grabbed for my pockets, but I was wearing pajamas. I lunged for the nightstand to check for spare change, but the Iris-message had already blinked out, and the room went dark again. The connection was broken.

I stood in the middle of the cabin, listening to the gurgle of the saltwater fountain and the ocean waves outside. I knew exactly three things about the situation.

Nico was alive. He was trying to bring his sister back from the dead. This was not going to go any way except terribly.