To 8Ball3- Dude, there's a whole bunch of animals with colours we physically cannot see! You telling me they're not real either? At least we can see the blue of a giraffe's tongue! :P Butthead is quite rampant in my house too, mostly my fault. It's butthead or stink. Percy and Piper are my brotp, we need more Percy and Piper just dicking about, you know? ^_^ I absolutely love Meg, she's the exact kind of gremlin trash goblin this series needed XD I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, STOP YELLING AT ME! D: *EDIT* Thank you for pointing out that I didn't post the right chapter- just typical that on the ONE DAY I don't preview check it, I've done it wrong *eye roll*

Dreams took him, although 'dreams' was too nice a word for them. A line of luxury yachts cut through moonlit waves off the California coast. Fifty in total, forming a tight chevron. Strings of lights gleamed along their bows, purple pennants snapping in the wind on illuminated comm towers. On the decks were monsters- Cyclopes, wild centaurs, big-eared pandai and chest-headed blemmyae. On the aft deck of each yacht, a mob of creatures appeared to be building something. At first, it looked like a shed. With a little focus, Apollo worried it was some sort of siege weapon.

The dream changed position, landing on the bridge of the lead ship. The crew was hustling about, checking monitors and adjusting instruments. Behind them, lounging in gold-upholstered La-Z-Boy recliners, were two of Apollo's least favourite people.

The left chair sat Commodus, in pastel-blue beach shorts that displayed his perfectly tanned calves and pedicured bare feet. His grey Indianapolis Colts hoodie was unzipped over his bare chest and abs so sculpted, Apollo's face felt hot. His face was still annoyingly handsome, haughty and chiselled with ringlets of golden hair framing his brow. The only flaw was the burned skin around his cloudy eyes. Apollo had blinded him with a burst of godly radiance at their last encounter and it pleased him to see the pompous emperor still hadn't healed.

The other chair held someone even more pompous and more annoying- Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Or Caligula. Or fuckin' Booties, that was another he could add to the list. Rage coloured the dream in a red mist, Apollo clenched his fists. His rage came from fear, came from that heart-stopping moment as the spear flew towards Jason. Caligula may not have succeeded in taking out the son of Jupiter, but it had been too close to forgive or forget.

Caligula relaxed in a captain's uniform, lazily brandishing an iced beverage garnished with three maraschino cherries. Apollo wanted to knock it from his hand and throttle him. Yet, there was nothing he could do except fume and watch.

"Pilot?" The emperor called lazily, sipping his drink. "What's our speed?"

"Five knots, sir." Answered a uniformed mortal. "Should I increase?"

"No, no." Caligula shook his head, plucking one of the cherries out and popping it in his mouth. He chewed and grinned, showing bright red teeth. "In fact, let's slow to four knots. The journey is half the fun!"

"Yessir!"

Next to him, Commodus scowled. He swirled the ice in his own drink; he only had two maraschino cherries. No doubt because Caligula would never allow Commodus to equal him in anything.

"I don't understand why we're moving so slowly." Commodus muttered sulkily. "At top speed, we could have been there by now."

"My friend," Caligula chuckled, "it's all about timing. We have to allow our deceased ally his best window of attack."

"I hate our deceased ally." Commodus shivered. "Are you sure he can be controlled-?"

"We've discussed this." Caligula's singsong tone was light and airy and pleasantly homicidal. Apollo would not be surprised if cyanide rested within the red syrup at the bottom of Commodus's drink. "You should trust me. Remember who aided you in your hour of need."

"I've thanked you dozens of times already." Commodus said stiffly. "Besides, it wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know Apollo still had some light left in him?" He blinked painfully. "He got the better of you and your horse too." A shadow passed over Caligula's face and he examined the cherries left in his glass.

"Yes, well." He sipped his beverage. "He can't take all the credit. But it matters not. Soon, we'll make things right. Between your troops and mine, we have more than enough power to overwhelm the battered Twelfth Legion. And if they prove too stubborn to surrender, we always have Plan B."

"But what about Neptune's daughter?" A tic worked in Caligula's jaw.

"She was lucky. She got in my way. She will not survive our next encounter." Commodus turned his head, just a fraction of a millimetre, but enough for Apollo to see that the blind emperor did not have much faith in his colleague's words. He had suffered under Louisa's fury- if he could not combat her and Caligula had already failed to do so, what chance did they have in a rematch?

Caligula sipped his drink, pushing his temper down. "Oh, Boost?" He called. A pandos hurried in from the aft deck, his ginormous ears flapping around him like throw rugs. He held a large sheet of paper, folded into sections like a map or instructions.

"Y-yes, Princeps?"

"Progress report."

"Ah." Boost's dark fury face twitched. "Good! Good, master! Another week?"

"A week." Caligula repeated.

"Well, sir… these instructions…" Boost turned the paper upside down and frowned at it. "We're still locating all the slot 'A's on assembly piece seven. And they… they did not send us enough lug nuts. And the batteries required are not standard size-"

"A week." Caligula said again, his tone still pleasant. "Yet the blood moon rises in how many days, Boost?"

"Um, five. Five days, sir."

"So you can have your work done in five days? Excellent. Carry on." Boost gulped and hurried away as quickly as his furry feet could carry him. Apollo looked back at the emperors, Caligula smiling at his colleague. "You see, Commodus? Soon, Camp Jupiter will be ours. With luck, the Sibylline Books will be in our hands as well. Then we will have some proper bargaining power. When it is time to face Python and carve up our portions of the world, you'll remember who helped you… and who did not."

"Oh, I'll remember. Stupid Nero." Commodus poked his ice cubes. "Which one is this again, the Shirley Temple?"

"No, that's the Roy Rogers. Mine is the Shirley Temple."

"And you're sure this is what modern warriors drink when they go into battle?"

"Absolutely. Now enjoy the ride, my friend. You have five whole days to work on your tan and get your vision back. Then we'll have some lovely carnage in the Bay Area!"

"And-?"

"Do not fear Neptune's daughter. She will not have a leg to stand on next time we meet."

The scene vanished. Apollo fell into bitter darkness, finding himself in a dim stone chamber filled with shuffling, stinking, groaning undead. Some were as withered as Egyptian mummies. Others looked more alive sans the horrid wounds that had killed them. At the far end of the room, between two rough-hewn columns, sat… a presence, wreathed in a magenta haze. It raised its skeletal visage, its purple eyes burning as it locked its attention on Apollo. He recognised those eyes from the ghoul in the tunnel, pulled from that recognition as laughter reverberated around the chamber.

His injury exploded like a line of gunpowder. He could only scream. That's how he woke, still screaming and sweating something disgustingly chronic.

"You too?" He turned his head, gasping. Meg. She stood beside his bed, leaning out an open window. A cool breeze came in, carrying the scent of earth from her digging in the windowbox. Her gardening belt was bursting with bulbs and seed packets and tools. In one muddy hand, she held a trowel. Apollo took a deep shaky breath, breathing in that earthen aroma- children of Demeter. It was impossible to take them anywhere without them playing in the dirt.

"Wh-what's going on?" He asked, battling to sit up. He wished he hadn't, his wound a lava line of agony. He looked down, head spinning, and found his midsection wrapped in bandages and smelling of healing herbs and ointments. If he had been treated, why was there still so much pain? "W-where are we?" He croaked.

"Coffee shop." Apollo blinked. There was no coffee shop in this room, no espresso machine, no barista, no yummy pastries. It was a simple white-washed cube with a camp bed against either wall. The open window sat between them and a trapdoor in the far corner clued Apollo into them being on an upper storey. It may as well have been a prison cell, except there were no bars on the window and a prison bed would have been far more comfortable. "The coffee shop is downstairs." Meg continued. "This is Bombilo's spare room."

Apollo recalled the two-headed man in a green apron and nodded. He wasn't sure why the scowling man had been kind enough to house them or why the legion had allowed it.

"Why exactly-?"

"Lemurian spice." Meg answered. "Bombilo had the nearest supply. The healers needed it for your wound." She shrugged, as if to say Healers, what can you do? Then she went back to planting iris bulbs.

Apollo watched her distractedly for a moment. He sniffed the bandages, detecting Lemurian spice. It was effective stuff against the undead, though he knew the relevant festival wasn't until June. It was barely April. Then it made sense why they were in a coffee shop- retailers started Lemurian season earlier and earlier each time it came about.

He sniffed again, catching a whiff of crocus, myrrh and unicorn-horn shavings. Roman healers were good, but he still didn't feel better. "They didn't want you to move too many times." Meg supplied. "So we just kind of stayed here. It's OK. Bathroom downstairs. And free coffee."

"You don't drink coffee."

"I do now I don't have to pay for it."

"You on caffeine. Just what I need. How long have I been out?"

"Day and a half."

"Come again?"

"You needed sleep. Also, you're less annoying unconscious."

"I could say the same about you." Apollo sighed, rubbing the gunk from his eyes. He forced himself to sit up, pushing back the pain and nausea. He could feel Meg's gaze on him, concerned. For that, he must have looked just as horrible as he felt.

"How bad?" she asked.

"I'm alright." He lied.

"Mm." She wrinkled her nose. "Leona said Lou might be able to heal you. She's, um, not awake yet though."

"Louisa can heal that?"

"In the battle." Meg nodded. "Leona said Lou healed… loads in the battle. And afterwards." She looked up at him, trying to smile. "Maybe she'll heal you too."

Apollo nodded, rubbing at his face. He had previously seen Louisa's healing abilities back at the Waystation. He focused on Meg's digging. "What did you mean earlier, when you said 'you too'?"

"Nightmares. I… I woke up screaming a couple of times. You slept through it, but…" She picked some dirt from her trowel, expression carefully guarded and sore. "This place reminds me of… you know." Apollo felt a twinge of regret, having not put two and two together. Growing up in Nero's household, Meg had been surrounded by Latin-speaking servants and guards in Roman armour, purple banners and all the regalia of the old empire. Camp Jupiter had obviously triggered some unpleasant memories.

"I'm sorry." He said. "Did you… dream anything I should know about?"

"The usual." She said dismissively. "What about you?" Apollo ran the dream over in his head, grimacing.

"The usual. Help me up?" It was agony to stand, but he could not lie in that bed for a second longer. After a day and a half, he needed to move. Hunger and thirst were beginning to set in and, in the immortal words of the darling menace at his side, he needed to pee. How he hated this human body.

He braced himself against the windowsill and peered out. Demigods were bustling along the Via Praetoria, carrying supplies and reporting for assignments, hurrying between the barracks and the mess hall. The expanse of repairs needed lessened the shock and grief somewhat, now that a goal had been set. Siege engines had been converted into cranes and earthmovers, scaffolding had been put up in dozens of locations. Hammering and stone-cutting echoed across the valley. "Wow." Apollo marvelled. "Romans are busy little bees, aren't they?"

"Something like that." Meg agreed.

Something dark and fluttering filled Apollo's vision. For a scary, heart-thumping moment, he thought he was passing out again. Then his brain caught up and the dark, fluttery thing became a raven, flying past him and landing on his bed. It ruffled its feathers, squawking at him.

"Um, Meg? There's a raven on my bird."

"Hi, Frank." Meg said without looking up from her gardening. Apollo looked back in time to see the bird shape-shift, its form swelling into that of a bulky human, feathers melting into clothes, and then Frank Zhang was there. He had washed and combed his hair and changed from his pyjama shirt into a purple camp T-shirt.

"Hey, Meg." He said, as though changing species during a conversation was completely normal. "I had a spare five minutes, so I thought I'd check if Apollo was awake, which… obviously he is." He waved awkwardly. "I mean, you are. Since, um, I'm sitting on your bed. I should get up." He rose, tugged at his shirt, and then seemed at a loss as to what could occupy his hands. Apollo had once been used to such nervous behaviour from mortals he encountered, but it now took him a minute to realise Frank was in awe of him. Perhaps with his shape-shifting nature, Frank was more likely than most to believe that Apollo was still the same old god of archery on the inside, appearances be damned. Gods, this kid was adorable.

Frank was speaking again. "Meg and I have been talking the last day or so, while you were passed out- I mean, recovering, sleeping, you know, it's fine. You needed sleep. I hope you feel better." Despite everything wrong with his body, Apollo managed to smile.

"Thank you for your kindness, Praetor Zhang."

"Uh, yeah, sure. It's, you know, an honour, seeing as you're… or you were-"

"Uuugggggh, Frank." Meg turned from her gardening to roll her eyes. "It's just Lester. Don't treat him like a big deal."

"Now, now." Apollo said. "If Frank wants to treat me like a big deal-"

"Just tell him." Meg insisted. Frank glanced back and forth between them, as if unsure whether the Meg-and-Apollo-Show had finished.

"So, um, Meg explained the prophecy you got in the Burning Maze. Apollo faces death in Tarquin's tomb unless the doorway to the soundless god is opened by Bellona's daughter. Right?" Apollo shuddered, nodding.

"I don't suppose you've figured out what those lines mean and have already undertaken the necessary quests?" He asked.

"Mmm, not exactly. But the prophecy did answer a few questions about… well, about what's happening around here. It gave Ella and Tyson enough information to work with. They think they might have a lead." Apollo repeated the names, sifting through his foggy, mortal memory.

"The harpy and the Cyclops. The ones reconstructing the Sibylline Books."

"Yep." Frank agreed. "If you're feeling up to it, I thought we could take a walk into New Rome." Apollo looked past him, squinting out of the window. He didn't even have to think about Frank's offer; he was already sick of these too white walls and this cramped space.

"I would like that." He said. "Just, uh, let me pee first?"

"Fill your boots. Uh, not literally!"