To 8Ball3- Same! Three of our neighbours have young children that cry over EVERYTHING, but it's not proper upset crying- I call them Siren Kids 1, 2 and 3. If we ever have, like, Germany bombing us again or something, we could use them as the warning system!

To someone- We've been over this- I don't plot. I scheme.

Talking to Hazel helped organise his thoughts somewhat. He wasn't fully convinced she was completely following everything he said, but she listened regardless. He kept his dreams to himself, only detailing his trip to the bookshop and what Frank had told him about the battle and about Louisa. Hazel did not add anything to that tale, pressing her lips together as the pain came back.

"A wildcat near the spinning lights. The tomb of Tarquin with horses bright. To open his door, two-fifty-four." He recited. Hazel blinked at him. "I don't understand it either." He agreed. "Even by prophecy standards, the lines seem rather gibberish. The Sibyl of Cumae was always like that though, vague and effusive. She penned nine entire volumes of the Sibylline Books, would not let me help her. I kept telling her they're too long, too complex. But she didn't listen. She had been unable to sell them to the Romans until she whittled them down to a trilogy. The other six volumes had gone straight into a fire when-" He froze, a switch flipping in his brain. Hazel raised an eyebrow at him, seeing the gears turning.

"What is it?"

"Of course Tarquin's related to the Sibylline Books." Apollo chided himself, smacking his forehead. "Of course he would choose now to show himself and send in his army."

"Not following." Hazel admitted. Apollo rubbed at his temples, as if that would help push all his memories back into place.

"Stupid, stupid mortal brain." He complained. "Tarquin has a connection to the Books. With Ella and Tyson reconstructing them, it's invoked him, in a way."

"How? How is he connected?"

"I do know this one." Apollo promised. "Somewhere in here, I do know."

A wolf's howl cut through the blustering of the aurae and the chatter of muster. Everyone looked up. For a moment, only silence followed, but they had definitely heard the creature's call.

"There." Hazel pointed.

A chocolate red she-wolf trotted to the centre. Aurae stopped, platters and pitchers hovering, the air suddenly still and sharply quiet. Along the outskirts of the pavilion, the she-wolf's pack assembled, watching their alpha dutifully. Legionnaires stood, but they did not bow. When facing Lupa, you did not kneel or show any sign of weakness. Instead, Apollo, the Romans, praetor down to probatio, stood respectfully, holding their ground, watching the wolf goddess curiously.

Eventually, Lupa fixed her moonlight silvery eyes on Apollo. With a curl of her lip, she gave a simple order: Come.

She wanted a private word with him. Apollo moved forward, pushing down his nerves. Wolves were good at reading emotions. He could not show weakness. He could only hope Lupa wasn't angry. Or hungry.

He could feel the weight of everyone's gaze on him as Lupa led him away. The rest of the pack stayed, sniffing the air.

Apollo found Lupa was both hungry and angry. Hangry. She had taken him back towards camp, but they could still see the dining pavilion, the wolves' coats glistening in the light of the torches. He was not fluent in wolf, but had spent enough time with his sister's pack to understand the basics. Feelings were the easiest to read. Lupa, like all of her kind, communicated with a combination of glances, snarls, ear twitches, postures and pheromones.

Lupa trembled with fury over the deaths of so many legionnaires. The ketones on her breath indicated she had not eaten in days. The anger made her hungry. The hunger made her angry. The twitch to her nostrils indicated Apollo was the nearest and most convenient snack.

It is your time, she told him, or at least the closest translation he could come up with. Her gestures conveyed expectation and urgency. She wanted him to do something. Her scent told him she wasn't sure what he was capable of.

He swallowed dryly, which in itself was Wolf for I'm scared. It went without a doubt that she had already smelled his fear. It wasn't possible to lie in her language.

"My time." He repeated carefully. "For what, exactly?" She nipped the air in annoyance, a shuffle to her front paw. To be Apollo. The pack needs you.

Apollo had to bite back a scream. He had done nothing but try to be Apollo ever since this madness started. It's not that easy, he wanted to yell, I'd like to see you try! But he restrained himself in facial and body language from broadcasting a message of that kind. Talking face-to-face with any god was dangerous business. He was out of practise. Admittedly, he had seen Britomartis back in Indianapolis, but she hardly counted- she liked tormenting him too much to kill him. With Lupa, however, he had to be careful. Very careful.

Even when he had been a god, he had never been able to get a good read on the Wolf Mother. She did not hang out with the Olympians, never came to the family Saturnalia dinners. And not once had she attended their monthly book group, even when they discussed Dances with Wolves.

Apollo nodded stiffly. "Fine," he said, "I know what you mean. The last lines from the Dark Prophecy. I've reached the Tiber alive. Now I'm supposed to 'jive'. I assume that entails more than dancing and snapping my fingers?" Lupa's stomach growled- Apollo did not doubt for a second that the more this conversation dragged on, the tastier he was looking.

The pack is weak, she signalled with a glance towards the pavilion. Too many have died. When the enemy surrounds this place, you must show strength. You must summon help. Apollo held back a wave of irritation- Lupa was a goddess. This was her city, her camp. She had a pack of supernatural wolves at her command. Why couldn't she help?

He knew that answer before the irritation had even finished the question- wolves were not frontline fighters. They were hunters, who only attacked when they had the advantage of numbers. Lupa expected her Romans to solve their own problems- to be self-sufficient or die. She would advise. She would teach and guide and warn. But she did not fight their battles.

That did make him question what she meant. Summon help? Why was she telling him to do that? And what help?

She must have read his query in his frame, flicking her ears. North. Scout the tomb. Find answers. That is the first step.

"Tarquinius Superbus." Apollo said. "He's the one who sent the undead. He'll attack again at the blood moon." Lupa's nose twitched with confirmation. His stench is on you. Be careful in his tomb. The emperors were foolish to call him forth. 'Emperors' was a hard concept to express in Wolf. It could have been 'alpha wolf' or 'pack leader' or 'submit to me now before I rip out your jugular'. Apollo was sure he had read her meaning correctly. Her pheromones read danger, disgust, apprehension, outrage and more danger.

He lay a hand on his bandaged abdomen. He was getting better. Right? He had been slathered with enough Lemurian spice and unicorn-horn shavings to kill a zombie mastodon. He did not like Lupa's worried look, or the idea of anyone's stench being on him, especially one of an undead king. "Once I explore this tomb," he pressed on, "and get out alive… what then?"

The way will be clearer. To defeat the great silence. Then summon help. Without this, the pack will die. He was less sure he understood those lines.

"Defeat the silence. Do you mean the soundless god? The doorway that Reyna is supposed to open?" Her response was frustratingly hard to read, too open- it could have been 'yes and no' or 'sort of' or 'why are you so dense?'

Apollo closed his eyes. He probably should not have done this in front of a giant wolf, but his mind was swirling with half-formed ideas. He thought of the Sibylline Books, the various prescriptions they contained for warding off disasters, trying to pull back his thoughts from his talk with Hazel. He replayed Lupa's words in his mind, mulling over what she meant by the great silence. And summoning help.

His eyes snapped open. "Help." He said. "As in godly help. You mean if I survive the tomb and- and defeat the soundless whatever-it-is, I might be able to summon godly help?" Lupa made a rumbling sound deep in her chest. Finally he understands. This will be the beginning. The first step to rejoining your own pack.

Apollo's heart skipped and bumped like he had just tumbled head-first down a flight of stairs. It was too good to be true. He could contact his fellow Olympians, despite Zeus's standing orders that they shun him while he was human. He might even be able to invoke their help to save Camp Jupiter. All of sudden, he really did feel better. His gut didn't hurt. His nerves tingled with a sensation he hadn't felt for so long he almost didn't recognise it.

Hope.

Beware. Lupa brought him to his senses with a low snarl. The way is hard. You will face more sacrifices. Death. Blood.

"No." Apollo met her eyes, a dangerous sign of a challenge that surprised him as much as it did her. "No, I will succeed. I won't allow any more losses. There has to be a way." He managed a rough three seconds of eye contact before having to look away.

Lupa sniffed, a dismissive noise, as if smug that she had won the staring contest, as she always had and would. More hopefully, he thought he sensed a hint of grudging approval. It dawned on him that Lupa appreciated his bluster and determination, even if she didn't believe he was capable of sticking to his word.

Return to your meal, she ordered. Tell them you have my blessing. Continue to act strong. It is how we start. Apollo studied the night sky. He had lost friends to the Triumvirate. He had suffered, but so had she. So had Lupa. Her Roman children had been decimated. She carried the pain of all their deaths.

Yet, she had to act strong, even as her pack faced possible extinction.

Lying was not possible in Wolf, but bluffing was. Sometimes, bluffing was the only way to keep a grieving pack together.

"Thank you." Apollo said, looking back at her. She was already gone. Nothing remained except silvery mist. "Oh." He mumbled. "Bye then."

"BANG!"

"NO!" Apollo ducked and scrambled away. Louisa cracked up, laughing maniacally.

"Too easy!" She grinned. "Sup, Lester?"

"My heart rate!" He protested. She snorted, sticking her hands in her pockets and blowing a raspberry. "I thought you'd gone… to wherever you're staying."

"No. I'm still hungry, so I came back. Saw ya talkin' ta Lupa though."

"So you listened?"

"I always listen." She scrunched her face up disapprovingly. "Ya'll loud, can't not listen." Apollo rubbed at his chest, willing his heart to settle.

"Louisa…" He said carefully. "When you say that we're loud, what… what do you mean exactly?" She looked at him, head tipped to the side. Apollo found it easier to hold her gaze than the Wolf Mother's, but only just. He suspected he already knew the answer to his question, suspected that she knew he knew as well. "It's your… your power, isn't it?" He asked. "You can hear… us."

"Yes." She agreed, hunching her shoulders.

"Has it… always been like that?"

"No."

"Are you… going to expand on any of this?"

"No."

"Thought so." He sighed.

"Not tellin' you." She stuck her tongue out. "I know ya wanted me dead." A chill slathered his lungs and he had to look away. "What did Lupa say?"

"I have her blessing." He said quietly. It was stupid, but he could not help but worry that if he became too 'loud', she would reverse his vote onto him. "I have to go to Tarquin's tomb, and look around. And… and I may be able to find a way to summon help. Godly help."

"Mmph." She said. "Don't know what good that'll be, but go off."

"Lou?"

"Hey, Rey."

"Are you alright?"

"Dandy." Louisa smiled. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry." Reyna glanced sidelong at Apollo. Something twisted in his chest- she was sizing him up, gauging how much of a threat or a bother he was to Louisa. Did she know he had voted to kill her girlfriend? "What did Lupa have to say?"

"Apparently Lester's gonna summon godly help." Louisa pulled a face.

"There's more to it than that. I have Lupa's blessing. She said things will become clearer once we investigate Tarquin's tomb." Reyna regarded him for a moment, eventually giving a single nod. She turned to Louisa, offering her hand.

"Let's get you fed." The twist in his chest took on a new angle, as Louisa took her hand, only spurring him to scold himself. How could he be jealous? He had been warned away, publicly and humiliatingly so. It was his own fault for having put two and two together and coming up with five- Reyna already had someone, even if that said someone he had voted to kill.

He found Meg, scoffing down cheeseburgers also. Louisa was taken back to the head table, where she ranted in Frank's ear while waving handfuls of fries around, splurting too much ketchup on her plate and ranting about that too.

Apollo brought Meg up to speed, picking miserably at his burger. "I'll explain the rest tomorrow." He promised, putting a hand to his head. "I just need to make more sense of it." In the meantime, he trusted that word would spread through the legion about Lupa giving him guidance. It would be enough for now. These demigods needed all the reassurance they could get. Meg simply nodded, and began to prattle on and on about her excellent afternoon tending unicorns with Lavinia. She boasted that Lavinia had let her clean the stables.

"No, Meg." Apollo sighed. "She pulled a Tom Sawyer on you."

"Whad'ya mean?" She frowned. Apollo debated explaining, but only for a microsecond.

"Nothing. You were saying, about unicorn poop?"

He tried to eat, but no matter how hungry he was, the food only tasted of dust.