To 8Ball3- I can't deal with kids that are screaming and kicking because they were told no to a lollipop or something, you know? Like, don't give in to it, 'cos it won't learn the meaning of no and it'll have no respect for authority and the likes. It'll just be like 'well, if I kick and scream enough, I'll get it anyway' and it doesn't ever work like that in the normal world, you know? I am never having kids, no no no!

In Bombilo's spare room, he lay on his bed and studied the cracks in the ceiling. He imagined them as lines of tattooed script on the back of a Cyclops. Maybe if he stared at them long enough, they would start to make sense. Or, at the very least, he could find the index.

A red high-top smacked him in the chest.

"Oy." Meg said. "You gotta rest. Tomorrow's the senate meeting." Apollo brushed the shoe off.

"You're not asleep either."

"Yeah, but you'll have to speak. They'll wanna hear your plan."

"I'm sorry, my what now?"

"You know, like an oration."

"Big word for you, Meg."

"Inspire them and stuff. Convince them what to do. They'll vote on it and everything."

"One afternoon in the unicorn stables and you're an expert on Roman senatorial proceedings."

"Lavinia told me." Meg sounded positively smug about that. She lay on her bed too, tossing her other shoe in the air and catching it repeatedly. Apollo was not sure how she managed this without her glasses, but he didn't question it- a small part of him would be most amused if she missed.

Without the rhinestone cat-eye frames, her face looked older. Her eyes seemed darker and more serious. He would have even pushed for mature had she not come back from her day at the stables wearing a glittering green T-shirt that read vnicornes imperant!

"What if I don't have a plan?" He asked, expecting the other shoe to smack him.

"You do."

"I do?"

"Yep. You might not have it all together yet, but you will by tomorrow." He wasn't sure if she was giving him an order or expressing a random burst of faith in him or just vastly underestimating the dangers they faced.

Continue to act strong, Lupa had told him, it is how we start.

"OK." He said tentatively. "Well, for starters, I was thinking that we could-"

"Ah, no! Not now! Tomorrow! I don't want spoilers."

"Ooh, that makes much more sense." He said, more to himself than to her. There was the Meg he knew and tolerated. "What is it with you and spoilers?"

"I hate them."

"I'm trying to strategize with y-"

"No. Shut up."

"Talk through my ideas-"

"La-la-la, not listening." She tossed aside her shoe and crushed her pillow over her head. "Go to sleep!"

That was definitely a direct order. Weariness washed over him and he had no chance, asleep within seconds.

He found himself in the Roman senate room. Not the grand, famous chamber of the republic or the empire, but the old senate room of the Roman kingdom. The mud-brick walls were painted slapdash white and red. Straw covered the filthy floor. Fires from iron braziers billowed soot and smoke, darkening the plaster ceiling.

There was no fine marble, no exotic silk or imperial purple grandeur. This was Rome in its oldest, rawest form, all hunger and viciousness. The royal guards wore cured leather armour over sweaty tunics. Their black iron spears were crudely hammered, their helmets stitched with wolf hide. Enslaved women knelt at the front of the throne, which was a rough-hewn slab of rock covered with furs. Lining either side of the room were crude wooden benches, for the senators, who sat more like prisoners or spectators than powerful politicians. In this era, senators only had one true power- to vote for a new king when the old one died. Otherwise, they were expected to applaud or shut up as required.

On the throne sat Lucius Tarquinius Superbus. Seventh king of Rome, murderer, schemer, slave-driver and all-round swell guy. His face was like wet porcelain cut with a steak knife- a wide, glistening mouth pulled into a lopsided scowl. Cheekbones too pronounced, a nose broken and healed in an ugly zig-zag. Heavy-lidded and suspicious eyes and long stringy hair that looked more like drizzled clay.

Just a few years before, when he first ascended to the throne, Tarquinius had been praised for his manly good looks and his physical strength. He had dazzled the senators with flattery and gifts. Then he proceeded to plonk himself down in his father-in-law's throne and convinced the senate to appoint him as the new king.

When the old king rushed in to protest that he was very much still alive, Tarquin had picked him up like a sack of turnips. He carried him outside and threw him in the street, where the old king's daughter- Tarquin's wife- ran her unfortunate father over with her chariot, splattering the wheels and the road with his blood.

It had been a lovely start to a lovely reign.

Now, Tarquin wore his years heavily. He had grown hunched and thick. He wore the hide of a wolf for a cloak. His robes were such a dark mottled pink, that it was impossible to tell if they had once been red and then poorly cleaned, or had once been white and spattered with blood.

Aside from the guards and the enslaved women, the only person standing in the room was an old woman. She faced the throne, wearing a rose-coloured hooded cloak. Her hulking frame and stooped back made her look like a mocking reflection of the king himself. In the crook of one arm, she held a stack of six leather-bound volumes, each the size of a folded shirt and just as floppy.

"You're back." The king scowled. "Why?"

"To offer you the same deal as before." The woman's voice was husky, as though she had been shouting. She pulled down her hood, revealing stringy grey hair and a haggard face that made her look even more like Tarquin's twin sister. But she was not. She was the Cumaean Sibyl.

Seeing her again, Apollo's heart twisted. Not the kind of twist he had felt in his chest last night, seeing Reyna and Louisa together, but the twist that came with… guilt? She had once been a lovely young woman- bright and strong-willed, passionate about her prophetic work. She had wanted to change the world. Then things had soured between them… and he had changed her.

Her appearance was only the beginning of the curse he had set upon her. As the centuries went on, it was only going to get worse. Apollo silently flailed, despairing. How had he put this out of his mind? How could he have been so cruel? It was guilt that twisted in his chest and it burned worse than any ghoul scratch. Oh, he was such a fool!

Tarquin shifted on his throne. He tried for a laugh, but it came out more like a bark of alarm.

"You must be insane, woman. Your original price would have bankrupted my kingdom, and that was when you had nine books. You burned three of them and now you come back to offer me only six, for the same exorbitant sum?" The woman held out the books, one hand on top as if preparing to say an oath.

"Knowledge is expensive, King of Rome. The less there is, the more it is worth. Be glad I am not charging you double."

"Oh, I see! I should be grateful then!" The king looked at his captive audience of senators for support. That was their cue to laugh and jeer at the woman. None did. They looked more afraid of the Sibyl than the king.

"I expect no gratitude from the likes of you." The Sibyl rasped. "But you should act in your own self-interest, and in the interest of your kingdom. I offer knowledge of the future. How to avert disaster, how to summon the help of the gods, how to make Rome a great empire. All that knowledge is here. At least… six volumes of it."

"Ridiculous!" The king snapped. "I should have you executed for your disrespect!"

"If only that were possible." The Sibyl sighed, as bitter and as calm as an artic morning. "Do you refuse my offer then?"

"I am high priest as well as king!" Tarquin thundered. "Only I decide how to appease the gods! I don't need-" The Sibyl took the top three books from the stack and casually threw them into the nearest brazier. The volumes were swallowed up immediately. A single great roar and they were gone.

The guards gripped their spears. The senators muttered and shifted on their seats. Perhaps they could feel what Apollo could- a cosmic sigh of anguish, the exhale of destiny as so many volumes of prophetic knowledge were lost forever, casting a shadow across the future and plunging many generations into darkness.

How could the Sibyl do it, they asked. Why?

Maybe it was her way of taking revenge on him, Apollo. He had criticised her for writing so many volumes, for not letting him oversee her work. By the time she wrote the Sibylline Books, he had been angry with her for different reasons. The curse had already been set. Their relationship was beyond repair. By burning her own books, she was spitting on his criticism, on the prophetic gift he had given her and on the too-high price she had paid to be his Sibyl.

Or perhaps she was motivated by something other than bitterness. Perhaps she had a reason for challenging Tarquin as she did and exacting such a high penalty for his stubbornness.

"Last chance." She said calmly, brushing soot from her cloak. "I offer you three books of prophecy for the same price as before."

"For the same-" The king choked on his rage. Apollo could see how much he wanted to refuse, how much he wanted to scream obscenities at her and order his guards to impale her on the spot. But he could hear and see his senators whispering and shifting uneasily in their seats. His guards' faces were pale with fear. His enslaved women were doing their best to hide behind the dais.

Romans were a superstitious people and he knew this.

As high priest, it was his responsibility to protect his subjects by interceding with the gods. Under no circumstances was he supposed to make the gods angry. This old woman was offering him prophetic knowledge to help his kingdom. The crowd in the throne room could sense her power, her closeness to the divine. If Tarquin allowed her to burn those last books, if he threw away her offer… it might not be the Sibyl whom his guards decided to impale.

"Well?" She prompted, holding her three remaining volumes dangerously close to the flames. Tarquin swallowed back his anger, gripping the arms of his rugged seat.

Through clenched teeth, he spat out: "I agree to your terms."

"Good." The Sibyl nodded, no visible relief or disappointment on her face. "Let payment be brought to the Pomerian Line. Once I have it, you will have the Books." Then she disappeared in a flash of blue light and his dream changed with it.

"Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ow-"

"Well, what did you expect? You ran into a burning building and it came down on your head!" He turned. Reyna, a couple of years younger, her purple cloak not glittering yet, held Louisa's legs. Holding her by the arms was… Jason. Curiosity speckled through Apollo, as well as trepidation- was he being shown this because he had come so close to getting Jason killed?

Louisa wore white cotton pyjamas. Any and all exposed skin was wrapped with bandages stained with salve. She looked like a very fresh mummy. Large dressings also coated in salve were plastered to her face, leaving just her eyes and mouth uncovered. Reyna was scolding her, shaking her head. Jason was trying not to smile. They waded into the Bay, carefully lowering their charge into the water. Louisa stopped complaining, sighing with immense relief. Reyna splashed out, stomping her feet on the shore. Jason shoved on Louisa's arm and pushed her further out.

"Ya'll need one of these closer ta camp."

"No," Reyna corrected hotly, "you need to stop trying to get yourself killed."

"I'm fine." Louisa waved a hand dismissively. "Ssh."

"Don't you shush me!"

"Jay, tell her to ssh."

"Oh, no no no, I'm not dying today, thank you very much." Jason shook his head. Apollo saw a centurion badge pinned to his purple camp shirt. "She's right, Lou, and you know it. Stop suiciding."

"Hey!" Louisa protested, pointing at the sky and waggling her finger. "I saved people."

"And burned ninety percent of your body in the process."

"Just a lil' crispy!"

"Not crispy, charcoal." Jason sighed. "Gods, you're annoying."

"Thanks."

"Annoying?" Reyna demanded. "I could think of a million other words. Annoying doesn't even come close!"

"Aww, ya love me really, Rey-Rey!"

"Don't call me that."

"Make me."

"No, you stay there." Jason ordered. "You need to heal and-"

"I have a question." Louisa announced, peeling the dressings from her face. She didn't wait for either of them to accept it, she just continued. "If water heals me, does lightnin' heal you?" She turned her point somewhere in Jason's direction. "Or, like, air or some shit?"

"Um, no."

"Lame." She blew a raspberry, splashing her arms in the water and kicking her feet. Apollo saw Reyna frown. Some selfish part of him was glad to see this- Louisa irked Reyna, big time. Another part of him questioned, also still selfishly- what had changed? How had borderline toleration gone to admiration and trust, to deeper feelings and the seemingly in-built ability to just get the other?

There was a big splash and Louisa had gone, sinking down into the water with a gleeful 'Ciao!' The two on the shore waited for the ripples to settle before speaking.

"I'm going to kill her." Reyna decided.

"Don't do that." Jason advised.

"She's so…" Reyna struggled for a moment, settling with throttling the air, obviously imagining it was Louisa's neck. Jason raised a brow at her, one corner of his mouth tipping up. The scar on his lip curved with the smile. His blond hair seemed golden in the sunlight, blue eyes as clear as the summer's sky. He was not as tall as the Jason Apollo had met, nor as stressed, but he was getting there. Sturdily built, at ease in his camp shirt, his badge glinting on the material. "I can't believe she's your cousin." Reyna was saying.

"On the godly side." Jason reminded her. Something in his tone told Apollo it wasn't that big a deal which side of the family Louisa came from- she was still family. "And it is Lou. She's weird. You knew that from the start."

"Well, obviously. I've not met anyone else fighting the Minotaur in a Costa before."

"There you go." Jason smiled again. "She's a lunatic. You'll get used to it."

"You're not going to turn into a lunatic too, are you?"

"I doubt that. I'm one of the nice Big Three." A spout of water jumped from its home and doused his head. He spat, shaking his head and brushing Bay water from his hair. "Point proven!" He called. "And we're talking about you, not to you!" Louisa's head broke the surface, sea green eyes shining with mischief. "No." Jason pointed out her. "Do not come back up until you're fully healed."

"Or what?" She challenged with a smirk.

"Or my good friend the praetor will deal with you. Isn't that right, Reyna?"

"I will most definitely think of something."

"Oooh, ya slightly sadistic, ain't ya, Rey-Rey?"

"Don't-"

"Can't stop, won't stop!" Louisa laughed. She raised her arms, bandages falling away, and splashed. The resultant wave came more from her influence than the movement, knocking her on-shore friends flat onto their backs and soaking them to the skin. "Haha, I'm the better Big Three! Suck it, Jay!"

Reyna spat out water, swiped at her face.

"That's it." She decided, sitting up with a huff. "Your cousin, your problem."

"I'm everyone's problem!" Louisa cackled. Jason sat up on his elbows, a slight frown creasing his forehead. Amusement twinkled in his eyes.

"That's putting it nicely, Lou."

"Ah, fuck off, Jay."