They reappeared on the wraparound porch of a large house. A few kids were having a snowball fight with the wood nymphs at the edge of the forest. The porch was decorated with strings of red and yellow fireballs that gave off heat but didn't catch anything on fire.

In the distance on one side, a hill climbed its way upwards to the sky. To the other side, the valley swept its way to the shore of a sparkling lake. When Nico had left St. Dismas' it had been late evening but wherever Hermes had brought him it was still light. The landscape was dotted with ancient buildings that looked like Greek architecture including an open-air pavilion overlooking the lake, an amphitheatre, and a circular arena. A dirt track circled around a flat area of grass, overlooked by spectator's stands. A dozen kids around Bianca's age shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless he was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, a man sat with his back to them. Nico could see the edges of a blanket trailing close to the floor on either side of him.

"Chiron," Hermes called.

The man jumped and turned, his face breaking into a smile. He had curly brown hair and a scruffy beard, and kind warm eyes, lined with the creases of past smiles. Chiron turned and as he did his entire chair turned with him. Nico's cheeks darkened when he saw that the man sat in a wheelchair. He had never seen someone with a chair such as that outside of the hospital when he had broken his arm. He wore a fuzzy sweater with a hoof-print design on it, and he had a blanket on his lap that almost hid his wheelchair completely.

"Good morning, Lord Hermes, and–" his eyes fell on Nico. "Hello, my boy." Nico groaned inwardly. Was this some kind of punishment? Did nobody speak Italian in his father's world? English. The bane of his existence. The language wasn't taught at his school and he had fallen out of practice with it since his relocation back to Italy.

"This is Nico di Angelo," Hermes introduced. "The Council has sent him to be trained. Here, I have the transcript of the past meeting." Chiron pushed himself closer and accepted Hermes' file produced from his bag. "This should tell you all you need to know."

"Thank you," said Chiron. "Will you be staying for tea?"

"Afraid not," said Hermes, patting his mailbag. "Duty calls."

Chiron inclined his head in understanding and Hermes gave Nico a parting slap on the shoulder. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it."

Before Nico could ask what he meant, the god had disappeared in a burst of light.

Chiron smiled at Nico and shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair.

But that had to be impossible.

The blanket fell from his lap as he rose, but the legs didn't move. His waist grew rising above his belt. Nico could hardly believe his eyes. He kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man Nico had ever seen. Chiron's upper body smoothly grafted to the front of an animal. Muscle and sinew under thick white hair. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the wheelchair was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a pair of fake human legs attached.

"Col cavalo," Nico murmured.

Chiron laughed. "Yes, quite. Now, come," he gestured for Nico to follow, "I'll give you a tour."

The farmhouse was easily four storeys tall and was painted a mossy green. The roof was grey shingles and held a crumbling chimney and brass eagle weather vane.

The camp included an archery range, lake, stables, the javelin range, amphitheatre, and an arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights. Last, Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the water. There were a dozen stone picnic tables sitting in rows out in the open air. The mess hall had no roof or walls and Nico couldn't help but think it must be awfully cold.

There were still more places to visit. The metal shop where campers forged their own weapons, the arts-and-crafts room, and the climbing wall, which consisted of two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava, and clashed together.

As Chiron lead Nico closer to the woods, the sun was beginning to set. The woods were huge, taking up at least a quarter of the valley.

"The woods are largely inhabited by monsters," Chiron warned, "if you care to try your luck, but do go armed. Do you have your own sword and shield?"

"I get weapons?" Nico practically jumped for joy. "Che figata!"

Chiron chuckled. "I'll take that as a no. We can visit the armoury later."

Twelve cabins lay nestled at the edge of the woods. Nico had never seen such a bizarre group of buildings before. They were arranged in a U, just like the thrones he had seen on Olympus. They each had a large brass number above the door with odds on the left side and evens on the right. Other than their matching numbers, they could not have looked more different.

Number nine had smokestacks, like a miniature production factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made of grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold and gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, were nearly identical. Cabin one was the largest, its polished bronze doors shimmered so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful, with slimmer columns garlanded with flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks. Cabin three stood to the left, a low building of rough grey stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral. It looked as though the walls themselves had been lifted from the ocean floor. Number five was bright red and its roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed boar's head with glassy black eyes hung over the doorway.

All twelve of the cabins faced a commons area about the size of a football pitch, dotted with Greek statues, and fountains. A huge stone-lined fire pit sat smouldering in the centre of the green.

A girl about Nico's age was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. She seemed oddly familiar. Without waiting for Chiron's permission, Nico inched toward her, gauging her reaction to his nearness. The only girl he had recently spoken to alone was his sister. Whenever his school mixed with the girls from down the road, Pietro was plastered to his side or they were under the strict supervision of their teachers.

"Hello," said Nico.

The girl looked up at him, unsurprised, with a small smile. "Hello, Nico."

"You know my name?"

She nodded, prodding at the coals with her poker. "I saw you on Olympus. My name is Hestia."

"You're the one who made them save me!"

Her smile widened, and a pink tinge dusted her face that had nothing to do with the heat of the flames. "I helped. A war between the gods is not desirable for any of us. I merely help where I can to keep the balance."

"That's… thank you."

She nodded. "I sense that you will do great things, Nico di Angelo. Now go. You have many friends to meet. I will speak to you again in time."

Chiron stood waiting for Nico outside of cabin eleven.

"You spoke to Lady Hestia," he observed.

"She's nice," said Nico, adjusting the sling around his neck.

Chiron gave him a curious look. "Yes," he said, "I suppose she is. This is cabin eleven," he continued, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Cabin eleven was by far the least remarkable of the group. Its brown paint peeled off the walls, revealing the greying wood beneath. The threshold was worn down and clear cracks striped the chipped windows. A doctor's symbol, the winged pole with two entwined snakes, hung over the doorway. The door was too low for Chiron to enter, but he stood in the doorway, watching intently. The crowd of campers inside looked up when Nico entered, and bowed respectfully to Chiron in the doorway.

"This is Nico di Angelo," said Chiron, by way of greeting. "He will be staying with you from now on. I expect you will all make him feel welcome."

"Undetermined?" somebody said from the back of the room.

Chiron hesitated. "Undetermined," he said, after a long pause.

Everybody groaned.

"Now, now," said Chiron. "Let's not be rude. Good luck, Nico. I will see you at dinner." He trotted off without another word, leaving Nico to meet his new cabin mates.

Nico looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some eyeing him as if they were waiting for a chance to pick his pockets. He took a deep breath. This couldn't be that hard. He had done this before when he had first arrived at St. Dismas'. He could make a home here, however hostile the campers appeared. He could do this.

An older teenager stepped forward. He wore an aviator's jacket and his light brown hair was cut military-style short. His face was pale like he'd spent too much time inside. He offered Nico his left hand to shake without hesitation and Nico immediately saw why. His right hand was a pink and sore, wrinkled and swollen grotesquely. Clean white bandages wrapped tightly around his palm and wove their way up his wrist.

"Welcome, Nico," he said, "name's James. I'm head councillor. You can have that bunk in the corner right over there for now."

"For now?" Nico asked.

"You're still undetermined," James explained. "Cabin eleven takes all newcomers and visitors. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travellers. Once you're determined, you'll be moved to your own parent's cabin."

Nico looked at the rickety old bunk he had been given. There was nothing to mark the space as his. Everything he owned had been left at the school and his aunt's house. He would probably never have any of it back.

He looked back to James.

"But I know who my Papa is."

James raised his eyebrows. "That so? Then who's your parent?"

"Hades," Nico said without hesitation.

The atmosphere in the cabin changed instantly. Even those campers that had at first looked friendly, now wore cold, stony expressions. James' eyes darkened.

"You shouldn't say things like that, kid," he warned. "It ain't clever."

"It's true!" Nico insisted.

James shook his head at him, all friendliness vanished. "Just leave it. It's time for dinner."

The mess hall could not have been more different from the dining room at Nico's school. There were around fifty campers, a much smaller number than Nico had been expecting. Each cabin had its own table complete with a white tablecloth with purple trim. Two of the tables were entirely devoid of occupants, cabin one's only had a single camper.

Everyone was talking, roughhousing, and generally being far more rambunctious than would ever be allowed at St. Dismas'. Torches burned brightly on the columns, and a brazier crackled in the centre of the pavilion. At the pavilion, torches blazed around the marble columns.

Nico gaped at the occupants of cabin twelve. They had furry legs and hooves that definitely belonged on farmyard animals instead of adolescents, and horns peeking out of their hair. Chiron stood to one side in his centaur form watching the campers fall into the mess hall with casual eyes.

When everyone had found their places, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. "To the gods!"

Everybody else raised their glasses as well. Nico followed suit, this routine was familiar to him and reminiscent of mealtime salutes at his school. "To the gods!"

Wood nymphs came forward with platters of food: grapes, apples, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and barbecued meat. Nico's glass was empty and he glanced around for a nymph with a jug or pitcher. When he couldn't see one, he turned to the girl beside him, intending to ask for help, but stopped short when he saw what she was doing. She spoke casually to her glass, giving the object itself an order for what she wanted to drink.

"Pepsi Cola," she requested. There was the sound of pouring liquid and the glass filled with a sparkling caramel drink.

Nico looked at his own glass apprehensively. "Lemonsoda?" he tried. He took a cautious sip, and sighed happily, smacking his lips. It was perfect.

Campers passed platters around the tables to each other; Nico grinned when the smoked brisket reached his place. He loaded his plate and passed the platter along to the girl beside him. She took it, not meeting his eyes.

Nico looked around at the rest of his table, wondering idly if there were daily prayers here as well. When everyone had served themselves, they rose and went to the fire in the centre of the pavilion, bringing their plates with them. Nico frowned, lifting his plate and following them. Were they ever going to get to eat?

The campers surrounded the fire and Nico hopped on his tiptoes to see over people's shoulders. Everyone took a portion of their meal and scraped it into the fire, always the best food on their plates. The juiciest beef, warmest, most buttery roll, the ripest strawberries.

"Burnt offerings for the gods," James murmured in his ear.

James nudged him forward and Nico approached the fire. He glanced at the other campers for a moment, self-conscious of what he was being asked to do. He scraped his bread roll and a bunch of red grapes into the flames. Papa, he prayed silently. He didn't know what to say. Thank you, he finished finally, for saving us.

As he moved aside to let the next camper through, he caught a whiff of the smoke. It smelled nothing like burning food. It smelled like hot chocolate, and flowers, and a spring day after rain.

When everybody had returned to their seats and finished eating their meals, Chiron pounded his hoof again for attention. The chaotic noise of the mess hall quieted.

"Good evening, campers," he said in a carrying voice. "Capture the flag is cancelled this Friday as we still have not finished removing the myrmeke infestation." The campers around the tables groaned as one. Chiron weathered the protests with little more than an indulgent smile. "As well, we have a new camper today. Nico di Angelo, welcome to camp."

There was a collective gasp. The girl beside Nico scrambled backwards from the bench and the boy across from him pointed in open-mouthed shock. Nico tipped his head back, looked directly upwards and gasped. Above his head swirled a dark mist, within which shimmered a Greek battle helm of pure darkness.

"Is that…?" said James.

"The symbol of Hades," Chiron said grimly. "It is determined," he announced. "Hades. King of the Underworld, God of the Dead."

The campers backed away. Nico grinned, looking at James. "See?" he said. "I told you.

James shook his head, lips thinned in disapproval. "Not good, kid."

The pavilion around them was total silence and Nico's smile faltered. Wasn't this a good thing?

"Come now," said Chiron. He smiled but the expression was odd, forced, and didn't reach his eyes. "Nico here is–"

"A dago." It was the girl who had spoken. The one who had sat beside Nico only minutes earlier. "And I'm not having a dago Hades kid in my cabin!"

"Mary–" Chiron tried.

"She's right," James interrupted. "We should get to choose who stays in our cabin. If we don't want him there, he can leave."

Nico's head whipped between Chiron and the Hermes campers like he was watching a tennis match.

"James," Chiron's voice turned dangerous. "That is enough. Nico, like all demigods who pass through this camp, has the right to Cabin Eleven's hospitality."

The girl, Mary, got to her feet. "Well, maybe we aren't feeling very hospitable." The other campers murmured their ascent, nodding, and shooting Nico black looks.

Chiron looked between the two Hermes campers with a defeated expression. "Very well," he sighed. "I see you will not let the matter drop."

Nico suddenly felt very small and insignificant. "Where am I going to sleep?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"You'll stay in the house," said Chiron. "The guest room is yours."

Chiron shooed the rest of the campers in the direction of the campfire, informing James that he would be in charge, and turned to herd Nico into the Big House. Nico looked back over his shoulder, as Chiron guided him down from the dining pavilion.

He was lead into the Big House and through the hall into a sitting room where a pair of leather couches faced a stone fireplace. Chiron backed into his magic wheelchair again and assumed his guise as a regular mortal. Nico was directed to seat himself on the nearest sofa and took his place gingerly.

"Well, Nico," said Chiron, settling into position across from him, "I can imagine that was not an entirely pleasant experience." From anyone else, the statement would have sounded taunting, but from Chiron it was only kind and perhaps just a little sad. "But I assure you that Mary is not a bad person, she is misguided, only a child still–"

"She is older than I am," Nico mumbled.

"Ah." Chiron faltered slightly. He cleared his throat. "James… he has been through quite a lot these past years. He will come around. It is difficult to overcome such experiences."

"What happened to his hand?" Nico blurted, thinking back to the puffy, red skin of James' fingers.

"That story is not mine to tell," said Chiron. "You will have to ask James yourself. Now, this arm of yours." Nico glanced down at the canvas sling around his arm. "How long has it been broken?"

"A few weeks," said Nico. "The matron was going to take me to the doctor again soon."

"It should be almost healed," said Chiron, "let me take a look." He moved closer to sit beside Nico and tugged the knot of the sling, releasing the taut canvas. Nico hissed at the ache of the stiff joint.

"Are you a doctor then?" he asked, submitting to Chiron's examination.

"Of a kind. I have been a physician for many years, there isn't a broken bone I haven't seen. Ah," he said, flexing Nico's wrist slightly, "this looks to be healing nicely. No swelling, no bruise, does it hurt much?"

"Only a little," said Nico. "If it's moved."

"I have something that should finish healing this up."

Chiron's eyes twinkled, and he moved away from Nico to an old-looking, wooden china cabinet against the far wall. He opened the central drawer, rummaging for a moment and withdrew an aluminium lunch pail. He unlatched it as he returned and took out a bite-sized piece of what looked like biscotti.

"Eat, it will help."

Nico gave him a disbelieving look. As much as he loved biscotti, he wasn't aware of any magical healing properties attributed to pastries. He took the food apprehensively and took a cautious nibble.

Chiacchiere. Just like his aunt made at his summer home in Venice. He eagerly took another bite. Warmth spread through his entire body right to the tips of his fingers and toes. He was filled with a new, eager energy.

The hurt of the campers' rejection didn't completely abate but he thought he felt the ghost of a touch on his cheek. As if his mother had only just touched her hand to his face, the way she used to when she assured him that everything was okay, that the war would not be the end of the world, that his Papa would always protect him.