Author Note: This is only a work of fan fiction, not the real deal. I take no credit for the elements similar to and originating from the book The Lost Hero and the first published chapter of the actual The Son of Neptune; all the credit goes to Rick Riordan alone.

Chapter 6: Fortune's Wheel

My dreams were fractured that night. My mind was like a pane of glass smacked with a mallet; split into dozens of jagged shards held together by the pressure of the whole sheet, but impossible to mend together again. As I skipped between memories haphazardly, I tried desperately to make sense of them.

The storm of memories started with innocent similarity to my life. I was in an underground cavern, breathing in the thick, recycled air in deep sighs. The cavern was different in that the sides were of jagged rock, not clay, and covered in shining crystals. Gems of varieties I had never even heard described littered the stalactites. The floor of the cavern, through which a gentle brook gushed, was covered with a cushiony layer of moss. Plants crept up the glinting walls, using stalactites and stalagmites as arbors. Extinct creatures of every description mulled around the center of the cavern, huddled concernedly near a low, ornamented bed. A mastodon shared an anxious glance with me, then motioned its trunk back to the bed. My friends –Annabeth; a young, curly-horned satyr; a girl with frizzy red hair, tears in her jeans and in her eyes; a huge, soft-looking kid with only one eye – and I inched closer to the bed. We came into view of the creature laying upon it (which was the most tired, old, and translucent satyr I had ever seen), just in time for my dream to splinter and disappear. Before my next dream came into view, I felt a sting of sadness. The words The great god Pan is dead tolled morosely in my mind.

When the dreamscape finished swirling and colors settled into forms, I surveyed my surroundings; at least, I looked at them as best I could from lying prone on the sandy beach. I was on a tropical island in a body of water foreign to me; my internal compass had no idea where I was. That feeling, paired with the darkness of the sky and exoticness of the constellations left me with the distinct impression that I was more trapped than I had been in the cave. Sea breeze twirled through my hair, placing a light deposit of sand in my eyes and nose. I coughed, making an effort to sit up, but realizing I was even more trapped than I had originally realized. My body wouldn't respond to my thoughts, the muscle fibers and bones broken and torn beyond the boundaries of simple exhaustion. A beautiful girl, agelessly young, was watching over me and singing a magical healing tune. Pain that I hadn't noticed before began to fade. A silver flower glowed faintly in her hair: moonlace. My mind leaped; Ogygia, the island of Calypso, the cursed maiden, giver of the moonlace flower; her soul trapped in an unplottable land for eternity, completely alone, except for rare lovers who must always leave. But as the pain began to fade, so too did my consciousness, and I landed in a place not so different than Ogygia, Calypso's hymn ringing in my ears.

I was on an island again. Except this time, the island was about two hundred yards away, separated by a stretch of choppy water. I noticed I was paddling for my life: away from shore. I took me a moment to understand why. A giant Cyclops – blind, battle worn, and bellowing like the Erymanthian boar – danced an irritated jig on the shore as he hefted a boulder in hand. I shot through the water, parting currents and guiding them to aid my progress. A younger Cyclops, the same one as before, was lagging behind me slightly, having just escaped the blind Polyphemus. Before I knew what I was saying, a shout tore through my throat. "Come on, Tyson!"

The gentle Cyclops doubled his speed, darting through the water like aerodynamics weren't a problem. "I am coming, Percy!" He answered in my head. I had forgotten sons of Poseidon shared that ability; I felt a surge of familial love when I remembered Tyson was my brother.

Just when I thought we were home free, one of Polyphemus' boulders sailed over our heads and destroyed the ancient pirate vessel we'd been swimming towards. The rotted wood collapsed and sunk, sucking down the surrounding water, which, unfortunately, included us. I dove under the waves, my eyes peeled wide. I chased a shimmering bronze pelt into the depths, forcing the currents to my will.

I was still focusing hard of moving currents and an unexplainable urge to catch the pelt when I was supplanted in a completely different dream. The change was abrupt and vivid, unlike the lucid flow of my several other dreams. One moment I was a hundred feet underwater, the next I was standing in a strawberry field, facing a satyr.

And not just any satyr. It was the same one from the memory of Pan's death. For some reason, his face made me think of chicken cheese enchiladas. He was in deep concentration, chewing absently on something that looked suspiciously like the shards of a tin can. He was wringing his hands forcefully and trotting back and forth on his shaggy legs. The satyr's name popped into my head (to which I sort of thought, Well, finally. Your face and voice have been nagging me for three months, and I get to know who you are now?)

"Grover?" I asked cautiously.

His expression switched like a light. "Perrrrrrcy!" He cried excitedly. He did a little tap dance, or at least, he got as close as he could with cloven hooves. "Can you hear me?" His voice was obnoxiously loud, rattling in my head with unnecessary volume.

I winced a bit. "Uh, yeah. Calm down. Jeez."

"Sorry, I've just been trying to get through to you for so long –"

"Wait, that was you in my other dreams?" I sighed inwardly, a little chagrined and a lot resigned to my faulty memory. "Sorry, man. Must have been the amnesia. My head's been a little messed up recently."

"A little?" Grover laughed, an expression of pure happiness lighting up his face. "From what Annabeth says, you should have no memories at all. It's amazing you know who I am!"

Oh gods. Annabeth. "Wait," I said, dawning on a belated realization. "How did Annabeth know that I was going to have amnesia?"

Grover shifted a little uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Uh, well, we can talk about that later. It's kind of a long story. But have you found the Roman camp?"

I was surprised. "How do you know about legion camp?" I wondered aloud. I guessed the answer from his expression. "Fine, fine. Another long story. Yeah, I found it, all right. I'm actually on a mission for them right now-"

"Mission? Don't you mean quest?"

I sighed. "Fine. Quest. We're out in Wyoming."

Grover finally looked completely confounded. "What in the name of the Kindly Ones are you doing out in Wyoming? The only things out there are some minor gods and annoying wind spirits."

"Tell me about it," I said with an eye roll. "Those venti are something else. We're on our way to Minnesota. Gonna kick some giant butt."

"Wh- wait, you're going after giants? As a quest?" He sounded like I had just shot him in the chest.

"Yeah," I said slowly, measuring his response. I could tell he was hiding his concern. "We've been assigned to kill Gration. I don't know if we'll make it in time, though…"

Our communication channel was weakening. Grover was squinting and leaning forward to try and understand me, and I could hear my voice crackling a lot more than what it felt like in my throat.

"You better be alive when we come to get you," I thought I heard Grover say earnestly.

"Come to get me?" I asked.

He shook his head and said with underwater-like slowness, "Connection's bad. The – between – camps – prevents communica –"

The dream fizzled out to black. I woke up with a jolt, swinging into an electrified sitting position. My back was ramrod straight, my sleeping bag tangled in a thick knot, and everyone else still sleeping soundly in the early morning. Dawn still hadn't hit yet. Apparently Apollo wasn't as anxious to chase us awake as he'd been to find the maiden Meg mentioned. I shook my head and started packing my stuff, moving quietly to let the others sleep.

So silently the music of crickets was louder that the rustle it made, Bobby sat up in the darkness. He blinked at me, totally alert and awake, as though he'd never been asleep. His eyes shone through the darkness, clear but guarded.

"Morning," he whispered.

"Morning," I answered quietly, still privately wondering why he wasn't asleep. I said somewhat ironically, "Couldn't sleep either?" remembering the night before my challenge at camp.

He smiled slowly, his lips spreading weakly across his face. "Nah. Dreams." But the way he said it caught my attention. It was a lie.

Jason was tired of feeling constantly unsure. He had led his friends on a quest to save Hera, and they all got back alive; but somehow he couldn't shake the feeling that all was not well. His most pressing issue was the obvious one: if he couldn't fly the ship, the entire quest to save the world was doomed. In his concern over the matter, he found himself absently levitating instead of walking, hovering a few feet above the ground as gentle winds lifted his body and propelled it across the plains of camp.

It annoyed Piper to no end. Her more aggressive side appeared every once in a while to shout him down from the sky to walk "like a normal person". Though "normalcy" for a demigod was a difficult thing to define.

At the moment he was hovering in a cross-legged position near the outside of Bunker Nine, thinking hard about the quest to come. The rest of the camp was out participating in the usual camp activities, Annabeth having allowed a day of rest from the constant ship-building effort. The relaxation of hacking through monster dummies was a relief they all needed; except Jason. He thought hard every chance he got about the Roman camp – "legion camp", he remembered – and tried to dredge up his sluggish memories. A full day devoted to this task was just what he needed – every day they spent building the ship, shouted orders and busy messengers bussing through the Bunker, he was interrupted just before reaching some monumental idea in his musings.

After several minutes of silent thought, he sat up abruptly, coming out of his concentration. He knew where to get into the camp! There was a portal underneath the Golden Gate Bridge they could steer the ship through to get the entire boat into legion camp. It would place them in the middle of the lake. He felt suddenly proud of this thought, having remembered it all on his own (sometimes, Hera gave him a memory back on one of her oddly numerous visits to Bunker Nine). The knowledge also emboldened him with some confidence, knowing that in time, it really would all come back.

But unfortunately, his thoughts were interrupted for what seemed like the thousandth time. Leo bounded into the wood on his left, trotting towards the Bunker with his trusty tool belt slinging side to side on his waist.

"'Sup, man?" Leo asked breathlessly. "I was looking all over for you. One of the satyrs called the council."

Jason dropped to his feet, the winds falling out from underneath him. He thought he knew where this was going. "Grover?"

Leo scratched his head abashedly, muttering, "Dude, you know I'm bad with names –"

"Whatever." Together, they jogged back to camp, dodging the spewed venom of a Corinthian viper and jumping around one of the rusted dragon traps the Hephaestus cabin had yet to retrieve. "You guys should really get those things cleared up," Jason said slowly, knowing that dragon talk was dangerous with Leo. "Seeing as there's no… uh… rampant machines you're trying to catch."

As he expected, Leo's mouth dropped into a dangerously blank line. "Yeah, you don't need to remind me." They left it at that. Leo absently pulled a mint out of the tool belt and popped it in his mouth. He'd started doing that more recently since Festus had gone down. Jason thought it had something to do with all the times he'd worked on the dragon while sucking on the mints.

When they finally got back to camp five minutes later, the counselor headquarters (aka, the Big House rec room) was full of demigods, not all of them cabin leaders. Several naiads were there, struggling to stay in their watery forms and looking very concerned. Several dryads were there as well, including one he had met a few weeks ago named Juniper. Jason wasn't surprised to see her hovering behind Grover, who was at the head of the ping pong table. In addition to Grover, two older satyrs were squeezed into the back corner, grumbling about "lack of respect" or something or other. Tyson, Percy Jackson's younger half-brother, stooped against the far wall, trying to take up as little space as possible with his hulking form. He was fiddling with a few metal pieces, discreetly turning them over in his hands and rearranging them. Jason saw several older campers that weren't counselors hiding behind their cabin leaders, hoping to get away with being present at the meeting.

Everyone was tense and ready to start. There was much less frivolity than the last time he'd been in here. He abruptly felt guilty for being late and holding everyone up.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and scooted towards Piper, who welcomed him openly to a seat on her right.

"Sit down," Annabeth said, completely without inflection. He saw something in her eyes that – for some unexplainable reason – made him believe this meeting would yield good news. Very good news.

Grover nervously stroked his soul patch, shifting from hoof to hoof as he waited for everyone to settle down. "Uh…" he said quietly.

"Speak up," Annabeth hissed in his ear.

He did. "Uh, hi. I've called the council."

"We know," Clarisse said disinterestedly, cleaning her teeth with a dagger. "Why?"

"I finally got through to Percy."

The faint hum of conversation in the air died down completely. Then Clarisse dismissed his proclamation. "You said that a week ago. But all you did was see a picture of him looking stupidly at you – which he does all the time – in what might have been just a dream. How can you tell the difference between dreams and the empathy link?"

Jason was surprised to see Grover inflate like an angered cat rather than back down like he'd come to expect of the young satyr. Grover adopted an uncharacteristically fearsome glare. "For starters," Grover said boldly, his voice ringing over the disquieted murmuring in the room, "he spoke to me." Everyone's mouths fell open at that. Annabeth leaned forward, ready to hear Percy's words. But first, Grover finished his thought, berating Clarisse. "Second, it was him, all right? I think I know who my best friend is. Third, I'm a satyr, so I can say I know a fair amount more nature magic than you, little miss I-hack-people-up-for-fun."

Everyone cheered at that, leaving Clarisse looking stricken. She growled and twirled her dagger menacingly, but kept her mouth firmly closed.

"What'd Percy say?" called out an unnamed voice from the back. The air was charged with excitement.

"He said he's fine," Grover said with a smile. "His amnesia is healing, he knew who I was, and he's was at the Roman camp for a bit, but they sent him on a quest straightaway – "

"Typical," Chiron snorted under his breath. "Send a new arrival off on a mission immediately. Very Lupa."

"- to kill a giant."

Instant pandemonium. The rec room erupted into sound as every demigod, nymph, Cyclops, satyr, and other mythological creature started to talk, confused and worried. Annabeth was the only one to remain calm, though her eyes betrayed the chaos she felt. "What?" she demanded over the noise.

Grover met Annabeth's stormy eyes. "That's what I thought, but he seemed pretty confident that they'd manage their quest. Maybe their quest prophecy said he'd succeed."

"Well, the only thing we can do now –" Annabeth stopped. No one could hear her over their own chatter. "HEY!" She shouted over the din. The room dimmed, demigods and creatures alike paying rapt attention. "The only thing we can do now is have faith in lady Styx's protection and Percy's skills. We have to finish the ship as fast as possible, so we can coordinate our arrival with Percy's return to the camp. I think if we show up a fortnight or so after he does, that'll be optimal for our acceptance into their camp and also the earliest we can get on the move to start this quest. Any objections?"

No one said anything for a moment, until a eight year old Nemesis demigod (how did she even get in the room?) raised her hand. Annabeth nodded to her. She squeaked in a tinny voice, "What's a fortnight?"

No matter how cheerfully the sun shone through the tree branches, how gently a dry, cool breeze twisted through the trunks and stirred day-old golden monster dust, how sweetly the air smelled of pine and wild mint, nothing could calm the outraged Bobby storming through the clearing. He was like a force of nature, tearing through the leaf litter and brush, yanking aside shrubs and branches with fury.

"I can't believe this!" he bellowed. "I can't believe this!"

The rest of us, packed and ready to travel, were standing in the middle of the clearing. We watched his irate cyclical progress with trepidation, not wanting to disturb his agitation for fear of a violent confrontation. I'd never seen the son of Mars like this before, and I certainly didn't want to get in his way.

Bobby jerked to a halt in his rampage, huffing and frowning at Simba resentfully. My griffon stared back evenly, not the slightest note of concern in his regal expression. "I suppose we'll have to all pack on him, then?"

"Hey, you don't have to act so mean," Hazel snapped, crossing her arms. "It's your own fault. If you had thought to bring the bike with you, this wouldn't be a problem. Though I can't say I'm sad to see it go."

I glanced down to the letter in my hands. It was written on thick, laminated paper, the message inscribed with permanent ink.

"You leave your bike like that

And I'll leave you a note like this." – M

We'd found it posted on an old oak, Bobby's motorcycle nowhere to be found.

"Hey, it's okay. You'll get it back eventually, I'm sure," I said placatingly.

He seemed to consider ignoring me, then burst, "Yeah? When's the last time a god gave you a gift after rescinding an old one?"

I grappled for a hold on my waning patience, then said evenly, "I don't remember." That sucked some of the fight out of him; he realized that he'd struck a memory-related nerve in me.

But before he could say anything else, Reyna clipped, "Anyway, there's nothing we can do to change it now. We'll just have to keep moving."

"Guess you're right," Bobby mumbled, looking down.

A question died in my throat as they all turned to the northwest and started marching through the woods, making more noise than necessary. Reyna, Hazel and Bobby were scanning our surroundings scrupulously, twitching towards every noise and rustle in the breeze. They seemed practiced at it, like they did this on every mission. Meg fell back next to me, walking slowly, her face displaying the same bemusement as mine. "What are they doing?" I asked her quietly.

"No idea," she answered.

After a pause, I voiced my real question: "Any clue as to how they plan to get to Minnesota in time on foot?"

"No idea," she repeated. We walked for a few seconds in silence, watching the three Romans carefully. She added abruptly, "They're searching for something. See the way they're all looking in different directions?"

"Are they expecting a motorcycle to just pop out of the dirt?" I mused sarcastically.

At my hushed voice, Hazel turned back with an exasperated sigh. "Look, for this to work, you guys have to shut up."

"What, exactly, needs to work? Do you mind telling us what you're doing?" I demanded.

"The gods will help us," Reyna said confidently.

"Why? I thought the gods weren't talking to us," I said.

Meg glanced at me sharply. "The gods have stopped communing with demigods?"

"Yeah," I answered, waiting for some kind of reply from the Romans. But they said nothing, instead moving further forward and scanning the woods meticulously. "They stopped about three months ago. Hera visited me once to test me and Lupa is still at legion camp, but other than that, I haven't gotten so much as a whisper from the gods." Not true, I thought suddenly, remembering Poseidon's traveling advice yesterday.

"This doesn't bode well. The gods' silence. The rising Gigantes. Last time this happened…" Meg dropped ominously. I realized that she had been alive during the last Giant war. She knew the signs. She also knew practically everything about Greek demigods, being one herself.

I murmured to her, "Listen, you and I both know our heritage is different – older – than theirs." I gestured to my friends. Meg's eyes shone, understanding catching the light. She nodded slowly. "So I need to know – you're the maiden you described in your story last night, aren't you?" She studied me carefully, her eyelids low, then nodded slowly. "Was the huge snake Hera created as a weapon called Python?"

Meg's eyes grew wide. "Why do you ask?"

"Python told me that the deity who created him stole my memories and could return them to me. I need to find that god or goddess, so I know who I am. So I'll ask you again: Did Hera create Python?"

Meg nodded slowly, her eyebrows furrowed deeply. "Yes. But Percy… I would be careful how you approach her on the subject. An insubordinate attitude might prompt her to destroy you."

Before I had a chance to respond, the Roman's froze in front of us, staring off to the right. I mimicked their pose, listening and watching intently, but didn't sense anything at first. Then a soft hissing noise tingled in my ears, followed by a white vapor snaking through the trees towards us. I pulled Riptide from my pocket and unsheathed it, preparing for a fight. At the sight of my lengthening sword, the mist turned dark red – blood red.

Reyna snapped at me in a whisper, "Put it away!", her eyes never leaving the accumulating clouds. When I followed her orders – very, very unwillingly – the mist returned to a milky grey, and it came towards us slower. "Deimones," she explained.

"Demons? You're having us wait to be killed by demons?" I demanded.

"Quiet," she clipped. The mist globbed into a miniature cumulous cloud, hanging at eye level in the air in front of us. "It won't hurt us." The cloud revolved and swirled, suspended midair as if it was waiting for something. The colors shifted from grey to blue to black to white as it waited, making it seem almost impatient. Reyna stepped forward enough that the cloud focused on her, smoothly gliding towards her. She then stated clearly, "We are seeking a guide to the place where Gration and Damysos rise."

A voice, much like the one of Python, slithered around in the air. You have found your guide. Follow me, and you will reach your destination within the proper time. The cloud moved away from us, cutting through the woods like they weren't there. We all followed after it, stumbling through the brush in our haste.

"What is that thing?" I asked lowly.

"I told you, it's a deimone. They're the minor gods of missions, travels, woodlands, and guidance. The gods send them to help us on every mission, if we need it," Reyna said calmly.

"That sucks," I muttered, feeling like the Greek demigods got the short end of the stick.

Bobby looked at me strangely, like I was from outer space. "What's bad about it? It gets us where we need to be faster than we could hope to go alone."

"Uh, nothing," I said quickly.

"They're also the Mercury Division's most reliable source of information. Because deimones are constant travelers and closely related to the winds, they know pretty much everything. All you have to do is track one down and ask a question, and it'll give you all the information is has. They're really kind spirits. I don't know why modern English used their name as the root for the word meaning 'devil'," Reyna expounded.

We followed the cloud through the woods, across busy roads, along creeks and slews, and over hills so steep they would've made Mount Olympus jealous. We walked for several hours, taking a break whenever the deimone slowed enough to allow it, and hiking at top speed when it didn't. Hazel cleared the path for us by whistling, which made it easier and faster to progress. Regardless of how fast we walked, I couldn't shake the knowledge that we would never make it to Minnesota at this pace. I said nothing on the subject, though, in case the deimone had something special in mind; however, it didn't seem too: we turned back and retraced our steps so many times it seemed like the spirit had no idea what it was doing.

Out of nowhere, the spirit stopped, and we all clunked to a halt. There was nothing in the area, just more pine needles and stinging nettle. Just as I was about to ask, a being popped into existence before us. It was a seven foot tall woman, garbed in a long dress fit for a combination of Elvis Presley and a hippie. Metal necklaces hung from her neck, clanging together like wind chimes, and the psychedelic colors twisting across her body made her hard to look at. Her face, though, was the worst part. Her hair was teased into a frizzy maroon afro, tamped down with hair bands and clips of all colors. Her face shone with a manic light, her grin wide, toothy, and rotten.

"Hello, children," she said in a fortune teller's mystic voice. It was either that, or the voice of a pedophile. "Care to play a game?"

In the presence of the madwoman, the deimone bailed on us and dissipated into the wind. "No, thanks, we're good," I said, inching to the side. The rest of my group followed, keeping their eyes on the creature-person and their hands on their weaponry.

"No," the woman boomed, her voice suddenly stern and solid. "No, I think you really ought to play. It's not healthy for children to be as stressed and ill-informed as you are."

Ill-informed? I wondered."Fine, we'll play your game," I said with as much confidence as I could muster. "But," I added, before the witch could get any crazy ideas, "You have to beat one of us in combat first." I looked over my team, all of which were staring back at me in confusion. We have to figure out what she can do before we can play her 'game', I wanted to say, but I held back.

"I agree to your terms, demigod. Which of you shall it be?" the woman asked formally.

I checked on the group's physical condition. Though Bobby was our strongest fighter – son of the war god, and all that – he was in no condition to beat up a mythological creature; the morning of strenuous hiking and his chest wound had seen to that. While Hazel was the most physically adept at the moment, but her nature skills would likely not help her against a really difficult foe. I had some idea of what Meg could do, but not enough to send her straight into battle. Reyna was the only logical choice, but I didn't like to force people to fight. I would have to do it; besides, I was invincible and a son of Poseidon, one of the three most powerful gods.

"Me," I said, stepping forward. Reyna objected, volunteering, but Bobby held her back. The woman already reached forward and shook my hand to seal the deal.

Our surroundings flashed, and we were suddenly in what looked like the ancient Coliseum, fully repaired and full size. The stands were packed with cheering people dressed in togas: it was as if she had transported us back in time to fight in the real gladiator dome. My team was seated in the top box, next to a man dressed like Caesar, a golden laurel draped on his head.

The woman stood opposite me, staring me down through classic gladiator gear. She hefted a spear and steadied her footing. Before she charged, she said, "My name is Lady Fortune, Perseus Jackson. I know everything there is to know about you, including your weak spot. For Fortune and her sisters Fate know all."

Before I knew what was happening, she started her attacks, her spear dancing perilously close to my body, but never connecting. I threw her attacks away with late blocks and sidesteps, barely avoiding her spear, though I knew I didn't really have to. Fortune advanced with terrifying speed for a hippie, dodging my thrusts and jabs. She managed to get behind me, and my spine tingled ferociously just before she poked her spear lightly against my back – right on my one weak spot. An electric spear of fear arced through me; I collapsed to the ground with Fortune standing triumphantly above, her spear holding me down with gentle power. She pressed down, sending a shock of pain more intense than anything I remembered from before bathing in the Styx. "You win," I said loudly.

Instantly, we were transported back to the wooded clearing. Everyone was standing in the exact same positions as before, still staring at me. "What do you mean, 'You win'?" Bobby demanded, stalking towards me like he meant to slap me.

"You just saw her beat me –" I started, perplexed. My main worry now was that they had seen my weak spot, not that we had to play whatever sick game Fortune could concoct.

"No, you just stared at her and then admitted defeat," Hazel said, looking just as puzzled as I felt. Apparently that had been all in my head. I glanced at Fortune: she had a mischievous grin on her face.

"Just a taste of the future, dear," she said mysteriously.

"I'll explain later," I murmured to my team. "Fine, we'll play your game," I said to Fortune.

She gave me a crocodile smile and waved her hand in the air, conjuring a massive, up-right wheel. In the wedges, phrases like "Eye of the Tiger!", "Skydiving!", and "Purple Sock Monster!" were accompanied by illustrations depicting a group of tigers eating a demigod, a kid skydiving without a parachute, and – well, the last one was hard to describe. But it wasn't pretty. Fortune produced a chipper smile, like this was the most fun anyone could have. And for her, I suppose that was true. "Spin the wheel or die, fools! Find out what Lady Luck holds in store for you!"

Hazel approached the wheel apprehensively, and grabbed on to one of the metal prongs along the wedge divisions. She gripped it tight and sent the wheel spinning, the ticker clacking loudly against the wedges as it spun. The wheel resembled Fortunes clothes, when in motion, because the colors blurred together in a tie-dye effect. As the wheel began to slow, the phrases became clear again and we all tensed, trying to read the fates and predict which would land under the ticker. It slowed to a crawl as Hazel backed up nervously to stand beside the rest of us.

The ticker click, click, clicked to a halt. Under its bright red arrow lay the words –

"One free question!" Fortune said, sounding completely depressed. The ticker was only barely pointing on the wedge, about to cross the line into the area for the phrase, "Tomahawk throwing practice!", with an artistic rendition of the goddess throwing axes at a demigod suspended on the wheel.

We all let out a sigh of relief. Reyna stepped forward, looking positively buoyant, and asked, extremely careful with her wording, "Will you take us to the rising ground of the twin giants?"

Fortune's lips perked into a smug expression. "I will. But you are too late."

The background of the forest faded from existence in the same way I had been transported to the arena. I wondered, Is this real, or just a vision? But something about it told me it was real: we were in a snowy clearing, two masses of mud and tree root protruding high from the ground – twenty or thirty feet. The rest of the team was standing right next to me, staring at the spires with the same awe and fear I felt.

"I didn't expect it to be this easy," Reyna said suspiciously.

"Me neither," Hazel agreed.

"I thought we saw this place yesterday evening in your scrying glass, Meg. They weren't even close to this tall," I said slowly.

Meg shook her head in bemusement. "I don't know what happened. Normally this wouldn't happen. It would take them much longer to rise. But while we're here, we might as well–"

"–try to take them down," I finished for her.