THE SNAKE-HAIRED LADIES WERE starting to annoy Percy.

They should have died three days ago when he dropped a crate of bowling balls on them at the Napa Bargain Mart. They should have died two days ago when he ran over them with a police car in Martinez. They definitely should have died this morning when he cut off their heads in Tilden Park. No matter how many times Percy killed them and watched them crumble to powder, they just kept re-forming like large evil dust bunnies. He couldn't even seem to outrun them.

He reached the top of the hill and caught his breath. How long since he'd last killed them? Maybe two hours. They never seemed to stay dead longer than that. The past few days, he'd hardly slept. He'd eaten whatever he could scrounge—vending machine gummy bears, stale bagels, even a Jack in the Crack burrito, which was a new personal low. His clothes were torn, burned, and splattered with monster slime.

He'd only survived this long because the two snake-haired-ladies—gorgons, they called themselves—couldn't seem to kill him either. Their claws didn't cut his skin. Their teeth broke whenever they tried to bite him. But Percy couldn't keep going much longer. Soon he'd collapse from exhaustion, and then—as hard as he was to kill, he was pretty sure the gorgons would find a way.

Where to run?

He scanned his surroundings. Under different circumstances, he might've enjoyed the view. To his left, golden hills rolled inland, dotted with lakes, woods, and a few herds of cows. To his right, the flatlands of Berkeley and Oakland marched west—a vast checkerboard of neighbourhoods, with several million people who probably did not want their morning interrupted by two monsters and a filthy demigod.

Farther west, San Francisco Bay glittered under a silvery haze. Past that, a wall of fog had swallowed most of San Francisco, leaving just the tops of skyscrapers and the towers of the Golden Gate Bridge.

A vague sadness weighed on Percy's chest. Something told him he'd been to San Francisco before. The city had some connection to Annabeth—the only person he could remember from his past. His memory of her was frustratingly dim. The wolf had promised he would see her again and regain his memory—if he succeeded in his journey.

Should he try to cross the bay?

It was tempting. He could feel the power of the ocean just over the horizon. Water always revived him. Salt water was the best. He'd discovered that two days ago when he had strangled a sea monster in the Carquinez Strait. If he could reach the bay, he might be able to make a last stand. Maybe he could even drown the gorgons. But the shore was at least two miles away. He'd have to cross an entire city.

He hesitated for another reason. The she-wolf Lupa had taught him to sharpen his senses—to trust the instincts that had been guiding him south. His homing radar was tingling like crazy now. The end of his journey was close—almost right under his feet. But how could that be? There was nothing on the hilltop.

The wind changed. Percy caught the sour scent of reptiles. A hundred yards down the slope, something rustled through the woods—snapping branches, crunching leaves, hissing.

Gorgons.

For the millionth time, Percy wished their noses weren't so good. They had always said they could smell him because he was a demigod—the half-blood son of some old Roman god. Percy had tried rolling in mud, splashing through creeks, even keeping air-freshener sticks in his pockets so he'd have that new car smell; but apparently demigod stink was hard to mask.

He scrambled to the west side of the summit. It was too steep to descend. The slope plummeted eighty feet, straight to the roof of an apartment complex built into the hillside. Fifty feet below that, a highway emerged from the hill's base and wound its way toward Berkeley.

Great. No other way off the hill. He'd managed to get himself cornered.

He stared at the stream of cars flowing west toward San Francisco and wished he were in one of them. Then he realised the highway must cut through the hill. There must be a tunnel…right under his feet.

His internal radar went nuts. He was in the right place, just too high up. He had to check out that tunnel. He needed a way down to the highway—fast.

He slung off his backpack. He'd managed to grab a lot of supplies at the Napa Bargain Mart: a portable GPS, duct tape, lighter, superglue, water bottle, camping roll, a Comfy Panda Pillow Pet (as seen on TV), and a Swiss army knife—pretty much every tool a modern demigod could want. But he had nothing that would serve as a parachute or a sled.

That left him two options: jump eighty feet to his death, or stand and fight. Both options sounded pretty bad.

He cursed and pulled his pen from his pocket.

The pen didn't look like much, just a regular cheap ballpoint, but when Percy uncapped it, it grew into a glowing bronze sword. The blade balanced perfectly. The leather grip fit his hand like it had been custom designed for him. Etched along the guard was an Ancient Greek word Percy somehow understood: Anaklusmos—Riptide.

He'd woken up with this sword his first night at the Wolf House—two months ago? More? He'd lost track. He'd found himself in the courtyard of a burned-out mansion in the middle of the woods, wearing shorts, an orange T-shirt, and a leather necklace with a bunch of strange clay beads. Riptide had been in his hand, but Percy had had no idea how he'd gotten there, and only the vaguest idea who he was. He'd been barefoot, freezing, and confused. And then the wolves came...

Right next to him, a familiar voice jolted him back to the present: "There you are!"

Percy stumbled away from the gorgon, almost falling off the edge of the hill.

It was the smiley one—Beano.

Okay, her name wasn't really Beano. As near as Percy could figure, he was dyslexic, because words got twisted around when he tried to read. The first time he'd seen the gorgon, posing as a Bargain Mart greeter with a big green button that read: Welcome! My name is STHENO, he thought it said BEANO.

She was still wearing her green Bargain Mart employee vest over a flower-print dress. If you looked just at her body, you might think she was somebody's dumpy old grandmother—until you looked down and realised she had rooster feet. Or you looked up and saw bronze boar tusks sticking out of the corners of her mouth. Her eyes glowed red, and her hair was a writhing nest of bright green snakes.

The most horrible thing about her? She was still holding her big silver platter of free samples: Crispy Cheese 'n' Wieners. Her platter was dented from all the times Percy had killed her, but those little samples looked perfectly fine. Stheno just kept toting them across California so she could offer Percy a snack before she killed him. Percy didn't know why she kept doing that, but if he ever needed a suit of armour, he was going to make it out of Crispy Cheese 'n' Wieners. They were indestructible.

"Try one?" Stheno offered.

Percy fended her off with his sword. "Where's your sister?"

"Oh, put the sword away," Stheno chided. "You know by now that even Celestial bronze can't kill us for long. Have a Cheese 'n' Wiener! They're on sale this week, and I'd hate to kill you on an empty stomach."

"Stheno!" The second gorgon appeared on Percy's right so fast, he didn't have time to react. Fortunately she was too busy glaring at her sister to pay him much attention. "I told you to sneak up on him and kill him!"

Stheno's smile wavered. "But, Euryale…" She said the name so it rhymed with Muriel. "Can't I give him a sample first?"

"No, you imbecile!" Euryale turned toward Percy and bared her fangs.

Except for her hair, which was a nest of coral snakes instead of green vipers, she looked exactly like her sister. Her Bargain Mart vest, her flowery dress, even her tusks were decorated with 50% off stickers. Her name badge read: Hello! My name is DIE, DEMIGOD SCUM!

"You've led us on quite a chase, Percy Jackson," Euryale said. "But now you're trapped, and we'll have our revenge!"

"The Cheese 'n' Wieners are only $2.99," Stheno added helpfully. "Grocery department, aisle three." Euryale snarled. "Stheno, the Bargain Mart was a front!

You're going native! Now, put down that ridiculous tray and help me kill this demigod. Or have you forgotten that he's the one who vaporised Medusa?"

Percy stepped back. Six more inches, and he'd be tumbling through thin air. "Look, ladies, we've been over this. I don't even remember killing Medusa. I don't remember anything! Can't we just call a truce and talk about your weekly specials?"

Stheno gave her sister a pouty look, which was hard to do with giant bronze tusks. "Can we?"

"No!" Euryale's red eyes bored into Percy's soul. "I don't care what you remember, son of the sea god. I can smell Medusa's blood on you. It's faint, yes, several years old, but you were the last one to defeat her. She still has not returned from Tartarus. It's your fault!"

Percy didn't really get that. The whole "dying then returning from Tartarus" concept gave him a headache. Of course, so did the idea that a ballpoint pen could turn into a sword, or that monsters could disguise themselves with something called the Mist, or that Percy was the son of a barnacle-encrusted god from five thousand years ago. But he did believe it. Even though his memory was erased, he knew he was a demigod the same way he knew his name was Percy Jackson. From his very first conversation with Lupa the wolf, he'd accepted that this crazy messed-up world of gods and monsters was his reality. Which pretty much sucked.

"How about we call it a draw?" he said. "I can't kill you. You can't kill me. If you're Medusa's sisters—like the Medusa who turned people to stone—shouldn't I be petrified by now?"

"Heroes!" Euryale said with disgust. "They always bring that up, just like our mother! 'Why can't you turn people to stone? Your sister can turn people to stone.' Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, boy! That was Medusa's curse alone. She was the most hideous one in the family. She got all the luck!"

Stheno looked hurt. "Mother said I was the most hideous."

"Quiet!" Euryale snapped. "As for you, Percy Jackson, it's true you bear the mark of Achilles. That makes you a little tougher to kill. But don't worry. We'll find a way."

"The mark of what?"

"Achilles," Stheno said cheerfully. "Oh, he was gorgeous! Dipped in the River Styx as a child, you know, so he was invulnerable except for a tiny spot on his ankle. That's what happened to you, dear. Someone must've dumped you in the Styx and made your skin like iron. But not to worry. Heroes like you always have a weak spot. We just have to find it, and then we can kill you. Won't that be lovely? Have a Cheese 'n' Wiener!"

Percy tried to think. He didn't remember any dip in the Styx. Then again, he didn't remember much of anything. His skin didn't feel like iron, but it would explain how he'd held out so long against the gorgons.

Maybe if he just fell down the mountain…would he survive? He didn't want to risk it—not without something to slow the fall, or a sled, or…

He looked at Stheno's large silver platter of free samples.

Hmm…

"Reconsidering?" Stheno asked. "Very wise, dear. I added some gorgon's blood to these, so your death will be quick and painless."

Percy's throat constricted. "You added your blood to the Cheese 'n' Wieners?"

"Just a little." Stheno smiled. "A tiny nick on my arm, but you're sweet to be concerned. Blood from our right side can cure anything, you know, but blood from our left side is deadly—"

"You dimwit!" Euryale screeched. "You're not supposed to tell him that! He won't eat the wieners if you tell him they're poisoned!"

Stheno looked stunned. "He won't? But I said it would be quick and painless."

"Never mind!" Euryale's fingernails grew into claws. "We'll kill him the hard way—just keep slashing until we find the weak spot. Once we defeat Percy Jackson, we'll be more famous than Medusa! Our patron will reward us greatly!"

Percy gripped his sword. He'd have to time his move perfectly—a few seconds of confusion, grab the platter with his left hand…

Keep them talking, he thought.

"Before you slash me to bits," he said, "who's this patron you mentioned?"

Euryale sneered. "The goddess Gaea, of course! The one who brought us back from oblivion! You won't live long enough to meet her, but your friends below will soon face her wrath. Even now, her armies are marching south. At the Feast of Fortune, she'll awaken, and the demigods will be cut down like—like—"

"Like our low prices at Bargain Mart!" Stheno suggested.

"Gah!" Euryale stormed toward her sister. Percy took the opening. He grabbed Stheno's platter, scattering poisoned Cheese 'n' Wieners, and slashed Riptide across Euryale's waist, cutting her in half.

He raised the platter, and Stheno found herself facing her own greasy reflection.

"Medusa!" she screamed.

Her sister Euryale had crumbled to dust, but she was already starting to re-form, like a snowman un-melting. "Stheno, you fool!" she gurgled as her half-made face rose from the mound of dust. "That's just your own reflection! Get him!"

Percy slammed the metal tray on top of Stheno's head, and she passed out cold.

He put the platter behind his butt, said a silent prayer to whatever Roman god oversaw stupid sledding tricks, and jumped off the side of the hill.

THE THING ABOUT PLUMMETING DOWNHILL at fifty miles an hour on a snack platter—if you realise it's a bad idea when you're halfway down, it's too late.

Percy narrowly missed a tree, glanced off a boulder, and spun a three-sixty as he shot toward the highway. The stupid snack tray did not have power steering. He heard the gorgon sisters screaming and caught a glimpse of Euryale's coral-snake hair at the top of the hill, but he didn't have time to worry about it. The roof of the apartment building loomed below him like the prow of a battleship. Head-on collision in ten, nine, eight…

He managed to swivel sideways to avoid breaking his legs on impact. The snack platter skittered across the roof and sailed through the air. The platter went one way. Percy went the other.

As he fell toward the highway, a horrible scenario flashed through his mind: his body smashing against an SUV's windshield, some annoyed commuter trying to push him off with the wipers. Stupid sixteen-year-old kid falling from the sky! I'm late!

Miraculously, a gust of wind blew him to one side—just enough to miss the highway and crash into a clump of bushes. It wasn't a soft landing, but it was better than asphalt.

Percy groaned. He wanted to lie there and pass out, but he had to keep moving.

He struggled to his feet. His hands were scratched up, but no bones seemed to be broken. He still had his backpack. Somewhere on the sled ride he'd lost his sword, but Percy knew it would eventually reappear in his pocket in pen form. That was part of its magic.

He glanced up the hill. The gorgons were hard to miss, with their colourful snake hair and their bright green Bargain Mart vests. They were picking their way down the slope, going slower than Percy but with a lot more control. Those chicken feet must've been good for climbing. Percy figured he had maybe five minutes before they reached him.

Next to him, a tall chain-link fence separated the highway from a neighbourhood of winding streets, cosy houses, and tall eucalyptus trees. The fence was probably there to keep people from getting onto the highway and doing stupid things—like sledding into the fast lane on snack trays—but the chain-link was full of big holes. Percy could easily slip through into the neighbourhood. Maybe he could find a car and drive west to the ocean. He didn't like stealing cars, but over the past few weeks, in life-and-death situations, he'd "borrowed" several, including a police cruiser. He'd meant to return them, but they never seemed to last very long.

He glanced east. Just as he'd figured, a hundred yards uphill the highway cut through the base of the cliff. Two tunnel entrances, one for each direction of traffic, stared down at him like eye sockets of a giant skull. In the middle, where the nose would have been, a cement wall jutted from the hillside, with a metal door like the entrance to a bunker.

It might have been a maintenance tunnel. That's probably what mortals thought, if they noticed the door at all. But they couldn't see through the Mist. Percy knew the door was more than that.

Two kids in armour flanked the entrance. They wore a bizarre mix of plumed Roman helmets, breastplates, scabbards, blue jeans, purple T-shirts, and white athletic shoes. The guard on the right looked like a girl, though it was hard to tell for sure with all the armour. The one on the left was a stocky guy with a bow and quiver on his back. Both kids held long wooden staffs with iron spear tips, like old-fashioned harpoons.

Percy's internal radar was pinging like crazy. After so many horrible days, he'd finally reached his goal. His instincts told him that if he could make it inside that door, he might find safety for the first time since the wolves had sent him south.

So why did he feel such dread?

Farther up the hill, the gorgons were scrambling over the roof of the apartment complex. Three minutes away—maybe less.

Part of him wanted to run to the door in the hill. He'd have to cross to the median of the highway, but then it would be a short sprint. He could make it before the gorgons reached him.

Part of him wanted to head west to the ocean. That's where he'd be safest. That's where his power would be greatest. Those Roman guards at the door made him uneasy. Something inside him said: This isn't my territory. This is dangerous.

"You're right, of course," said a voice next to him.

Percy jumped. At first he thought Beano had managed to sneak up on him again, but the old lady sitting in the bushes was even more repulsive than a gorgon. She looked like a hippie who'd been kicked to the side of the road maybe forty years ago, where she'd been collecting trash and rags ever since. She wore a dress made of tie-dyed cloth, ripped-up quilts, and plastic grocery bags. Her frizzy mop of hair was grey-brown, like root-beer foam, tied back with a peace-sign headband. Warts and moles covered her face. When she smiled, she showed exactly three teeth.

"It isn't a maintenance tunnel," she confided. "It's the entrance to camp."

A jolt went up Percy's spine. Camp. Yes, that's where he was from. A camp. Maybe this was his home. Maybe Annabeth was close by.

But something felt wrong.

The gorgons were still on the roof of the apartment building. Then Stheno shrieked in delight and pointed in Percy's direction.

The old hippie lady raised her eyebrows. "Not much time, child. You need to make your choice."

"Who are you?" Percy asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know. The last thing he needed was another harmless mortal who turned out to be a monster.

"Oh, you can call me June." The old lady's eyes sparkled as if she'd made an excellent joke. "It is June, isn't it? They named the month after me!"

"Okay…Look, I should go. Two gorgons are coming. I don't want them to hurt you."

June clasped her hands over her heart. "How sweet! But that's part of your choice!"

"My choice…" Percy glanced nervously toward the hill. The gorgons had taken off their green vests. Wings sprouted from their backs—small bat wings, which glinted like brass.

Since when did they have wings? Maybe they were ornamental. Maybe they were too small to get a gorgon into the air. Then the two sisters leaped off the apartment building and soared toward him.

Great. Just great.

"Yes, a choice," June said, as if she were in no hurry. "You could leave me here at the mercy of the gorgons and go to the ocean. You'd make it there safely, I guarantee. The gorgons will be quite happy to attack me and let you go. In the sea, no monster would bother you. You could begin a new life, live to a ripe old age, and escape a great deal of pain and misery that is in your future."

Percy was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the second option. "Or?"

"Or you could do a good deed for an old lady," she said. "Carry me to the camp with you."

"Carry you?" Percy hoped she was kidding. Then June hiked up her skirts and showed him her swollen purple feet.

"I can't get there by myself," she said. "Carry me to camp—across the highway, through the tunnel, across the river."

Percy didn't know what river she meant, but it didn't sound easy. June looked pretty heavy. The gorgons were only fifty yards away now—leisurely gliding toward him as if they knew the hunt was almost over.

Percy looked at the old lady. "And I'd carry you to this camp because—?"

"Because it's a kindness!" she said. "And if you don't, the gods will die, the world we know will perish, and everyone from your old life will be destroyed. Of course, you wouldn't remember them, so I suppose it won't matter. You'd be safe at the bottom of the sea.…"

Percy swallowed. The gorgons shrieked with laughter as they soared in for the kill.

"If I go to the camp," he said, "will I get my memory back?"

"Eventually," June said. "But be warned, you will sacrifice much! You'll lose the mark of Achilles. You'll feel pain, misery, and loss beyond anything you've ever known. But you might have a chance to save your old friends and family, to reclaim your old life."

The gorgons were circling right overhead. They were probably studying the old woman, trying to figure out who the new player was before they struck.

"What about those guards at the door?" Percy asked.

June smiled. "Oh, they'll let you in, dear. You can trust those two. So, what do you say? Will you help a defenceless old woman?"

Percy doubted June was defenceless. At worst, this was a trap. At best, it was some kind of test.

Percy hated tests. Since he'd lost his memory, his whole life was one big fill-in-the-blank. He was _, from _. He felt like _, and if the monsters caught him, he'd be _.

Then he thought about Annabeth, the only part of his old life he was sure about. He had to find her.

"I'll carry you." He scooped up the old woman.

She was lighter than he expected. Percy tried to ignore her sour breath and her calloused hands clinging to his neck. He made it across the first lane of traffic. A driver honked. Another yelled something that was lost in the wind. Most just swerved and looked irritated, as if they had to deal with a lot of ratty teenagers carrying old hippie women across the freeway here in Berkeley.

A shadow fell over him. Stheno called down gleefully, "Clever boy! Found a goddess to carry, did you?"

A goddess?

June cackled with delight, muttering, "Whoops!" as a car almost killed them.

Somewhere off to his left, Euryale screamed, "Get them! Two prizes are better than one!"

Percy bolted across the remaining lanes. Somehow he made it to the median alive. He saw the gorgons swooping down, cars swerving as the monsters passed overhead. He wondered what the mortals saw through the Mist—giant pelicans? Off-course hang gliders? The wolf Lupa had told him that mortal minds could believe just about anything—except the truth.

Percy ran for the door in the hillside. June got heavier with every step. Percy's heart pounded. His ribs ached.

One of the guards yelled. The guy with the bow knocked an arrow. Percy shouted, "Wait!"

But the boy wasn't aiming at him. The arrow flew over Percy's head. A gorgon wailed in pain. The second guard readied her spear, gesturing frantically at Percy to hurry.

Fifty feet from the door. Thirty feet.

"Gotcha!" shrieked Euryale. Percy turned as an arrow thudded into her forehead. Euryale tumbled into the fast lane. A truck slammed into her and carried her backward a hundred yards, but she just climbed over the cab, pulled the arrow out of her head, and launched back into the air.

Percy reached the door. "Thanks," he told the guards. "Good shot."

"That should've killed her!" the archer protested.

"Welcome to my world," Percy muttered.

"Frank," the girl said. "Get them inside, quick! Those are gorgons."

"Gorgons?" The archer's voice squeaked. It was hard to tell much about him under the helmet, but he looked stout like a wrestler, maybe fourteen or fifteen. "Will the door hold them?"

In Percy's arms, June cackled. "No, no it won't. Onward, Percy Jackson! Through the tunnel, over the river!"

"Percy Jackson?" The female guard was darker-skinned, with curly hair sticking out the sides of her helmet. She looked younger than Frank—maybe thirteen. Her sword scabbard came down almost to her ankle. Still, she sounded like she was the one in charge. "Okay, you're obviously a demigod. But who's the—?" She glanced at June. "Never mind. Just get inside. I'll hold them off."

"Hazel," the boy said. "Don't be crazy. You know Antoni won't be happy with this."

"Nevermind what Antoni thinks! Go!" she demanded.

Frank cursed in another language—was that Latin?—and opened the door. "Come on!"

Percy followed, staggering under the weight of the old lady, who was definitely getting heavier. He didn't know how that girl Hazel would hold off the gorgons by herself, but he was too tired to argue. But he idly wondered who this Antoni was? Her brother perhaps?

The tunnel cut through solid rock, about the width and height of a school hallway. At first, it looked like a typical maintenance tunnel, with electric cables, warning signs, and fuse boxes on the walls, lightbulbs in wire cages along the ceiling. As they ran deeper into the hillside, the cement floor changed to tiled mosaic. The lights changed to reed torches, which burned but didn't smoke. A few hundred yards ahead, Percy saw a square of daylight.

The old lady was heavier now than a pile of sandbags. Percy's arms shook from the strain. June mumbled a song in Latin, like a lullaby, which didn't help Percy concentrate.

Behind them, the gorgons' voices echoed in the tunnel. Hazel shouted. Percy was tempted to dump June and run back to help, but then the entire tunnel shook with the rumble of falling stone. There was a squawking sound, just like the gorgons had made when Percy had dropped a crate of bowling balls on them in Napa. He glanced back. The west end of the tunnel was now filled with dust.

"Shouldn't we check on Hazel?" he asked.

"She'll be okay—I hope," Frank said. "She's good underground. Just keep moving! We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

June chuckled. "All roads lead there, child. You should know that."

"Detention?" Percy asked.

"Rome, child," the old woman said. "Rome."

Percy wasn't sure he'd heard her right. True, his memory was gone. His brain hadn't felt right since he had woken up at the Wolf House. But he was pretty sure Rome wasn't in California.

They kept running. The glow at the end of the tunnel grew brighter, and finally they burst into sunlight.

Percy froze. Spread out at his feet was a bowl-shaped valley several miles wide. The basin floor was rumpled with smaller hills, golden plains, and stretches of forest. A small clear rivercut a winding course from a lake in the centre and around the perimeter, like a capital G.

The geography could've been anywhere in northern California—live oaks and eucalyptus trees, gold hills and blue skies. That big inland mountain—what was it called, Mount Diablo?—rose in the distance, right where it should be.

But Percy felt like he'd stepped into a secret world. In the centre of the valley, nestled by the lake, was a small city of white marble buildings with red-tiled roofs. Some had domes and columned porticoes, like national monuments. Others looked like palaces, with golden doors and large gardens. He could see an open plaza with free standing columns, fountains, and statues. A five-story-tall Roman coliseum gleamed in the sun, next to a long oval arena like a racetrack.

Across the lake to the south, another hill was dotted with even more impressive buildings—temples, Percy guessed. Several stone bridges crossed the river as it wound through the valley, and in the north, a long line of brickwork arches stretched from the hills into the town. Percy thought it looked like an elevated train track. Then he realised it must be an aqueduct.

The strangest part of the valley was right below him. About two hundred yards away, just across the river, was some sort of military encampment. It was about a quarter mile square, with earthen ramparts on all four sides, the tops lined with sharpened spikes. Outside the walls ran a dry moat, also studded with spikes. Wooden watchtowers rose at each corner, manned by sentries with oversized, mounted crossbows. Purple banners hung from the towers. A wide gateway opened on the far side of camp, leading toward the city. A narrower gate stood closed on the riverbank side. Inside, the fortress bustled with activity: dozens of kids going to and from barracks, carrying weapons, polishing armour. Percy heard the clank of hammers at a forge and smelled meat cooking over a fire.

Something about this place felt very familiar, yet not quite right.

"Camp Jupiter," Frank said. "We'll be safe once—"

Footsteps echoed in the tunnel behind them. Hazel burst into the light. She was covered with stone dust and breathing hard. She'd lost her helmet, so her curly brown hair fell around her shoulders. Her armour had long slash marks in front from the claws of a gorgon. One of the monsters had tagged her with a 50% off sticker.

"I slowed them down," she said. "But they'll be here any second."

Frank cursed. "We have to get across the river."

June squeezed Percy's neck tighter. "Oh, yes, please. I can't get my dress wet."

Percy bit his tongue. If this lady was a goddess, she must've been the goddess of smelly, heavy, useless hippies. But he'd come this far. He'd better keep lugging her along.

It's a kindness, she'd said. And if you don't, the gods will die, the world we know will perish, and everyone from your old life will be destroyed.

If this was a test, he couldn't afford to get an F. He stumbled a few times as they ran for the river. Frank and Hazel kept him on his feet. They reached the riverbank, and Percy stopped to catch his breath. The current was fast, but the river didn't look deep. Only a stone's throw across stood the gates of the fort.

"Go, Hazel." Frank notched two arrows at once. "Escort Percy so the sentries don't shoot him. It's my turn to hold off the baddies."

Hazel nodded and waded into the stream.

Percy started to follow, but something made him hesitate. Usually he loved the water, but this river seemed…powerful, and not necessarily friendly.

"The Little Tiber," said June sympathetically. "It flows with the power of the original Tiber river of the empire. This is your last chance to back out, child. The mark of Achilles is a Greek blessing. You can't retain it if you cross into Roman territory. The Tiber will wash it away."

Percy was too exhausted to understand all that, but he got the main point. "If I cross, I won't have iron skin anymore?"

June smiled. "So what will it be? Safety, or a future of pain and possibility?"

Behind him, the gorgons screeched as they flew from the tunnel. Frank let his arrows fly. From the middle of the river, Hazel yelled, "Percy, come on!"

Up on the watchtowers, horns blew. The sentries shouted and swivelled their crossbows toward the gorgons.

Annabeth, Percy thought. He forged into the river. It was icy cold, much swifter than he'd imagined, but that didn't bother him. New strength surged through his limbs. His senses tingled like he'd been injected with caffeine. He reached the other side and put the old woman down as the camp's gates opened. Dozens of kids in armour poured out.

Hazel turned with a relieved smile. Then she looked over Percy's shoulder, and her expression changed to horror. "Frank!"

Frank was halfway across the river when the gorgons caught him. They swooped out of the sky and grabbed him by either arm. He screamed in pain as their claws dug into his skin.

The sentries yelled, but Percy knew they couldn't get a clear shot. They'd end up killing Frank. The other kids drew swords and got ready to charge into the water, but they'd be too late.

There was only one way.

Percy thrust out his hands. An intense tugging sensation filled his gut, and the Tiber obeyed his will. The river surged. Whirlpools formed on either side of Frank. Giant watery hands erupted from the stream, copying Percy's movements. The giant hands grabbed the gorgons, who dropped Frank in surprise. Then the hands lifted the squawking monsters in a liquid vise grip.

Percy heard the other kids yelping and backing away, but he stayed focused on his task. He made a smashing gesture with his fists, and the giant hands plunged the gorgons into the Tiber. The monsters hit bottom and broke into dust. Glittering clouds of gorgon essence struggled to re-form, but the river pulled them apart like a blender. Soon every trace of the gorgons was swept downstream. The whirlpools vanished, and the current returned to normal.

Percy stood on the riverbank. His clothes and his skin steamed as if the Tiber's waters had given him an acid bath. He felt exposed, raw…vulnerable.

In the middle of the Tiber, Frank stumbled around, looking stunned but perfectly fine. Hazel waded out and helped him ashore. Only then did Percy realise how quiet the other kids had become.

Everyone was staring at him. Only the old lady June looked unfazed.

"Well, that was a lovely trip," she said. "Thank you, Percy Jackson, for bringing me to Camp Jupiter."

One of the girls made a choking sound. "Percy…Jackson?"

She sounded as if she recognized his name. Percy focused on her, hoping to see a familiar face.

A mirthless laugh resounds along the river bank, it was followed by a commanding and smooth voice angrily stating,

"Excuse my rudeness Lady Juno but I refuse to let a Graecus into New Rome. Unless you have brought him as an enemy for us to remove?" the voice stated, more hopefully towards the end. But Juno regarded it with cold eyes and turned to the speaker, a guy, 6 '4 maybe 6' 5 either way, pretty damn tall, stormy grey eyes that reminded me of someone, dark hair, much like my own but neater and silkier looking, with lightly tanned skin. He held an air of refinement and authority, I wasn't one for listening to authority but just naturally I felt myself straighten my back in his presents.

"Praetor Antoni Ortez, you of all people should know of his importance to the legions feature." With that the tall guy, Antoni, gave a small bow, a nod, and turned back to the girl that had called out my name earlier and placed a hand on her shoulder and lent down and said something to her. She brushed his hand off but gave a slight nod. Huh, weird.

Turning back to the girl I saw that she was obviously a leader. She wore a regal purple cloak over her armour. Her chest was decorated with medals. She must have been about Percy's age, with dark, piercing eyes and long black hair. Percy didn't recognize her, but the girl stared at him as if she'd seen him in her nightmares. Glancing at her armour and cloak he saw that Antoni was wearing something similar, although his armour held different metals and he wore what looked to be a black and gold toga underneath.

June laughed with delight. "Oh, yes. You'll have such fun together!" speaking of me and the girl I assumed.

Then, just because the day hadn't been weird enough already, the old lady began to glow and change form. She grew until she was a shining, seven-foot-tall goddess in a blue dress, with a cloak that looked like goat's skin over her shoulders. Her face was stern and stately. In her hand was a staff topped with a lotus flower.

If it was possible for the campers to look more stunned, they did. The girl and guy with the purple cloaks knelt. The others followed their lead. One kid got down so hastily he almost impaled himself on his sword.

Hazel was the first to speak. "Juno."

She and Frank also fell to their knees, leaving Percy the only one standing. He knew he should probably kneel too, but after carrying the old lady so far, he didn't feel like showing her that much respect.

"Juno, huh?" he said. "If I passed your test, can I have my memory and my life back?"

The goddess smiled. "In time, Percy Jackson, if you succeed here at camp. You've done well today, which is a good start. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

She turned to the other kids. "Romans, I present to you the son of Neptune. For months he has been slumbering, but now he is awake. His fate is in your hands. The Feast of Fortune comes quickly, and Death must be unleashed if you are to stand any hope in the battle. Do not fail me!"

Juno shimmered and disappeared. Percy looked at Hazel and Frank for some kind of explanation, but they seemed just as confused as he was. Frank was holding something Percy hadn't noticed before—two small clay flasks with cork stoppers, like potions, one in each hand. Percy had no idea where they'd come from, but he saw Frank slip them into his pockets. Frank gave him a look like: We'll talk about it later.

The girl in the purple cloak stepped forward, the boy in the toga stood next to her with an annoyed expression on his face, as if this whole ordeal was a waste of time or had interrupted him in some way. The girl examined Percy warily, and Percy couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted to run him through with her dagger.

"So," she said coldly, "a son of Neptune, who comes to us with the blessing of Juno."

"I doubt he truly has Lady Juno's blessing. No Graecus would possess the queen's blessing." The boy commented snidely, I just threw him an annoyed look and his face became contorted with fury as if I'd just insulted his mother.

"Look," Percy said, "my memory's a little fuzzy. Um, it's gone, actually. Do I know you?"

The girl hesitated. "I am Reyna, one of the praetors of the Twelfth Legion." She pointed to the tall guy, " This is Antoni Ortez, the other predator of the Twelfth Legion. And…no, I don't know you."

That last part was a lie. Percy could tell from her eyes. But he also understood that if he argued with her about it here, in front of her soldiers, she wouldn't appreciate it.

"Hazel," said Reyna, "bring him inside. I want to question him at the principia. Then Antoni will take him to Octavian, he has business to discuss with the augury anyway. We must consult the auguries before we decide what to do with him."

"What do you mean," Percy asked, "'decide what to do with me?"

Reyna's hand tightened on her dagger. Obviously she was not used to having her orders questioned. "Before we accept anyone into camp, we must interrogate them and read the auguries. Juno said your fate is in our hands. We have to know whether the goddess has brought us as a new recruit.…" Reyna studied Percy as if she found that doubtful. "Or," she said more hopefully, "if she's brought us an enemy to kill." Antoni grinned maliciously at that and Percy was beginning to realise that he didn't like the guy very much.

PERCY WASN'T SCARED OF GHOSTS, which was lucky. Half the people in camp were dead.

Shimmering purple warriors stood outside the armoury, polishing ethereal swords. Others hung out in front of the barracks. A ghostly boy chased a ghostly dog down the street. And at the stables, a big glowing red dude with the head of a wolf guarded a herd of…Were those unicorns?

None of the campers paid the ghosts much attention, but as Percy's entourage walked by, with Reyna in the lead and Frank and Hazel on either side, all the spirits stopped what they were doing and stared at Percy. A few looked angry. The little boy ghost shrieked something like "Greggus!" and turned invisible.

Percy wished he could turn invisible too. After weeks on his own, all this attention made him uneasy. He stayed between Hazel and Frank and tried to look inconspicuous.

"Am I seeing things?" he asked. "Or are those—"

"Ghosts?" Hazel turned. She had startling eyes, like fourteen-karat gold. "They're Lares. House gods."

"House gods," Percy said. "Like…smaller than real gods, but larger than apartment gods?"

"They're ancestral spirits," Frank explained. He'd removed his helmet, revealing a babyish face that didn't go with his military haircut or his big burly frame. He looked like a toddler who'd taken steroids and joined the Marines.

"The Lares are kind of like mascots," he continued. "Mostly they're harmless, but I've never seen them so agitated."

"They're staring at me," Percy said. "That ghost kid called me Greggus. My name isn't Greg."

"Graecus," Hazel said. "Once you've been here awhile, you'll start understanding Latin. Demigods have a natural sense for it. Graecus means Greek."

"Is that bad?" Percy asked.

Frank cleared his throat. "Maybe not. You've got that type of complexion, dark hair and all. Maybe they think you're actually Greek. Is your family from there?"

"Don't know. Like I said, my memory is gone."

"Or maybe…" Frank hesitated.

"What?" Percy asked.

"Probably nothing," Frank said. "Romans and Greeks have an old rivalry. Sometimes Romans use Graecus as an insult for someone who's an outsider—an enemy. I wouldn't worry about it."

He sounded pretty worried.

They stopped at the centre of camp, where two wide stone-paved roads met at a T.

A street sign labelled the road to the main gates as via praetoria. The other road, cutting across the middle of camp, was labelled via principalis. Under those markers were hand-painted signs like berkeley 5 miles; NEW ROME 1 MILE; OLD ROME 7280 MILES; HADES 2310 MILES (pointing straight down); RENO 208 MILES, AND CERTAIN DEATH: YOU ARE HERE!

For certain death, the place looked pretty clean and orderly. The buildings were freshly whitewashed, laid out in neat grids like the camp had been designed by a fussy maths teacher. The barracks had shady porches, where campers lounged in hammocks or played cards and drank sodas. Each dorm had a different collection of banners out front displaying Roman numerals and various animals—eagle, bear, wolf, horse, and something that looked like a hamster.

Along the Via Praetoria, rows of shops advertised food, armour, weapons, coffee, gladiator equipment, and toga rentals. A chariot dealership had a big advertisement out front: CAESAR XLS W/ANTI LOCK BRAKES, NO DENARII DOWN!

At one corner of the crossroads stood the most impressive building—a two-story wedge of white marble with a columned portico like an old-fashioned bank. Roman guards stood out front. Over the doorway hung a big purple banner with the gold letters SPQR embroidered inside a laurel wreath.

"Your headquarters?" Percy asked.

Antoni muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "You dense motherfucker. Graecus bastard." That was followed by a long string of insults aimed at him and Greeks.

Reyna faced him, her eyes still cold and hostile. "It's called the principia."

She scanned the mob of curious campers who had followed them from the river. "Everyone back to your duties. I'll give you an update at evening muster. Remember, we have war games after dinner."

The thought of dinner made Percy's stomach rumble. The scent of barbecue from the dining hall made his mouth water. The bakery down the street smelled pretty wonderful too, but he doubted Reyna would let him get an order to go.

The crowd dispersed reluctantly. Some muttered comments about Percy's chances.

"He's dead," said one.

"Would be those two who found him," said another.

"Yeah," muttered another. "Let him join the Fifth Cohort. Greeks and geeks."

Several kids laughed at that, but Reyna scowled at them, and they cleared off. Antoni tipped his head lightly to the left and 3 of the kids nodded before scampering after the others.

"Hazel," Reyna said. "Come with us. I want your report on what happened at the gates."

"Me too?" Frank said. "Percy saved my life. We've got to let him—"

Reyna gave Frank such a harsh look, he stepped back.

"I'd remind you, Frank Zhang," she said, "you are on probatio yourself. You've caused enough trouble this week."

Frank's ears turned red. He fiddled with a little tablet on a cord around his neck. Percy hadn't paid much attention to it, but it looked like a name tag made out of lead.

"Go to the armoury," Reyna told him. "Check our inventory. I'll call you if I need you."

"But—" Frank caught himself. "Yes, Reyna."

But just as he was about to hurry off, Antoni grabbed his shoulder, made him face him and said, "Careful with my pugio, probatio. Should it be damaged and you shall find it very difficult to make your way into my ranks properly.

Reyna waved Hazel and Percy toward the headquarters. As Antoni walked ahead of them. "Now, Percy Jackson, let's see if we can improve your memory."

The principia was even more impressive inside. On the ceiling glittered a mosaic of Romulus and Remus under their adopted mama she-wolf (Lupa had told Percy that story a million times). The floor was polished marble. The walls were draped in velvet, so Percy felt like he was inside the world's most expensive camping tent. Along the back wall stood a display of banners and wooden poles studded with bronze medals—military symbols, Percy guessed. In the centre was one empty display stand, as if the main banner had been taken down for cleaning or something.

In the back corner, a stairwell led down. It was blocked by a row of iron bars like a prison door. Percy wondered what was down there—monsters? Treasure? Amnesiac demigods who had gotten on Reyna's bad side?

"You seem scared." Antoni said, smirking at him. Percy just attempted to figure out how he knew Percy felt fear, even at such a miniscule level.

In the centre of the room, a long wooden table was cluttered with scrolls, notebooks, tablet computers, daggers, and a large bowl filled with jelly beans, which seemed kind of out of place. Two life-sized statues of greyhounds—one silver, one gold—flanked the table. An old style scale set sat next to the jelly beans and a jewel encrusted hilt stuck out of an old leather casing sat on top of an old leather bound book. Reyna walked behind the table and sat in one of two high-backed chairs, Antoni seated himself in the other. Percy wished he could sit in the other where the pompous male praetor sat, but Hazel remained standing. Percy got the feeling he was supposed to also.

"So…" he started to say.

The dog statues bared their teeth and growled.

Percy froze. Normally he liked dogs, but they glared at him with ruby eyes. Their fangs looked sharp as razors.

"Easy, guys," Reyna told the greyhounds.

They stopped growling, but kept eyeing Percy as though they were imagining him in a doggie bag.

"Come on Reyna, it would at least be entertaining to see him ripped apart." Antoni but then he ran his finger across his bottom lip, as if that was his 'thinking face' before saying, "No nevermind, would be such a hassle to clean and imagine the scandal, I could already imagine the headline, "New potential legionnaire mauled to death by Praetors dogs after 'hitting' on her." now that would be something worth reading, maybe I should just kill him myself and give a statement like, 'He attempt to touch my comrade and fellow praetor in a potential unforgiveable way, I simply protected a member of our legion like anyone else with true legion loyalty would-'' Reyna slapped her hand over his mouth. Percy heard him muffled trail off and gave Reyna a half hearted glare, which she promptly ignored.

"They won't attack," Reyna said, "unless you try to steal something, or unless I tell them to. That's Argentum and Aurum."

"Silver and Gold," Percy said. The Latin meanings popped into his head like Hazel had said they would. He almost asked which dog was which. Then he realized that that was a stupid question.

Reyna set her dagger on the table. Percy had the vague feeling he'd seen her before. Her hair was black and glossy as volcanic rock, woven in a single braid down her back. She had the poise of a sword fighter—relaxed yet vigilant, as if ready to spring into action at any moment. The worry lines around her eyes made her look older than she probably was.

"We have met," he decided. "I don't remember when. Please, if you can tell me anything—" A twang and thunk resounded loudly and everyone abruptly looked at Antoni who simply sneered and then eyes travelled towards the wall behind Percy only to find the jewel encrusted dagger embedded into the wall directly behind him, only off by 2 or 3 inches.

"First things first," Reyna said. "I want to hear your story. What do you remember? How did you get here? And don't lie. My dogs don't like liars."

Argentum and Aurum snarled to emphasise the point. Antoni grinned at their threatening nature.

Percy told his story—how he'd woken up at the ruined mansion in the woods of Sonoma. He described his time with Lupa and her pack, learning their language of gestures and expressions, learning to survive and fight.

Lupa had taught him about demigods, monsters, and gods. She'd explained that she was one of the guardian spirits of Ancient Rome. Demigods like Percy were still responsible for carrying on Roman traditions in modern times—fighting monsters, serving the gods, protecting mortals, and upholding the memory of the empire. She'd spent weeks training him, until he was as strong and tough and vicious as a wolf. When she was satisfied with his skills, she'd sent him south, telling him that if he survived the journey, he might find a new home and regain his memory.

None of it seemed to surprise Reyna. In fact, she seemed to find it pretty ordinary—except for one thing.

"No memory at all?" she asked. "You still remember nothing?"

"Fuzzy bits and pieces." Percy glanced at the greyhounds. He didn't want to mention Annabeth. It seemed too private, and he was still confused about where to find her. He was sure they'd met at a camp—but this one didn't feel like the right place.

Also, he was reluctant to share his one clear memory: Annabeth's face, her blond hair and gray eyes, the way she laughed, threw her arms around him, and gave him a kiss whenever he did something stupid.

She must have kissed me a lot, Percy thought.

He feared that if he spoke about that memory to anyone, it would evaporate like a dream. He couldn't risk that.

Reyna spun her dagger. "Most of what you're describing is normal for demigods. At a certain age, one way or another, we find our way to the Wolf House. Were tested and trained. If Lupa thinks we're worthy, she sends us south to join the legion. But I've never heard of someone losing his memory. How did you find Camp Jupiter?"

Percy told her about the last three days—the gorgons who wouldn't die, the old lady who turned out to be a goddess, and finally meeting Hazel and Frank at the tunnel in the hill.

Hazel took the story from there. She described Percy as brave and heroic, which made him uncomfortable. All he'd done was carry a hippie bag lady.

Reyna studied him. "You're old for a recruit. You're what, sixteen?"

"I think so," Percy said.

"If you spent that many years on your own, without training or help, you should be dead. A son of Neptune? You'd have a powerful aura that would attract all kinds of monsters."

"Yeah," Percy said. "I've been told that I smell."

Reyna almost cracked a smile, which gave Percy hope. Maybe she was human after all.

"You must've been somewhere before the Wolf House," she said.

Percy shrugged. Juno had said something about him slumbering, and he did have a vague feeling that he'd been asleep—maybe for a long time. But that didn't make sense.

Reyna sighed. "Well, the dogs haven't eaten you, so I suppose you're telling the truth."

"Great," Percy said. "Next time, can I take a polygraph?"

Reyna stood. She paced in front of the banners. Her metal dogs watched her go back and forth.

"Even if I accept that you're not an enemy," she said, "you're not a typical recruit. The Queen of Olympus simply doesn't appear at camp, announcing a new demigod. The last time a major god visited us in person like that…" She shook her head. "I've only heard legends about such things. And a son of Neptune…that's not a good omen. Especially now."

"What's wrong with Neptune?" Percy asked. "And what do you mean, 'especially now'?"

Hazel shot him a warning look.

Reyna kept pacing. "You've fought Medusa's sisters, who haven't been seen in thousands of years. You've agitated our Lares, who are calling you a Graecus. And you wear strange symbols—that shirt, the beads on your necklace. What do they mean?"

Percy looked down at his tattered orange T-shirt. It might have had words on it at one point, but they were too faded to read. He should have thrown the shirt away weeks ago. It was worn to shreds, but he couldn't bear to get rid of it. He just kept washing it in streams and water fountains as best he could and putting it back on.

As for the necklace, the four clay beads were each decorated with a different symbol. One showed a trident. Another displayed a miniature Golden Fleece. The third was etched with the design of a maze, and the last had an image of a building—maybe the Empire State Building?—with names Percy didn't recognize engraved around it. The beads felt important, like pictures from a family album, but he couldn't remember what they meant.

"I don't know," he said.

"And your sword?" Reyna asked.

Percy checked his pocket. The pen had reappeared as it always did. He pulled it out, but then realised he'd never shown Reyna the sword. Hazel and Frank hadn't seen it either. How had Reyna known about it?

Too late to pretend it didn't exist.…He uncapped the pen. Riptide sprang to full form. Hazel gasped. The greyhounds barked apprehensively.

"What is that?" Hazel asked. "I've never seen a sword like that."

"The sword of a Graecus! It should be destroyed. Nothing of that sort should be allowed on Roman soil. The weapon of scum should be destroyed on sight." Antoni hissed, glare vehemently at Percy.

"I have," Reyna said darkly, ignoring Antoni in favour of Hazel's question. "It's very old—a Greek design. We used to have a few in the armoury before…" She stopped herself. "The metal is called Celestial bronze. It's deadly to monsters, like Imperial gold, but even rarer."

"Imperial gold?" Percy asked.

Reyna unsheathed her dagger. Sure enough, the blade was gold. "The metal was consecrated in ancient times, at the Pantheon in Rome. Its existence was a closely guarded secret of the emperors—a way for their champions to slay monsters that threatened the empire. We used to have more weapons like this, but now…well, we scrape by. I use this dagger. Hazel has a spatha, a cavalry sword. Most legionnaires use a shorter sword called a gladius. But that weapon of yours is not Roman at all. It's another sign you're not a typical demigod. And your arm..."

"What about it?" Percy asked.

Reyna held up her own forearm. Percy hadn't noticed before, but she had a tattoo on the inside: the letters SPQR, a crossed sword and torch, and under that, four parallel lines like score marks.

Percy glanced at Hazel.

"We all have them," she confirmed, holding up her arm. "All full members of the legion do."

Hazel's tattoo also had the letters SPQR, but she only had one score mark, and her emblem was different: a black glyph like a cross with curved arms and a head:

Percy looked at his own arms. A few scrapes, some mud, and a fleck of Crispy Cheese 'n' Wiener, but no tattoos.

Percy looked expectantly at Antoni and he showed his forearm: he had a skull with an inky cloudy and wing protruding from the cloud, the SPQR was also there but this time there were 14 lines.

"So you've never been a member of the legion," Reyna said. "These marks can't be removed. I thought perhaps…" She shook her head, as if dismissing an idea.

Hazel leaned forward. "If he's survived as a loner all this time, maybe he's seen Jason." She turned to Percy. "Have you ever met a demigod like us before? A guy in a purple shirt, with marks on his arm—"

"Hazel." Reyna's voice tightened. "Percy's got enough to worry about." Antoni stiffened at Reyna's words, his expression went steely but his eyes shone with loathing, anger and unless Percy was seeing things, hints of regret.

Percy touched the point of his sword, and Riptide shrank back into a pen. "I haven't seen anyone like you guys before. Who's Jason?"

Reyna gave Hazel an irritated look. "He is…he was my colleague." She waved her hand at the second empty chair. "Jason was favoured to be praetor one day."

Antoni slammed his hands onto the desk, breathing heavily. "I have been Praetor for the past 4 years, Reyna. You know I have the legion in my favour. It is a well known fact I still have a lot of time left as Praetor and the senate was hesitant to vote for my replacement as praetor as I have done more for this legion in all my 11 years here than anyone else is yet to accomplish, as praetor or not. Do not, I repeat, do not assume I will bow down to that child and give him all that I have worked for only for him to be given credit for MY work. You are still new to this, don't forget that." He finished icily.

"Er, sorry. What I meant was Jason is a, was a good friend of mine." Reyna said, glancing at the fluming demigod beside her.

Percy tried to calculate. He hadn't paid much attention to the calendar out in the wilderness, but Juno had mentioned that it was now June. "You mean he's been gone eight months? And what did he mean by "the senate is in his favour"?" Percy added, looking pointedly at Antoni until he stood up and grabbed the dagger out of the wall, sat back down and began polishing it.

"He might not be dead," Hazel said. "We haven't given up."

Reyna grimaced. Percy got the feeling this guy Jason might've been more to her than just a colleague.

"Elections only happen in two ways," Reyna said. "Either the legion raises someone on a shield after a major success on the battlefield—and we haven't had any major battles—or we hold a ballot on the evening of June 24, at the Feast of Fortuna. That's in five days."

Percy frowned. "You have a feast for tuna?"

"Fortuna," Hazel corrected. "She's the goddess of luck. Whatever happens on her feast day can affect the entire rest of the year. She can grant the camp good luck…or really bad luck."

Reyna and Hazel both glanced at the empty display stand, as if thinking about what was missing.

A chill went down Percy's back. "The Feast of Fortune…The gorgons mentioned that. So did Juno. They said the camp was going to be attacked on that day, something about a big bad goddess named Gaea, and an army, and Death being unleashed. You're telling me that day is this week?"

Reyna's fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger.

"You will say nothing about that outside this room," she ordered. "I will not have you spreading more panic in the camp."

"So it's true," Percy said. "Do you know what's going to happen? Can we stop it?"

Percy had just met these people. He wasn't sure he even liked Reyna. But he wanted to help. They were demigods, the same as him. They had the same enemies. Besides, Percy remembered what Juno had told him: it wasn't just this camp at risk. His old life, the gods, and the entire world might be destroyed. Whatever was coming down, it was huge.

"We've talked enough for now," Reyna said, Reyna glanced at her still fuming colleague. "Hazel, take him to Temple Hill. Find Octavian. On the way you can answer Percy's questions. Tell him about the legion. Antoni and I have much to discuss."