Welcome to chapter 2.
Theone1278: I've been thinking about it. But, I do have other plans but it is under consideration. Thanks for the suggestion.
"Ortez what the hell were you doing? You're a Praetor, not a 10 year old, act like it." Reyna berated him. Antoni ran a hand through his hair, sighing annoyedly.
"What the hell was I doing!? I was defending myself! Half the time you talk about him as if he's still here. Guess what, he isn't. I lost a friend too Reyna, maybe he meant more to you than a friend but now he's gone. I get it, in your eyes I am, some kind of replacement but I'm not. I was here first. Always have been. Don't treat me like something I'm not."
"Ortez, you could never replace Jason. How dare you compare yourself to him!? If you were half the man-"
"HALF THE MAN!?" Antoni roared. "He was a mere boy!! I am twice the man Jason would have ever been. You may need to learn that otherwise it will cost you. I am just waiting for you to wake up one day and see sense!! Jason is dead! He isn't coming back and if you can't see that, then you're delusional. We've waited months! For months we have pushed our resources to the point of exhaustion in search of a person that could've just walked out! He just disappeared, no foul play in sight. If you keep this up then I will be announcing to the senate that I do not believe you fit to be praetor in your current mental state." Antoni sneered at her.
"Current mental state?! Are you out of your fucking mind?! What has this got anything to do with my 'mental state'? I am perfectly fine. And I know he is still alive so don't tell me otherwise. I know you're wrong, you know you're wrong so why fight the facts Antoni?" Reyna yelled back. Antoni knocked the notebooks and pen off the table and scraped a hand down his face.
"I'm sick of this shit Reyna! I'm not your personal emotional punching bag! We have arguments like this on the daily, I'm not the one instigating them, you are! It's always you starting these fights, no matter what I do!" He shouted, punching the wall. A sickening crack resounded throughout the room and a crack became visible in the wall. Blood trailed down the wall slowly. Antoni glanced down at his hand, grimacing. Shards of stone stuck along with bone fragments, the blood flowed out at a steady rate and his hand looked like a truly mangled mess.
"How dare yo-" Reyna cut herself off once she saw his hand rushed over, gently grabbing his wrist. Antoni attempted to pull away, glaring at her but she tightened her grip and Antoni winced, deciding on the safer option of staying put.
"You've done this before." Reyna whispered, somewhat horrified. She traced the small scars that littered his hand before snapping out of her stupor. Reyna let go of his hand and grabbed a flask from a cabinet near them. Drizzling small drops of the divine liquid onto his hand, the fractured bone, torn skin, and flowing blood began to restore themselves. Even though his hand had now healed, Reyna subconsciously gripped his wrist for a second longer than was necessary.
Percy
ON THE WAY OUT OF CAMP, Hazel bought him an espresso drink and a cherry muffin from Bombilo the two-headed coffee merchant. Percy inhaled the muffin. The coffee was great. Now, Percy thought, if he could just get a shower, a change of clothes, and some sleep, he'd be golden. Maybe even Imperial golden.
He watched a bunch of kids in swimsuits and towels head into a building that had steam coming out of a row of chimneys. Laughter and watery sounds echoed from inside, like it was an indoor pool—Percy's kind of place.
"Bath house," Hazel said. "We'll get you in there before dinner, hopefully. You haven't lived until you've had a Roman bath." Percy sighed with anticipation.
As they approached the front gate, the barracks got bigger and nicer. Even the ghosts looked better—with fancier armour and shinier auras. Percy tried to decipher the banners and symbols hanging in front of the buildings.
"You guys are divided into different cabins?" he asked.
"Sort of." Hazel ducked as a kid riding a giant eagle swooped overhead. "We have five cohorts of about forty kids each. Each cohort is divided into barracks of ten—like roommates, kind of."
Percy had never been great at maths, but he tried to multiply. "You're telling me there's two hundred kids at camp?"
"Roughly."
"And all of them are children of the gods? The gods have been busy."
Hazel laughed. "Not all of them are children of major gods. There are hundreds of minor Roman gods. Plus, a lot of the campers are legacies—second or third generation. Maybe their parents were demigods. Or their grandparents."
Percy blinked. "Children of demigods?"
"Why? Does that surprise you?"
Percy wasn't sure. The last few weeks he'd been so worried about surviving day to day. The idea of living long enough to be an adult and have kids of his own—that seemed like an impossible dream.
"These Legos—"
"Legacies," Hazel corrected.
"They have powers like a demigod?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes not. But they can be trained. All the best Roman generals and emperors—you know, they all claimed to be descended from gods. Most of the time, they were telling the truth. The camp augur we're going to meet, Octavian, he's a legacy, descendant of Apollo. He's got the gift of prophecy, supposedly."
"Supposedly?"
Hazel made a sour face. "You'll see. Just don't tell Antoni I said that, he is quite brotherly towards Octavian."
That didn't make Percy feel so great, if this dude Octavian had Percy's fate in his hands. And if Antoni liked him, then Percy didn't think they'd share that opinion.
"So the divisions," he asked, "the cohorts, whatever—you're divided according to who your godly parent is?"
Hazel stared at him. "What a horrible idea! No, the officers decide where to assign recruits. If we were divided according to god, the cohorts would be all uneven. I'd be alone."
Percy felt a twinge of sadness, like he'd been in that situation. "Why? What's your ancestry?"
Before she could answer, someone behind them yelled, "Wait!"
A ghost ran toward them—an old man with a medicine-ball belly and toga so long he kept tripping on it. He caught up to them and gasped for air, his purple aura flickering around him.
"This is him?" the ghost panted. "A new recruit for the Fifth, perhaps?"
"Vitellius," Hazel said, "we're sort of in a hurry."
The ghost scowled at Percy and walked around him, inspecting him like a used car. "I don't know," he grumbled. "We need only the best for the cohort. Does he have all his teeth? Can he fight? Does he clean stables?"
"Yes, yes, and no," Percy said. "Who are you?"
"Percy, this is Vitellius." Hazel's expression said: Just humour him. "He's one of our Lares; takes an interest in new recruits."
On a nearby porch, other ghosts snickered as Vitellius paced back and forth, tripping over his toga and hiking up his sword belt.
"Yes," Vitellius said, "back in Caesar's day—that's Julius Caesar, mind you—the Fifth Cohort was something! Twelfth Legion Fulminata, pride of Rome! But these days? Disgraceful what we've come to. Look at Hazel here, using a spatha. Ridiculous weapon for a Roman legionnaire—that's for cavalry! And you, boy—you smell like a Greek sewer. Haven't you had a bath?"
"I've been a little busy fighting gorgons," Percy said.
"Vitellius," Hazel interrupted, "we've got to get Percy's augury before he can join. Why don't you check on Frank? He's in the armoury doing inventory. You know how much he values your help."
The ghost's furry purple eyebrows shot up. "Mars Almighty! They let the probatio check the armour? We'll be ruined!"
He stumbled off down the street, stopping every few feet to pick up his sword or rearrange his toga.
"O-h-h-kay," Percy said.
"Sorry," Hazel said. "He's eccentric, but he's one of the oldest Lares. Been around since the legion was founded."
"He called the legion…Fulminata?" Percy said.
"'Armed with Lightning,'" Hazel translated. "That's our motto. The Twelfth Legion was around for the entire Roman Empire. When Rome fell, a lot of legions just disappeared. We went underground, acting on secret orders from Jupiter himself: stay alive, recruit demigods and their children, keep Rome going. We've been doing that ever since, moving around to wherever Roman influence was strongest. The last few centuries, we've been in America."
As bizarre as that sounded, Percy had no trouble believing it. In fact, it sounded familiar, like something he'd always known.
"And you're in the Fifth Cohort," he guessed, "which maybe isn't the most popular?"
Hazel scowled. "Yeah. I joined up last September."
"So…just a few weeks before that guy Jason disappeared."
Percy knew he'd hit a sore spot. Hazel looked down. She was silent long enough to count every paving stone.
"Come on," she said at last. "I'll show you my favourite view."
They stopped outside the main gates. The fort was situated on the highest point in the valley, so they could see pretty much everything.
The road led down to the river and divided. One path led south across a bridge, up to the hill with all the temples. The other road led north into the city, a miniature version of Ancient Rome. Unlike the military camp, the city looked chaotic and colourful, with buildings crowded together at haphazard angles. Even from this far away, Percy could see people gathered in the plaza, shoppers milling around an open-air market, parents with kids playing in the parks.
"You've got families here?" he asked.
"In the city, absolutely," Hazel said. "When you're accepted into the legion, you do ten years of service. After that, you can muster out whenever you want. Most demigods go into the mortal world. But for some—well, it's pretty dangerous out there. This valley is a sanctuary. You can go to college in the city, get married, have kids, retire when you get old. It's the only safe place on earth for people like us. So yeah, a lot of veterans make their homes there, under the protection of the legion."
Adult demigods. Demigods who could live without fear, get married, raise a family. Percy couldn't quite wrap his mind around that. It seemed too good to be true. "But if this valley is attacked?"
Hazel pursed her lips. "We have defences. The borders are magical. But our strength isn't what it used to be. Lately, monster attacks have been increasing. What you said about the gorgons not dying…we've noticed that too, with other monsters."
"Do you know what's causing it?"
Hazel looked away. Percy could tell that she was holding something back—something she wasn't supposed to say.
"It's—it's complicated," she said. "My brother says Death isn't—"
She was interrupted by an elephant.
Someone behind them shouted, "Make way!"
Hazel dragged Percy out of the road as a demigod rode past on a full-grown pachyderm covered in black Kevlar armour. The word elephant was printed on the side of his armour, which seemed a little obvious to Percy.
The elephant thundered down the road and turned north, heading toward a big open field where some fortifications were under construction.
Percy spit dust out of his mouth. "What the—?"
"Elephant," Hazel explained.
"Yeah, I read the sign. Why do you have an elephant in a bulletproof vest?"
"War games tonight," Hazel said. "That's Hannibal. If we didn't include him, he'd get upset."
"We can't have that." Hazel laughed. It was hard to believe she'd looked so moody a moment ago. Percy wondered what she'd been about to say. She had a brother. Yet she had claimed she'd be alone if the camp sorted her by her godly parent.
Percy couldn't figure her out. She seemed nice and easy going, mature for somebody who couldn't have been more than thirteen. But she also seemed to be hiding a deep sadness, like she felt guilty about something.
Hazel pointed south across the river. Dark clouds were gathering over Temple Hill. Red flashes of lightning washed the monuments in blood-colored light.
"Octavian is busy," Hazel said. "We'd better get over there." On the way, they passed some goat-legged guys hanging out on the side of the road.
"Hazel!" one of them cried.
He trotted over with a big grin on his face. He wore a faded Hawaiian shirt and nothing for pants except thick brown goat fur. His massive Afro jiggled. His eyes were hidden behind little round rainbow-tinted glasses. He held a cardboard sign that read: WILL WORK SING TALK go away for denarii.
"Hi, Don," Hazel said. "Sorry, we don't have time—"
"Oh, that's cool! That's cool!" Don trotted along with them. "Hey, this guy's new!" He grinned at Percy. "Do you have three denarii for the bus? Because I left my wallet at home, and I've got to get to work, and—"
"Don," Hazel chided. "Fauns don't have wallets. Or jobs. Or homes. And we don't have buses."
"Right," he said cheerfully, "but do you have denarii?"
"Your name is Don the Faun?" Percy asked.
"Yeah. So?"
"Nothing." Percy tried to keep a straight face. "Why don't fauns have jobs? Shouldn't they work for the camp?"
Don bleated. "Fauns! Work for the camp! Hilarious!"
"Fauns are, um, free spirits," Hazel explained. "They hang out here because, well, it's a safe place to hang out and beg. We tolerate them, but—"
"Oh, Hazel is awesome," Don said. "She's so nice! All the other campers are like, 'Go away, Don.' But she's like, 'Please go away, Don.' I love her!"
The faun seemed harmless, but Percy still found him unsettling. He couldn't shake the feeling that fauns should be more than just homeless guys begging for denarii.
Don looked at the ground in front of them and gasped. "Score!"
He reached for something, but Hazel screamed, "Don, no!"
She pushed him out of the way and snatched up a small shiny object. Percy caught a glimpse of it before Hazel slipped it into her pocket. He could have sworn it was a diamond.
"Come on, Hazel," Don complained. "I could've bought a year's worth of doughnuts with that!"
"Don, please," Hazel said. "Go away."
She sounded shaken, like she'd just saved Don from a charging bulletproof elephant.
The faun sighed. "Aw, I can't stay mad at you. But I swear, it's like you're good luck. Every time you walk by—"
"Good-bye, Don," Hazel said quickly. "Let's go, Percy."
She started jogging. Percy had to sprint to catch up.
"What was that about?" Percy asked. "That diamond in the road—"
"Please," she said. "Don't ask."
They walked in uneasy silence the rest of the way to Temple Hill. A crooked stone path led past a crazy assortment of tiny altars and massive domed vaults. Statues of gods seemed to follow Percy with their eyes.
Hazel pointed out the Temple of Bellona. "Goddess of war," she said. "That's Reyna's mom." Then they passed a massive red crypt decorated with human skulls on iron spikes.
"Please tell me we're not going in there," Percy said.
Hazel shook her head. "That's the Temple of Mars Ultor."
"Mars ... Ares, the war god?"
"That's his Greek name," Hazel said. "But, yeah, same guy. Ultor means 'the Avenger.' He's the second-most important god of Rome."
Percy wasn't thrilled to hear that. For some reason, just looking at the ugly red building made him feel angry.
They passed a large black building made out of what looked to be obsidian, steel spikes lined the roof and a deep sense of forbidding passed over Percy as they continued past it.
"Who's that? Hades?" Percy asked, pointing to the black building. Hazel let out a shaky and nervous laugh.
"No, that isn't Pluto's temple. That one belongs to Fatum."
"Which Olympian is that?" Percy questioned. Hazel stared at him as if he had two heads.
"Fatum isn't an Olympain, Percy."
"Then why is he here, minor gods are nowhere near as powerful as major gods." Percy replied. Hazel froze.
"Please, please be careful what you say, Percy! That's FATUM's temple! You know, the god of Depression," Percy nodded, "Doom," Wait a minute, Percy thought, "destiny and fate. If you're not careful about what you say, he could curse you to suffer a terrible fate. He's also Antoni Ortez's father, if you insult the praetor, he may punish you. Gods are tempermental like that."
Percy then pointed toward the summit. Clouds swirled over the largest temple, a round pavilion with a ring of white columns supporting a domed roof. "I'm guessing that's Zeus—uh, I mean, Jupiter's? That's where we're heading?"
"Yeah." Hazel sounded edgy. "Octavian reads auguries there—the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus."
Percy had to think about it, but the Latin words clicked into English. "Jupiter…the best and the greatest?"
"Right."
"What's Neptune's title?" Percy asked. "The coolest and most awesome?"
"Um, not quite." Hazel gestured to a small blue building the size of a toolshed. A cobweb-covered trident was nailed above the door.
Percy peeked inside. On a small altar sat a bowl with three dried-up, mouldy apples.
His heart sank. "Popular place."
"I'm sorry, Percy," Hazel said. "It's just…Romans were always scared of the sea. They only used ships if they had to. Even in modern times, having a child of Neptune around has always been a bad omen. The last time one joined the legion
…well, it was 1906, when Camp Jupiter was located across the bay in San Francisco. There was this huge earthquake—"
"You're telling me a child of Neptune caused that?"
"So they say." Hazel looked apologetic. "Anyway… Romans fear Neptune, but they don't love him much." Percy stared at the cobwebs on the trident. Great, he thought. Even if he joined the camp, he would never be loved. His best hope was to be scary to his new campmates. Maybe if he did really well, they'd give him some mouldy apples.
Still…standing at Neptune's altar, he felt something stirring inside him, like waves rippling through his veins.
He reached in his backpack and dug out the last bit of food from his trip—a stale bagel. It wasn't much, but he set it on the altar.
"Hey…uh, Dad." He felt pretty stupid talking to a bowl of fruit. "If you can hear me, help me out, okay? Give me my memory back. Tell me—tell me what to do."
His voice cracked. He hadn't meant to get emotional, but he was exhausted and scared, and he'd been lost for so long, he would've given anything for some guidance. He wanted to know something about his life for sure, without grabbing for missing memories.
Hazel put her hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay. You're here now. You're one of us."
He felt awkward, depending on an eighth-grade girl he barely knew for comfort, but he was glad she was there.
Above them, thunder rumbled. Red lightning lit up the hill.
"Octavian's almost done," Hazel said. "Let's go."
Compared to Neptune's tool shed, Jupiter's temple was definitely optimus and maximus.
The marble floor was etched with fancy mosaics and Latin inscriptions. Sixty feet above, the domed ceiling sparkled gold. The whole temple was open to the wind.
In the centre stood a marble altar, where a kid in a toga was doing some sort of ritual in front of a massive golden statue of the big dude himself: Jupiter the sky god, dressed in a silk XXXL purple toga, holding a lightning bolt.
"It doesn't look like that," Percy muttered.
"What?" Hazel asked.
"The master bolt," Percy said.
"What are you talking about?"
"I—" Percy frowned. For a second, he'd thought he remembered something. Now it was gone. "Nothing, I guess."
The kid at the altar raised his hands. More red lightning flashed in the sky, shaking the temple. Then he put his hands down, and the rumbling stopped. The clouds turned from grey to white and broke apart.
A pretty impressive trick, considering the kid didn't look like much. He was tall and skinny, with straw-colored hair, oversized jeans, a baggy T-shirt, and a drooping toga. He looked like a scarecrow wearing a bed sheet.
"What's he doing?" Percy murmured.
The guy in the toga turned. He had a crooked smile and a slightly crazy look in his eyes, like he'd just been playing an intense video game. In one hand he held a knife. On the other hand was something like a dead animal. That didn't make him look any less crazy.
"Percy," Hazel said, "this is Octavian."
"The Graecus!" Octavian announced. "How interesting."
"Uh, hi," Percy said. "Are you killing small animals?"
Octavian looked at the fuzzy thing in his hand and laughed. "No, no. Once upon a time, yes. We used to read the will of the gods by examining animal guts—chickens, goats, that sort of thing. Nowadays, we use these."
He tossed the fuzzy thing to Percy. It was a disembowelled teddy bear. Then Percy noticed that there was a whole pile of mutilated stuffed animals at the foot of Jupiter's statue.
"Seriously?" Percy asked.
Octavian stepped off the dais. He was probably about eighteen, but so skinny and sickly pale, he could've passed for younger. At first he looked harmless, but as he got closer, Percy wasn't so sure. Octavian's eyes glittered with harsh curiosity, like he might gut Percy just as easily as a teddy bear if he thought he could learn something from it.
Octavian narrowed his eyes. "You seem nervous."
"You remind me of someone," Percy said. "I can't remember who."
"Possibly my namesake, Octavian—Augustus Caesar. Everyone says I bear a remarkable resemblance."
Percy didn't think that was it, but he couldn't pin down the memory. "Why did you call me 'the Greek'?"
"I saw it in the auguries." Octavian waved his knife at the pile of stuffing on the altar. "The message said: The Greek has arrived. Or possibly: The goose has cried. I'm thinking the first interpretation is correct. You seek to join the legion?"
Hazel spoke for him. She told Octavian everything that had happened since they met at the tunnel—the gorgons, the fight at the river, the appearance of Juno, their conversation with Reyna and Antoni's random blow up.
When she mentioned Juno, Octavian looked surprised.
"Juno," he mused. "We call her Juno Moneta. Juno the Warner. She appears in times of crisis, to counsel Rome about great threats."
He glanced at Percy, as if to say: like mysterious Greeks, for instance.
"I hear the Feast of Fortuna is this week," Percy said. "The gorgons warned there'd be an invasion on that day. Did you see that in your stuffing?"
"Sadly, no." Octavian sighed. "The will of the gods is hard to discern. And these days, my vision is even darker."
"Don't you have…I don't know," Percy said, "an oracle or something?"
"An oracle!" Octavian smiled. "What a cute idea. No, I'm afraid we're fresh out of oracles. Now, if we'd gone questing for the Sibylline books, like I recommended—"
"The Siba-what?" Percy asked.
"Books of prophecy," Hazel said, "which Octavian is obsessed with. Romans used to consult them when disasters happened. Most people believe they burned up when Rome fell."
"Some people believe that," Octavian corrected. "Unfortunately half of our present leadership won't authorise a quest to look for them—"
"Because Reyna isn't stupid," Hazel said.
"—so we have only a few remaining scraps from the books," Octavian continued. "A few mysterious predictions, like these. Are you implying that our other praetor, is stupid?"
Hazel looked down.
He nodded to the inscriptions on the marble floor. Percy stared at the lines of words, not really expecting to understand them. He almost choked.
"That one." He pointed, translating as he read aloud:"Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire the world must fall—"
"Yes, yes." Octavian finished it without looking: "An oath to keep with a final breath, and foes bear arms to the Doors of Death."
"I—I know that one." Percy thought thunder was shaking the temple again. Then he realised his whole body was trembling. "That's important."
Octavian arched an eyebrow. "Of course it's important. We call it the Prophecy of Seven, but it's several thousand years old. We don't know what it means. Every time someone tries to interpret it…Well, Hazel can tell you. Bad things happen."
Hazel glared at him. "Just read the augury for Percy. Can he join the legion or not?"
Percy could almost see Octavian's mind working, calculating whether or not Percy would be useful. He held out his hand for Percy's backpack. "That's a beautiful specimen. May I?"
Percy didn't understand what he meant, but Octavian snatched the Bargain Mart panda pillow that was sticking out of the top of his pack. It was just a silly stuffed toy, but Percy had carried it a long way. He was kind of fond of it. Octavian turned toward the altar and raised his knife.
"Hey!" Percy protested.
Octavian slashed open the panda's belly and poured its stuffing over the altar. He tossed the panda carcass aside, muttered a few words over the fluff, and turned with a big smile on his face.
"Good news!" he said. "Percy may join the legion. We'll assign him a cohort at evening muster. Tell Reyna and Antoni that I approve."
Hazel's shoulders relaxed. "Uh…great. Come on, Percy."
"Oh, and Hazel," Octavian said. "I'm happy to welcome Percy into the legion. But when the election for praetor comes up, I hope you'll remember—"
"Jason isn't dead," Hazel snapped. "You're the augur. You're supposed to be looking for him!"
"Oh, I am!" Octavian pointed at the pile of gutted stuffed animals. "I consult the gods every day! Alas, after eight months, I've found nothing. Of course, I'm still looking. And I hope you're not implying you would support Jason over Antoni who did so much for you."
Hazel clenched her fists.
Octavian took off his toga, setting it and his knife on the altar. Percy noticed seven lines on Octavian's arm—seven years of camp, Percy guessed. Octavian's mark was a harp, the symbol of Apollo.
"After all," Octavian told Hazel, "I might be able to help you. It would be a shame if those awful rumours about you kept circulating…or, gods forbid, if they turned out to be true."
Percy slipped his hand into his pocket and grabbed his pen. This guy was blackmailing Hazel. That was obvious. One sign from Hazel, and Percy was ready to bust out Riptide and see how Octavian liked being at the other end of a blade.
Hazel took a deep breath. Her knuckles were white. "I'll think about it."
"Excellent," Octavian said. "By the way, your brother is here."
Hazel stiffened. "My brother? Why?"
Octavian shrugged. "Why does your brother do anything? He's waiting for you at your father's shrine. Just…ah, don't invite him to stay too long. He has a disturbing effect on others. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to keep searching for our poor lost friend, Jason. Nice to meet you, Percy. Ah and Hazel, do send Antoni up for me, we have much to discuss."
Hazel stormed out of the pavilion, and Percy followed. He was sure he'd never been so glad to leave a temple in his life.
As Hazel marched down the hill, she cursed in Latin. Percy didn't understand all of it, but he got son of a gorgon, power-hungry snake, and a few choice suggestions about where Octavian could stick his knife.
"I hate that guy," she muttered in English. "If I had my way—"
"He won't really blackmail you into voting, will he?" Percy asked.
"I wish I could be certain. Octavian has a lot of friends, most of them bought. The rest of the campers are afraid of him."
"Afraid of that skinny little guy?"
"Don't underestimate him. Reyna's not so bad herself, but if Octavian shares her power… Even if it's through Antoni…" Hazel shuddered. "Let's go see my brother. He'll want to meet you."
Percy didn't argue. He wanted to meet this mysterious brother, maybe learn something about Hazel's background—who her dad was, what secret she was hiding. Percy couldn't believe she'd done anything to be guilty about. She seemed too nice. But Octavian had acted like he had some first-class dirt on her.
Hazel led Percy to a black crypt built into the side of the hill. Standing in front was a teenage boy in black jeans and an aviator jacket.
"Hey," Hazel called. "I've brought a friend."
The boy turned. Percy had another one of those weird flashes: like this was somebody he should know. The kid was almost as pale as Octavian, but with dark eyes and messy black hair. He didn't look anything like Hazel. He wore a silver skull ring, a chain for a belt, and a black T-shirt with skull designs. At his side hung a pure-black sword.
For a microsecond when he saw Percy, the boy seemed shocked—panicked even, like he'd been caught in a searchlight.
"This is Percy Jackson," Hazel said. "He's a good guy. Percy, this is my brother, the son of Pluto."
The boy regained his composure and held out his hand. "Pleased to meet you," he said. "I'm Nico di Angelo."
Hazel
HAZEL FELT LIKE SHE'D JUST INTRODUCED two nuclear bombs. Now she was waiting to see which one exploded first.
Until that morning, her brother Nico had been the most powerful demigod she knew. The others at Camp Jupiter saw him as a travelling oddball, about as harmless as the fauns. Hazel knew better. She hadn't grown up with Nico, hadn't even known him very long. But she knew Nico was more dangerous than Reyna, or Octavian, or maybe even Jason or potentially on a good day Antoni.
Then she'd met Percy.
At first, when she saw him stumbling up the highway with the old lady in his arms, Hazel had thought he might be a god in disguise. Even though he was beat up, dirty, and stooped with
exhaustion, he'd had an aura of power. He had the good looks of a Roman god, with sea-green eyes and wind blown black hair.
She'd ordered Frank not to fire on him. She thought the gods might be testing them. She'd heard myths like that: a kid with an old lady begs for shelter, and when the rude mortals refuse—boom, they get turned into banana slugs.
Then Percy had controlled the river and destroyed the gorgons. He'd turned a pen into a bronze sword. He'd stirred up the whole camp with talk about the Graecus.
A son of the sea god…
Long ago, Hazel had been told that a descendant of Neptune would save her. But could Percy really take away her curse? It seemed too much to hope for.
Percy and Nico shook hands. They studied each other warily, and Hazel fought the urge to run. If these two busted out the magic swords, things could get ugly.
Nico didn't appear scary. He was skinny and sloppy in his rumpled black clothes. His hair, as always, looked like he'd just rolled out of bed.
Hazel remembered when she'd met him. The first time she'd seen him draw that black sword of his, she'd almost laughed. The way he called it "Stygian iron," all serious-like—he'd looked ridiculous. This scrawny white boy was no fighter. She certainly hadn't believed they were related.
She had changed her mind about that quick enough.
Percy scowled. "I—I know you."
Nico raised his eyebrows. "Do you?" He looked at Hazel for an explanation.
Hazel hesitated. Something about her brother's reaction wasn't right. He was trying hard to act casual, but when he had first seen Percy, Hazel had noticed his momentary look of panic. Nico already knew Percy. She was sure of it. Why was he pretending otherwise?
Hazel forced herself to speak. "Um…Percy's lost his memory." She told her brother what had happened since Percy had arrived at the gates.
"So, Nico…" she continued carefully, "I thought…you know, you travel all over. Maybe you've met demigods like Percy before, or..."
Nico's expression turned as dark as Tartarus. Hazel didn't understand why, but she got the message: Drop it.
"This story is about Gaea's army," Nico said. "You warned Reyna and Antoni?"
Percy nodded. "Who is Gaea, anyway?"
Hazel's mouth went dry. Just hearing that name…It was all she could do to keep her knees from buckling. She remembered a woman's soft sleepy voice, a glowing cave, and feeling her lungs fill with black oil.
"She's the earth goddess." Nico glanced at the ground as if it might be listening. "One of the oldest goddesses of all. She's in a deep sleep most of the time, but she hates the gods and their children."
"Mother Earth…is evil?" Percy asked.
"Very," Nico said gravely. "She convinced her son, the Titan Kronos—um, I mean, Saturn—to kill his dad, Uranus, and take over the world. The Titans ruled for a long time. Then the Titans' children, the Olympian gods, overthrew them."
"That story seems familiar," Percy sounded surprised, like an old memory had partially surfaced. "But I don't think I ever heard the part about Gaea."
Nico shrugged. "She got mad when the gods took over. She took a new husband—Tartarus, the spirit of the abyss—and gave birth to a race of giants. They tried to destroy Mount Olympus, but the gods finally beat them. At least…the first time."
"The first time?" Percy repeated.
Nico glanced at Hazel. He probably wasn't meaning to make her feel guilty, but she couldn't help it. If Percy knew the truth about her, and the horrible things she'd done…
"Last summer," Nico continued, "Saturn tried to make a comeback. There was a second Titan war. The Romans at Camp Jupiter stormed his headquarters on Mount Othrys, across the bay, and destroyed his throne. Saturn disappeared—" He hesitated, watching Percy's face. Hazel got the feeling her brother was nervous that more of Percy's memory might come back.
"Um, anyway," Nico continued, "Saturn probably faded back to the abyss. We all thought the war was over. Now it looks like the Titans' defeat stirred up Gaea. She's starting to wake. I've heard reports of giants being reborn. If they mean to challenge the gods again, they'll probably start by destroying the demigods.…"
"You've told Reyna this?" Percy asked.
"Of course." Nico's jaw tensed. "The Romans don't trust me. That's why I was hoping she'd listen to you. Children of Pluto…well, no offence, but they think we're even worse than children of Neptune. We're bad luck."
"They let Hazel stay here," Percy noted.
"That's different," Nico said.
"Why?"
"Percy," Hazel cut in, "look, the giants aren't the worst problem. Even ... even Gaea isn't the worst problem. The thing you noticed about the gorgons, how they wouldn't die, that's our biggest worry." She looked at Nico. She was getting dangerously close to her own secret now, but for some reason Hazel trusted Percy. Maybe because he was also an outsider, maybe because he'd saved Frank at the river. He deserved to know what they were facing.
"Nico and I," she said carefully, "we think that what's happening is…Death isn't—"
Before she could finish, a shout came from down the hill.
Frank jogged toward them, wearing his jeans, purple camp shirt, and denim jacket. His hands were covered with grease from cleaning weapons.
As it did every time she saw Frank, Hazel's heart performed a little skip-beat tap-dance—which really irritated her. Sure, he was a good friend—one of the only people at camp who didn't treat her as if she had a contagious disease. But she didn't like him in that way. He was three years older than she was, and he wasn't exactly Prince Charming, with that strange combination of baby face and bulky wrestler's body. He looked like a cuddly koala bear with muscles. The fact that everyone always tried to pair them up—the two biggest losers at camp! You guys are perfect for each other—just made Hazel more determined not to like him.
But her heart wasn't with the program. It went nuts whenever Frank was around. She hadn't felt like that since ... well, since Sammy.
Stop it, she thought. You're here for one reason—and it isn't to get a new boyfriend.
Besides, Frank didn't know her secret. If he knew, he wouldn't be so nice to her.
He reached the shrine. "Hey, Nico…"
"Frank." Nico smiled. He seemed to find Frank amusing, maybe because Frank was the only one at camp who wasn't uneasy around the children of Pluto.
"Reyna sent me to get Percy," Frank said. "Did Octavian accept you?"
"Yeah," Percy said. "He slaughtered my panda."
"He…Oh. The augury? Yeah, teddy bears must have nightmares about that guy. But you're in! We need to get you cleaned up before evening muster."
Hazel realised the sun was getting low over the hills. How had the day gone so fast? "You're right," she said. "We'd better—"
"Frank," Nico interrupted, "why don't you take Percy down? Hazel and I will be along soon."
Uh-oh, Hazel thought. She tried not to look anxious.
"That's—that's a good idea," she managed. "Go ahead, guys. We'll catch up. Also Frank, Octavian needs Antoni if you can get him." Frank nodded.
Percy looked at Nico one more time, as though he was still trying to place a memory. "I'd like to talk with you some more. I can't shake the feeling—"
"Sure," Nico agreed. "Later. I'll be staying overnight."
"You will?" Hazel blurted. The campers were going to love that—the son of Neptune and the son of Pluto arriving on the same day. Now all they needed was some black cats and broken mirrors.
"Go on, Percy," Nico said. "Settle in." He turned to Hazel, and she got the sense that the worst part of her day was yet to come. "My sister and I need to talk."
"You know him, don't you," Hazel said.
They sat on the roof of Pluto's shrine, which was covered with bones and diamonds. As far as Hazel knew, the bones had always been there. The diamonds were her fault. If she sat anywhere too long, or just got anxious, they started popping up all around her like mushrooms after a rain. Several million dollars' worth of stones glittered on the roof, but fortunately the other campers wouldn't touch them. They knew better than to steal from temples—especially Pluto's—and the fauns never came up here.
Hazel shuddered, remembering her close call with Don that afternoon. If she hadn't moved quickly and snatched that diamond off the road…She didn't want to think about it. She didn't need another death on her conscience.
Nico swung his feet like a little kid. His Stygian iron sword lay by his side, next to Hazel's spatha. He gazed across the valley, where construction crews were working in the Field of Mars, building fortifications for tonight's games.
"Percy Jackson." He said the name like an incantation. "Hazel, I have to be careful what I say. Important things are at work here. Some secrets need to stay secret. You of all people—you should understand that."
Hazel's cheeks felt hot. "But he's not like…like me?"
"No," Nico said. "I'm sorry I can't tell you more. I can't interfere. Percy has to find his own way at this camp."
"Is he dangerous?" she asked.
Nico managed a dry smile. "Very. To his enemies. But he's not a threat to Camp Jupiter. You can trust him."
"Like I trust you," Hazel said bitterly.
Nico twisted his skull ring. Around him, bones began to quiver as if they were trying to form a new skeleton. Whenever he got moody, Nico had that effect on the dead, kind of like Hazel's curse. Between them, they represented Pluto's two spheres of control: death and riches. Sometimes Hazel thought Nico had gotten the better end of the deal.
"Look, I know this is hard," Nico said. "But you have a second chance. You can make things right."
"Nothing about this is right," Hazel said. "If they find out the truth about me—"
"They won't," Nico promised. "They'll call a quest soon. They have to. You'll make me proud. Trust me, Bi—"
He caught himself, but Hazel knew what he'd almost called her: Bianca. Nico's real sister—the one he'd grown up with. Nico might care about Hazel, but she'd never be Bianca. Hazel was the simply the next best thing Nico could manage—a consolation prize from the Underworld.
"I'm sorry," he said.
Hazel's mouth tasted like metal, as if gold nuggets were popping up under her tongue. "Then it's true about Death? Is Alcyoneus to blame?"
"I think so," Nico said. "It's getting bad in the Underworld. Dad's going crazy trying to keep things under control. From what Percy said about the gorgons, things are getting worse up here, too. But look, that's why you're here. All that stuff in your past—you can make something good come out of it. You belong at Camp Jupiter."
That sounded so ridiculous, Hazel almost laughed. She didn't belong in this place. She didn't even belong in this century.
She should have known better than to focus on the past, but she remembered the day when her old life had been shattered. The blackout hit her so suddenly, she didn't even have time to say, Uh-oh. She shifted back in time. Not a dream or a vision. The memory washed over her with such perfect clarity, she felt she was actually there.
Her most recent birthday. She'd just turned thirteen. But not last December—December 17, 1941, the last day she had lived in New Orleans.
Flash Back - HAZEL
HAZEL WAS WALKING HOME ALONE from the riding stables. Despite the cold evening, she was buzzing with warmth. Sammy had just kissed her on the cheek.
The day had been full of ups and downs. Kids at school had teased her about her mother, calling her a witch and a lot of other names. That had been going on for a long time, of course, but it was getting worse. Rumours were spreading about Hazel's curse. The school was called St. Agnes Academy for Colored Children and Indians, a name that hadn't changed in a hundred years. Just like its name, the place masked a whole lot of cruelty under a thin veneer of kindness.
Hazel didn't understand how other black kids could be so mean. They should've known better, since they themselves had to put up with name-calling all the time. But they yelled at her and stole her lunch, always asking for those famous jewels: "Where's those cursed diamonds, girl? Gimme some or I'll hurt you!" They pushed her away at the water fountain, and threw rocks at her if she tried to approach them on the playground.
Despite how horrible they were, Hazel never gave them diamonds or gold. She didn't hate anyone that much. Besides, she had one friend—Sammy—and that was enough.
Sammy liked to joke that he was the perfect St. Agnes student. He was Mexican American, so he considered himself colored and Indian. "They should give me a double scholarship," he said.
He wasn't big or strong, but he had a crazy smile and he made Hazel laugh.
That afternoon he'd taken her to the stables where he worked as a groom. It was a "whites only" riding club, of course, but it was closed on weekdays, and with the war on, there was talk that the club might have to shut down completely until the Japanese were whipped and the soldiers came back home. Sammy could usually sneak Hazel in to help take care of the horses. Once in a while they'd go riding.
Hazel loved horses. They seemed to be the only living things that weren't scared of her. People hated her. Cats hissed. Dogs growled. Even the stupid hamster in Miss Finley's classroom squeaked in terror when she gave it a carrot. But horses didn't mind. When she was in the saddle, she could ride so fast that there was no chance of gemstones cropping up in her wake. She almost felt free of her curse.
That afternoon, she'd taken out a tan roan stallion with a gorgeous black mane. She galloped into the fields so swiftly, she left Sammy behind. By the time he caught up, he and his horse were both winded.
"What are you running from?" He laughed. "I'm not that ugly, am I?"
It was too cold for a picnic, but they had one anyway, sitting under a magnolia tree with the horses tethered to a split-rail fence. Sammy had brought her a cupcake with a birthday candle, which had gotten smashed on the ride but was still the sweetest thing Hazel had ever seen. They broke it in half and shared it.
Sammy talked about the war. He wished he were old enough to go. He asked Hazel if she would write him letters if he were a soldier going overseas.
"Course, dummy," she said.
He grinned. Then, as if moved by a sudden impulse, he lurched forward and kissed her on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Hazel."
It wasn't much. Just one kiss, and not even on the lips. But Hazel felt like she was floating. She hardly remembered the ride back to the stables, or telling Sammy good-bye. He said, "See you tomorrow," like he always did. But she would never see him again.
By the time she got back to the French Quarter, it was getting dark. As she approached home, her warm feeling faded, replaced by dread.
Hazel and her mother—Queen Marie, she liked to be called—lived in an old apartment above a jazz club. Despite the beginning of the war, there was a festive mood in the air. New recruits would roam the streets, laughing and talking about fighting the Japanese. They'd get tattoos in the parlours or propose to their sweethearts right on the sidewalk. Some would go upstairs to Hazel's mother to have their fortunes read or to buy charms from Marie Levesque, the famous grisgris queen.
"Did you hear?" one would say. "Two bits for this good-luck charm. I took it to a guy I know, and he says it's a real silver nugget. Worth twenty dollars! That voodoo woman is crazy!"
For a while, that kind of talk brought Queen Marie a lot of business. Hazel's curse had started out slowly. At first it seemed like a blessing. The precious stones and gold only appeared once in a while, never in huge quantities. Queen Marie paid her bills. They ate steak for dinner once a week. Hazel even got a new dress. But then stories started spreading. The locals began to realise how many horrible things happened to people who bought those good-luck charms or got paid with Queen Marie's treasure. Charlie Gasceaux lost his arm in a harvester while wearing a gold bracelet. Mr. Henry at the general store dropped dead from a heart attack after Queen Marie settled her tab with a ruby.
Folks started whispering about Hazel—how she could find cursed jewels just by walking down the street. These days only out-of-towners come to visit her mother, and not so many of them, either. Hazel's mom had become short-tempered. She gave Hazel resentful looks.
Hazel climbed the stairs as quietly as she could, in case her mother had a customer. In the club downstairs, the band was tuning their instruments. The bakery next door had started making beignets for tomorrow morning, filling the stairwell with the smell of melting butter.
When she got to the top, Hazel thought she heard two voices inside the apartment. But when she peeked into the parlour, her mother was sitting alone at the séance table, her eyes closed, as if in a trance.
Hazel had seen her that way many times, pretending to talk to spirits for her clients—but not ever when she was by herself. Queen Marie had always told Hazel her gris-gris was "bunk and hokum." She didn't really believe in charms or fortune telling or ghosts. She was just a performer, like a singer or an actress, doing a show for money.
But Hazel knew her mother did believe in some magic. Hazel's curse wasn't hokum. Queen Marie just didn't want to think it was her fault—that somehow she had made Hazel the way she was.
"It was your blasted father," Queen Marie would grumble in her darker moods. "Coming here in his fancy silver-and black suit. The one time I actually summon a spirit, and what do I get? Fulfils my wish and ruins my life. I should've been a real queen. It's his fault you turned out this way."
She would never explain what she meant, and Hazel had learned not to ask about her father. It just made her mother angrier.
As Hazel watched, Queen Marie muttered something to herself. Her face was calm and relaxed. Hazel was struck by how beautiful she looked, without her scowl and the creases in her brow. She had a lush mane of gold-brown hair like Hazel's, and the same dark complexion, brown as a roasted coffee bean. She wasn't wearing the fancy saffron robes or gold bangles she wore to impress clients—just a simple white dress. Still, she had a regal air, sitting straight and dignified in her gilded chair as if she really were a queen.
"You'll be safe there," she murmured. "Far from the gods."
Hazel stifled a scream. The voice coming from her mother's mouth wasn't hers. It sounded like an older woman's. The tone was soft and soothing, but also commanding—like a hypnotist giving orders.
Queen Marie tensed. She grimaced in her trance, then spoke in her normal voice: "It's too far. Too cold. Too dangerous. He told me not to."
The other voice responded: "What has he ever done for you? He gave you a poisoned child! But we can use her gift for good. We can strike back at the gods. You will be under my protection in the north, far from the gods' domain. I'll make my son your protector. You'll live like a queen at last."
Queen Marie winced. "But what about Hazel…"
Then her face contorted in a sneer. Both voices spoke in unison, as if they'd found something to agree on: "A poisoned child."
Hazel fled down the stairs, her pulse racing.
At the bottom, she ran into a man in a dark suit. He gripped her shoulders with strong, cold fingers.
"Easy, child," the man said.
Hazel noticed the silver skull ring on his finger, then the strange fabric of his suit. In the shadows, the solid black wool seemed to shift and boil, forming images of faces in agony, as if lost souls were trying to escape from the folds of his clothes.
His tie was black with platinum stripes. His shirt was tombstone grey. His face—Hazel's heart nearly leaped out of her throat. His skin was so white it looked almost blue, like cold milk. He had a flap of greasy black hair. His smile was kind enough, but his eyes were fiery and angry, full of mad power. Hazel had seen that look in the newsreels at the movie theatre. This man looked like that awful Adolf Hitler. He had no moustache, but otherwise he could've been Hitler's twin—or his father.
Hazel tried to pull away. Even when the man let go, she couldn't seem to move. His eyes froze her in place.
"Hazel Levesque," he said in a melancholy voice. "You've grown."
Hazel started to tremble. At the base of the stairs, the cement stoop cracked under the man's feet. A glittering stone popped up from the concrete like the earth had spit out a watermelon seed. The man looked at it, unsurprised. He bent down.
"Don't!" Hazel cried. "It's cursed!"
He picked up the stone—a perfectly formed emerald. "Yes, it is. But not to me. So beautiful…worth more than this building, I imagine." He slipped the emerald in his pocket. "I'm sorry for your fate, child. I imagine you hate me."
Hazel didn't understand. The man sounded sad, as if he were personally responsible for her life. Then the truth hither: a spirit in silver and black, who'd fulfilled her mother's wishes and ruined her life.
Her eyes widened. "You? You're my…"
He cupped his hand under her chin. "I am Pluto. Life is never easy for my children, but you have a special burden. Now that you're thirteen, we must make provisions—"
She pushed his hand away.
"You did this to me?" she demanded. "You cursed me and my mother? You left us alone?"
Her eyes stung with tears. This rich white man in a fine suit was her father? Now that she was thirteen, he showed up for the first time and said he was sorry?
"You're evil!" she shouted. "You ruined our lives!"
Pluto's eyes narrowed. "What has your mother told you, Hazel? Has she never explained her wish? Or tell you why you were born under a curse?"
Hazel was too angry to speak, but Pluto seemed to read the answers in her face.
"No…" He sighed. "I suppose she wouldn't. Much easier to blame me."
"What do you mean?"
Pluto sighed. "Poor child. You were born too soon. I cannot see your future clearly, but someday you will find your place. A descendant of Neptune will wash away your curse and give you peace. I fear, though, that is not for many years.…"
Hazel didn't follow any of that. Before she could respond, Pluto held out his hand. A sketchpad and a box of colored pencils appeared in his palm.
"I understand you enjoy art and horseback riding," he said. "These are for your art. As for the horse…" His eyes gleamed. "That, you'll have to manage yourself. Now I must speak with your mother. Happy birthday, Hazel."
He turned and headed up the stairs—just like that, as if he'd checked Hazel off his "to do" list and had already forgotten her. Happy birthday. Go draw a picture. See you in another thirteen years.
She was so stunned, so angry, so upside-down confused that she just stood paralyzed at the base of the steps. She wanted to throw down the colored pencils and stomp on them. She wanted to charge after Pluto and kick him. She wanted to run away, find Sammy, steal a horse, leave town and never come back. But she didn't do any of those things.
Above her, the apartment door opened, and Pluto stepped inside.
Hazel was still shivering from his cold touch, but she crept up the stairs to see what he would do. What would he say to Queen Marie? Who would speak back—Hazel's mother, or that awful voice?
When she reached the doorway, Hazel heard arguing. She peeked in. Her mother seemed back to normal—screaming and angry, throwing things around the parlour while Pluto tried to reason with her.
"Marie, it's insanity," he said. "You'll be far beyond my power to protect you."
"Protect me?" Queen Marie yelled. "When have you ever protected me?"
Pluto's dark suit shimmered, as if the souls trapped in the fabric were getting agitated.
"You have no idea," he said. "I've kept you alive, you and the child. My enemies are everywhere among gods and men. Now with the war on, it will only get worse. You must stay where I can—"
"The police think I'm a murderer!" Queen Marie shouted. "My clients want to hang me as a witch! And Hazel—her curse is getting worse. Your protection is killing us."
Pluto spread his hands in a pleading gesture. "Marie, please—"
"No!" Queen Marie turned to the closet, pulled out a leather valise, and threw it on the table. "We're leaving," she announced. "You can keep your protection. We're going north."
"Marie, it's a trap," Pluto warned. "Whoever's whispering in your ear, whoever's turning you against me—"
"You turned me against you!" She picked up a porcelain vase and threw it at him. It shattered on the floor, and precious stones spilled everywhere—emeralds, rubies, diamonds. Hazel's entire collection.
"You won't survive," Pluto said. "If you go north, you'll both die. I can foresee that clearly."
"Get out!" she said.
Hazel wished Pluto would stay and argue. Whatever her mother was talking about, Hazel didn't like it. But her father slashed his hand across the air and dissolved into shadows…like he really was a spirit.
Queen Marie closed her eyes. She took a deep breath. Hazel was afraid the strange voice might possess her again. But when she spoke, she was her regular self.
"Hazel," she snapped, "come out from behind that door."
Trembling, Hazel obeyed. She clutched the sketchbook and colored pencils to her chest.
Her mother studied her like she was a bitter disappointment. A poisoned child, the voices had said.
"Pack a bag," she ordered. "We're moving."
"Wh-where?" Hazel asked.
"Alaska," Queen Marie answered. "You're going to make yourself useful. We're going to start a new life."
The way her mother said that, it sounded as if they were going to create a "new life" for someone else—or something else.
"What did Pluto mean?" Hazel asked. "Is he really my father? He said you made a wish—"
"Go to your room!" her mother shouted. "Pack!"
Hazel fled, and suddenly she was ripped out of the past.
The Present - HAZEL
Nico was shaking her shoulders. "You did it again."
Hazel blinked. They were still sitting on the roof of Pluto's shrine. The sun was lower in the sky. More diamonds had surfaced around her, and her eyes stung from crying.
"S-sorry," she murmured.
"Don't be," Nico said. "Where were you?"
"My mother's apartment. The day we moved."
Nico nodded. He understood her history better than most people could. He was also a kid from the 1940s. He'd been born only a few years after Hazel, and had been locked away in a magic hotel for decades. But Hazel's past was much worse than Nico's. She'd caused so much damage and misery.…
"You have to work on controlling those memories," Nico warned. "If a flashback like that happens when you're in combat—"
"I know," she said. "I'm trying."
Nico squeezed her hand. "It's okay. I think it's a side effect from…you know, your time in the Underworld. Hopefully it'll get easier."
JUPITER'S TEMPLE - ANTONI
"You ask for me Octavian?"
"Ah, there you are. How are you my dear cousin?" Octavian smiled. Antoni returned the smile. He glanced at the ever growing pile of dissected toys.
"I see you've been looking for Jason again. And I am well, cousin." Antoni replied lightly. He gazed at the ceiling, admiring the architecture. Octavian sliced another bear and looked down into its split guts.
"That is not what the guts say. You've been hurt. Your hand, to be exact. Punching walls again cousin?" Octavian said snarkily.
"Yes yes, okay, you've got me. I was in fact in an argument with Reyna. She continues to talk about Jason as if he was the Praetor and I am new. It's gone way beyond annoying. It drives me to lengths of rage never seen before. I have begun to inflict damage upon inanimate objects so as to not hurt her. I couldn't bear the thought of hurting her, and imagine the scandal it would be." Antoni sighed, and raked a hand down his face.
"Well, as much as I would love to continue our therapy session we need to get down to business. Let's be honest here, Percy Jackson is a Graecus. No one wants him here. Do
you have any more information on the topic at hand?" Octavian questioned peering at the praetor with curiosity. Antoni grinned at him and relayed Reyna and the boy's conversion.
"An amnesiac 17 year old with a greek sword and the common appearance traits of a Graecus, who just happens to be a son of Neptune and people are trying to convince us he's worthy to be a Roman. It's ridiculous, wouldn't you agree?" Antoni finished with a chuckle, Octavian cackled and set down his knife.
"I do agree but we should probably head down to the evening muster." Both boys walked down the hill side by side laughing and pushing each other around like normal teenage boys. Passers-by knew that the only time they would ever see their Auger and Praetor act like normal teenagers is when they were together, like brothers never leaving the other's side.
