JASON AND THE REDHEAD, WHO INTRODUCED herself as Rachel, put Piper on the couch while Annabeth rushed down the hall to get a med kit. Piper was still breathing, but she wouldn‘t wake up. She seemed to be in some kind of coma.
―We‘ve got to heal her,‖ Jason insisted. ―There‘s a way, right?‖
Seeing her so pale, barely breathing, Jason felt a surge of protectiveness. Maybe he didn‘t really know her. Maybe she wasn‘t his girlfriend. But they‘d survived the Grand Canyon together. They‘d come all this way. He‘d left her side for a little while, and this had happened.
Chiron put his hand on her forehead and grimaced. ―Her mind is in a fragile state. Rachel, what happened?‖
―I wish I knew,‖ she said. ―As soon as I got to camp, I had a premonition about Hera‘s cabin. I went inside. Annabeth and Piper came in while I was there. We talked, and then—I just blanked out. Annabeth said I spoke in a different voice.‖
―A prophecy?‖ Chiron asked.
―No. The spirit of Delphi comes from within. I know how that feels. This was like long distance, a power trying to speak through me.‖
Annabeth ran in with a leather pouch. She knelt next to Piper. ―Chiron, what happened back there—I‘ve never seen anything like it. I‘ve heard Rachel‘s prophecy voice. This was different. She sounded like an older woman. She grabbed Piper‘s shoulders and told her—‖
―To free her from a prison?‖ Jason guessed.
Annabeth stared at him. ―How did you know that?‖
Chiron made a three-fingered gesture over his heart, like a ward against evil.
―Jason, tell them. Annabeth, the medicine bag, please.‖
Chiron trickled drops from a medicine vial into Piper‘s mouth while Jason explained what had happened when the room froze—the dark misty woman who had claimed to be Jason‘s patron.
When he was done, no one spoke, which made him more anxious.
―So does this happen often?‖ he asked. ―Supernatural phone calls from convicts demanding you bust them out of jail?‖
―Your patron,‖ Annabeth said. ―Not your godly parent?‖
―No, she said patron. She also said my dad had given her my life.‖
Annabeth frowned. ―I‘ve never of heard anything like that before. You said the storm spirit on the skywalk—he claimed to be working for some mistress who was giving him orders, right? Could it be this woman you saw, messing with your mind?‖
―I don‘t think so,‖ Jason said. ―If she were my enemy, why would she be asking for my help? She‘s imprisoned. She‘s worried about some enemy getting more powerful. Something about a king rising from the earth on the solstice—‖
Annabeth turned to Chiron. ―Not Kronos. Please tell me it‘s not that.‖
The centaur looked miserable. He held Piper‘s wrist, checking her pulse.
At last he said, ―It is not Kronos. That threat is ended. But …‖
―But what?‖ Annabeth asked.
Chiron closed the medicine bag. ―Piper needs rest. We should discuss this later.‖
―Or now,‖ Jason said. ―Sir, Mr. Chiron, you told me the greatest threat was coming. The last chapter. You can‘t possibly mean something worse than an army of Titans, right?‖
―Oh,‖ Rachel said in a small voice. ―Oh, dear. The woman was Hera. Of course. Her cabin, her voice. She showed herself to Jason at the same moment.‖
―Hera?‖ Annabeth‘s snarl was even fiercer than Seymour‘s. “She took you over? She did this to Piper?‖
―I think Rachel‘s right,‖ Jason said. ―The woman did seem like a goddess. And she wore this—this goatskin cloak. That‘s a symbol of Juno, isn‘t it?‖
―It is?‖ Annabeth scowled. ―I‘ve never heard that.‖
Chiron nodded reluctantly. ―Of Juno, Hera‘s Roman aspect, in her most warlike state. The goatskin cloak was a symbol of the Roman soldier.‖
―So Hera is imprisoned?‖ Rachel asked. ―Who could do that to the queen of the gods?‖
Annabeth crossed her arms. ―Well, whoever they are, maybe we should thank them. If they can shut up Hera—‖
―Annabeth,‖ Chiron warned, ―she is still one of the Olympians. In many ways, she is the glue that holds the gods‘ family together. If she truly has been imprisoned and is in danger of destruction, this could shake the foundations of the world. It could unravel the stability of Olympus, which is never great even in the best of times. And if Hera has asked Jason for help—‖
―Fine,‖ Annabeth grumbled. ―Well, we know Titans can capture a god, right? Atlas captured Artemis a few years ago. And in the old stories, the gods captured each other in traps all the time. But something worse than a Titan … ?‖
Jason looked at the leopard‘s head. Seymour was smacking his lips like the goddess had tasted much better than a Snausage. ―Hera said she‘d been trying to break through her prison bonds for a month.‖
―Which is how long Olympus has been closed,‖ Annabeth said. ―So the gods must know something bad is going on.‖
―But why use her energy to send me here?‖ Jason asked. ―She wiped my memory, plopped me into the Wilderness School field trip, and sent you a dream vision to come pick me up. Why am I so important? Why not just send up an emergency flare to the other gods—let them know where she is so they bust her out?‖
―The gods need heroes to do their will down here on earth,‖ Rachel said. ―That‘s right, isn‘t it? Their fates are always intertwined with demigods.‖
―That‘s true,‖ Annabeth said, ―but Jason‘s got a point. Why him? Why take his memory?‖
―And Piper‘s involved somehow,‖ Rachel said. ―Hera sent her the same message—Free me. And, Annabeth, this must have something to do with Percy‘s disappearing.‖
Annabeth fixed her eyes on Chiron. ―Why are you so quiet, Chiron? What is it we‘re facing?‖
The old centaur‘s face looked like it had aged ten years in a matter of minutes. The lines around his eyes were deeply etched. ―My dear, in this, I cannot help you. I am so sorry.‖
Annabeth blinked. ―You‘ve never … you‘ve never kept information from me. Even the last great prophecy—‖
―I will be in my office.‖ His voice was heavy. ―I need some time to think before dinner. Rachel, will you watch the girl? Call Argus to bring her to the infirmary, if you‘d like. And Annabeth, you should speak with Jason. Tell him about—about the Greek and Roman gods.‖
―But …‖
The centaur turned his wheelchair and rolled off down the hallway. Annabeth‘s eyes turned stormy. She muttered something in Greek, and Jason got the feeling it wasn‘t complimentary toward centaurs.
―I‘m sorry,‖ Jason said. ―I think my being here—I don‘t know. I‘ve messed things up coming to the camp, somehow. Chiron said he‘d sworn an oath and couldn‘t talk about it.‖
―What oath?‖ Annabeth demanded. ―I‘ve never seen him act this way. And why would he tell me to talk to you about the gods...‖
Her voice trailed off. Apparently she‘d just noticed Jason‘s sword sitting on the coffee table. She touched the blade gingerly, like it might be hot.
―Is this gold?‖ she said. ―Do you remember where you got it?‖
―No,‖ Jason said. ―Like I said, I don‘t remember anything.‖
Annabeth nodded, like she‘d just come up with a rather desperate plan. ―If Chiron won‘t help, we‘ll need to figure things out ourselves. Which means … Cabin Fifteen. Rachel, you‘ll keep an eye on Piper?‖
―Sure,‖ Rachel promised. ―Good luck, you two.‖
―Hold on,‖ Jason said. ―What‘s in Cabin Fifteen?‖
Annabeth stood. ―Maybe a way to get your memory back.‖
They headed toward a newer wing of cabins in the southwest corner of the green. Some were fancy, with glowing walls or blazing torches, but Cabin Fifteen was not so dramatic. It looked like an old-fashioned prairie house with mud walls and a rush roof. On the door hung a wreath of crimson flowers—red poppies, Jason thought, though he wasn‘t sure how he knew.
―You think this is my parent‘s cabin?‖ he asked.
―No,‖ Annabeth said. ―This is the cabin for Hypnos, the god of sleep.‖
―Then why—‖
―You‘ve forgotten everything,‖ she said. ―If there‘s any god who can help us figure out memory loss, it‘s Hypnos.‖
Inside, even though it was almost dinnertime, three kids were sound asleep under piles of covers. A warm fire crackled in the hearth. Above the mantel hung a tree branch, each twig dripping white liquid into a collection of tin bowls. Jason was tempted to catch a drop on his finger just to see what it was, but he held himself back.
Soft violin music played from somewhere. The air smelled like fresh laundry. The cabin was so cozy and peaceful that Jason‘s eyelids started to feel heavy. A nap sounded like a great idea. He was exhausted. There were plenty of empty beds, all with feather pillows and fresh sheets and fluffy quilts and—Annabeth nudged him. ―Snap out of it.‖
Jason blinked. He realized his knees had been starting to buckle.
―Cabin Fifteen does that to everyone,‖ Annabeth warned. ―If you ask me, this place is even more dangerous than the Ares cabin. At least with Ares, you can learn where the land mines are.‖
―Land mines?‖
She walked up to the nearest snoring kid and shook his shoulder. ―Clovis! Wake up!‖
The kid looked like a baby cow. He had a blond tuft of hair on a wedge-shaped head, with thick features and a thick neck. His body was stocky, but he had spindly little arms like he‘d never lifted anything heavier than a pillow.
―Clovis!‖ Annabeth shook harder, then finally knocked on his forehead about six times.
―Wh-wh-what?‖ Clovis complained, sitting up and squinting. He yawned hugely, and both Annabeth and Jason yawned too.
―Stop that!‖ Annabeth said. ―We need your help.‖
―I was sleeping.‖
―You‘re always sleeping.‖
―Good night.‖
Before he could pass out, Annabeth yanked his pillow offthe bed.
―That‘s not fair,‖ Clovis complained meekly. ―Give it back.‖
―First help,‖ Annabeth said. ―Then sleep.‖
Clovis sighed. His breath smelled like warm milk. ―Fine. What?‖
Annabeth explained about Jason‘s problem. Every once in a while she‘d snap her fingers under Clovis‘s nose to keep him awake.
Clovis must have been really excited, because when Annabeth was done, he didn‘t pass out. He actually stood and stretched, then blinked at Jason. ―So you don‘t remember anything, huh?‖
―Just impressions,‖ Jason said. ―Feelings, like …‖
―Yes?‖ Clovis said.
―Like I know I shouldn‘t be here. At this camp. I‘m in danger.‖
―Hmm. Close your eyes.‖
Jason glanced at Annabeth, but she nodded reassuringly.
Jason was afraid he‘d end up snoring in one of the bunks forever, but he closed his eyes. His thoughts became murky, as if he were sinking into a dark lake.
The next thing he knew, his eyes snapped open. He was sitting in a chair by the fire. Clovis and Annabeth knelt next to him.
―—serious, all right,‖ Clovis was saying.
―What happened?‖ Jason said. ―How long—‖
―Just a few minutes,‖ Annabeth said. ―But it was tense. You almost dissolved.‖
Jason hoped she didn‘t mean literally, but her expression was solemn.
―Usually,‖ Clovis said, ―memories are lost for a good reason. They sink under the surface like dreams, and with a good sleep, I can bring them back. But this …‖
―Lethe?‖ Annabeth asked.
―No,‖ Clovis said. ―Not even Lethe.‖
―Lethe?‖ Jason asked.
Clovis pointed to the tree branch dripping milky drops above the fireplace. ―The River Lethe in the Underworld. It dissolves your memories, wipes your mind clean permanently. That‘s the branch of a poplar tree from the Underworld, dipped into the Lethe. It‘s the symbol of my father, Hypnos. Lethe is not a place you want to go swimming.‖
Annabeth nodded. ―Percy went there once. He told me it was powerful enough to wipe the mind of a Titan.‖
Jason was suddenly glad he hadn‘t touched the branch. ―But … that‘s not my problem?‖
―No,‖ Clovis agreed. ―Your mind wasn‘t wiped, and your memories weren‘t buried. They‘ve been stolen.‖
The fire crackled. Drops of Lethe water plinked into the tin cups on the mantel. One of the other Hypnos campers muttered in his sleep—something about a duck.
―Stolen,‖ Jason said. ―How?‖
―A god,‖ Clovis said. ―Only a god would have that kind of power.‖
―We know that,‖ said Jason. ―It was Juno. But how did she do it, and why?‖
Clovis scratched his neck. ―Juno?‖
―He means Hera,‖ Annabeth said. ―For some reason, Jason likes the Roman names.‖
―Hmm,‖ Clovis said.
―What?‖ Jason asked. ―Does that mean something?‖
―Hmm,‖ Clovis said again, and this time Jason realized he was snoring.
―Clovis!‖ he yelled.
―What? What?‖ His eyes fluttered open. ―We were talking about pillows, right? No, gods. I remember. Greek and Roman. Sure, could be important.‖
―But they‘re the same gods,‖ Annabeth said. ―Just different names.‖
―Not exactly,‖ Clovis said.
Jason sat forward, now very much awake. ―What do you mean, not exactly?‖
―Well …‖ Clovis yawned. ―Some gods are only Roman. Like Janus, or Pompona. But even the major Greek gods—it‘s not just their names that changed when they moved to Rome. Their appearances changed. Their attributes changed. They even had slightly different personalities.‖
―But …‖ Annabeth faltered. ―Okay, so maybe people saw them differently through the centuries. That doesn‘t change who they are.‖
―Sure it does.‖ Clovis began to nod off, and Jason snapped his fingers under his nose.
―Coming, Mother!‖ he yelped. ―I mean … Yeah, I‘m awake. So, um, personalities. The gods change to reflect their host cultures. You know that, Annabeth. I mean, these days, Zeus likes tailored suits, reality television, and that Chinese food place on East Twenty-eighth Street, right? It was the same in Roman times, and the gods were Roman almost as long as they were Greek. It was a big empire, lasted for centuries. So of course their Roman aspects are still a big part of their character.‖
―Makes sense,‖ Jason said.
Annabeth shook her head, mystified. ―But how do you know all this, Clovis?‖
―Oh, I spend a lot of time dreaming. I see the gods there all the time—always shifting forms. Dreams are fluid, you know. You can be in different places at once, always changing identities. It‘s a lot like being a god, actually. Like recently, I dreamed I was watching a Michael Jackson concert, and then I was
onstage with Michael Jackson, and we were singing this duet, and I could not remember the words for ‗The Girl Is Mine.‘ Oh, man, it was so embarrassing, I—‖
―Clovis,‖ Annabeth interrupted. ―Back to Rome?‖
―Right, Rome,‖ Clovis said. ―So we call the gods by their Greek names because that‘s their original form. But saying their Roman aspects are exactly the same—that‘s not true. In Rome, they became more warlike. They didn‘t mingle with mortals as much. They were harsher, more powerful—the gods of an empire.‖
―Like the dark side of the gods?‖ Annabeth asked.
―Not exactly,‖ Clovis said. ―They stood for discipline, honor, strength—‖
―Good things, then,‖ Jason said. For some reason, he felt the need to speak up for the Roman gods, though wasn‘t sure why it mattered to him. ―I mean, discipline is important, right? That‘s what made Rome last so long.‖
Clovis gave him a curious look. ―That‘s true. But the Roman gods weren‘t very friendly. For instance, my dad, Hypnos … he didn‘t do much except sleep in Greek times. In Roman times, they called him Somnus. He liked killing people who didn‘t stay alert at their jobs. If they nodded offat the wrong time, boom—they never woke up. He killed the helmsman of Aeneas when they were sailing from Troy.‖
―Nice guy,‖ Annabeth said. ―But I still don‘t understand what it has to do with Jason.‖
―Neither do I,‖ Clovis said. ―But if Hera took your memory, only she can give it back. And if I had to meet the queen of the gods, I‘d hope she was more in a Hera mood than a Juno mood. Can I go back to sleep now?‖
Annabeth stared at the branch above the fire, dripping Lethe water into the cups. She looked so worried, Jason wondered if she was considering a drink to forget her troubles. Then she stood and tossed Clovis his pillow. ―Thanks, Clovis. We‘ll see you at dinner.‖
―Can I get room service?‖ Clovis yawned and stumbled to his bunk. ―I feel like … zzzz …‖ He collapsed with his butt in the air and his face buried in pillow.
―Won‘t he suffocate?‖ Jason asked.
―He‘ll be fine,‖ Annabeth said. ―But I‘m beginning to think that you are in serious trouble.‖
PIPER DREAMED ABOUT HER LAST DAY with her dad.
They were on the beach near Big Sur, taking a break from surfing. The morning had been so perfect, Piper knew something had to go wrong soon—a rabid horde of paparazzi, or maybe a great white shark attack. No way her luck could hold.
But so far, they‘d had excellent waves, an overcast sky, and a mile of oceanfront completely to themselves. Dad had found this out-of-the-way spot, rented a beachfront villa and the properties on either side, and somehow managed to keep it secret. If he stayed there too long, Piper knew the photographers would find him. They always did.
―Nice job out there, Pipes.‖ He gave her the smile he was famous for: perfect teeth, dimpled chin, a twinkle in his dark eyes that always made grown women scream and ask him to sign their bodies in permanent marker. (Seriously, Piper thought, get a life.) His close-cropped black hair gleamed with salt water. ―You‘re getting better at hanging ten.‖
Piper flushed with pride, though she suspected Dad was just being nice. She still spent most of her time wiping out. It took special talent to run over yourself with a surfboard. Her dad was the natural surfer—which made no sense since he‘d been raised a poor kid in Oklahoma, hundreds of miles from the ocean—but he was amazing on the curls. Piper would‘ve given up surfing a long time ago except it let her spend time with him. There weren‘t many ways she could do that.
―Sandwich?‖ Dad dug into the picnic basket his chef, Arno, had made. ―Let‘s see: turkey pesto, crabcake wasabi—ah, a Piper special. Peanut butter and jelly.‖
She took the sandwich, though her stomach was too upset to eat. She always asked for PB&J. Piper was vegetarian, for one thing. She had been ever since they‘d driven past that slaughterhouse in Chino and the smell had made her insides want to come outside. But it was more than that. PB&J was simple food, like a regular kid would have for lunch. Sometimes she pretended her dad had actually made it for her, not a personal chef from France who liked to wrap the sandwich in gold leaf paper with a light-up sparkler instead of a toothpick.
Couldn‘t anything be simple? That‘s why she turned down the fancy clothes Dad always offered, the designer shoes, the trips to the salon. She cut her own hair with a pair of plastic Garfield safety scissors, deliberately making it uneven. She preferred to wear beat-up running shoes, jeans, a T-shirt, and her old Polartec jacket from the time they went snowboarding.
And she hated the snobby private schools Dad thought were good for her. She kept getting herself kicked out. He kept finding more schools.
Yesterday, she‘d pulled her biggest heist yet—driving that ―borrowed‖ BMW out of the dealership. She had to pull a bigger stunt each time, because it took more and more to get Dad‘s attention.
Now she regretted it. Dad didn‘t know yet.
She‘d meant to tell him that morning. Then he‘d surprised her with this trip, and she couldn‘t ruin it. It was the first time they‘d had a day together in what—three months?
―What‘s wrong?‖ He passed her a soda.
―Dad, there‘s something—‖
―Hold on, Pipes. That‘s a serious face. Ready for Any Three Questions?‖
They‘d been playing that game for years—her dad‘s way of staying connected in the shortest possible amount of time. They could ask each other any three questions. Nothing off-limits, and you had to answer honestly. The rest of the time, Dad promised to stay out of her business—which was easy, since he was never around.
Piper knew most kids would find a Q&A like this with their parents totally mortifying. But she looked forward to it. It was like surfing—not easy, but a way to feel like she actually had a father.
―First question,‖ she said. ―Mom.‖
No surprise. That was always one of her topics.
Her dad shrugged with resignation. ―What do you want to know, Piper? I‘ve already told you—she disappeared. I don‘t know why, or where she went. After you were born, she simply left. I never heard from her again.‖
―Do you think she‘s still alive?‖
It wasn‘t a real question. Dad was allowed to say he didn‘t know. But she wanted to hear how he‘d answer.
He stared at the waves.
―Your Grandpa Tom,‖ he said at last, ―he used to tell me that if you walked far enough toward the sunset, you‘d come to Ghost Country, where you could talk to the dead. He said a long time ago, you could bring the dead back; but then mankind messed up. Well, it‘s a long story.‖
―Like the Land of the Dead for the Greeks,‖ Piper remembered. ―It was in the west, too. And Orpheus—he tried to bring his wife back.‖
Dad nodded. A year before, he‘d had his biggest role as an Ancient Greek king. Piper had helped him research the myths—all those old stories about people getting turned to stone and boiled in lakes of lava. They‘d had a fun time reading together, and it made Piper‘s life seem not so bad. For a while she‘d felt closer to her dad, but like everything, it didn‘t last.
―Lot of similarities between Greek and Cherokee,‖ Dad agreed. ―Wonder what your grandpa would think if he saw us now, sitting at the end of the western land. He‘d probably think we‘re ghosts.‖
―So you‘re saying you believe those stories? You think Mom is dead?‖
His eyes watered, and Piper saw the sadness behind them. She figured that‘s why women were so attracted to him. On the surface, he seemed confident and rugged, but his eyes held so much sadness. Women wanted to find out why. They wanted to comfort him, and they never could. Dad told Piper it was a Cherokee thing—they all had that darkness inside them from generations of pain and suffering. But Piper thought it was more than that.
―I don‘t believe the stories,‖ he said. ―They‘re fun to tell, but if I really believed in Ghost Country, or animal spirits, or Greek gods … I don‘t think I could sleep at night. I‘d always be looking for somebody to blame.‖
Somebody to blame for Grandpa Tom dying of lung cancer, Piper thought, before Dad got famous and had the money to help. For Mom—the only woman he‘d ever loved —abandoning him without even a good-bye note, leaving him with a newborn girl he wasn‘t ready to care for. For his being so successful, and yet still not happy.
―I don‘t know if she‘s alive,‖ he said. ―But I do think she might as well be in Ghost Country, Piper. There‘s no getting her back. If I believed otherwise … I don‘t think I could stand that, either.‖
Behind them, a car door opened. Piper turned, and her heart sank. Jane was marching toward them in her business suit, wobbling over the sand in her high heels, her PDA in hand. The look on her face was partly annoyed, partly triumphant, and Piper knew she‘d been in touch with the police.
Please fall down, Piper prayed. If there‟s any animal spirit or Greek god that can help, make Jane take a header. I‟m not asking for permanent damage, just knock her out for the rest of the day, please?
But Jane kept advancing.
―Dad,‖ Piper said quickly. ―Something happened yesterday…‖
But he‘d seen Jane, too. He was already reconstructing his business face. Jane wouldn‘t be here if it wasn‘t serious. A studio head called—a project fell through—or Piper had messed up again.
―We‘ll get back to that, Pipes,‖ he promised. ―I‘d better see what Jane wants. You know how she is.‖
Yes—Piper knew. Dad trudged across the sand to meet her. Piper couldn‘t hear them talking, but she didn‘t need to. She was good at reading faces. Jane gave him the facts about the stolen car, occasionally pointing at Piper like she was a disgusting pet that had whizzed on the carpet.
Dad‘s energy and enthusiasm drained away. He gestured for Jane to wait. Then he walked back to Piper. She couldn‘t stand that look in his eyes—like she‘d betrayed his trust.
―You told me you would try, Piper,‖ he said.
―Dad, I hate that school. I can‘t do it. I wanted to tell you about the BMW, but—‖
―They‘ve expelled you,‖ he said. ―A car, Piper? You‘re sixteen next year. I would buy you any car you want. How could you—‖
―You mean Jane would buy me a car?‖ Piper demanded. She couldn‘t help it. The anger just welled up and spilled out of her. ―Dad, just listen for once. Don‘t make me wait for you to ask your stupid three questions. I want to go to regular school. I want you to take me to parents‘ night, not Jane. Or homeschool me! I learned so much when we read about Greece together. We could do that all the time! We could—‖
―Don‘t make this about me,‖ her dad said. ―I do the best I can, Piper. We‘ve had this conversation.‖
No, she thought. You‟ve cut off this conversation. For years.
Her dad sighed. ―Jane‘s talked to the police, brokered a deal. The dealership won‘t press charges, but you have to agree to go to a boarding school in Nevada. They specialize in problems … in kids with tough issues.‖
―That‘s what I am.‖ Her voice trembled. ―A problem.‖
―Piper … you said you‘d try. You let me down. I don‘t know what else to do.‖
―Do anything,‖ she said. ―But do it yourself! Don‘t let Jane handle it for you. You can‘t just send me away.‖
Dad looked down at the picnic basket. His sandwich sat uneaten on a piece of gold leaf paper. They‘d planned for a whole afternoon in the surf. Now that was ruined.
Piper couldn‘t believe he‘d really give in to Jane‘s wishes. Not this time. Not on something as huge as boarding school.
―Go see her,‖ Dad said. ―She‘s got the details.‖
―Dad …‖
He looked away, gazing at the ocean like he could see all the way to Ghost Country. Piper promised herself she wouldn‘t cry. She headed up the beach toward Jane, who smiled coldly and held up a plane ticket. As usual, she‘d already arranged everything. Piper was just another problem of the day that Jane could now check off her list.
Piper‘s dream changed.
She stood on a mountaintop at night, city lights glimmering below. In front of her, a bonfire blazed. Purplish flames seemed to cast more shadows than light, but the heat was so intense, her clothes steamed.
―This is your second warning,‖ a voice rumbled, so powerful it shook the earth. Piper had heard that voice before in her dreams. She‘d tried to convince herself it wasn‘t as scary as she remembered, but it was worse.
Behind the bonfire, a huge face loomed out of the darkness. It seemed to float above the flames, but Piper knew it must be connected to an enormous body. The crude features might‘ve been chiseled out of rock. The face hardly seemed alive except for its piercing white eyes, like raw diamonds, and its horrible frame of dreadlocks, braided with human bones. It smiled, and Piper shivered.
―You‘ll do what you‘re told,‖ the giant said. ―You‘ll go on the quest. Do our bidding, and you may walk away alive. Otherwise—‖
He gestured to one side of the fire. Piper‘s father was hanging unconscious, tied to a stake.
She tried to cry out. She wanted to call to her dad, and demand the giant let him go, but her voice wouldn‘t work.
―I‘ll be watching,‖ the giant said. ―Serve me, and you both live. You have the word of Enceladus. Fail me … well, I‘ve slept for millennia, young demigod. I am very hungry. Fail, and I‘ll eat well.‖
The giant roared with laughter. The earth trembled. A crevice opened at Piper‘s feet, and she tumbled into darkness.
She woke feeling like she‘d been trampled by an Irish step-dancing troupe. Her chest hurt, and she could barely breathe. She reached down and closed her hand around the hilt of the dagger Annabeth had given her—Katoptris, Helen of Troy‘s weapon.
So Camp Half-Blood hadn‘t been a dream.
―How are you feeling?‖ someone asked.
Piper tried to focus. She was lying in a bed with a white curtain on one side, like in a nurse‘s office. That redheaded girl, Rachel Dare, sat next to her. On the wall was a poster of a cartoon satyr who looked
disturbingly like Coach Hedge with a thermometer sticking out of his mouth. The caption read: Don‟t let sickness get your goat!
―Where—‖ Piper‘s voice died when she saw the guy at the door.
He looked like a typical California surfer dude—buff and tan, blond hair, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. But he had hundreds of blue eyes all over his body—along his arms, down his legs, and all over his face. Even his feet had eyes, peering up at her from between the straps of his sandals.
―That‘s Argus,‖ Rachel said, ―our head of security. He‘s just keeping an eye on things … so to speak.‖
Argus nodded. The eye on his chin winked.
―Where—?‖ Piper tried again, but she felt like she was talking through a mouthful of cotton.
―You‘re in the Big House,‖ Rachel said. ―Camp offices. We brought you here when you collapsed.‖
―You grabbed me,‖ Piper remembered. ―Hera‘s voice—‖
―I‘m so sorry about that,‖ Rachel said. ―Believe me, it was not my idea to get possessed. Chiron healed you with some nectar—‖
―Nectar?‖
―The drink of the gods. In small amounts, it heals demigods, if it doesn‘t—ah—burn you to ashes.‖
―Oh. Fun.‖
Rachel sat forward. ―Do you remember your vision?‖
Piper had a moment of dread, thinking she meant the dream about the giant. Then she realized Rachel was talking about what happened in Hera‘s cabin.
―Something‘s wrong with the goddess,‖ Piper said. ―She told me to free her, like she‘s trapped. She mentioned the earth swallowing us, and a fiery one, and something about the solstice.‖
In the corner, Argus made a rumbling sound in his chest. His eyes all fluttered at once.
―Hera created Argus,‖ Rachel explained. ―He‘s actually very sensitive when it comes to her safety. We‘re trying to keep him from crying, because last time that happened …well, it caused quite a flood.‖
Argus sniffled. He grabbed a fistful of Kleenex from the bedside table and started dabbing eyes all over his body.
―So …‖ Piper tried not to stare as Argus wiped the tears from his elbows. ―What‘s happened to Hera?‖
―We‘re not sure,‖ Rachel said. ―Annabeth and Jason were here for you, by the way. Jason didn‘t want to leave you, but Annabeth had an idea—something that might restore his memories.‖
―That‘s … that‘s great.‖
Jason had been here for her? She wished she‘d been conscious for that. But if he got his memories back, would that be a good thing? She was still holding out hope that they really did know each other. She didn‘t want their relationship to be just a trick of the Mist.
Get over yourself, she thought. If she was going to save her dad, it didn‘t matter whether Jason liked her or not. He would hate her eventually. Everyone here would.
She looked down at the ceremonial dagger strapped to her side. Annabeth had said it was a sign of power and status, but not normally used in battle. All show and no substance. A fake, just like Piper. And its name was Katoptris, looking glass. She didn‘t dare unsheathe it again, because she couldn‘t bear to see her own reflection.
―Don‘t worry.‖ Rachel squeezed her arm. ―Jason seems like a good guy. He had a vision too, a lot like yours. Whatever‘s happening with Hera—I think you two are meant to work together.‖
Rachel smiled like this was good news, but Piper‘s spirits plunged even further. She‘d thought that this quest—whatever it was—would involve nameless people. Now Rachel was basically telling her: Good news! Not only is your dad being held ransom by a cannibal giant, you also get to betray the guy you like! How awesome is that?
―Hey,‖ Rachel said. ―No need to cry. You‘ll figure it out.‖
Piper wiped her eyes, trying to get control of herself. This wasn‘t like her. She was supposed to be tough—a hardened car thief, the scourge of L.A. private schools. Here she was, crying like a baby. ―How can you know what I‘m facing?‖
Rachel shrugged. ―I know it‘s a hard choice, and your options aren‘t great. Like I said, I get hunches sometimes.
But you‘re going to be claimed at the campfire. I‘m almost sure. When you know who your godly parent is, things might be clearer.‖
Clearer, Piper thought. Not necessarily better.
She sat up in bed. Her forehead ached like someone had driven a spike between her eyes. There‟s no getting your mother back, her dad had told her. But apparently, tonight, her mom might claim her. For the first time, Piper wasn‘t sure she wanted that.
―I hope it‘s Athena.‖ She looked up, afraid Rachel might make fun of her, but the oracle just smiled.
―Piper, I don‘t blame you. Truthfully? I think Annabeth is hoping that too. You guys are a lot alike.‖
The comparison made Piper feel even guiltier. ―Another hunch? You don‘t know anything about me.‖
―You‘d be surprised.‖
―You‘re just saying that because you‘re an oracle, aren‘t you? You‘re supposed to sound all mysterious.‖
Rachel laughed. ―Don‘t be giving away my secrets, Piper. And don‘t worry. Things will work out—just maybe not the way you plan.‖
―That‘s not making me feel better.‖
Somewhere in the distance, a conch horn blew. Argus grumbled and opened the door.
―Dinner?‖ Piper guessed.
―You slept through it,‖ Rachel said. ―Time for the campfire. Let‘s go find out who you are.‖
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