WHEN THEY GOT INTO TOWN, Hazel followed the same route
she’d used seventy years ago – the last night of her life,
when she’d come home from the hills and found her
mother missing.
She led her friends along Third Avenue. The railroad
station was still there. The big white two-storey Seward
Hotel was still in business, though it had expanded to
twice its old size. They thought about stopping there, but
Hazel didn’t think it would be a good idea to traipse into
the lobby covered in mud, nor was she sure the hotel
would give a room to three minors.
Instead, they turned towards the shoreline. Hazel
couldn’t believe it, but her old home was still there,
leaning over the water on barnacle-encrusted piers. The
roof sagged. The walls were perforated with holes like
buckshot. The door was boarded-up, and a hand-painted
sign read: ROOMS – STORAGE – AVAILABLE
‘Come on,’ she said.
‘Uh, you sure it’s safe?’ Frank asked.
Hazel found an open window and climbed inside. Her
friends followed. The room hadn’t been used in a long
time. Their feet kicked up dust that swirled in the buckshot
beams of sunlight. Mouldering cardboard boxes were
stacked along the walls. Their faded labels read: Greeting
Cards, Assorted Seasonal. Why several hundred boxes
of season’s greetings had wound up crumbling to dust in a
warehouse in Alaska, Hazel had no idea, but it felt like a
cruel joke: as if the cards were for all the holidays she’d
never got to celebrate – decades of Christmases, Easters,
birthdays, Valentine’s Days.
‘It’s warmer in here, at least,’ Frank said. ‘Guess no
running water? Maybe I can go shopping. I’m not as
muddy as you guys. I could find us some clothes.’
Hazel only half heard him.
She climbed over a stack of boxes in the corner that
used to be her sleeping area. An old sign was propped
against the wall: GOLD PROSPECTING SUPPLIES. She thought
she’d find a bare wall behind it, but when she moved the
sign, most of her photos and drawings were still pinned
there. The sign must have protected them from sunlight
and the elements. They seemed not to have aged. Her
crayon drawings of New Orleans looked so childish. Had
she really made them? Her mother stared out at her from
one photograph, smiling in front of her business sign:
QUEEN MARIE’S GRIS-GRIS – CHARMS SOLD, FORTUNES TOLD.
Next to that was a photo of Sammy at the carnival. He
was frozen in time with his crazy grin, his curly black hair,
and those beautiful eyes. If Gaia was telling the truth,
Sammy had been dead for over forty years. Had he really
remembered Hazel all that time? Or had he forgotten the
peculiar girl he used to go riding with – the girl who shared
one kiss and a birthday cupcake with him before
disappearing forever?
Frank’s fingers hovered over the photo. ‘Who … ?’ He
saw that she was crying and clamped back his question.
‘Sorry, Hazel. This must be really hard. Do you want some
time –?’
‘No,’ she croaked. ‘No, it’s fine.’
‘Is that your mother?’ Percy pointed to the photo of
Queen Marie. ‘She looks like you. She’s beautiful.’
Then Percy studied the picture of Sammy. ‘Who is
that?’
Hazel didn’t understand why he looked so spooked.
‘That’s … that’s Sammy. He was my – uh – friend from
New Orleans.’ She forced herself not to look at Frank.
‘I’ve seen him before,’ Percy said.
‘You couldn’t have,’ Hazel said. ‘That was in 1941.
He’s … he’s probably dead now.’
Percy frowned. ‘I guess. Still …’ He shook his head, like
the thought was too uncomfortable.
Frank cleared his throat. ‘Look, we passed a store on
the last block. We’ve got a little money left. Maybe I
should go get you guys some food and clothes and – I
don’t know – a hundred boxes of wet wipes or something?’
Hazel put the gold prospecting sign back over her
mementos. She felt guilty even looking at that old picture
of Sammy, with Frank trying to be so sweet and
supportive. It didn’t do her any good to think about her old
life.
‘That would be great,’ she said. ‘You’re the best, Frank.’
The floorboards creaked under his feet. ‘Well … I’m the
only one not completely covered in mud, anyway. Be
back soon.’
Once he was gone, Percy and Hazel made temporary
camp. They took off their jackets and tried to scrape off
the mud. They found some old blankets in a crate and
used them to clean up. They discovered that boxes of
greeting cards made pretty good places to rest if you
arranged them like mattresses.
Percy set his sword on the floor where it glowed with a
faint bronze light. Then he stretched out on a bed of Merry
Christmas 1982.
‘Thank you for saving me,’ he said. ‘I should’ve told you
that earlier.’
Hazel shrugged. ‘You would have done the same for
me.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But when I was down in the mud, I
remembered that line from Ella’s prophecy – about the
son of Neptune drowning. I thought. “This is what it means.
I’m drowning in the earth.” I was sure I was dead.’
His voice quavered like it had his first day at Camp
Jupiter, when Hazel had shown him the shrine of Neptune.
Back then she had wondered if Percy was the answer to
her problems – the descendant of Neptune that Pluto had
promised would take away her curse some day. Percy had
seemed so intimidating and powerful, like a real hero.
Only now, she knew that Frank was a descendant of
Neptune, too. Frank wasn’t the most impressive-looking
hero in the world, but he’d trusted her with his life. He tried
so hard to protect her. Even his clumsiness was
endearing.
She’d never felt more confused – and, since she had
spent her whole life confused, that was saying a lot.
‘Percy,’ she said, ‘that prophecy might not have been
complete. Frank thought Ella was remembering a burnt
page. Maybe you’ll drown someone else.’
He looked at her cautiously. ‘You think so?’
Hazel felt strange reassuring him. He was so much
older, and more in command. But she nodded
confidently. ‘You’re going to make it back home. You’re
going to see your girlfriend Annabeth.’
‘You’ll make it back, too, Hazel,’ he insisted. ‘We’re not
going to let anything happen to you. You’re too valuable
to me, to the camp, and especially to Frank.’
Hazel picked up an old valentine. The lacy white paper
fell apart in her hands. ‘I don’t belong in this century. Nico
only brought me back so I could correct my mistakes,
maybe get into Elysium.’
‘There’s more to your destiny than that,’ he said. ‘We’re
supposed to fight Gaia together. I’m going to need you at
my side way longer than just today. And Frank – you can
see the guy is crazy about you. This life is worth fighting
for, Hazel.’
She closed her eyes. ‘Please, don’t get my hopes up. I
can’t –’
The window creaked open. Frank climbed in,
triumphantly holding some shopping bags. ‘Success!’
He showed off his prizes. From a hunting store, he’d got
a new quiver of arrows for himself, some rations and a coil
of rope.
‘For the next time we run across muskeg,’ he said.
From a local tourist shop, he had bought three sets of
fresh clothes, some towels, some soap, some bottled
water and, yes, a huge box of wet wipes. It wasn’t exactly a
hot shower, but Hazel ducked behind a wall of greeting
card boxes to clean up and change. Soon she was feeling
much better.
This is your last day, she reminded herself. Don’t get
too comfortable.
The Feast of Fortuna – all the luck that happened
today, good or bad, was supposed to be an omen of the
entire year to come. One way or another, their quest would
end this evening.
She slipped the piece of driftwood into her new coat
pocket. Somehow, she’d have to make sure it stayed safe,
no matter what happened to her. She could bear her own
death as long as her friends survived.
‘So,’ she said. ‘Now we find a boat to Hubbard Glacier.’
She tried to sound confident, but it wasn’t easy. She
wished Arion were still with her. She’d much rather ride
into battle on that beautiful horse. Ever since they’d left
Vancouver, she’d been calling to him in her thoughts,
hoping he would hear her and come find her, but that was
just wishful thinking.
Frank patted his stomach. ‘If we’re going to battle to the
death, I want lunch first. I found the perfect place.’
Frank led them to a shopping plaza near the wharf, where
an old railway car had been converted to a diner. Hazel
had no memory of the place from the 1940s, but the food
smelled amazing.
While Frank and Percy ordered, Hazel wandered down
to the docks and asked some questions. When she came
back, she needed cheering up. Even the cheeseburger
and fries didn’t do the trick.
‘We’re in trouble,’ she said. ‘I tried to get a boat. But … I
miscalculated.’
‘No boats?’ Frank asked.
‘Oh, I can get a boat,’ Hazel said. ‘But the glacier is
further than I thought. Even at top speed, we couldn’t get
there until tomorrow morning.’
Percy turned pale. ‘Maybe I could make the boat go
faster?’
‘Even if you could,’ Hazel said, ‘from what the captains
tell me, it’s treacherous – icebergs, mazes of channels to
navigate. You’d have to know where you were going.’
‘A plane?’ Frank asked.
Hazel shook her head. ‘I asked the boat captains about
that. They said we could try, but it’s a tiny airfield. You
have to charter a plane two, three weeks in advance.’
They ate in silence after that. Hazel’s cheeseburger was
excellent, but she couldn’t concentrate on it. She’d eaten
about three bites when a raven settled on the telephone
pole above and began to croak at them.
Hazel shivered. She was afraid it would speak to her
like the other raven, so many years ago: The last night.
Tonight. She wondered if ravens always appeared to
children of Pluto when they were about to die. She hoped
Nico was still alive, and Gaia had just been lying to make
her unsettled. Hazel had a bad feeling that the goddess
was telling the truth.
Nico had told her that he’d search for the Doors of
Death from the other side. If he’d been captured by Gaia’s
forces, Hazel might’ve lost the only family she had.
She stared at her cheeseburger.
Suddenly, the raven’s cawing changed to a strangled
yelp.
Frank got up so fast that he almost toppled the picnic
table. Percy drew his sword.
Hazel followed their eyes. Perched on top of the pole
where the raven had been, a fat ugly gryphon glared down
at them. It burped, and raven feathers fluttered from its
beak.
Hazel stood and unsheathed her spatha.
Frank nocked an arrow. He took aim, but the gryphon
shrieked so loudly the sound echoed off the mountains.
Frank flinched, and his shot went wide.
‘I think that’s a call for help,’ Percy warned. ‘We have to
get out of here.’
With no clear plan, they ran for the docks. The gryphon
dived after them. Percy slashed at it with his sword, but the
gryphon veered out of reach.
They took the steps to the nearest pier and raced to the
end. The gryphon swooped after them, its front claws
extended for the kill. Hazel raised her sword, but an icy
wall of water slammed sideways into the gryphon and
washed it into the bay. The gryphon squawked and
flapped its wings. It managed to scramble onto the pier,
where it shook its black fur like a wet dog.
Frank grunted. ‘Nice one, Percy.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Didn’t know if I could still do that in
Alaska. But bad news – look over there.’
About a mile away, over the mountains, a black cloud
was swirling – a whole flock of gryphons, dozens at least.
There was no way they could fight that many, and no boat
could take them away fast enough.
Frank nocked another arrow. ‘Not going down without a
fight.’
Percy raised Riptide. ‘I’m with you.’
Then Hazel heard a sound in the distance – like the
whinnying of a horse. She must’ve been imagining it, but
she cried out desperately, ‘Arion! Over here!’
A tan blur came ripping down the street and onto the
pier. The stallion materialized right behind the gryphon,
brought down his front hooves and smashed the monster
to dust.
Hazel had never been so happy in her life. ‘Good horse!
Really good horse!’
Frank backed up and almost fell off the pier. ‘How –?’
‘He followed me!’ Hazel beamed. ‘Because he’s the best
– horse – EVER! Now, get on!’
‘All three of us?’ Percy said. ‘Can he handle it?’
Arion whinnied indignantly.
‘All right, no need to be rude,’ Percy said. ‘Let’s go.’
They climbed on, Hazel in front, Frank and Percy
balancing precariously behind her. Frank wrapped his
arms round her waist, and Hazel thought that if this was
going to be her last day on earth – it wasn’t a bad way to
go out.
‘Run, Arion!’ she cried. ‘To Hubbard Glacier!’
The horse shot across the water, his hooves turning the
top of the sea to steam.
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