BuildBotsBetterChapter 2. The Underworld sends me a prank call. Nothing caps off the perfect morning like a long taxi ride with an angry girl. I tried to talk to Annabeth, but she was acting like I just punched her grandmother. All I managed to get out of her was that she'd had a monster-infested spring in San Francisco. She'd come back to camp twice since Christmas, but wouldn't tell me why. Which kind of ticked me off because she hadn't even told me she was in New York. And she learned nothing about the whereabouts of Nico DiAngelo. Long story. Any word on Luke? I asked.
She shook her head. I knew this was a touchy subject for her. Annabeth had always admired Luke, the former head counselor for Hermes, who'd betrayed us and joined the evil Titan Lord Chronos. She wouldn't admit it, but I knew she still liked him. When we'd fought Luke on Mount Talum Pius last summer, he'd somehow survived a 50-foot fall off a cliff. Now as far as I knew, he was still sailing around on his demon-infested cruise ship, while his chopped-up Lord Chronos reformed, bit by bit in a golden sarcophagus, biting his time until he had enough power to challenge the Olympian gods.
In demigod speak, we call this a problem. Mount Talum is still overrun with monsters, Annabeth said. I didn't dare go close, but I don't think Luke is up there. I think I would know if he was. That didn't make me feel much better. What about Grover? He's at camp, she said. We'll see him today. Did he have any luck? I mean with the search for Pan? Annabeth fingered her bead the way she does when she's worried. You'll see, she said. But she didn't explain. As we headed through Brooklyn, I used Annabeth's phone to call my mom. Half-blood try not to use cell phones if we can avoid it, because broadcasting our voices is like sending up a flare to the monsters.
Here I am, please eat me now. But I figured this call was important. I left a message on our home voicemail, trying to explain what had happened at good. I probably didn't do a very good job. I told my mom I was fine, and she shouldn't worry. But I was going to stay at camp until things cooled down. I asked her to tell Paul Blofas, I was sorry. We rode in silence after that. The city melted away until we were off the expressway and rolling through the countryside of Northern Long Island, past orchards and wineries in fresh produce stands. I stared at the phone number Rachel Elizabeth Thayer had scrawled on my hand.
I knew it was crazy, but I was tempted to call her. Maybe she could help me understand what the impuss I had been talking about, the camp burning my friends in prison, and why Kelly had exploded into flames. I knew monsters never truly died. Eventually, maybe weeks, months or years from now, Kelly would reform out of the primordial nastiness seething in the underworld. But still, monsters didn't usually let themselves get destroyed so easily. If she really was destroyed. The taxi exited on Route 25A. We headed through the woods along the North Shore until a low ridge of hills appeared on our left.
Anabeth told the driver to pull over on Farm Road 3.141 at the base of Half-Blood Hill. The driver frowned. Ain't nothing here, Miss. You sure you want out? Yes, please. Anabeth handed him a role of mortal cash, and the driver decided not to argue. Anabeth and I hiked to the crest of the hill. The young guardian dragon was dozing coiler on the pine tree, but he lifted his coppery head as we approached and let Anabeth scratch under his chin. Steem his'd out of his nostrils like from a teakettle, and he went cross-eyed with pleasure. Hey, Palais, Anabeth said.
Keeping everything safe. The last time I'd seen the dragon, he'd been six feet long. Now he was at least twice that, and is thick around the tree itself. Above his head, on the lowest branch of the pine tree, the golden fleece shimmered, its magic protecting the camp's borders from invasion. The dragon seemed relaxed like everything was okay. The lowest camp half-blood looked peaceful. Green fields, forest, shiny white, Greek buildings. The forest-story farmhouse we called the big house set proudly in the midst of the strawberry fields. To the north past the beach, the Long Island sounded glittered in the sunlight.
Still, something felt wrong. There was tension in the air as if the hill itself were holding its breath, waiting for something bad to happen. We walked down into the valley and found the summer session in full swing. Most of the campers had arrived last Friday, so I already fell out of it. The satyrs were playing their pipes in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow with woodland magic. Campers were having flying horseback lessons, swooping over the woods on their pegicide. Smoke rose from the forges, and hammers rang as kids made their own weapons for arts and crafts.
The Athena and Demeter teams were having a chariot race around the track, and over at the canoe lake, some kids in a Greek tri-room were fighting a large orange sea serpent. A typical day at camp. I need to talk to Clarice, Anabeth said. I stared at her if she just said I need to eat a large smelly boot. What for? Clarice from the Ares cabin was one of my least favorite people. She was a mean, ungrateful bully. Her dad, the war god, wanted to kill me. She tried to beat me to a pulp on a regular basis. Other than that, she was just great. We've been working on something, Anabeth said.
I'll see you later. Working on what? Anabeth glanced toward the forest. I'll tell Kyron you're here, she said. He'll want to talk to you before the hearing. What hearing? But she jogged down the path toward the archery field without looking back. Yeah, I muttered. Great talking with you too. As I made my way through camp, I said hi to some of my friends. In the big house's driveway, Connor and Travis stole from the Hermes cabin were hot wearing the camp's SUV. Selena Borigar, the head counselor for Aphrodite, waved at me from her Pegasus as she flew past.
I looked for Grover, but I didn't see him. Finally, I wandered into the sortery, and where I usually go when I'm in a bad mood. Practicing always calms me down. Maybe that's because Sor play is the one thing I actually understand. I walked into the amphitheater and my heart almost stopped. In the middle of the arena floor, with its back to me, was the biggest hellhound I'd ever seen. I mean, I've seen some pretty big hellhounds. One the size of a rhino tried to kill me when I was 12, but this hellhound was bigger than a tank. I had no idea how it got past the camp's magic boundaries.
It looked right at home, lying on its belly growling contentedly as it chewed the head off a combat dummy. It hadn't noticed me yet. But if I made a sound, I knew it would sense me. There was no time to go for it. I pulled out ribtide and uncapped it. Yeah, I charged. I brought down the blade on the monster's enormous backside, went out of nowhere. Another sword blocked my strike. Dang. The hellhound pricked up its ears. I jumped back and instinctively struck at the swordsman, a gray-haired man in Greek armor. He parried my attack with no problem.
Whoa, there, he said. Truece. The hellhounds bark shook the arena. That's a hellhound, I shouted. She's harmless, the man said. That's Mrs. O'Leary. I blinked. Mrs. O'Leary? At the sound of her name, the hellhound barked again. I realized she wasn't angry. She was excited. She nudged the soggy badly chewed target dummy toward the swordsman. Good girl, the man said. With his free hand, he grabbed the armored mannequin by the neck and heaved it toward the bleachers. Get the Greek, get the Greek. Mrs. O'Leary bounded after her prey and pounced on the dummy, flattening its armor.
She began chewing on a helmet. The swordsman smiled dryly. He was in his 50s, I guess, with short gray hair and a clipped gray beard. He was in good shape for an older guy. He wore black mountain climbing pants and a bronze breastplate strapped over an orange camp t-shirt. At the base of his neck was a strange mark, a purplish blotch like a birth marker at tattoo. But before I could make out what it was, he shifted his armor straps and the mark disappeared under his collar. Mrs. O'Leary is my pet, he explained. I couldn't let you stick a sword in a rump now, could I?
That might have scared her. Who are you? Promise not to kill me if I put my sword away? I guess. He sheathed his sword and held out his hand. Quintus? I shook his hand. It was as rough as sandpaper. Percy Jackson, I said. Sorry about... How did you... Um... Get a hellhound for a pet? Long story involving many close calls with death and quite a few giant chew toys. I'm the new sword instructor, by the way, helping out Kyron while Mr. D's away. Oh. I tried not to stare as Mrs. O'Leary ripped off the target dummy's shield with the arms still attached and shook it like a frisbee.
Wait, Mr. D is away? Yes, well, uh, busy times. Even Dionysus must help out, he's gone to visit some old friends, make sure they're on the right side. I probably shouldn't say more than that. If Dionysus was gone, this was the best news I'd had all day. He was only our camp director because Zeus had sent him here as punishment for his chase-ic-some-off-limits-woodnimp. He hated the campers and tried to make our lives miserable. With him away, this summer might actually be cool. On the other hand, if Dionysus had gotten off his butt and actually started helping the gods recruit against a titan threat, things must be looking pretty bad.
Off to my left, there was a loud bump. Six wooden crates the size of picnic tables were stacked nearby, and they were rattling. Mrs. O'Leary cocked her head and bounded toward them. Whoa, girl! Quittis said, those aren't for you! He distracted her with the bronze shield frisbee. The crates thumped and shook. There were words printed on the sides, but with my dyslexia they took me a few minutes to decipher. Triple G Ranch. Fragile. This end up. Along the bottom in smaller letters, open with care. Triple G Ranch is not responsible for property damage, maiming, or excruciatingly painful desk.
What's in the boxes? I asked. A little surprise, Quintis said. Training activity for tomorrow night. You'll love it! Uh, okay. I said, though I wasn't sure about the excruciatingly painful death part. Quintis threw the bronze shield and Mrs. O'Leary lumbered after it. You young ones need more challenges. They didn't have camps like this when I was a boy. You... You're a half-blood? I didn't mean to sound so surprised, but I'd never seen an old demi-god before. Quintis chuckled. Some of us do survive into adulthood, you know. Not all of us are the subject of terrible prophecies.
You know about my prophecy? I've heard a few things. I wanted to ask what few things, but just then Kyron clipped Cloft into the arena. Percy! There you are! He must have just come from teaching archery. He had a quiver and a bow slung over his number one centar shirt. He trimmed his curly brown hair and beard for the summer, and his lower half, which was a white stallion, was flicked with mud and grass. I see you've met our new instructor! Kyron's tone was light, but there was an uneasy look in his eyes. Quintis, do you mind if I borrow Percy?
Not at all, Master Kyron. No need to call me Master. Kyron said that we sounded sort of pleased. Come on, Percy. We have much to discuss. I took one more glance at Mrs. O'Leary, who is now chewing off the target dummy's legs. Well, see ya. I told Quintis. As we were walking away, I whispered to Kyron. Quintis seems kind of mysterious, Kyron suggested. Hard to read? Yeah, Kyron nodded. A very qualified half-blood. Excellent swordsman. I just wish I understood. Whatever he was going to say, he apparently changed his mind. First things first, Percy.
Anabeth told me you met some impusae. Yeah, I told him about the fight at good, and how Kelly had exploded into flames. Hmm, Kyron said. The more powerful ones can do that, she did not die, Percy. She simply escaped. It is not good that she demons are stirring. What were they doing there? I asked. Waiting for me. Possibly, Kyron frowned. It is amazing you survived. Their powers of deception. Almost any male hero would have fallen under their spell and been devoured. I would have been, admitted. Except for Rachel. Kyron nodded. Ironic to be saved by a mortal, yet we owe her a debt.
What the impusae said about an attack on camp, we must speak of this further. But for now, come. We should get to the woods. Gopher will want you there. Where? At his formal hearing. Kyron said grimly. The council of cloven elders is meeting now to decide his fate. Kyron said we need to hurry, so I let him give me a ride on his back. As we gallach past the cabins, I glanced at the dining hall, an open-air greek pavilion on a hill overlooking the sea. It was the first time I'd seen the place since last summer, and it brought back bad memories. Kyron plunged into the woods.
Nymphs peeked out of the trees to watch us pass. Large shapes rustled in the shadows, monsters that were stocked in here as a challenge to the campers. I thought I knew the forest pretty well after playing Capture the Flag here for two summers, but Kyron took me away I didn't recognize. Through a tunnel of old willow trees passed a little waterfall, and into a glade blanketed with wildflowers. A bunch of satyrs were sitting in a small circle in the grass. Grover stood in the mill, facing three really old, really fat satyrs who sat on a topiary throne shaped out of rose bushes.
I'd never seen the three old satyrs before, but I guess they must be the council of cloven elders. Grover seemed to be telling him a story. He twisted the bottom of his t-shirt, shifting nervously on his go-hubes. He hadn't changed much since last winter, maybe because satyrs age half as fast as humans. His acne had flared up, his horns had gotten a little bigger so they just stuck out over his curly hair. I realized with a start that I was taller than he was now. Standing off to one side of the circle were Annabeth, another girl I'd never seen before, and Clarice.
Kyron dropped me next to them. Clarice's stringy brown hair was tied back with a camouflage bandana. If possible, she looked even buffer like she'd been working out. She glared at me and muttered, punk, which must have meant she was in a good mood. Usually she says hello by trying to kill me. Annabeth had her arm around the other girl, who looked like she'd been crying. She was small, petite I guess you'd call it, with wispy hair the color of amber in a pretty elfish face. She wore a green chitin and lace sandals, and she was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. It's going terribly. She sniffled.
No, no, Annabeth Patagr's shoulder. He'll be fine, Juniper. Annabeth looked at me in mouth the words, Grover's girlfriend. At least I thought that's what she said, but that made no sense. Grover with a girlfriend? Then I looked at Juniper more closely, and I realized her ears were slightly pointed. Her eyes instead of being red from crying were tinged green, the color of chlorophyll. She's a tree nymph, a dryad. Master Underwood, the council member on the right shouted, cutting off whatever Grover was trying to say. Do you seriously expect us to believe this? But, but, Salinas, Grover stammered.
It's the truth. The council guy, Salinas, turned to his colleagues and muttered something. Kyren cantered up to the front and stood next to them. I remembered he was an honorary member of the council, but I'd never thought about it very much. The elders didn't look very impressive. They reminded me of the goats in a petting zoo, huge belly, sleepy expressions, and glazed eyes that couldn't see past the next handful of goat chow. I wasn't sure why Grover looked so nervous. Salinas tucked his yellow polo shirt over his belly and adjusted himself on the rose bush throne.
Master Underwood for six months, six months, we've been hearing these scandalous claims that you heard the wild god pan speak. But, I did. Imputants said the elder on the left. Now, Marin, Kyren said, patience. Patience indeed, Marin said. If I'd have had it up to horns with this nonsense, it's as if the wild god would speak to him. Juniper looked like she wanted to charge the old sater and beat him up. But Annabeth and Clarice held her back. Wrong fight, girly, Clarice muttered. Wait. I don't know what surprised me more. Clarice holding somebody back from a fight for the fact that she and Annabeth, who despised each other, almost seemed like they were working together. For six months, Salinas continued.
We have indulged you, Master Underwood. We let you travel. We allowed you to keep your searchers license. We waited for you to bring proof of your preposterous claim. And what have you found in six months of travel? I just need more time, Grover pleaded. Nothing. The elder in the middle chimed in. You have found nothing. But, Linnaeus, Salinas raised his hand. Kyren leaned in and said something to the saters. The saters didn't look happy. They muttered and argued amongst themselves, but Kyren said something else, and Salinas sighed. He nodded reluctantly. Master Underwood, Salinas announced.
We will give you one more chance. Grover brightened. Thank you one more week. What? But sir, that's impossible. One more week, Master Underwood. And then, if you cannot prove your claims, it will be time for you to pursue another career. Something to suit your dramatic talents. Puppet theatre, perhaps. Or tap dancing. But, sir, I can't lose my searchers license my whole life. The meeting of this council is adjourned, Salinas said. And now, let us enjoy our new day meal. The old sater clapped his hands and a bunch of nymphs melted out of the trees with platters of vegetables, fruits, tin cans, and other goat delicacies. The circle of saters broke and charmed the food. Grover walked ejectively toward us. His faded blue t-shirt had a picture of a sater on it. It read, got hooves? Hi, Percy. He said, so depressed he didn't even offer to shake my hand. That went well, huh? Those old goats! Juniper said. Oh, Grover, they don't know how hard you've tried. There is another option. Clarice said darkly. No. No. Juniper shook her head.
Grover, I won't let you. His face was ashen. I'll have to think about it, but we don't even know where to look. What are you talking about? I asked. In the distance a conchorn sounded. Anabeth Pirster lives. I'll fill you in later, Percy. We'd better get back to our cabins. Inspection is starting. It didn't seem fair that I'd have to do cabin inspection when I just got to camp, but that's the way it worked. Every afternoon, one of the senior councilors came around with a papyrus scroll checklist. The best cabin got first shower hour, which meant hot water guaranteed.
Worst cabin got kitchen patrol after dinner. The problem for me, I was usually the only one in the Poseidon cabin, and I'm not exactly what you would call meat. The cleaning harpies only came through on the last day of summer, so my cabin was probably just the way I'd left it on winter break. My candy wrappers and chip bags still on my bunk. My armor for capture the flag lying in pieces all around the cabin. I raced toward the commons area, where the 12 cabins won for each Olympian who got made a U around the central green. The demeanor kids were sweeping out theirs and making fresh flowers grow in their window boxes. Just by snapping their fingers, they could make honeysuckle vines bloom over their doorway and daisies cover their roof, which was totally unfair.
I don't think they ever got last place in inspection. The guys in the Hermes cabin were scrambling around in a panic, stashing dirty laundry under their beds and accusing each other of taking stuff. They were slobs, but they still had a heart, a head start on me. Over at the Aphrodite cabin, Selena Borghard was coming out, checking items off the inspection scroll. I cursed under my breath. Selena was nice, but she was an absolute meat freak. The worst inspector. She liked things to be pretty. I didn't do pretty. I could almost feel my arms getting heavy from all the dishes I would have to scrub tonight. The Poseidon cabin was at the end of the row of male god cabins on the right side of the green. It was made of gray shell encrusted sea rock, long and low like a bunker, but it had windows that faced the sea and always had a good breeze blowing through it. I dashed inside, wondering if maybe I could do a quick under the bed cleaning job like the Hermes guys.
And I found my half-brother Tyson sweeping the floor. Percy! He bellowed. He dropped his broom and ran at me. If you've never been charged by an enthusiastic cyclops wearing a floured apron and a rubber cleaning gloves, I'm telling you, it'd wake you up quick. Hey big guy. I said, oh, uh, watch the ribs. The ribs. I managed to survive his bear hug. He put me down grinning like crazy, his single calf brown eye full of excitement. His teeth were as yellow and crooked as ever and his hair was a rat's nest. He wore ragged XXL jeans and a tattered flannel shirt under his floured apron.
But he was still a sight for sore eyes. I hadn't seen him in almost a year since he'd gone under the sea to work at the Cyclops forges. You are okay, he asked. Not eaten by monsters. Not even a little bit. I showed him that I still had both arms and both legs and Tyson clapped happily. Yay! He said, now we can eat peanut butter sandwiches and ride fish ponies. We can find monsters and see Anabeth and make things go boom. I hoped he didn't mean all at the same time. But I told him absolutely we'd have a lot of fun this summer. I couldn't help smiling. He was so enthusiastic about everything. But first I said, we've got to worry about inspection. We should, then I looked around and realized Tyson had been busy. The floor was swept. The bunk beds were made.
The saltwater fountain in the corner had been freshly scrubbed. So the coral gleamed. On the windowsills, Tyson had set out water filled vases with sea anemones and strange glowing plants from the bottom of the ocean. More beautiful than any flower bouquets the demeanors could whip up. Tyson, the cabin looks amazing. He beamed. See the fish ponies? I put them on the ceiling. I heard of miniature bronze hippo camp I hung on wires from the ceiling. So it looked like they were swimming through the air. I couldn't believe Tyson with his huge hands could make something so delicate. Then I looked over at my bunk and saw my old shield hanging on the wall. You fixed it.
The shield had been badly damaged in a manticore attack last winter. But now it was perfect again. Not a scratch. All the bronze pictures of my adventures with Tyson and Anabeth and the sea of monsters were polished and gleaming. I looked at Tyson. I didn't know how to thank him. Then somebody behind me said, oh my. Selena Borghard was standing in the doorway with her inspection scroll. She stepped into the cabin, did a quick twirl, then raised her eyebrows at me. Well, I had my doubts, but you cleaned up nice. Personally, I'll remember that. She winked at me and left the room. Tyson and I spent the afternoon catching up and just hanging out, which was nice after a morning of getting attacked by demon cheerleaders. We went down to the forge and helped beckondorf from the Hephaestus cabin with his metalworking. Tyson showed us how he'd learned to craft magic weapons. He fashioned a flaming double-bladed war axe so fast even beckondorf was impressed. While he worked, Tyson told us about his year under the sea.
His eye lit up when he described the cyclops' forges in the palace of Poseidon. But he also told us how tense things were. The old gods of the sea who'd ruled during the Titan times were starting to make war on our father. When Tyson had left, battles had begun raging all over the Atlantic. Hearing that made me feel anxious, like I should be helping out, but Tyson assured me that dad wanted us both at camp. Lots of bad people above the sea too, Tyson said. We can make them go boom. After the forges, we spent some time at the canoe lake with Anabeth.
She was really glad to see Tyson, but I could tell she was distracted. She kept looking over at the forest like she was thinking about Grover's problem with the council. I couldn't blame her. Grover was nowhere to be seen and I felt really bad for him. Finding the lost god Pan had been his lifelong goal. His father and his uncle had both disappeared following the same dream. Last winter Grover had heard of Oyster's head. I await you. A voice he was sure belonged to Pan, but apparently his search had led nowhere. If the council took away his search's license now, you'd crush him.
What's this other way? I asked Anabeth. The thing Clarisse mentioned, she picked up a stone and skipped it across the lake. Something Clarisse scouted out. I helped her a little this spring, but it'd be dangerous, especially for Grover. Goat Boy scares me, Tyson murmured. I stared at him. Tyson had faced down fire-breathing bulls and sea monsters and cannibal giants. Why would you be scared of Grover? Whose and horns, Tyson muttered nervously. And Goat Fur makes my nose itchy. And that pretty much ended our Grover conversation. Before dinner, Tyson and I went down to the sort arena. Quintus was glad to have company.
He still wouldn't tell me what was in the wooden crates, but he did teach me a few sword moves. The guy was good. He fought the way some people played chess, like he was putting all the moves together until you couldn't see the pattern until he made the last stroke and one with a sword at your throat. Good try, he told me. But your guard is too low. He lunged and I blocked. Have you always been a swordsman? I asked. He parried my overhead cut. I've been many things. He jabbed and I sidestepped. His shoulder straps slipped down and I saw the mark on his neck. The purple blotch. But it wasn't a random mark. It had a definite shape, a bird with folded wings, like a quail or something.
What's that on your neck? I asked. Which was probably a rude question, but you can blame my ADHD. I tend to just blurt things out. Quintus lost his rhythm. I hit his sword hill to knock the blade out of his hand. He rubbed his fingers. Then he shifted his armor to hide the mark. It wasn't a tattoo I realized. There's no burn. Like he'd been branded. A reminder. He picked up his sword and forced a smile. Now, shall we go again? He pressed me hard, not giving me time for any more questions. While he and I fought, Tyson played with Mrs. O'Leary, who he called the little doggy. They had a great time wrestling for the bronze shield and playing Get the Greek. By sunset, Quintus hadn't even broke a sweat, which seemed kind of strange, but Tyson and I were hot and sticky, so he hit the showers and got ready for dinner. I was feeling good. It was almost like a normal day at camp. Then dinner came and all the campers lined up by cabin and marched into the dining pavilion. Most of them ignored the sealed fissure of the marble floor at the entrance. A 10-foot-long jagged scar that hadn't been there last summer, but I was careful to step over it.
Big crack, Tyson said when we were at our table. Earthquake, maybe. No, I said. Not an earthquake. I wasn't sure I should tell him. It was a secret only Anabeth and Grover and I knew. But looking in Tyson's big eye, I knew I couldn't hide anything from him. Nico DiAngelo, I said, lowering my voice. He's this half-blood kid we brought to camp last winter. He asked me to guard his sister on a quest and I failed. She died. Now he blames me. Tyson frowned. So he put a crack in the floor? These skeletons attacked us, I said. Nico told them to go away and the ground just opened and swallowed them. Nico, I looked around to make sure no one was listening.
Nico is a son of Hades. Tyson nodded thoughtfully. The god of dead people. Yeah. So the Nico boy is gone now? I guess. I tried to search for him this spring, so did Anabeth, but we didn't have any luck. This is secret, Tyson. Okay? If anyone found out he was a son of Hades, he'd be in danger. You can't even tell Kyra. The bad prophecy, Tyson said. Titans might use him if they knew. I stared at him. Sometimes it was easy to forget that as big and child like as he was, Tyson was pretty smart. He knew that the next child of the big three gods, Zeus Poseidon or Hades, who turned 16, was prophesied to either save or destroy Mount Olympus.
Most people assumed that meant me, but if I died before I turned 16, the prophecy could just as easily apply to Nico. Exactly, I said. So mouth sealed, Tyson promised. Like the crack in the ground, I had trouble falling asleep that night. I lay in bed listening to the waves on the beach and the owls and monsters in the woods. I was afraid once I drifted off I'd have nightmares. See, for Half-Blood's dreams are hardly ever just dreams. We get messages. We glimpse things that are happening to our friends or enemies. Sometimes we even glimpse the past or the future.
And at camp my dreams were always more frequent and vivid. So I was still awake around midnight, staring at the bunk bed mattress above me, when I realized there was a strange light in the room. The saltwater fountain was glowing. I threw off the covers and walked cautiously toward it. Steam rose from the hot saltwater. Rainbow colors shimmered through it, but there was no light in the room except for the moon outside. Then a pleasant female voice spoke from the steam. Please deposit. One drachma. I looked over at Tyson, but he was still snoring.
He sleeps about as heavily as a tranquilized elephant. I didn't know what to think. I'd never gotten to collect an iris message before. One golden drachma gleamed at the bottom of the fountain. I scooped it up and tossed it through the mist. The coin vanished. Oh, iris, goddess of the rainbow, I whispered. Show me, whatever you want to show me, the mist shimmered. I saw the dark shore of a river, wisps of fawn drifted across black water. The beach was strewn with jagged, Velkinic rock, a young boy squatted at the riverbank, tending a campfire. The flames burned in unnaturally blue color.
Then I saw the boy's face. It was Nico DiAngelo. He was throwing pieces of paper into the fire. Mytho Magic trading cards, part of this game he'd been obsessed with last winter. Nico was only 10, or maybe 11 by now, but he looked older. His hair had grown longer, it was shaggy and almost touched his shoulders. His eyes were dark. His olive skin had turned paler. He wore ripped black jeans and battered aviator's jacket that was several sizes too big. On zip to a black shirt. His face was grimy. His eyes a little wild. He looked like a kid had been living on the streets.
I waited for him to look at me. No doubt he'd get crazy angry. He started accusing me of letting his sister die, but he didn't seem to notice me. I stayed quiet, not daring to move. If he hadn't sent this iris message, then who had? Nico tossed another trading card into the blue flames. Useless, he muttered. I can't believe I ever liked this stuff. A childish game master. Another voice agreed. It seemed to come from near the fire, but I couldn't see who was talking. Nico stared across the river. On the far shore was a black beach surrounded in a haze. I recognized it.
The underworld. Nico was camping at the edge of the river's sticks. I failed, he muttered. There's no way to get her back. The other voice kept silent. Nico turned toward it downfully. Is there? Speak. Something shimmered. I thought it was just firelight. Then I realized it was the form of a man. A whisper blue smoke. A shadow. If you looked at him head on, he wasn't there. But if you looked out of the corner of your eye, you could make out his shape. A ghost. It has never been done, the ghost said. But there may be a way. Tell me, Nico commanded, his eyes shine with a fierce light.
An exchange, the ghost said. A soul for a soul. I've offered. Not yours, the ghost said. You cannot offer your father a soul. He will eventually collect anyway. Nor will he be anxious for the death of his son. Hyming a soul that should have died already. Someone who has cheated death. Nico's face darkened. Not that again. You're talking about murder. I'm talking about justice, the ghost said. Vengeance. Those are not the same thing. The ghost laughed riley. You will learn differently as you could hold her. Nico stared at the flames. Why can't I at least summon her? I want to talk to her. She would she would help me. I will help you. The ghost promised.
Have I not saved you many times? Did I not lead you through the maze and teach you how to use your powers? Do you want revenge for your sister or not? I didn't like the ghost tone of voice. He reminded me of a kid at my old school, a bully who used to convince other kids to do stupid things like steal lab equipment and vandalize the teacher's cars. The bully never got in trouble himself, but he got tons of other kids suspended. Nico turned from the fire so the ghost couldn't see him, but I could. A tear traced its way down his face. Very well. You have a plan? Oh, yes. The ghost said, sounding quite pleased.
We have many dark roads to travel. We must start. The image shimmered. Nico vanished. The woman's voice from the mist said, please deposit one drachma for another five minutes. There were no other coins in the fountain. I grabbed for my pockets, but I was wearing pajamas. I lunged for the nightstand to check for spare change, but the iris message had already blinked out and the room went dark again. The connection was broken. I stood in the middle of the cabin listening to the girdle of saltwater and ocean waves outside. Nico was alive. He was trying to bring his sister back from the dead, and I had a feeling I knew what soul he wanted to exchange. Someone who had cheated death. Vengeance. Nico G. Angelo would come looking for me.