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Chapter Text

(Takes place when the Seven leave Charleston)

Percy stood on the deck of the Argo II by himself. It was nighttime and he looked out at the Atlantic Ocean.

“How has everything been turned against us?
How did suffering become so endless?
How am I to reunite with my estranged?
Do I need to change?”

“I'm haunted by the lives of those I've lost
I'm the only whose line I haven't crossed
What if the greatest threat we'll find across the sea
Is me?”

“What if I'm the monster?
What if I'm in the wrong?
What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?
What if I'm the one who killed you
Every time I caved to guilt?
What if I've been far too kind to foes
But a monster to ourselves?
What if I'm the monster?”

“Is the Cyclops struck with guilt when he kills?
Is he up in the middle of the night?
Or does he end men to avenge his friend
And then sleep knowing he has done him right?”

“When the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs
Is she going insane?
Or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain?”

“When a God comes down and makes a fleet drown
Is he scared that he's doing something wrong?
Or does he keep others in check so they must respect him
And now no one dares to piss him off?”

“Does a soldier use a wooden horse to kill sleeping trojans cause he is vile?
Or does he throw away his remorse and save more lives with guile?”

“If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away
Would that make us stronger?
Would it keep our foes at bay?
If I became the monster to everyone but us
And made sure we got home again
Who would care if we're unjust?
If I became the
Monster?”

“Oh, ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves
And deep down I know this well
I lost Charles, Silena, Ethan
Zoe, Bianca, Luke—They are all gone!
This can’t go on!
I must get to see my mom, Sally
And my stepdad Paul
So if we must sail through dangerous oceans and skies
I'll go where Gaea won't reach us
And if I gotta drop an infant from a wall
In an instant so we all don't die…”

“Then I'll become the
Monster!
I will deal the blow!
And I'll become the
Monster
Like none they've ever known!
So what if I'm the
Monster
Lurking deep below?
I must become the
Monster
And then we'll make it home!”

“Monster
Sally
Monster
Paul
Monster
Oh, ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves
I'll become the monster.”

Percy sang into the night, and realized that in order to win this war, he had to become something he never wanted to be. A monster. He had to be ruthless, or else he would lose everyone he cared about. The wind picked up, whispering the names of his fallen friends into his ears, echoing his thoughts. He hadn’t told anyone, not even Annabeth, but he had PTSD, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, survivor’s guilt, panic attacks, and so, so much more, all wrapped up in a bow and hidden behind a smiling face.

He’d learned that just because you see a smile, you shouldn’t think you know what was going on underneath. A smile was a valuable tool. It inspired your friends, kept your enemies guessing, and ensured that no matter what came your way, you’d be the one in control.

Percy’s hand tightened around the railing, the cold metal biting into his skin. The wind whispered through the rigging, a mournful tune that seemed to carry the weight of his thoughts. The names of his lost friends—Charles, Silena, Ethan, Zoe, Bianca, Luke—each one a stinging reminder of battles past. But it was the name of his mother, Sally, that cut the deepest. If he lost her during this war, he’d never forgive himself.

But his biggest fear? Losing Annabeth. If that happened, he’d break, make tidal waves so powerful, all of Camp Half Blood would drown. He had to keep her safe, no matter what, even if it meant turning into a monster.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the Seven, plus Coach Hedge, all gathered around the table for breakfast. The mood was heavy, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Jason, ever the strategist, broke the silence. “We've got to keep moving forward. Gaea's forces are getting stronger every day we waste here. We need to get to Rome so we can get the Athena Parthenos.”

“Well, we gotta cross the Atlantic first, then we can start discussing that,” Leo said, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

Percy looked up. His face was the most stern anyone had ever seen it. “We can’t waist any time. If we’re attacked, we can’t show mercy. We have to be ready to do whatever it takes to get to Rome, and then Greece.”

Jason saw Piper’s expression. Being the daughter of Aphrodite, Jason was sure that Piper could read people’s emotions, and if she could, Percy’s were written all over his face. “What’s going on, Percy?” she asked softly.

“Nothing, all right McLean? Nothing at all.” Percy's voice was a snarl, his eyes dark. He hadn't slept at all, based on his bloodshot eyes and the bags under said eyes.

Annabeth looked at him. “Seaweed Brain, come on, what’s wrong?” she asked, using the nickname she reserved for moments of affection. But Percy remained closed off, his gaze locked on the horizon.

“Nothing,” Percy murmured, avoiding Annabeth’s gaze. But the tension in the air was palpable.

He got up and walked out the dining room, leaving the rest of the Seven and Coach Hedge looking concerned. Frank and Hazel had known Percy for only two or three weeks, and Jason, Leo, Piper, and Coach Hedge had only met him less than a week ago, but even they knew something was off about him. Annabeth, however, had known Percy for 5 years, and she knew that something was seriously wrong.

“What’s his problem?” Leo asked, annoyed with Percy’s attitude.

Jason wished he had an answer, but had none, and he guessed that based on Annabeth’s expression, she didn’t either. She looked hurt by Percy’s rejection. The son of Jupiter took a deep breath and turned to the group. “Look, guys, I don’t know what’s up with him either, but we can’t let it tear us apart. We’ve got enough to deal with as it is.”

“He’s right,” Annabeth said, her voice steady. “We need to keep our focus on the task at hand. We can talk to him later when he’s had some space to think things through.”

The others nodded in agreement, though the air remained charged. They finished their breakfast quickly, all too aware of the distance that had suddenly grown between them. The ship’s engines roared to life, a stark contrast to the quiet tension on deck. After breakfast, Jason decided to go talk to Percy. Annabeth came along with him. They found Percy on the deck of the ship, looking out into the ocean.

“Hey, Percy,” Jason began tentatively, placing a hand on his shoulder. Percy flinched, his eyes snapping to them. “What’s going on, man?”

Percy took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the horizon. “I don’t know, okay? I just... I had a bad night. That’s all.” He turned away, his hand flexing slightly where Jason’s had been.

Annabeth stepped closer, her eyes filled with concern. “Percy, you can talk to us. What’s really going on?”

“Nothing, it’s just… maybe ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” Percy murmured, but Jason still didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?” Annabeth pressed, her voice gentle but firm.

Percy hesitated, then took a step closer to the edge of the ship. The wind whipped through his hair, and the sea spray stung his eyes. “Is the Cyclopes struck with guilt when he kills? Is he up in the middle of the night? Or does he end men to avenge his friend, and sleep knowing he has done him right?”

“Percy, what are you—” Jason started.

“When the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs, is she going insane? Or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain?” Percy continued, his words a stark contrast to the calm sea before them. “When a god comes down and makes a fleet drown, is he scared that he's doing something wrong? Or does he keep others in check so they must respect him and now no one dares to piss him off? Does a soldier use a wooden horse to kill sleeping Trojans cause he is vile? Or does he throw away his remorse and save more lives with guile?”

Annabeth and Jason exchanged a worried glance. They knew that the weight of their quest was heavy on all of them, but Percy seemed to be carrying a burden beyond their understanding. His voice grew softer, almost a whisper, as he spoke of his fears and his need to become something he never wanted to be.

“If I became a monster, if I threw that guilt away, would that make us stronger? Would it keep our foes at bay?” Percy’s voice trailed off, his eyes still on the horizon. “Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves. And deep down I know this well. I’ve lost Charles, Silena, Ethan, Zoe, Bianca, Luke, this can’t go on! I’ve got to get home to my mom, to Sally, and my stepdad, Paul, so if we must sail through dangerous oceans and skies, I’ll take us where Gaea won’t reach us, and if I gotta drop an infant from a wall in an instant so we all don’t die… then I’ll become the monster! I’ll deal the blow, and I’ll become the monster like none they’ve ever known!”

Annabeth’s eyes searched Percy’s, looking for any sign of what he truly meant. Her hand reached for his, but she stopped short, unsure of whether he’d want the contact. “Percy, you’re not a monster. You’re a hero. You can’t—”

“We are the worst kind of good ‘cause we’re not even great! We fight to save lives but won’t kill and don’t get the job done!” Percy’s voice grew louder, the words cutting through the air like sharpened knives. “We are far too nice! Mercy has a price! The line between naïveté and hopefulness is almost invisible. So close your heart, the world is dark and ruthlessness is mercy!”

The words hung in the air, and the silence that followed was heavier than any of them could remember. Annabeth’s hand was still outstretched, but she slowly pulled it back, her eyes never leaving Percy’s face.

“Percy, we all have our fears, our moments of doubt, but we can’t become what we’re fighting against,” Jason said, his voice a gentle reminder of their shared humanity amidst their demigod destinies.

Percy’s gaze remained on the horizon, his jaw clenched tightly. “It’s easy for you to say, Jason. You haven’t lost as much as I have. You haven’t felt the sky crushing down on you, begging to swallow you whole. You haven’t had to watch your friends die, one by one, because you weren’t ruthless enough to end it before it began!” His eyes filled with a storm of pain and anger, finally meeting Jason’s. “You didn’t have to go to six schools in six years! You didn’t have no one take your side! You didn’t always have to take the fall! You and your mom weren’t hit and beaten by your stepdad! You may have fought for Camp Jupiter in the Titan War, but you have no idea what I’ve been through! You haven’t felt the guilt of failure like I have! You haven’t had to watch everyone around you die and still keep going! So, don’t tell me about mercy!”

Percy’s eyes had gone from their usual sea green to a poison-neon green. The best way Jason could describe Percy’s eyes was that they were the exact same color as Scar’s from The Lion King. That was scaring Jason even more than Percy’s words.

Just then, the ship was attacked by a Skolopendra, a part shrimp part crayfish sea monster with glassy eyes, a pink shell, and was 200 feet long. “How’d we not know that was coming? The ship has sonar,” Frank said as him, Hazel, Leo, Piper, and Coach Hedge appeared outside.

Leo looked surprised. “Sorry, guys, I forgot to switch the ship’s detection system from radar to sonar so that Festus could detect any nearby monsters,” he said, his voice filled with regret.

“Doesn’t matter,” Percy said sternly. “Just fight it. Now!”

Jason grabbed his sword and ran towards it, the others following suit. Jason saw Percy, who fought like… a monster. He was brutal, his blows swift and precise, and each hit was like he was taking out all of his pain and anger on the creature. It was terrifying to watch.

The battle was intense, the Skolopendra’s pincers snapping shut with the sound of thunder, its tail whipping around like a giant scourge. The others fought valiantly, but it was clear that Percy’s rage had given him an edge. He sliced through the creature’s shell with ease, his movements so fast they seemed to blur.

When they defeated it, the crew’s focus was on Percy. “What was that, Percy?” Hazel asked, her voice laced with concern.

“What was necessary,” Percy said, his voice cold and detached. He didn’t bother to look at any of them as he cleaned his sword, the water sizzling and hissing as it touched the creature’s acidic blood. “We can’t afford to be soft. Gaea’s forces won’t give us mercy. Why should we show any to them?”

Chapter Text

That night, while Percy was sleeping, Jason called an emergency meeting with the rest of the crew to discuss what was happening to Percy. Piper was worried. She hadn’t known Percy for long, but she had seen the toll the wars had taken on him.

Her, Jason, Annabeth, Frank, Hazel, Leo, and Coach Hedge all sat around the table for the meeting. “Guys, me and Jason talked to Percy before the attack, and…” Annabeth paused, seemingly unsure of how to continue.

“What?” Frank prompted, his voice edged with concern. “What’s going on with him?”

Jason continued for Annabeth. “Percy asked if the cyclops is struck with guilt when he kills, if a witch is insane when she turns men into pigs, and if a soldier is vile when he uses trickery to win a war, or if the cyclops kills to avenge his friend, the witch to protect her own, and the soldier to save his comrades. He said ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves. That we can’t keep being the good guys and losing everyone we love. We need to become something else to survive this, something more... cold-hearted.”

“He said, ‘I’ve got to get home to my mom, to Sally, and my stepdad, Paul, so if we must sail through dangerous oceans and skies, I’ll take us where Gaea won’t reach us, and if I gotta drop an infant from a wall in an instant so we all don’t die… then I’ll become the monster’!” Jason’s words hung in the air, echoing Percy’s haunting melody from the night before.

“He also said that we’re the worst kind of good because we’re not even great. That we fight to save lives, but won’t kill, and that doesn’t get the job done. And...” Annabeth’s voice trailed off, her eyes downcast, “he said that we are too naive, too hopeful, and that we need to be more... ruthless to survive this quest.”

“And he snapped at me for trying to talk to him,” Jason added. “He said I don’t understand because I haven’t lost as much as he has. That my mom and I weren’t hit and beaten by my stepdad. That I didn’t have to take the fall, to have no one take my side. That I didn’t have to go to six schools in six years. That I haven’t felt the guilt of failure like he has. And his eyes…”

“What about his eyes?” Coach Hedge prompted, his expression a mix of confusion and concern.

Jason took a deep breath. Piper could see on him and Annabeth’s faces (mostly Annabeth’s) that while they were trying to hold it together, they were scared. “You’ve all seen The Lion King, right?” Jason asked suddenly, and everyone was confused as to why he was bringing this up.

“Yeah, why?” Hazel spoke up, her curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in topic.

Jason's gaze remained steady. “Percy’s eyes. When he was yelling at me and Annabeth, and during and right after the battle, they were the same color as Scar’s from The Lion King. The neon-green color of rage and pain. It’s like he’s becoming someone else, someone we might not be able to bring back if we don’t stop him soon. We need to talk to him, but we have to be careful. He’s on the edge.”

Coach Hedge stood up. “Well, I think he’s right about us acting like wussies and needing to nut up,” he said, his words not surprising anyone, considering how much he loved fighting.

“That’s true, Coach. Percy is right, at least a little bit. I mean, we can’t half a-word our fights and expect to win this war,” Leo chimed in, his expression unusually grim as he tinkered with a piece of metal.

Piper frowned, her thoughts racing. “But we can’t just start killing without remorse. That’s not what we stand for. That’s not who we are.”

Annabeth nodded, her eyes reflecting the torment in her voice. “We can’t let the war change him like that. We have to find another way to keep our friends safe without losing our humanity in the process. That’s what makes us different from the monsters we fight.”

Chapter Text

Eventually, after about four days of traveling across the Atlantic, the Argo II reached the Strait of Gibraltar in the early morning, the mist still making visibility limited. The saw two pillars in the mist. “Hey, guys,” Frank said, pointing, “are those the Pillars of Hercules?”

“Yeah, they’re guarded by him,” Annabeth informed them. “We need to send some people to go talk to him so he can allow us to enter the Mediterranean.”

Percy remembered his late friend Zoe Nightshade, the former lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis, who had helped Heracles (technically not Hercules but basically the same) complete his quest for the golden apple, and then she gifted him her hairpin, which turned into the sword Anaklusmos, which was Percy’s sword. However, Heracles gave Zoe no credit for her help, and when Zoe’s sisters discovered that Zoe had helped Heracles, they exiled her from the Garden of the Hesperides and blotted her out as if she didn’t exist. Percy wanted to get some revenge for his late friend, and he knew that he had to be one of the people who went to talk to Hercules.

“…alright, it’s settled. Jason and Piper will go talk to Hercules since they’re our two best speakers,” he heard Annabeth announce, which snapped him back to reality.

“No,” Percy said, his voice firm. “I’m going with them. I’ve got history with him, and I’d like to settle some unfinished business.”

The group looked at him, surprised by his sudden decisiveness. Annabeth opened her mouth to argue, but something in Percy’s gaze made her think twice. She nodded reluctantly. “Fine, but be careful. We can’t afford to lose any of the three of you.”

“I beat Ares in a fight when I was 12. I can handle Hercules,” Percy said, his voice devoid of humor as he walked to the steps and walked to find Hercules, Jason and Piper following closely behind.

“What’s your unfinished business with Hercules, Percy?” Piper asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern as they approached the looming pillars.

Percy’s jaw tightened. “Long story short, he wasn’t exactly a stand-up guy to someone I cared about.”

Chapter Text

The man in purple was waiting for them.

Piper had heard tons of stories about Hercules. She'd seen several cheesy movies and cartoons. Before today, if she had thought about him at all, she'd just roll her eyes and imagine some stupid hairy dude in his thirties with a barrel chest and a gross hippie beard, with a lion skin over his head and a big club, like a caveman. She imagined he would smell bad, belch, and scratch himself a lot, and speak mostly in grunts.

She was not expecting this.

His feet were bare, covered in white sand. His robes made him look like a priest, though Piper couldn't remember which rank of priest wore purple. Was that cardinals? Bishops? And did the purple color mean he was the Roman version of Hercules rather than the Greek? His beard was fashionably scruffy, like Piper's dad and his actor friends wore theirs — the sort of ‘I just happened not to shave for two days and I still look awesome’ look.

He was well built, but not too stocky. His ebony hair was close-cropped, Roman style. He had startling blue eyes like Jason's, but his skin was coppery, as if he'd spent his entire life on a tanning bed. The most surprising thing: he looked about twenty. Definitely no older. He was handsome in a rugged but not-at-all-caveman way.

He did in fact have a club, which lay in the sand next to him, but it was more like an oversized baseball bat — a five-foot-long polished cylinder of mahogany with a leather handgrip studded in bronze. Coach Hedge would have been jealous.

Jason, Piper, and Percy all walked across the edge of the surf. They approached slowly, careful not to make any threatening moves. Hercules watched them with no particular emotion, as if they were some form of seabird he had never noticed before.

"Hello," Piper said. Always a good start.

"What's up?" Hercules said. His voice was deep but casual, very modern. He could’ve been greeting them in the high school locker room.

"Uh, not much." Piper winced. “Well, actually, a lot. I'm Piper. This is Jason, and this is Percy. We—”

"Where's your lion skin?" Jason interrupted.

Piper wanted to elbow him, but Hercules looked more amused than annoyed.

"It's ninety degrees out here," he said. "Why would I wear my lion skin? Do you wear a fur coat to the beach?"

"I guess that makes sense." Jason sounded disappointed. "It's just that the pictures always show you with a lion skin."

Hercules glared at the sky accusingly, like he wanted to have words with his father, Zeus. "Don't believe everything you hear about me. Being famous isn't as fun as you might think."

"Tell me about it," Piper sighed.

Hercules fixed those brilliant blue eyes on her. "Are you famous?"

"My dad… he's in the movies."

Hercules snarled. “Don’t get me started on the movies. Gods of Olympus, they never get anything right. Have you seen one movie about me where I look like me?"

Piper had to admit he had a point. "I'm surprised you're so young."

"Ha! Being immortal helps. But, yes, I wasn't so old when I died. Not by modern standards. I did a lot during my years as a hero… too much, really." His eyes drifted to Jason. "Son of Zeus, eh?"

"Jupiter," Jason said.

“Not much difference," Hercules grumbled. "Dad's annoying in either form. Me? I was called Heracles. Then the Romans came along and named me Hercules. I didn't really change that much, though lately just thinking about it gives me splitting headaches…"

The left side of his face twitched. His robes shimmered, momentarily turning white, then back to purple.

Hercules looked at Percy. “And you? Who are you?”

Percy stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of Anaklusmos. “Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon. And I’ve got a bone to pi—”

“Not now, Percy,” Piper told him, using her charmspeak. He reluctantly backed off. “So, Lord Hercules,” she said, “we're on a quest. We'd like permission to pass into the Mediterranean.”

Hercules shrugged. "That's why I'm here. After I died, Dad made me the doorkeeper of Olympus. I said, ‘Great! Palace duty! Party all the time!’ What he didn't mention is that I'd be guarding the doors to the ancient lands, stuck on this island for the rest of eternity. Lots of fun."

He pointed at the pillars rising from the surf. "Stupid columns. Some people claim I created the whole Strait of Gibraltar by shoving mountains apart. Some people say the mountains are the pillars. What a bunch of Augean manure. The pillars are pillars!”

"Right," Piper said. "Naturally. So... can we pass?"

The god scratched his fashionable beard. "Well, I have to give you the standard warning about how dangerous the ancient lands are. Not just any demigod can survive the Mare Nostrum. Because of that, I have to give you a quest to complete. Prove your worth, blah, blah, blah. Honestly, I don't make a big deal of it. Usually I give demigods something simple like a shopping trip, singing a funny song, that sort of thing. After all those labors I had to complete for my evil cousin Eurystheus, well… I don't want to be that guy, you know?"

“Appreciate it,” Jason said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Hey, no problem.” Hercules sounded relaxed and easygoing, but he still made Piper nervous. That dark glint in his eyes reminded her of charcoal soaked in kerosene, ready to go up at a moment's notice.

"So anyway," Hercules said, "what's your quest?"

"Giants," Percy said monotonously. "We're off to Greece to stop them from awakening Gaea."

"Giants," Hercules muttered. "I hate those guys. Back when I was a demigod hero... ah, but never mind. So which god put you up to this — Dad? Athena? Maybe Aphrodite?" He raised an eyebrow at Piper. "As pretty as you are, I'm guessing that's your mom."

Piper should've been thinking faster, but Hercules had unsettled her. Too late, she realized the conversation had become a minefield.

"Hera sent us," Jason said. "She brought us together to—"

"Hera." Suddenly Hercules's expression was like the cliffs of Gibraltar—a solid, unforgiving sheet of stone.

"We hate her too," Piper said quickly. Gods, why hadn't it occurred to her? Hera had been Hercules's mortal enemy. "We didn't want to help her. She didn't give us much choice, but—"

"But here you are," Hercules said, all friendliness gone. "Sorry, you three. I don't care how worthy your quest is. I don't do anything that Hera wants. Ever."

Jason looked mystified. "But I thought you made up with her when you became a god."

"Like I said," Hercules grumbled, "don't believe everything you hear. If you want to pass into the Mediterranean, I'm afraid I've got to give you an extra-hard quest."

"But we're like brothers," Jason protested. "Hera's messed with my life, too. I understand—"

"You understand nothing," Hercules said coldly. "My first family: dead. My life wasted on ridiculous quests. My second wife dead, after being tricked into poisoning me and leaving me to a painful demise. And my compensation? I got to become a minor god. Immortal, so I can never forget my pain. Stuck here as a gatekeeper, a doorman, a... a butler for the Olympians. No, you don't understand. The only god who understands me even a little bit is Dionysus. And at least he invented something useful. I have nothing to show except bad film adaptations of my life."

“Oh, boo hoo!” Percy taunted. “I fought as a child soldier in a war for 4 years. I was physically abused by my stepfather. I held the weight of the world just like you did. I watched my friends die because I wasn’t good enough. I have PTSD, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, survivor’s guilt, and panic attacks, so don’t you dare tell me that I don’t know pain! Your life was a bed of roses compared to what I’ve been through! So, unless you want to hear me go on and on about my problems, you can just give us the quest and let us leave!”

Piper was shocked. She’d been told only a little bit of what Percy and Annabeth had been through before she met them, but she never would have guessed that his pain was this deep. Here she was, complaining about being the daughter of a celebrity while he had PTSD and suicidal thoughts.

Hercules studied Percy, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed. “Fine, I’ll give you your quest. But it’s not because I care for Hera’s business. It’s because I see myself in you, Percy. Young, powerful, burdened by fate and a family you can’t trust. You remind me of what I was before I got all this...” He gestured to his godly form. “...immortality. And maybe if you survive this quest, you’ll get a chance at a better life than I had. But don’t count on it. Fate has a cruel sense of humor. I’ve been told of your exploits, Perseus, and I will say this, you’re truly the greatest hero to have ever lived, even more than me. But that’s a heavy burden. And I know that you feel it, as I did. So, I’ll spare you a lecture and get to the point.”

Hercule sighed. “On the opposite side of this island, over those hills, you'll find a river. In the middle of that river lives the old god Achelous."

Hercules waited, as if this information should send them running in terror.

"And?" Percy asked.

"And," Hercules said, "I want you to break off his other horn and bring it to me."

"He has horns," Jason said. "Wait... his other horn? What—?"

“Figure it out," the god snapped. "Here, this should help."

He said the word help like it meant hurt. From under his robes, Hercules took a small book and tossed it to Piper. She barely caught it.

The book's glossy cover showed a photographic montage of Greek temples and smiling monsters. The Minotaur was giving the thumbs-up. The title read: The Hercules Guide to the Mare Nostrum.

"Bring me that horn by sundown," Hercules said. "Just the three of you. No contacting your friends. Your ship will remain where it is. If you succeed, you may pass into the Mediterranean."

"And if we don't?" Piper asked, pretty sure she didn't want the answer.

"Well, Achelous will kill you, obviously," Hercules said. "And I will break your ship in half with my bare hands and send your friends to an early grave."

Jason shifted his feet. "Couldn't we just sing a funny song?"

"I'd get going," Hercules said coldly. "Sundown. Or your friends are dead."

Chapter Text

The Hercules Guide to the Mare Mostrum didn't help much with snakes and mosquitoes.

"If this is a magic island," Piper grumbled, "why couldn't it be a nice magic island?"

They tromped up a hill and down into a heavily wooded valley, careful to avoid the black-and-redstriped snakes sunning themselves on the rocks. Mosquitoes swarmed over stagnant ponds in the lowest areas. The trees were mostly stunted olives, cypress, and pines.

So far they hadn't found any river.

“Percy, can’t you sense where water is?” Jason asked, swiping at the mosquitoes around his head.

“I’m trying!” Percy snapped, his irritation growing. The weight of his fate and the pressure of the quest felt like a giant boulder on his shoulders. “But the trees are all messing with my senses. And these mosquitoes are the size of mother f*!?$@& pterodactyls!”

“Language!” Piper scolded, slapping at a mosquito the size of a quarter that had dared to land on her arm.

“Whatever,” Percy muttered, his eyes scanning the forest.

“We could fly,” Jason offered, his skin already dotted with mosquito bites.

“Uh, hello, Son of Poseidon here,” Percy said, slapping another mosquito. “I can’t even get into a plane. Flying is a no-go for me unless it’s over water and not in my own body.”

“Also, we could miss something,” Piper said, her eyes scanning the dense foliage. “Besides, I'm not sure I want to drop in on an unfriendly god. What was his name? Etch-a-Sketch?”

Percy rolled his eyes in agitation. “Achelous.”

Jason was trying to read the guidebook while they walked, so he kept running into trees and stumbling over rocks. “Says here he's a potamus.”

“He’s a hippopotamus?” Piper asked, baffled

“No, McLean,” Percy snapped. “Potamus. A river god.”

“According to this, he's the spirit of some river in Greece,” Jason clarified, flipping through the pages.

“Since we're not in Greece, let's assume he's moved,” Piper said. “Doesn't bode well for how useful that book is going to be. Anything else?”

“Says Hercules fought him one time,” Jason offered.

“Hercules fought ninety percent of everything in Ancient Greece,” Piper said sarcastically, slapping at another mosquito.

"Yeah. Let's see. Pillars of Hercules..." Jason flipped a page. “Says here this island has no hotels, no restaurants, no transportation. Attractions: Hercules and two pillars. Huh, this is interesting. Supposedly the dollar sign — you know, the S with the two lines through it? — that came from the Spanish coat of arms, which showed the Pillars of Hercules with a banner curling between them.”

Percy read Piper’s expression, which said, ‘Great. Jason finally gets along with Annabeth, and her brainiac tendencies start rubbing off on him’. But she didn’t say it out loud.

“Anything helpful?” Percy urged, his patience wearing thin.

“Wait. Here's a tiny reference to Achelous. ‘This river god fought Hercules for the hand of the beautiful Deianira. During the struggle, Hercules broke off one of the river god's horns, which became the first cornucopia’.”

“Corn of what?” Percy asked, his annoyance clear in his voice.

“It’s that Thanksgiving decoration,” Jason said. “The horn with all the goodies spilling out? We have some in the mess hall at Camp Jupiter. I didn't know the original one was actually some guy's horn.”

“And we're supposed to take his other one,” Piper said. “I'm guessing that won't be so easy.”

They trudged across a ridge between two hills, trying to stay in the shade; but to Percy, Piper was already soaked with perspiration. The mosquitoes left welts on her ankles, arms, and neck, so she looked like a smallpox victim. Also to Percy, Jason didn’t look much better. He was covered in bug bites and his eyes were red and watery.

Percy thought they were being wimps. He was a son of Poseidon. He'd fought his way out of worse than a few bugs and some heat. Once, a mosquito bit Piper on the eyelid, and she exclaimed in pain and discomfort. Percy only scoffed. “Nut up, McLean,” he said, slapping away his own mosquitoes.

Percy was irritated with Jason for mentioning Hera, but he couldn’t really blame him. Percy realized that he was just irritated with him in general. And Percy knew exactly why.

One of Percy’s biggest fears was that, when he wasn’t needed as a hero anymore, the camp and the gods would say, ‘You’re history’, and move right on to the next hero in line. And then, when he and Jason had been swapped by Hera, and once Percy had been made aware that Jason was at Camp Half Blood, he was worried that he’d be replaced permanently. You know Doc’s story in the movie, Cars? That’s what Percy feared.

But, Percy put that aside. He didn’t burden others with his problems, his fears, his issues. He wasn’t important enough to himself to care about his mental health. All that mattered was Annabeth, his friends, and camp.

As they hiked down into the next valley, Percy wondered what was happening back on the Argo II. He was tempted to send an Iris-message, but Hercules had warned them not to contact their friends. He hoped Annabeth could guess what was going on and didn't try to send another party ashore. Percy wasn't sure what Hercules would do if he were bothered further. He imagined Coach Hedge getting impatient and aiming a ballista at the man in purple, or eidolons possessing the crew and forcing them to commit suicide-by-Hercules.

Percy shuddered. He didn't know what time it was, but the sun was already starting to sink. How had the day passed so quickly? He would have welcomed sundown for the cooler temperatures, except it was also their deadline. A cool night breeze wouldn't mean much if they were dead. Besides, tomorrow was July 1, the Kalends of July. If their information was correct, it would be Nico di Angelo's last day of life, and the day Rome was destroyed.

“Stop,” Jason said suddenly, holding up his hand.

Percy sensed the water, and even if he couldn’t, he could hear running water up ahead. They crept through the trees and found themselves on the bank of a river. It was maybe forty feet wide but only a few inches deep, a silver sheet of water racing over a smooth bed of stones. A few yards downstream, the rapids plunged into a dark blue swimming hole.

Something about the river bothered him. The cicadas in the trees had gone quiet. No birds were chirping. It was as if the water was giving a lecture and would only allow its own voice.

But the more Percy listened, the more inviting the river seemed. He could go for a drink or a swim. It was like the river was charmspeaking.

Jason sat on a rock and started taking off his shoes. He grinned at the swimming hole like he couldn't wait to get in.

"Cut it out!" Piper yelled at the river.

Jason looked startled. "Cut what out?"

"Not you," Piper said. "Him."

Percy understood what Piper meant. The river's allure was palpable, a siren's call to ease their weariness. But they had a quest, a deadline, and a grumpy river god to deal with. He stepped up, drawing Anaklusmos. The water's surface rippled with agitation, sensing the weapon's power.

Then, the river spoke. ‘Forgive me. Singing is one of the few pleasures I have left’.

A figure emerged from the swimming hole as if rising on an elevator.

Chapter Text

Piper’s shoulders tensed. The figure was a bull with a human face. His skin was as blue as the water. His hooves levitated on the river's surface. At the top of his bovine neck was the head of a man with short curly black hair, a beard done in ringlets Ancient Greek style, deep, mournful eyes behind bifocal glasses, and a mouth that seemed set in a permanent pout. Sprouting from the left side of his head was a single bull's horn — a curved black-and-white one like warriors might turn into drinking cups. The imbalance made his head tilt to the left, so that he looked like he was trying to get water out of his ear.

"Hello," he said sadly. "Come to kill me, I suppose."

Jason put his shoes back on and stood slowly. "Um, well—"

"No!" Piper intervened. "I'm sorry. This is embarrassing. We didn't want to bother you, but Hercules sent us."

"Hercules!" The bull-man sighed. His hooves pawed the water as if ready to charge. "To me, he'll always be Heracles. That's his Greek name, you know: the glory of Hera!'”

“Hercules, Heracles, either way I wanna kill him,” Piper heard Percy mutter under his breath.

“Funny name, since he hates her,” Jason said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Indeed,” the bull-man said. “Perhaps that's why he didn't protest when the Romans renamed him Hercules. Of course, that's the name most people know him by… his brand, if you will. Hercules is nothing if not image-conscious.”

The bull-man spoke with bitterness but familiarity, as if Hercules was an old friend who had lost his way.

“You’re Achelous?” Percy asked.

The bull-man bent his front legs and lowered his head in a bow, which Piper found both sweet and a little sad. “At your service. River god extraordinaire. Once the spirit of the mightiest river in Greece. Now sentenced to dwell here, on the opposite side of the island from my old enemy. Oh, the gods are cruel! But whether they put us so close together to punish me or Hercules, I have never been sure.”

Piper wasn't sure what he meant, but the background noise of the river was invading her mind again—reminding her how hot and thirsty she felt, how pleasant a nice swim would be. She tried to focus.

“I’m Piper,” she said. “This is Jason,” she nodded towards him, “and Percy,” nodding towards him. “We don't want to fight. It's just that Heracles — Hercules — whoever he is, got mad at us and sent us here.”

She explained about their quest to the ancient lands to stop the giants from waking Gaea. She described how their team of Greeks and Romans had come together, and how Hercules had thrown a temper tantrum when he found out Hera was behind it.

Achelous kept tipping his head to the left, so Piper wasn't sure if he was dozing off or dealing with one-horn fatigue.

When she was done, Achelous regarded her as if she were developing a regrettable skin rash. “Ah, my dear… the legends are true, you know. The spirits, the water cannibals.”

Piper had to fight back a whimper. She hadn't told Achelous anything about that. “H-how—?”

"River gods know many things," he said. "Alas, you are focusing on the wrong story. If you had made it to Rome, the story of the flood would have served you better."

"Piper?" Jason asked. "What's he talking about?"

Her thoughts were suddenly as jumbled as kaleidoscope glass. The story of 'the flood…If you had made it to Rome.

"I—I'm not sure," she said, though the mention of a flood story rang a distant bell. "Achelous, I don't understand—”

"No, you don't," the river god sympathized. "Poor thing. Another girl stuck with a son of Zeus."

"Wait a minute," Jason said. "It's Jupiter, actually. And how does that make her a poor thing?"

Achelous ignored him. "My girl, do you know the cause of my fight with Hercules?"

"It was over a woman," Piper recalled. "Deianira?"

"Yes." Achelous heaved a sigh. "And do you know what happened to her?"

"Uh…" Piper glanced at Jason.

He took out his guidebook and began flipping through pages. "It doesn't really—"

Achelous snorted indignantly. "What is that?"

Jason blinked. "Just… The Hercules Guide to Mare Nostrum. He gave us the guidebook so—"

“That is not a book," Achelous insisted. "He gave you that just to get under my skin, didn't he? He knows I hate those things."

"You hate... books?" Piper asked.

"Bah!" Achelous's face flushed, turning his blue skin eggplant purple. "That's not a book."

He pawed the water. A scroll shot from the river like a miniature rocket and landed in front of him. He nudged it open with his hooves. The weathered yellow parchment unfurled, covered with faded Latin script and elaborate hand-drawn pictures.

''This is a book!" Achelous said. "Oh, the smell of sheepskin! The elegant feel of the scroll unrolling beneath my hooves. You simply can't duplicate it in something like that."

He looked at Percy. “You. You haven’t talked much. Who are you?”

Percy took a step forward, his anger still smoldering from their encounter with Hercules. “I’m Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon. And I’m here to tell you that we don’t have time for riddles or history lessons. We need to pass through your river, and he said we had to get your horn to prove ourselves so we can continue our quest to save the world. So, give it to us willingly, or we’ll take it ourselves. We’re not leaving without it.”

“I’ll just put this away for now,” Jason said as he slipped the guidebook into his back pocket.

Achelous seemed to calm down a little, which was a relief to Piper. She didn't need to get run over by a one-horned bull with a scroll obsession.

"Now," Achelous said, tapping a picture on his scroll. "This is Deianira."

Piper knelt down to look. The hand-painted portrait was small, but she could tell the woman had been very beautiful, with long dark hair, dark eyes, and a playful smile that probably drove guys crazy.

"Princess of Calydon," the river god said mournfully. "She was promised to me, until Hercules butted in. He insisted on combat."

"And he broke off your horn?" Jason guessed.

"Yes," Achelous said. "I could never forgive him for that. Horribly uncomfortable, having only one horn. But the situation was worse for poor Deianira. She could have had a long, happy life married to me.”

"A man-headed bull," Piper said, "who lives in a river."

"Exactly," Achelous agreed. "It seems impossible she would refuse, eh? Instead, she went off with Hercules. She picked the handsome, flashy hero over the good, faithful husband who would have treated her well. What happened next? Well, she should have known. Hercules was much too wrapped up in his own problems to be a good husband. He had already murdered one wife, you know. Hera cursed him, so he flew into a rage and killed his entire family. Horrible business. That's why he had to do those twelve labors as penance."

Piper felt appalled. "Wait… Hera made him crazy, and Hercules had to do the penance?"

Achelous shrugged. "The Olympians never seem to pay for their crimes. And Hera has always hated the sons of Zeus... or Jupiter." He glanced distrustfully at Jason. "At any rate, my poor Deianira had a tragic end. She became jealous of Hercules's many affairs. He gallivanted all over the world, you see, just like his father Zeus, flirting with every woman he met. Finally Deianira got so desperate she listened to bad advice. A crafty centaur named Nessus told her that if she wanted Hercules to be faithful forever, she should spread some centaur blood on the inside of Hercules's favorite shirt. Unfortunately Nessus was lying because he wanted revenge on Hercules. Deianira followed his instructions, but instead of making Hercules a faithful husband—"

"Centaur blood is like acid," Jason said.

"Yes," Achelous said. "Hercules died a painful death. When Deianira realized what she'd done, she…" The river god drew a line across his neck.

"That's awful," Piper said.

"And the moral, my dear?" Achelous said. "Beware the sons of Zeus."

“Well, that was a wonderful story,” Percy said sarcastically, clapping his hands, “but we don’t have time for a history lesson. We need your horn, and we need it now. No funny business or we’re fighting you for it. I’ve defeated Ares, Medusa, the Minotaur, Polyphemus, the Hydra, the Nemean Lion, Hyperion, Kronos, and so many other monsters, I can’t keep count. You’re just a river god with a grudge. Hand it over.”

Piper was a little disturbed by Percy’s attitude. He was acting like a mafia boss, scaring people with his monster-slaying resume. It didn’t sit well with her, and knowing what Percy had said about him becoming a monster, she hoped he wasn’t turning into something darker right then and there.

But Piper couldn’t look at her boyfriend, either. She wasn't sure she could mask the uneasiness in her eyes. Jason would never be like Hercules. But the story played into all her fears. Hera had manipulated their relationship, just as she had manipulated Hercules. Piper wanted to believe that Jason could never go into a murderous frenzy like Hercules had. Then again, only four days ago he had been controlled by an eidolon and attempted (key word, attempted) to kill Percy.

"Hercules is a god now," Achelous said. "He married Hebe, the youth goddess, but still he is rarely at home. He dwells here on this island, guarding those silly pillars. He says Zeus makes him do this, but I think he prefers being here to Mount Olympus, nursing his bitterness and mourning his mortal life. My presence reminds him of his failures—especially the woman who finally killed him. And his presence reminds me of poor Deianira, who could have been my wife."

The bull-man tapped the scroll, which rolled itself up and sank into the water.

"Hercules wants my other horn in order to humiliate me," Achelous said. "Perhaps it would make him feel better about himself, knowing that I'm miserable too. Besides, the horn would become a cornucopia. Good food and drink would flow from it, just as my power causes the river to flow. No doubt Hercules would keep the cornucopia for himself. It would be a tragedy and a waste."

Piper suspected the noise of the river and the drowsy sound of Achelous's voice were still affecting her thoughts, but she couldn't help agreeing with the river god. She was starting to hate Hercules. This poor bull-man seemed so sad and lonely.

Jason stirred. "I'm sorry, Achelous. Honestly, you've gotten a bum deal. But maybe… well, without the other horn, you might not be so lopsided. It might feel better."

"Jason!" Piper protested.

Jason held up his hands. "Just a thought. Besides, I don't see that we have many choices. If Hercules doesn't get that horn, he'll kill us and our friends."

"He's right," Achelous said. "You have no choice. Which is why I hope you'll forgive me."

Piper frowned. The river god sounded so heartbroken, she wanted to pat his head. "Forgive you for what?"

"I have no choice either," Achelous said. "I have to stop you."

The river exploded, and a wall of water crashed over Piper.

Chapter Text

The current grabbed her like a fist and pulled her into the deep. Struggling was useless. She clamped her mouth shut, forcing herself not to inhale, but she could barely keep from panicking. She couldn't see anything but a torrent of bubbles. She could only hear her own thrashing and the dull roar of the rapids.

She'd just about decided this was how she would die: drowning in a swimming hole on an island that didn't exist. Then, as suddenly as she'd been pulled under, she was thrust to the surface. She found herself at the center of a whirlpool, able to breathe but unable to break free.

A few yards away, Jason broke the surface and gasped, his sword in one hand. He swung wildly, but there was nothing to attack. Percy broke the surface in between them. “Percy! Why can’t you stop the water?” Piper asked, desperation in her voice.

“I’m trying!” Percy shouted, his eyes flashing with fear and frustration. “I don’t know why it’s not working! Maybe it’s because he’s a river god!”

Twenty feet to Piper's right, Achelous rose from the water. "I'm really sorry about this," he said.

Jason lunged toward him, summoning the winds to lift him out of the river, but Achelous was quicker and more powerful. A curl of water slammed into Jason and sent him under once more.

"Stop it!" Piper screamed.

Using charmspeak wasn't easy when she was floundering in a whirlpool, but she got Achelous's attention.

"I'm afraid I can't stop," said the river god. "I can't let Hercules have my other horn. It would be mortifying."

“Get in the water,” Percy threatened. “Or I’ll raise the tide so high, all of the world will die. Get in the water.”

“Wait,” Achelous whispered, his eyes widening in slight fear.

“Get in the water. I’ll make tidal waves so profound, your love’s ghost will drown.”

“No!” Achelous yelled.

“Get in the water! Get in the water! Don’t mistake my threats for bluff! You have lived more than enough!” Percy’s voice echoed through the whirlpool, his anger resonating with the power of his godly lineage.

Piper was in fear of Percy. He had a demonic smile on his face, one that she hadn’t seen before.

Jason clawed his way to the surface again. A miniature storm cloud formed over his head. Thunder boomed.

"None of that, son of Jupiter," Achelous chided. "If you call lightning, you'll just electrocute your girlfriend."

The water pulled Jason under again.

"Let him go!" Piper charged her voice with all the persuasiveness she could muster. "I promise I won't let Hercules get the horn!"

Achelous hesitated. He cantered over to her, his head tilting to the left. "I believe you mean that."

"I do!" Piper promised. "Hercules is despicable. But, please, first let my friend go."

The water churned where Jason had gone under. Piper wanted to scream. How much longer could he hold his breath?

Percy had his sword at Achelous’ throat, and his eyes glowed with rage. “Or else,” he threatened.

Achelous looked down at Piper through his bifocals. His expression softened. "I see. You would be my Deianira. You would be my bride to compensate for my loss."

"What?" Piper wasn't sure if she'd heard him right. The whirlpool was literally making her head spin. "Uh, actually I was thinking—"

"Oh, I understand," Achelous said. "You were too modest to suggest this in front of your boyfriend. You are right, of course. I would treat you much better than a son of Zeus would. I could make things right after all these centuries. I could not save Deianira, but I could save you."

Had it been thirty seconds now? A minute? Jason couldn't hold out much longer.

"You would have to let your friends die," Achelous continued. "Hercules would be angry, but I can protect you from him. We could be quite happy together. Let's start by letting that Jason fellow drown, eh?"

Piper could barely hold it together, but she had to concentrate. She masked her fear and her anger. She was a child of Aphrodite. She had to use the tools she was given.

She smiled as sweetly as she could and raised her arms. "Lift me up, please."

Achelous's face brightened. He grabbed Piper's hands and pulled her out of the whirlpool.

She'd never ridden a bull before, but she'd practiced bareback pegasus riding at Camp Half-Blood, and she remembered what to do. She used her momentum, swinging one leg over Achelous's back. Then she locked her ankles around his neck, wrapped one arm around his throat, and drew her knife with the other. She pressed the blade under the river god's chin.

"Let—Jason—go." She put all her force into the command. "Now!"

Piper realized there were many flaws in her plan. The river god might simply dissolve into water. Or he could pull her under and wait for her to drown. But apparently her charmspeak worked. Or maybe Achelous was just too surprised to think straight. He probably wasn't used to pretty girls threatening to cut his throat.

Percy had quickly followed suit and had his own sword drawn, the point of it right on the side of Achelous’ head, aiming for his brain. “You heard the lady,” he growled.

Jason shot out of the water like a human cannonball. He broke through the branches of an olive tree and tumbled onto the grass. That couldn't have felt good, but he struggled to his feet, gasping and coughing. He raised his sword, and the dark clouds thickened over the river.

Piper shot him a warning look: Not yet. She still had to get out of this river without drowning or getting electrocuted.

Achelous arched his back as if contemplating a trick. Piper pressed the knife harder against his throat, and Percy pressed his sword harder against the temple of his head.

“Be a good bull,” Piper warned.

"You promised," Achelous said through gritted teeth. "You promised Hercules wouldn't get my horn.”

"And he won't," Piper said. "But I will."

She raised her knife and slashed off the god's horn. The Celestial bronze cut through the base like it was wet clay. Achelous bellowed in rage. Before he could recover, Piper stood up on his back. With the horn in one hand and her dagger in the other, she leaped for the shore.

“Jason!” she yelled.

Thank the gods, he understood. A gust of wind caught her and carried her safely over the bank. Piper hit the ground rolling as the hairs on her neck stood up. A metallic smell filled the air. She turned toward the river in time to be blinded.

BOOM! Lightning stirred the water into a boiling cauldron, steaming and hissing with electricity. Piper blinked the yellow spots out of her eyes as the god Achelous wailed and dissolved beneath the surface.

But Piper quickly remembered. “Percy!” she shouted. “Percy!”

She didn’t see any sign of him, and she thought he had been electrocuted by Jason’s lightning strike. But then, with a splash, Percy emerged from the river. His eyes were wild, and his skin was sizzling with power. He staggered to the shore, coughing up water, his clothes sticking to his body.

“You okay?” Piper managed to ask, still holding the horn.

Percy nodded, though his teeth chattered from the aftershock of the lightning. He glared at the horn. “We need to get to Hercules so I can beat the crap out of him,” he grumbled.

Chapter Text

The three of them ran through the woods. As she climbed the hill, clasping the bull's horn to her chest, Piper realized she was sobbing—though she wasn't sure if it was from fear, or relief, or shame for what she'd done to the old river god. They didn’t slow down until they reached the crest of the hill.

Piper felt silly, but she kept breaking down and crying as she told Jason what had happened while he was struggling underwater.

"Piper, you had no choice." He put his hand on her shoulder. "You saved my life."

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” Percy said coldly. “Maybe now you’ll understand that. This is a harsh world we live in, full of gods who play with our lives like chess pieces. We can’t afford to be soft if we want to survive—let alone save anyone else.”

She wiped her eyes and tried to control herself. The sun was nearing the horizon. They had to get back to Hercules quickly, or their friends would die.

"Achelous forced your hand," Jason continued. "Besides, I doubt that lightning bolt killed him. He's an ancient god. You'd have to destroy his river to destroy him. And he can live without a horn. If you had to lie about not giving it to Hercules, well—"

“I wasn’t lying.”

Jason stared at her. "Pipes… we don't have a choice. Hercules will kill—"

"Hercules doesn't deserve this." Piper wasn't sure where this rage was coming from, but she had never felt more certain of anything in her life.

Hercules was a bitter, selfish jerk. He'd hurt too many people, and he wanted to keep on hurting them. Maybe he'd had some bad breaks. Maybe the gods had kicked him around. But that didn't excuse it. A hero couldn't control the gods, but he should be able to control himself.

Jason would never be like that. He would never blame others for his problems or make a grudge more important than doing the right thing.

Piper was not going to repeat Deianira's story. She wasn't going to go along with what Hercules wanted just because he was handsome and strong and scary. He couldn't get his way this time — not after threatening their lives and sending them to make Achelous miserable for the sake of spiting Hera. Hercules didn't deserve a horn of plenty. Piper was going to put him in his place.

“I agree with Piper,” Percy said firmly, his eyes still smoldering with the aftermath of the battle. “Hercules can rot in Tartarus for all I care. Besides, I got a bone to pick with him for my friend.”

“I got a plan,” Piper said, and she told Percy and Jason what it was.

“We’re going to die, but I’m in,” Jason said, though the doubt was clear in his voice.

Hercules was waiting right where they'd left him. He was staring at the Argo II, docked between the pillars as the sun set behind it. The ship looked okay, but Piper's plan had started to feel insane to her.

Too late to reconsider. They’d already sent an Iris-message to Leo. Jason was prepared. And, seeing Hercules again, she felt more certain than ever she couldn't give him what he wanted.

Hercules didn't exactly brighten when he saw Piper carrying the bull's horn, but his scowl lines lessened.

"Good," he said. "You got it. In that case, you are free to go."

Piper glanced at Jason. "You heard him. He gave us permission." She turned back to the god. "That means our ship will be able to pass into the Mediterranean?"

"Yes, yes." Hercules snapped his fingers. "Now, the horn."

"No," Piper said.

The god frowned. "Excuse me?"

She raised the cornucopia. Since she'd cut it from Achelous's head, the horn had hollowed out, becoming smooth and dark on the inside. It didn't appear magical, but Piper was counting on its power.

"Achelous was right," she said. "You're his curse as much as he is yours. You're a sorry excuse for a hero."

Piper saw Percy crack his knuckles, whistling while he pulled out his sword as if he were taking a Sunday stroll. The sight made her heart race, but she knew she had to stay focused.

Hercules stared at her as if she were speaking in Japanese. "You realize I could kill you with a flick of my finger," he said. "I could throw my club at your ship and cut straight through its hull. I could—”

"You could shut up," Jason said. He drew his sword. "Maybe Zeus is different from Jupiter. Because I wouldn't put up with any brother who acts like you."

The veins on Hercules's neck turned as purple as his robes. “You would not be the first demigod I've killed.”

“I’d like to see you try and kill me,” Percy sneered with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. The neon green in his eyes flashed again, hinting at the monstrous power that lurked beneath his calm exterior.

"But don't worry. We're not going to fight you. We're going to leave this island with the horn. You don't deserve it as a prize. I'm going to keep it, to remind me of what not to be like as a demigod, and to remind me of poor Achelous and Deianira,” Piper declared, her voice stronger than she had ever heard it before.

The god's nostrils flared. "Do not mention that name! You can't seriously think I'm worried about your puny boyfriend. No one is stronger than me."

"I didn't say stronger," Piper corrected. "I said he's better. And besides, I’m sure you wouldn’t dare to fight THE Percy Jackson, would you?”

Piper pointed the mouth of the horn at Hercules. She let go of the resentment and doubt and anger she'd been harboring since Camp Jupiter. She concentrated on all the good things she'd shared with Jason Grace: soaring upward in the Grand Canyon, walking on the beach at Camp Half-Blood, holding hands at the sing-along and watching the stars, sitting by the strawberry fields together on lazy afternoons and listening to the satyrs play their pipes.

She thought about a future when the giants had been defeated, Gaea was asleep, and they would live happily together—no jealousy, no monsters left to battle. She filled her heart with those thoughts, and she felt the cornucopia grow warm.

The horn blasted forth a flood of food as powerful as Achelous's river. A torrent of fresh fruit, baked goods, and smoked hams completely buried Hercules. Piper didn't understand how all that stuff could fit through the entrance of the horn, but she thought the hams were especially appropriate.

When it had spewed out enough goodies to fill a house, the horn shut itself off. Piper heard Hercules shrieking and struggling somewhere underneath. Apparently even the strongest god in the world could be caught off guard when buried under fresh produce.

"Go!" she told Jason, who'd forgotten his part of the plan and was staring in amazement at the fruit pile. "Go!"

He grabbed Piper's waist and summoned the wind. Percy and Piper had their arms connected with their hands around each other’s forearms. They shot away from the island so quickly, Piper almost got whiplash; but it wasn't a second too soon. “I hate flying!” Percy complained.

As the island retreated from view, Hercules's head broke above the mound of goodies. Half a coconut was stuck on his noggin like a war helmet. "Kill!" he bellowed, like he'd had a lot of practice saying it.

Jason touched down on the deck of the Argo II. Thankfully, Leo had done his part. The ship's oars were already in aerial mode. The anchor was up. Jason summoned a gale so strong, it pushed them into the sky, while Percy sent a ten-foot-tall wave against the shore, knocking Hercules down a second time, in a cascade of seawater and pineapples.

By the time the god regained his feet and started lobbing coconuts at them from far below, the Argo II was already sailing through the clouds above the Mediterranean.

Chapter Text

Percy, Piper, and Jason landed on the deck of the Argo II with a tuck and roll, their swords and Piper’s cornucopia clattering next to them. Leo looked up from the controls, smiling. “Hey guys! Glad you came to visit!”

Percy growled at him. “Just focus on the controls, Valdez,” he said through clenched teeth, his eyes still glued to the retreating island.

Leo nodded, his smile slipping ever so slightly. “Right. Sailing away from the angry god of fruit salad. Got it!”

The ship jolted as it climbed into the air, the engines roaring to life. The Mediterranean stretched out below them like a glittering blue carpet, the sun setting in a fiery display of oranges and pinks.

But Annabeth wasn’t on deck. Annabeth had been distant ever since they had left Charleston. She spent most of her time in her cabin, studying the bronze map she'd retrieved from Fort Sumter, or looking up information on Daedalus's laptop.

Whenever Percy stopped by to see her, she was so lost in thought that the conversation went something like this:

Percy: "Hey, how's it going?”

Annabeth: "Uh, no thanks."

Percy: "Okay… have you eaten anything today?"

Annabeth: "I think Leo is on duty. Ask him."

Percy: "So, my hair is on fire."

Annabeth: "Okay. In a while."

She got like this sometimes. It was one of the challenges of dating an Athena girl. Still, Percy wondered what he had to do to get her attention. He was worried about her after her encounter with the spiders at Fort Sumter, and he didn't know how to help her, especially if she shut him out.

But he couldn’t really blame her. Not after saying that he’d become a monster. Not after saying that he was going to throw his guilt away and be ruthless.

After leaving the Pillars of Hercules—unscathed except for a few coconuts lodged in the hull's bronze plating—the ship traveled by air for a few hundred miles.

Percy hoped the ancient lands wouldn't be as bad as they'd heard. But it was almost like a commercial: You’ll notice the difference immediately!

Several times an hour, something attacked the ship. A flock of flesh-eating Stymphalian birds swooped out of the night sky, and Festus torched them. Storm spirits swirled around the mast, and Jason blasted them with lightning. While Coach Hedge was having dinner on the foredeck, a wild pegasus appeared from nowhere, stampeded over the coach's enchiladas, and flew off again, leaving cheesy hoof prints all across the deck.

"What was that for?" the coach demanded.

The sight of the pegasus made Percy wish Blackjack were here. He hadn't seen his friend in days. Tempest and Arion also hadn't shown themselves. Maybe they didn't want to venture into the Mediterranean. If so, Percy couldn't blame them.

Finally around midnight, after the ninth or tenth aerial attack, Jason turned to him. "How about you get some sleep? I'll keep blasting stuff out of the sky as long as I can. Then we can go by sea for a while, and you can take point.”

Percy wasn't sure that he'd be able to sleep with the boat rocking through the clouds as it was shaken by angry wind spirits, but Jason's idea made sense. He went belowdecks and crashed on his bunk.

His nightmares, of course, were anything but restful.

He dreamed he was in a dark cavern. He could only see a few feet in front of him, but the space must have been vast. Water dripped from somewhere nearby, and the sound echoed off distant walls. The way the air moved made Percy suspect the cave's ceiling was far, far above.

He heard heavy footsteps, and the twin giants Ephialtes and Otis shuffled out of the gloom. Percy could distinguish them only by their hair—Ephialtes had the green locks braided with silver and gold coins; Otis had the purple ponytail braided with… were those firecrackers?

Otherwise they were dressed identically, and their outfits definitely belonged in a nightmare. They wore matching white slacks and gold buccaneer shirts with V-necks that showed way too much chest hair. A dozen sheathed daggers lined their rhinestone belts. Their shoes were open-toed sandals, proving that—yes, indeed—they had snakes for feet. The straps wrapped around the serpents' necks. Their heads curled up where the toes should be. The snakes flicked their tongues excitedly and turned their gold eyes in every direction, like dogs looking out the window of a car. Maybe it had been a long time since they'd had shoes with a view.

The giants stood in front of Percy, but they paid him no attention. Instead, they gazed up into the darkness.

"We're here," Ephialtes announced. Despite his booming voice, his words dissipated in the cavern, echoing until they sounded small and insignificant.

Far above, something answered, "Yes. I can see that. Those outfits are hard to miss."

The voice made Percy's stomach drop about six inches. It sounded vaguely female, but not at all human. Each word was a garbled hiss in multiple tones, as if a swarm of African killer bees had learned to speak English in unison.

It wasn't Gaea. Percy was sure of that. But whatever it was, the twin giants became nervous. They shifted on their snakes and bobbed their heads respectfully.

"Of course, Your Ladyship," Ephialtes said. "We bring news of—"

"Why are you dressed like that?" asked the thing in the dark. She didn't seem to be coming any closer, which was fine with Percy.

Ephialtes shot his brother an irritated look. "My brother was supposed to wear something different. Unfortunately—”

"You said I was the knife thrower today," Otis protested.

"I said I was the knife thrower! You were supposed to be the magician! Ah, forgive me, Your Ladyship. You don't want to hear us arguing. We came as you requested, to bring you news. The ship is approaching."

Her Ladyship, whatever she was, made a series of violent hisses like a tire being slashed repeatedly. With a shudder, Percy realized she was laughing.

"How long?" she asked.

"They should land in Rome shortly after daybreak, I think," Ephialtes said. "Of course, they'll have to get past the golden boy."

He sneered, as if the golden boy was not his favorite person.

"I hope they arrive safely," Her Ladyship said. "It would spoil our fun to have them captured too soon. Are your preparations made?"

"Yes, Your Ladyship." Otis stepped forward, and the cavern trembled. A crack appeared under Otis's left snake.

"Careful, you dolt!" Her Ladyship snarled. "Do you want to return to Tartarus the hard way?"

Otis scrambled back, his face slack with terror. Percy realized that the floor, which looked like solid stone, was more like the glacier he'd walked on in Alaska — in some places solid, in other places. . .not so much. He was glad he weighed nothing in his dreams.

"There is little left holding this place together," Her Ladyship cautioned. "Except, of course, my own skill. Centuries of Athena's rage can only be contained so well, and the great Earth Mother churns below us in her sleep. Between those two forces, well... my nest has quite eroded. We must hope this child of Athena proves to be a worthy victim. She may be my last plaything."

Ephialtes gulped. He kept his eyes on the crack in the floor. "Soon it will not matter, Your Ladyship. Gaea will rise, and we all will be rewarded. You will no longer have to guard this place, or keep your works hidden."

"Perhaps," said the voice in the dark. "But I will miss the sweetness of my revenge. We have worked well together over the centuries, have we not?"

The twins bowed. The coins glittered in Ephialtes's hair, and Percy realized with nauseating certainly that some of them were silver drachma, exactly like the one Annabeth had gotten from her mom.

Annabeth had told him that in each generation, a few children of Athena were sent on the quest to recover the missing Parthenon statue. None had ever succeeded.

We have worked well together over the centuries.

The giant Ephialtes had centuries' worth of coins in his braids — hundreds of trophies. Percy pictured Annabeth standing in this dark place alone. He imagined the giant taking that coin she carried and adding it to his collection. Percy wanted to draw his sword and give the giant a haircut starting at the neck, but he was powerless to act. He could only watch.

"Uh, Your Ladyship," Ephialtes said nervously. "I would remind you that Gaea wishes the girl to be taken alive. You can torment her. Drive her insane. Whatever you wish, of course. But her blood must be spilt on the ancient stones."

Her Ladyship hissed. "Others could be used for that purpose."

"Y-yes," Ephialtes said. "But this girl is preferred. And the boy—the son of Poseidon. You can see why those two would be most suited for the task."

Percy wasn't sure what that meant, but he wanted to crack the floor and send these stupid goldshirted twins down to oblivion. He'd never let Gaea spill his blood for any task — and there was no way he'd let anyone hurt Annabeth.

"We will see," Her Ladyship grumbled. "Leave me now. Tend to your own preparations. You will have your spectacle. And I… I will work in darkness."

The dream dissolved, and Percy woke with a start.

Jason was knocking at his open doorway.

"We've set down in the water," he said, looking utterly exhausted. "Your turn."

Percy didn't want to, but he woke Annabeth. He figured even Coach Hedge wouldn't mind their talking after curfew if it meant giving her information that might save her life.

They stood on deck, alone except for Leo, who was still manning the helm. The guy must have been shattered, but he refused to go to sleep.

"I don't want any more Shrimpzilla surprises," he insisted.

They'd all tried to convince Leo that the skolopendra attack hadn't been entirely his fault, but he wouldn't listen. Percy knew how he felt. Not forgiving himself for mistakes was one of Percy's biggest talents.

It was about four in the morning. The weather was miserable. The fog was so thick, Percy couldn't see Festus at the end of the prow, and warm drizzle hung in the air like a bead curtain. As they sailed into twenty-foot swells, the sea heaving underneath them, Percy could hear poor Hazel down in her cabin… also heaving.

Despite all that, Percy was grateful to be back on the water. He preferred it to flying through storm clouds and being attacked by man-eating birds and enchilada-trampling pegasi.

He stood with Annabeth at the forward rail while he told her about his dream.

Percy wasn't sure how she'd take the news. Her reaction was even more troubling than he anticipated: she didn't seem surprised.

She peered into the fog. "Percy, you have to promise me something. Don't tell the others about this dream."

"Don't what? Annabeth—"

"What you saw was about the Mark of Athena," she said. "It won't help the others to know. It'll only make them worry, and it'll make it harder for me to go off on my own."

"Annabeth, you can't be serious. That thing in the dark, the big chamber with the crumbling floor—"

"I know." Her face looked unnaturally pale, and Percy suspected it wasn't just the fog. “But I have to do this alone.”

Percy swallowed back his anger. He wasn't sure if he was mad at Annabeth, or his dream, or the entire Greek/Roman world that had endured and shaped human history for five thousand years with one goal in mind: to make Percy Jackson's life suck as much as possible.

"You know what's in that cavern," he guessed. "Does it have to do with spiders?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

"Then how can you even…?" He made himself stop.

Once Annabeth had made up her mind, arguing with her wouldn't do any good. He remembered the night three and a half years ago, when they'd saved Nico and Bianca di Angelo in Maine. Annabeth had been captured by the Titan Atlas. For a while, Percy wasn't sure if she was alive or dead. He'd traveled across the country to save her from the Titan. It had been the hardest few days of his life — not just the monsters and the fighting, but the worry.

How could he intentionally let her go now, knowing she was heading into something even more dangerous?

Then it dawned on him: the way he had felt back then, for a few days, was probably how Annabeth had felt for the six months he had been missing with amnesia.

That made him feel guilty, and a little bit selfish, to be standing here arguing with her. She had to go on this quest. The fate of the world might depend on it. But part of him wanted to say: Forget the world. He didn't want to be without her.

Percy stared into the fog. He couldn't see anything around them, but he had perfect bearings at sea. He knew their exact latitude and longitude. He knew the depth of the ocean and which way the currents were flowing. He knew the ship's speed, and could sense no rocks, sandbars, or other natural dangers in their path. Still, being blind was unsettling.

They hadn't been attacked since they had touched the water, but the sea seemed different. Percy had been in the Atlantic, the Pacific, even the Gulf of Alaska, but this sea felt more ancient and powerful. Percy could sense its layers swirling below him. Every Greek or Roman hero had sailed these waters—from Hercules to Aeneas. Monsters still dwelt in the depths, so deeply wrapped in the Mist that they slept most of the time; but Percy could feel them stirring, responding to the Celestial bronze hull of a Greek trireme and the presence of demigod blood.

‘They are back’, the monsters seemed to say. ‘Finally, fresh blood’.

"We're not far from the Italian coast," Percy said, mostly to break the silence. "Maybe a hundred nautical miles to the mouth of the Tiber."

"Good," Annabeth said. "By daybreak, we should—"

"Stop." Percy's skin felt washed with ice. "We have to stop."

"Why?" Annabeth asked.

"Leo, stop!" he yelled.

Too late. The other boat appeared out of the fog and rammed them head-on. In that split second, Percy registered random details: another trireme; black sails painted with a gorgon's head; hulking warriors, not quite human, crowded at the front of the boat in Greek armor, swords and spears ready; and a bronze ram at water level, slamming against the hull of the Argo II.

Annabeth and Percy were almost thrown overboard.

Festus blew fire, sending a dozen very surprised warriors screaming and diving into the sea, but more swarmed aboard the Argo II. Grappling lines wrapped around the rails and the mast, digging iron claws into the hull's planks.

By the time Percy had recovered his wits, the enemy was everywhere. He couldn't see well through the fog and the dark, but the invaders seemed to be humanlike dolphins, or dolphinlike humans. Some had gray snouts. Others held their swords in stunted flippers. Some waddled on legs partially fused together, while others had flippers for feet, which reminded Percy of clown shoes.

Leo sounded the alarm bell. He made a dash for the nearest ballista but went down under a pile of chattering dolphin warriors.

Annabeth and Percy stood back-to-back, as they'd done many times before, their weapons drawn. Percy tried to summon the waves, hoping he could push the ships apart or even capsize the enemy vessel, but nothing happened. It almost felt like something was pushing against his will, wresting the sea from his control.

He raised Riptide, ready to fight. They seemed to be hopelessly outnumbered, but Percy was in his ‘monster’ mode. The neon green in his eyes was back, and he felt a strange thrill at the thought of fighting these creatures. He knew he had to keep that monstrous side of him in check, but right now it was all he had to keep himself from panicking.

But warriors didn't seem interested in killing them immediately. They kept Percy and Annabeth contained while more of their comrades flooded belowdecks and secured the hull. Percy could hear them breaking down the cabin doors, scuffling with his friends. Even if the other demigods hadn't been fast asleep, they wouldn't have stood a chance against so many.

Leo was dragged across the deck, half-conscious and groaning, and dumped on a pile of ropes. Below, the sounds of fighting tapered off. Either the others had been subdued or… or Percy refused to think about it.

On one side of the ring of spears, the dolphin warriors parted to let someone through. He appeared to be fully human, but from the way the dolphins fell back before him, he was clearly the leader. He was dressed in Greek combat armor—sandals, kilt, and greaves, a breastplate decorated with elaborate sea monster designs—and everything he wore was gold. Even his sword, a Greek blade like Riptide, was gold instead of bronze.

‘The golden boy’, Percy thought, remembering his dream. ‘They'll have to get past the golden boy’.

What really made Percy nervous was the guy's helmet. His visor was a full face mask fashioned like a gorgon's head—curved tusks, horrible features pinched into a snarl, and golden snake hair curling around the face. Percy had met gorgons before. The likeness was good—a little too good for his taste.

Annabeth turned so she was shoulder to shoulder with Percy. He wanted to put his arm around her protectively, but he doubted she'd appreciate the gesture, and he didn't want to give this golden guy any indication that Annabeth was his girlfriend. No sense giving the enemy more leverage than they already had.

"Who are you?" Percy demanded. “What do you want?”

The golden warrior chuckled. With a flick of his blade, faster than Percy could follow, he smacked Riptide out of Percy's hand and sent it flying into the sea.

He might as well have thrown Percy's lungs into the sea, because suddenly Percy couldn't breathe. He'd never been disarmed so easily.

"Hello, brother." The golden warrior's voice was rich and velvety, with an exotic accent—Middle Eastern, maybe—that seemed vaguely familiar. "Always happy to rob a fellow son of Poseidon. I am Chrysaor, the Golden Sword. As for what I want..." He turned his metal mask toward Annabeth. "Well, that's easy. I want everything you have."

Chapter Text

Percy’s heart did jumping jacks while Chrysaor walked back and forth, inspecting them like prized cattle. A dozen of his dolphin-man warriors stayed in a ring around them, spears leveled at Percy's chest, while dozens more ransacked the ship, banging and crashing around belowdecks. One carried a box of ambrosia up the stairs. Another carried an armful of ballista bolts and a crate of Greek fire.

"Careful with that!" Annabeth warned. "It'll blow up both our ships."

"Ha!" Chrysaor said. "We know all about Greek fire, girl. Don't worry. We've been looting and pillaging ships on the Mare Nostrum for eons."

"Your accent sounds familiar," Percy said. "Have we met?"

"I haven't had the pleasure." Chrysaor's golden gorgon mask snarled at him, though it was impossible to tell what his real expression might be underneath. "But I've heard all about you, Percy Jackson. Oh, yes, the young man who saved Olympus. And his faithful sidekick, Annabeth Chase."

"I'm nobody's sidekick," Annabeth growled. "And, Percy, his accent sounds familiar because he sounds like his mother. We killed her in New Jersey."

Percy frowned. "I'm pretty sure that accent isn't New Jersey. Who's his—? Oh."

It all fell into place. Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium—the lair of Medusa. She'd talked with that same accent, at least until Percy had cut off her head.

"Medusa is your mom?" he asked. "Dude, that sucks for you."

Judging from the sound in Chrysaor's throat, he was now snarling under the mask, too.

"You are as arrogant as the, first Perseus," Chrysaor said. "But, yes, Percy Jackson. Poseidon was my father. Medusa was my mother. After Medusa was changed into a monster by that so-called goddess of wisdom..." The golden mask turned on Annabeth. "That would be your mother, I believe… Medusa's two children were trapped inside her, unable to be born. When the original Perseus cut off Medusa's head—”

"Two children sprang out," Annabeth remembered. "Pegasus and you."

Percy stepped forward and was glaring at Chrysaor straight in the face. “Well, buddy, I’m no demigod,” he said.

“Oh really? What are you then?” Chrysaor's eyes glinted with malicious amusement.

“A monster,” Percy spat. “And you’re about to find out what that means. Get off my ship!”

Chrysaor's laugh was cold and metallic. “A monster? I’d like to see you prove it.”

‘If he can’t see, he can’t fight’, Percy thought. ‘Punch him square in the nose, then he'll be blinded by his own tears and choke on his own blood’.

Percy balled his fist at his side, and, in a split second, punched Chrysaor in the nose, and blood trickled out from his nostrils almost immediately. The warrior stumbled backward, and his men gaped.

‘If he can’t stand, he can’t fight’, Percy’s instincts whispered. He lunged forward, and hit a pressure point on Chrysaor’s right leg, causing his knee to buckle and drop down onto said knee.

‘If he can’t breathe, he can’t fight’, the voice in Percy’s head continued. He pulled back his fist and punched Chrysaor’s throat. The warrior fell to the ground, holding his throat, barely being able to breathe.

Percy grabbed his half brother by his neck and lifted him up. Percy’s eyes were once again the same color as Scar’s from The Lion King. “Leave. Now!” Percy bellowed. The waves became more choppy, directly going for Chrysaor’s ships.

“Y-yes, y-yes we w-will,” Chrysaor choked out, his eyes wide with shock and pain. He raised a shaking hand, gesturing for his warriors to retreat.

The dolphin men hesitated, their expressions a mix of fear and loyalty. Finally, they obeyed, hoisting their leader over their shoulders and leaping back into their trireme. The grappling lines were released, and the ships drifted apart.

Percy turned to Annabeth, and found the rest of the Argo II crew staring at him with a mix of gratitude, fear, and relief. “That could have been a lot worse,” Jason said, sighing with relief.

“Yeah, thanks Percy. Thanks a lot for making them go away so quickly,” Leo quipped, though the tremble in his voice betrayed his nerves.

“It was nothing. I just used the Quicksilver Method against him,” Percy said, his voice eerily calm despite his racing heart.

“What’s the Quicksilver Method?” Hazel asked, her voice confused.

“It’s something from the third Karate Kid movie,” Coach Hedge said, which made sense considering his love, borderline obsession, with martial arts movies. “Terry Silver taught it to Daniel. It has three rules—”

“A man can’t stand, he can’t fight. A man can’t breathe, he can’t fight. And a man can’t see, he can’t fight,” Percy recounted the rules of the Quicksilver Method, his eyes still gleaming with the neon-poison green color like Scar’s eyes.

“But that was… a little extreme, don’t you think?” Piper ventured, her voice trembling slightly as she stared at Percy's glowing eyes.

Percy turned and looked at the enemy ship that retreated into the distance. “Guys, what did I tell you?”

“Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves,” Annabeth recalled.

“Exactly,” Percy said, his voice still a thunderous rumble. “We can’t afford to be merciful. We fight to save lives, but we won’t kill to get the job done. We are far too nice. Mercy has a cost. I would have killed him, but there were too many of his crew for us to fight. But next time? I won’t be so forgiving.”

After their bout with the pirates, they decided to fly the rest of the way to Rome. Jason insisted he was well enough to take sentry duty, along with Coach Hedge, who was still so charged with adrenaline that every time the ship hit turbulence, he swung his bat and yelled, "Die!"

They had a couple of hours before daybreak, so Jason suggested Percy try to get a few more hours of sleep.

"It's fine, man," Jason said. "Give somebody else a chance to save the ship, huh?"

Percy agreed, though once in his cabin, he had trouble falling asleep.

He thought about the Karate Kid villain, Terry Silver. Percy had seen the first three Karate Kid movies and all of Cobra Kai. The way Silver fought was that he toyed with his opponents, inflicting the most pain possible while still keeping them fighting.

And Percy was becoming like that.

But Percy didn’t feel powerful. The more heroic stuff he did, the more he realized how limited he was. He felt like a fraud. I'm not as great as you think, he wanted to warn his friends. His failures, like not being able to save his friends, seemed to prove it. Maybe that's why he had started to fear suffocation. It wasn't so much drowning in the earth or the sea, but the feeling that he was sinking into too many expectations, literally getting in over his head.

Wow… when he started having thoughts like that, he knew he'd been spending too much time with Annabeth.

Athena had once told Percy his fatal flaw: he was supposedly too loyal to his friends. He couldn't see the big picture. He would save a friend even if it meant destroying the world.

At the time, Percy had shrugged this off. How could loyalty be a bad thing? Besides, things worked out okay against the Titans. He'd saved his friends and beaten Kronos.

Now, though, he started to wonder. He would gladly throw himself at any monster, god, or giant to keep his friends from being hurt. But what if he wasn't up to the task? What if someone else had to do it? That was very hard for him to admit. He even had trouble with simple things like letting Jason take a turn at watch. He didn't want to rely on someone else to protect him, someone who could get hurt on his account.

Percy's mom had done that for him. She'd stayed in a bad relationship with a gross mortal guy because she thought it would save Percy from monsters. Grover, his best friend, had protected Percy for almost a year before Percy even realized he was a demigod, and Grover had almost gotten killed by the Minotaur.

Percy wasn't a kid anymore. He didn't want anybody he loved taking a risk for him. He had to be strong enough to be the protector himself. But now he was supposed to let Annabeth go off on her own to follow the Mark of Athena, knowing she might die. If it came to a choice—save Annabeth or let the quest succeed—could Percy really choose the quest?

And he hadn’t even been the one to defeat Kronos. That’s why he felt like a fraud. People called him a great hero when he wasn’t even the one to avenge his friends’ deaths. He thought about a conversation him and Annabeth had before they had reached Charleston.

‘Why are you pushing this?’ Annabeth asked, her tone stern as she stared at Percy, the sun setting over the mid United States.

‘What? Why do you think? I wanna get her,’ Percy said irritatedly, referring to Gaea.

‘Get who exactly?’ Annabeth had asked, her expression unyielding.

‘Is that a real question?’ Percy had shot back at Annabeth.

‘You tell me,’ Annabeth had pressed. ‘I’m not sure this is even about Gaea. It still feels like you’re chasing Kronos.’

Percy had chuckled, but it was void of humor. ‘Kronos is gone.’

‘Yeah, but after all he did to you, you weren’t the one who stopped him,’ Annabeth had said, her eyes searching his.

‘We all worked together—’

‘Yeah, and Luke got him in the end,’ Annabeth had cut him off, her tone still stern. ‘I mean, did that make you feel cheated? Like you didn’t get your revenge, and so you being the one who defeats Gaea is the next best thing?’

Exhaustion finally overtook him. He fell asleep, and in his nightmare, the rumble of thunder became the laughter of the earth goddess Gaea.

Percy dreamed he was standing on the front porch of the Big House at Camp Half-Blood. The sleeping face of Gaea appeared on the side of Half-Blood Hill—her massive features formed from the shadows on the grassy slopes. Her lips didn't move, but her voice echoed across the valley.

‘So this is your home,’ Gaea murmured. ‘Take a last look, Percy Jackson. You should have returned here. At least then you could have died with your comrades when the Romans invade. Now your blood will be spilled far from home, on the ancient stones, and I will rise.’

The ground shook. At the top of Half-Blood Hill, Thalia's pine tree burst into flames. Disruption rolled across the valley—grass turning to sand, forest crumbling to dust. The river and the canoe lake dried up. The cabins and the Big House burned to ashes. When the tremor stopped, Camp Half Blood looked like a wasteland after an atomic blast. The only thing left was the porch where Percy stood.

Next to him, the dust swirled and solidified into the figure of a woman. Her eyes were closed, as if she were sleepwalking. Her robes were forest green, dappled with gold and white like sunlight shifting through branches. Her hair was as black as tilled soil. Her face was beautiful, but even with a dreamy smile on her lips she seemed cold and distant. Percy got the feeling she could watch demigods die or cities burn, and that smile wouldn't waver.

"When I reclaim the earth," Gaea said, "I will leave this spot barren forever, to remind me of your kind and how utterly powerless they were to stop me. It doesn't matter when you fall, my sweet little pawn—to Phorcys or Chrysaor or my dear twins. You will fall, and I will be there to devour you. Your only choice now… will you fall alone? Come to me willingly; bring the girl. Perhaps I will spare this place you love. Otherwise…"

Gaea opened her eyes. They swirled in green and black, as deep as the crust of the earth. Gaea saw everything. Her patience was infinite. She was slow to wake, but once she arose, her power was unstoppable.

Percy's skin tingled. His hands went numb. He looked down and realized he was crumbling to dust, like all the monsters he'd ever defeated.

"Enjoy Tartarus, my little pawn," Gaea purred.

A metallic CLANG-CLANG-CLANG jolted Percy out of his dream. His eyes shot open. He realized he'd just heard the landing gear being lowered.

There was a knock on his door, and Jason poked his head in. The bruises on his face had faded. His blue eyes glittered with excitement.

"Hey, man," he said. "We're descending over Rome. You really should see this."

The sky was brilliant blue, as if the stormy weather had never happened. The sun rose over the distant hills, so everything below them shone and sparkled like the entire city of Rome had just come out of the car wash.

Percy had seen big cities before. He was from New York, after all. But the sheer vastness of Rome grabbed him by the throat and made it hard to breathe. The city seemed to have no regard for the limits of geography. It spread through hills and valleys, jumped over the Tiber with dozens of bridges, and just kept sprawling to the horizon. Streets and alleys zigzagged with no rhyme or reason through quilts of neighborhoods. Glass office buildings stood next to excavation sites. A cathedral stood next to a line of Roman columns, which stood next to a modern soccer stadium. In some neighborhoods, old stucco villas with red-tiled roofs crowded the cobblestone streets, so that if Percy concentrated just on those areas, he could imagine he was back in ancient times. Everywhere he looked, there were wide piazzas and traffic-clogged streets. Parks cut across the city with a crazy collection of palm trees, pines, junipers, and olive trees, as if Rome couldn't decide what part of the world it belonged to—or maybe it just believed all the world still belonged to Rome.

It was as if the city knew about Percy's dream of Gaea. It knew that the earth goddess intended on razing all human civilization, and this city, which had stood for thousands of years, was saying back to her, ‘You wanna dissolve this city, Dirt Face? Give it a shot.’

In other words, it was the Coach Hedge of mortal cities—only taller.

"We're setting down in that park," Leo announced, pointing to a wide green space dotted with palm trees. "Let's hope the Mist makes us look like a large pigeon or something."

Percy wished Jason's sister Thalia were here. She'd always had a way of bending the Mist to make people see what she wanted. Percy had never been very good at that. He just kept thinking, ‘Don't look at me,’ and hoped the Romans below would fail to notice the giant bronze trireme descending on their city in the middle of morning rush hour.

It seemed to work. Percy didn't notice any cars veering off the road or Romans pointing to the sky and screaming, "Aliens!" The Argo II set down in the grassy field and the oars retracted.

The noise of traffic was all around them, but the park itself was peaceful and deserted. To their left, a green lawn sloped toward a line of woods. An old villa nestled in the shade of some weirdlooking pine trees with thin curvy trunks that shot up thirty or forty feet, then sprouted into puffy canopies. They reminded Percy of trees in those Dr. Seuss books his mom used to read him when he was little.

To their right, snaking along the top of a hill, was a long brick wall with notches at the top for archers—maybe a medieval defensive line, maybe Ancient Roman. Percy wasn't sure.

To the north, about a mile away through the folds of the city, the top of the Colosseum rose above the rooftops, looking just like it did in travel photos. That's when Percy's legs started shaking. He was actually here. He'd thought his trip to Alaska had been pretty exotic, but now he was in the heart of the old Roman Empire, enemy territory for a Greek demigod. In a way, this place had shaped his life as much as New York.

Jason pointed to the base of the archers' wall, where steps led down into some kind of tunnel.

"I think I know where we are," he said. "That's the Tomb of the Scipios."

Percy frowned. "Scipio. Reyna's pegasus?"

"No," Annabeth put in. "They were a noble Roman family, and… wow, this place is amazing."

Jason nodded. "I've studied maps of Rome before. I've always wanted to come here, but…"

Nobody bothered finishing that sentence. Looking at his friends' faces, Percy could tell they were just as much in awe as he was. They'd made it. They'd landed in Rome—the Rome.

"Plans?" Hazel asked. "Nico has until sunset—at best. And this entire city is supposedly getting destroyed today."

Percy shook himself out of his daze. "You're right. Annabeth… did you zero in on that spot from your bronze map?"

Her gray eyes turned extra thunderstorm dark, which Percy could interpret just fine. ‘Remember what I said, buddy. Keep that dream to yourself.’

Yes," she said carefully. "It's on the Tiber River. I think I can find it, but I should—"

"Take me along," Percy finished. "Yeah, you're right."

Annabeth glared daggers at him. "That's not—"

"Safe," he supplied. "One demigod walking through Rome alone. I'll go with you as far as the Tiber. We can use that letter of introduction, hopefully meet the river god Tiberinus. Maybe he can give you some help or advice. Then you can go on alone from there. Besides, I can be very… persuasive."

Percy grinned demonically and his eyes flickered colors, but it didn’t just flicker between their normal sea green and the neon-poison Scar’s eyes green. They flickered between sea green and… blood red.

"Fine," Annabeth muttered. "Hazel, now that we're in Rome, do you think you can pinpoint Nico's location?"

Hazel blinked, as if coming out of a trance from watching the Percy/Annabeth Show. "Um… hopefully, if I get close enough. I'll have to walk around the city. Frank, would you come with me?

Frank beamed. "Absolutely."

“Leo, can you come with us too?” Hazel asked.

“Sure,” he replied.

Piper drew her knife and set it on the rail. "Jason, and I can watch the ship for now. I'll see what Katoptris can show me. But, Hazel, if you guys get a fix on Nico's location, don't go in there by yourselves. Come back and get us. It'll take all of us to fight the giants."

She didn't say the obvious: even all of them together wouldn't be enough, unless they had a god on their side. Percy decided not to bring that up.

"Good idea," Percy said. "How about we plan to meet back here at… what?"

"Three this afternoon?" Jason suggested. "That's probably the latest we could rendezvous and still hope to fight the giants and save Nico. If something happens to change the plan, try to send an Iris message."

The others nodded in agreement, but Percy noticed several of them glancing at Annabeth. Another thing no one wanted to say: Annabeth would be on a different schedule. She might be back at three, or much later, or never. But she would be on her own, searching for the Athena Parthenos.

Coach Hedge grunted. "That'll give me time to eat the coconuts—I mean dig the coconuts out of our hull. Percy, Annabeth… I don't like you two going off on your own. Just remember: behave. If I hear about any funny business, I will ground you until the Styx freezes over."

The idea of getting grounded when they were about to risk their lives was so ridiculous, Percy almost smiled. Almost.

"We'll be back soon," he promised. He looked around at his friends, trying not to feel like this was the last time they'd ever be together. "Good luck, everyone."

Leo lowered the gangplank, and Percy and Annabeth were first off the ship.

Chapter Text

Under different circumstances, wandering through Rome with Annabeth would have been pretty awesome. They held hands as they navigated the winding streets, dodging cars and crazy Vespa drivers, squeezing through mobs of tourists, and wading through oceans of pigeons. The day warmed up quickly. Once they got away from the car exhaust on the main roads, the air smelled of baking bread and freshly cut flowers.

They aimed for the Colosseum because that was an easy landmark, but getting there proved harder than Percy anticipated. As big and confusing as the city had looked from above, it was even more so on the ground. Several times they got lost on dead-end streets. They found beautiful fountains and huge monuments by accident.

Annabeth commented on the architecture, but Percy kept his eyes open for other things. Once he spotted a glowing purple ghost—a Lar—glaring at them from the window of an apartment building. Another time he saw a white-robed woman—maybe a nymph or a goddess—holding a wicked looking knife, slipping between ruined columns in a public park. Nothing attacked them, but Percy felt like they were being watched, and the watchers were not friendly.

Finally they reached the Colosseum, where a dozen guys in cheap gladiator costumes were scuffling with the police—plastic swords versus batons. Percy wasn't sure what that was about, but he and Annabeth decided to keep walking. Sometimes mortals were even stranger than monsters.

Then, time stopped. At least, except for Percy. Annabeth froze mid sentence. The pigeons flying froze in mid flap. Everything was on pause except for Percy. “What the Hades?” he breathed out.

He turned around, and found someone right up in his face. Percy jumped back a good five feet and fell onto the ground. The man had sea green eyes and jet black hair, just like Poseidon. But this man had an aura that was far, far more ancient and powerful than Poseidon could ever imagine. The man was 7” 3’ ish, which made the 6” Percy feel like he was 5 years old.

“Who are you?” Percy managed to croak out, stumbling back to his feet.

The man's aura washed over him, a wave of power that made Percy's knees wobble. His eyes—those sea green eyes—were as cold as the ocean's deepest trenches.

“I am the original god of the sea, young Perseus,” the man spoke, his voice like the thunder of a storm.

Percy quickly thought of the sea gods he knew, and quickly figured out who he was talking to. This was his great-great uncle, the primordial god of the sea, Pontus.

"What do you want?" Percy demanded, trying not to let the tremor in his voice betray his fear.

“I am here to help you,” Pontus said, his eyes piercing through the Mist that had momentarily parted to reveal his true form.

“But why? Why do you want to help us defeat your sister?” Percy’s voice was tight with skepticism. The air around them hummed with ancient power. The very stones of the Colosseum seemed to whisper secrets of battles long forgotten.

Pontus's gaze shifted to the horizon, where the Tiber River snaked through the city. “Because, unlike her, I do not seek to destroy. Gaea’s reign would bring chaos and suffering to all—gods and mortals included. We share the same enemy. What is that saying that mortals have?”

“You mean, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’?” Percy asked, his eyes still wary of the towering figure before him.

Pontus nodded, his eyes flickering with something akin to amusement. “Exactly. And I’d figure that I’d help a fellow sea deity’s son, and Gaea’s biggest threat.”

“Wait, me?” Percy asked, shocked. “But, the prophecy said—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Pontus said, his deep voice cutting through the silence like a knife through water. “The prophecy said, ‘To storm or fire the world must fall’. You think that means that only the son of Jupiter or the son of Hephaestus could defeat her, right?”

“Right—”

“Wrong,” Pontus said, his expression unyielding. “Tsunamis, hurricanes, typhoons. I’d say that those count as storms, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh, I guess,” Percy said, trying to process this new revelation. “But, how are you going to help me? I mean, I know that you’re a primordial god and are super crazy powerful, but—”

“I’m going to show you the power of the sea,” Pontus said, his eyes alight with an ancient fire. He raised his hand, and a silver-white mist began to coalesce around them, obscuring the bustling streets of Rome. The sound of the city faded into the background, and Percy felt as if he was standing on the edge of the world—just the two of them and the vast, eternal sea.

He stood on a sea cliff, and Pontus’ face was in the clouds. Percy had so many questions. “Where are we? How did you manage to stop time? Where’s Annabeth?”

Pontus chuckled. “As for your first question, we are at the Cliffs of Moher in County Clare, Ireland. As for your second question, I asked Chronos to help me stop time, and no, not the Titan Kronos, the primordial god of time Chronos. And as for your third question, Annabeth is safe, frozen in time along with the rest of the world, unaware of your absence.”

“You said you were going to teach me the power of the sea,” Percy said, his heart racing from the sudden change of scenery and the gravity of the situation.

Pontus smiled and chuckled again. “You’re an eager one, aren’t you? Very well.” And then, he started to sing.

“Here you stand on the edge of sea and sky
You can command them both, if you try
Look within, I guarantee
That you’ll find the power of the sea!”

Percy lifted his hands, and the water below the cliffs followed his hands. But he was moving way more water than he had ever been. It was at least 25,000 gallons.

“The power of the sea
The power of the sea
It dwells inside you
And all around you
In ways you've never seen before
The power of the sea
The power of the sea
Once you think you've found it all
You'll find there's still much more,” Pontus sang.
“Free yourself from doubt and from fear
The control that you seek will be clear
Know the sea goes far beyond liquid and sound
It can impact everything all around!
The power of the sea
The power of the sea
It dwells inside you
And all around you
In ways you've never seen before
The power of the sea
The power of the sea
Once you think you've found it all
You'll find there's still much more
The power of the sea!” Pontus finished his song.

Percy looked at the Pontus face in the sky. “So, how much time do we have here?” Percy asked, his voice echoing off the cliffs.

“As much as we need,” Pontus said, his eyes glinting. “Are you ready to learn all of your abilities?”

Percy smirked, but not in a demonic way, but in a determined way. “So, what’s the first lesson?”

Pontus taught Percy a bunch of things. He told Percy how to freeze water into ice, how to boil it into steam, and vice versa. Percy could do it no matter the temperature. For example, it could be 90 degrees outside and Percy could still freeze water into ice.

Pontus taught Percy how to manipulate the water vapor in the air and to subsequently control the winds. It wasn’t to as high of a degree as Jason could, but it definitely wasn’t nothing. And, it was enough for Percy to be able to fly, to lift dead trees, and move rocks all around, and Pontus taught Percy how to wear down and even crack and break rocks using erosion. Percy could also manipulate the water vapor in the air of someone’s lungs, extract it, and literally take their breath away.

Pontus taught Percy how to vapor travel. Basically, it was like Nico’s shadow travel, but Percy manipulated the water vapor in the air to teleport. It was a bit trickier than shadows because water was everywhere, but it was a powerful ability to have. But it tired Percy quite a bit.

“You have done well, Perseus,” Pontus said after hours of intense training. “For your final lesson, I will teach you how to control any liquid.”

“Wait, what?” Percy's voice was a mix of excitement and bewilderment. “I mean, I knew that I could control poison to a limited degree, but…”

“Most liquids contain at least a little bit of water in them, and since you can control water, you can control the liquid as a whole,” Pontus explained, his gaze unyielding.

“Wait, if I can control any liquid, that means that I could control…”

The Pontus head in the sky nodded. “You can control blood. And, you can control ichor. You do know what that is, correct?”

Percy nodded. “Godly blood. That’s what you guys have running through your veins instead of blood.”

“Indeed. It is called hemokinesis. Are you ready to learn?”

Percy felt his stomach flip. Controlling blood was one thing he'd never considered. It was eerie, powerful, and a bit terrifying. But, he’d already said that he would quote, ‘Sail through dangerous oceans and skies, I’ll take us where Gaea won’t reach us, and if I gotta drop an infant from a wall in an instant so we all don’t die… then I’ll become the monster!’ Percy looked at the Pontus head in the sky, his eyes the neon-poison green color of Scar’s eyes. “Let’s do this,” he said, his voice filled with determination.

Pontus nodded and some static Ancient Greek soldiers appeared in front of Percy. “Don’t worry, they weren’t actually soldiers. They’re just dummies who have human blood,” Pontus clarified.

“Ok, so… how do I do this?” Percy asked, his eyes on the dummy soldiers.

“It’s quite simple, really,” Pontus said, his form shifting into a human body. “You just need to focus your will on the liquid in question, in this case blood, and manipulate it to your desires. You can pull it out from their mouths, manipulate it to make them move however you’d like, or even boil it.”

Percy thought he should have been grossed out by the idea, and that he should have refused to do such a thing. But, that’s not what happened. Instead, Percy grinned. “Let’s rock,” he said, making a reference to Al Bundy’s catchphrase in the 80s/90s sitcom, Married… With Children.

Long story short, Percy learned how to manipulate blood, poison, and even oil like it was water. He knew that this was necessary for them to defeat Gaea. It may have seemed barbaric, but to Percy, it was survival.

When he was done, Pontus looked down at him with a gentle smile. “You have done very well, young Perseus. You have truly mastered the power of the sea. You’re now powerful enough to…”

Pontus held back a laugh. Percy was confused. “What? What am I powerful enough to do?” he asked, his voice still filled with excitement from the training.

Pontus composed himself, but a cheeky grin still adored his face. “You are powerful enough to beat any god or goddess in a fight besides the big three. That includes Ares, who you beat when you were 12, Hera, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Apollo, Artemis, and…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Athena.”

Percy’s eyes widened. “Athena? But, she’s, you know, the goddess of wisdom and strategy. How could I beat her?”

Pontus chuckled, the sound echoing off the cliffs. “Athena is indeed powerful, but she is not invincible. And, with your newfound control over water and all its forms, you now have a weapon she cannot counter. But remember, Perseus, power is not everything. It is how you wield it that truly counts. You should know that power in the wrong hands can be disastrous.”

Percy nodded solemnly. “I do. I’ll only use my hemokinesis if necessary. And, thank you, Lord Pontus. You have no idea how grateful I am for your teaching.”

Pontus’ smile remained. “I’ve watched you Perseus, and I’ve never seen you talk to a god with so much respect,” he said, his voice a gentle rumble.

“Well, one, you don’t hate me like 60% of the Olympians, two, you’re a primordial god, which means that if you were a regular person the Olympians are ants, and three, I’m genuinely grateful for your help, Lord Pontus,” Percy replied, still trying to process everything he had just learned.

“You don’t have to call me ‘Lord’, Perseus. Formalities lose their meaning after a millennium or so,” Pontus said with a wink.

“Ok, but you have to call me Percy. Deal?” Percy said with a grin, feeling a strange kinship with the ancient god who had just taught him the true extent of his powers.

Pontus laughed. “Very well, Percy. I’ll be watching you, and I’ll be here for you when you need me. I’m sorry to say that I can’t help you kill the giants, but if you ever need advice or anything of that sort, I’ll be here,” Pontus promised, and then, just like that, Percy was back in the Colosseum, with Annabeth, time unfrozen.

Chapter Text

“Hello? Earth to Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth said, waving her hand in front of Percy’s face.

Percy snapped out of his zoning out. “Who? What? Oh, it’s just you, Wise Girl,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You were zoned out. What were you thinking about?” Annabeth asked, her expression a blend of concern and curiosity.

Percy decided not to tell Annabeth about his lessons with Pontus. Not yet, anyway. “Just… about how we’re in THE Rome,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Annabeth bought it, and smiled. “I know. It is pretty crazy.”

They made their way west, stopping every once in a while to ask directions to the river. Percy hadn't considered that the Italians used euros, and Percy didn't have any. He regretted this as soon as he found a tourist shop that sold sodas. By then it was almost noon, getting really hot. Late June, noon, only 2,894.70 miles away from the equator, and you got a pretty freaking hot day.

Annabeth solved the problem. She dug around in her backpack, brought out Daedalus's laptop, and typed in a few commands. A plastic card ejected from a slot in the side.

Annabeth waved it triumphantly. "International credit card. For emergencies."

Percy stared at her in amazement. "How did you—? No. Never mind. I don't want to know. Just keep being awesome."

The sodas helped, but they were still hot and tired.

Percy thought about the things that he’d learned from Pontus, and how much more power he had than he had ever realized. He knew that he was powerful, whether he wanted to be or not, but he never would have thought that he was capable of beating the literal goddess of war in a fight.

He was just glad that there was a non-Olympian god who didn’t want to kill him. He’d been asking Santa for one for Christmas for years, and now he finally had one he could show off to his friends.

Eventually, they arrived at the Tiber River. The shore was edged with a stone embankment. A chaotic assortment of warehouses, apartments, stores, and cafes crowded the riverfront.

The Tiber itself was wide, lazy, and caramel-colored. A few tall cypress trees hung over the banks. The nearest bridge looked fairly new, made from iron girders, but right next to it stood a crumbling line of stone arches that stopped halfway across the river—ruins that might've been left over from the days of the Caesars.

"This is it." Annabeth pointed at the old stone bridge. "I recognize that from the map. But what do we do now?"

Percy was glad she had said we. He didn't want to leave her yet. In fact, he wasn't sure he could make himself do it when the time came. Gaea's words came back to him. ‘Will you fall alone?’

He stared at the river, wondering how they could make contact with the god Tiberinus. He didn't really want to jump in. The Tiber didn't look much cleaner than the East River back home, where he'd had too many encounters with grouchy river spirits.

He gestured to a nearby cafe with tables overlooking the water. "It's about lunchtime. How about we try your credit card again?"

Even though it was noon, the place was empty. They picked a table outside by the river, and a waiter hurried over. He looked a bit surprised to see them—especially when they said they wanted lunch.

"American?" he asked, with a pained smile.

"Yes," Annabeth said.

Percy cleared his throat. “Io e la mia ragazza siamo turisti e ci piacerebbe mangiare del vero cibo italiano in un vero ristorante italiano.”

Annabeth’s jaw dropped to the floor. The waiter was equally surprised. “I’m 3/16 Italian on my mom’s side. Her maternal grandfather was from Bisaccia, and her maternal grandmother was half Italian,” Percy explained, a mischievous smirk on his face.

The waiter quickly hit the brain equivalent of turn off, turn on, reboot. “Uh, that’s… surprising. Not many tourists care to learn the language.”

“La mia ragazza si prenderebbe del tempo se non fosse una maniaca del lavoro,” Percy said with a wink at Annabeth, who rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling.

“Seriously?” she asked, smirking.

“What? You’re smarter than me at literally everything. Let me have this,” Percy said with a laugh.

The waiter looked at him with a mix of amusement and confusion but nodded, his pen hovering above his note pad. “What would you two like?” he asked.

“I’d love spaghetti, per favore,” Percy said excitedly.

The waiter rolled his eyes, but a smile was on his face. "Of course you would, signor. And to drink?"

"Coca-Cola, if that’s ok," Percy said.

Annabeth ordered a panini and some fizzy water. After the waiter left, she smiled at Percy. "I had no idea you were nearly a quarter Italian.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

They held hands across the table. Percy was content just to look at Annabeth in the sunlight. It always made her hair so bright and warm. Her eyes took on the colors of the sky and the cobblestones, alternately brown or blue.

He wondered if he should tell Annabeth his dream about Gaea destroying Camp Half-Blood, about his meeting Pontus, and getting trained by him. He decided against it. She didn't need anything else to worry about—not with what she was facing.

But it made Percy wonder… what would have happened if he didn’t beat Chrysaor? Percy and Annabeth would've been put in chains and taken to Gaea's minions. Their blood would have been spilled on ancient stones. Percy guessed that meant they would've been taken to Greece for some big horrible sacrifice. But Annabeth and he had been in plenty of bad situations together. They could've figured out an escape plan, saved the day… and Annabeth wouldn't be facing this solo quest in Rome.

‘It doesn't matter when you fall’, Gaea had said.

Percy knew it was a horrible wish, but he almost regretted that they hadn't been captured at sea. At least Annabeth and he would've been together.

But Percy had beaten Chrysaor, but his method of doing so was brutal, ruthless, violent, necessary. Percy felt like he should be ashamed for attempting to blind Chrysaor with his own tears and make him choke on his own blood. But, he didn’t. That was the kind of things he had said he’d do against foes. He’d been far too nice, too merciful, but now, he’d be ruthless. And it had worked.

“You’re thinking about Chrysaor, aren’t you?” Annabeth asked, making Percy jump slightly as he was pulled out of his thoughts.

In spite of himself, Percy smiled. "How do you do that? You always know what I'm thinking."

"I know you," she said.

‘And you love me anyway?’ Percy wanted to ask, but he held it back.

"Percy," she said, "you can't carry the weight of this whole quest. It's impossible. That's why there are seven of us."

But based on what Pontus had said about him possibly being the one who would defeat Gaea, he felt like he was the one who had to carry the weight of the whole quest. He took a deep breath and tried to push the thought aside, focusing on the present.

"I missed you," he confessed. "For months. A huge chunk of our lives was taken away. If I lost you again—"

Their lunch arrived. “Buon appetito, voi due,” the waiter said.

“Grazzi, mio amico,” Percy said, his smile genuine.

"It is a beautiful view," he said, nodding toward the river. "Enjoy, please."

Once he left, they ate in silence.

"You'll have to trust me," Annabeth said. Percy almost thought she was talking to her sandwich, because she didn't meet his eyes. "You've got to believe I'll come back."

He swallowed another bite. "I believe in you. That's not the problem. But come back from where?"

The sound of a Vespa interrupted them. Percy looked along the riverfront and did a double take. The motor scooter was an old-fashioned model: big and baby blue. The driver was a guy in a silky gray suit. Behind him sat a younger woman with a headscarf, her hands around the man's waist. They weaved between cafe tables and puttered to a stop next to Percy and Annabeth.

"Why, hello," the man said. His voice was deep, almost croaky, like a movie actor's. His hair was short and greased back from his craggy face. He was handsome in a 1950s dad-on-television way. Even his clothes seemed old-fashioned. When he stepped off his bike, the waistline of his slacks was way higher than normal, but somehow he still managed to look manly and stylish and not like a total goober. Percy had trouble guessing his age—maybe thirty-something, though the man's fashion and manner seemed grandfatherish.

The woman slid off the bike. "We've had the most lovely morning," she said breathlessly.

She looked about twenty-one, also dressed in an old-fashioned style. Her ankle-length marigold skirt and white blouse were pinched together with a large leather belt, giving her the narrowest waist Percy had ever seen. When she removed her scarf, her short wavy black hair bounced into perfect shape. She had dark playful eyes and a brilliant smile. Percy had seen naiads that looked less pixieish than this lady.

Annabeth's sandwich fell out of her hands. "Oh, gods. How—how... ?"

She seemed so stunned that Percy figured he ought to know these two.

"You guys do look familiar," he decided. He thought he might have seen their faces on television. It seemed like they were from an old show, but that couldn't be right. They hadn't aged at all. Nevertheless, he pointed at the guy and took a guess. "Are you that guy on Mad Men?"

"Percy!" Annabeth looked horrified.

"What?" he protested. "I don't watch a lot of TV."

"That's Gregory Peck!" Annabeth's eyes were wide, and her mouth kept falling open. "And... oh gods! Audrey Hepburn! I know this movie. Roman Holiday. But that was from the 1950s. How—?"

"Oh, my dear!" The woman twirled like an air spirit and sat down at their table. "I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else! My name is Rhea Silvia. I was the mother to Romulus and Remus, thousands of years ago. But you're so kind to think I look as young as the 1950s. And this is my husband…"

"Tiberinus," said Gregory Peck, thrusting out his hand to Percy in a manly way. "God of the River Tiber."

Percy shook his hand. The guy smelled of aftershave. Of course, if Percy were the Tiber River, he'd probably want to mask the smell with cologne too.

"Uh, hi," Percy said. "Do you two always look like American movie stars?"

"Do we?" Tiberinus frowned and studied his clothes. "I'm not sure, actually. The migration of Western civilization goes both ways, you know. Rome affected the world, but the world also affects Rome. There does seem to be a lot of American influence lately. I've rather lost track over the centuries."

"Okay," Percy said. "But… you're here to help?"

"My naiads told me you two were here." Tiberinus cast his dark eyes toward Annabeth. "You have the map, my dear? And your letter of introduction?"

"Uh..." Annabeth handed him the letter and the disk of bronze. She was staring at the river god so intently Percy started to feel jealous.

"S-so…" she stammered, "you've helped other children of Athena with this quest?"

"Oh, my dear!" The pretty lady, Rhea Silvia, put her hand on Annabeth's shoulder. "Tiberinus is ever so helpful. He saved my children Romulus and Remus, you know, and brought them to the wolf goddess Lupa. Later, when that old king Numen tried to kill me, Tiberinus took pity on me and made me his wife. I've been ruling the river kingdom at his side ever since. He's just dreamy!"

"Thank you, my dear," Tiberinus said with a wry smile. "And, yes, Annabeth Chase, I've helped many of your siblings... to at least begin their journey safely. A shame all of them died painfully later on. Well, your documents seem in order. We should get going. The Mark of Athena awaits!"

Percy gripped Annabeth's hand—probably a little too tight. "Tiberinus, let me go with her. Just a little farther."

Rhea Silvia laughed sweetly. "But you can't, silly boy. You must return to your ship and gather your other friends. Confront the giants! The way will appear in your friend Piper's knife. Annabeth has a different path. She must walk alone."

"Indeed," Tiberinus said. "Annabeth must face the guardian of the shrine by herself. It is the only way. And Percy Jackson, you have less time than you realized to rescue your friend in the jar. You must hurry."

Percy's spaghetti felt like a cement lump in his stomach. "But—"

"It's all right, Percy." Annabeth squeezed his hand. "I need to do this."

He started to protest. Her expression stopped him. She was terrified but doing her best to hide it—for his sake. If he tried to argue, he would only make things harder for her. Or worse, he might convince her to stay. Then she would have to live with the knowledge that she'd backed down from her biggest challenge… assuming that they survived at all, with Rome about to get leveled and Gaea about to rise and destroy the world. The Athena statue held the key to defeating the giants. Percy didn't know why or how, but Annabeth was the only one who could find it.

“You're right,” he said, forcing out the words. “Be safe.”

Rhea Silvia giggled like it was a ridiculous comment. "Safe? Not at all! But necessary. Come, Annabeth, my dear. We will show you where your path starts. After that, you're on your own."

Annabeth kissed Percy. She hesitated, like she was wondering what else to say. Percy spoke instead. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Annabeth smiled. “Till we meet again.” Then she shouldered her backpack and climbed on the back of the scooter.

Percy hated it. He would've preferred to fight gods dammed Ivan Drago. But he forced himself to stay in his chair and watch as Annabeth motored off through the streets of Rome with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn.

Chapter Text

Annabeth figured it could’ve been worse. If she had to go on a horrifying solo quest, at least she'd gotten to have lunch with Percy on the banks of the Tiber first. Now she got to take a scooter ride with Gregory Peck.

She only knew about that old movie because of her dad. Over the past few years, since the two of them had made up, they'd spent more time together, and she had learned that her dad had a sappy side. Sure, he liked military history, weapons, and biplanes, but he also loved old films, especially romantic comedies from the 1940s and '50s. Roman Holiday was one of his favorites. He'd made Annabeth watch it.

She thought the plot was silly—a princess escapes her minders and falls in love with an American journalist in Rome—but she suspected her dad liked it because it reminded him of his own romance with the goddess Athena: another impossible pairing that couldn't end happily. Her dad was nothing like Gregory Peck. Athena certainly wasn't anything like Audrey Hepburn. But Annabeth knew that people saw what they wanted to see. They didn't need the Mist to warp their perceptions.

As the baby-blue scooter zipped through the streets of Rome, the goddess Rhea Silvia gave Annabeth a running commentary on how the city had changed over the centuries.

"The Sublician Bridge was over there," she said, pointing to a bend in the Tiber. "You know, where Horatius and his two friends defended the city from an invading army? Now, there was a brave Roman!"

"And look, dear," Tiberinus added, "that's the place where Romulus and Remus washed ashore."

He seemed to be talking about a spot on the riverside where some ducks were making a nest out of torn-up plastic bags and candy wrappers.

"Ah, yes," Rhea Silvia sighed happily. "You were so kind to flood yourself and wash my babies ashore for the wolves to find."

"It was nothing," Tiberinus said.

Annabeth felt light-headed. The river god was talking about something that had happened thousands of years ago, when this area was nothing but marshes and maybe some shacks. Tiberinus saved two babies, one of whom went on to found the world's greatest empire. ‘It was nothing.’

Rhea Silvia pointed out a large modern apartment building. "That used to be a temple to Venus. Then it was a church. Then a palace. Then an apartment building. It burned down three times. Now it's an apartment building again. And that spot right there—"

"Please," Annabeth said. "You're making me dizzy."

Rhea Silvia laughed. "I'm sorry, dear. Layers upon layers of history here, but it's nothing compared to Greece. Athens was old when Rome was a collection of mud huts. You'll see, if you survive."

"Not helping," Annabeth muttered.

"Here we are," Tiberinus announced. He pulled over in front of a large marble building, the facade covered in city grime but still beautiful. Ornate carvings of Roman gods decorated the roofline. The massive entrance was barred with iron gates, heavily padlocked.

"I'm going in there?" Annabeth wished she'd brought Leo, or at least borrowed some wire cutters from his tool belt.

Rhea Silvia covered her mouth and giggled. "No, my dear. Not in it. Under it."

Tiberinus pointed to a set of stone steps on the side of the building—the sort that would have led to a basement apartment if this place were in Manhattan.

"Rome is chaotic aboveground," Tiberinus said, "but that's nothing compared to below ground. You must descend into the buried city, Annabeth Chase. Find the altar of the foreign god. The failures of your predecessors will guide you. After that… I do not know."

Annabeth's backpack felt heavy on her shoulders. She'd been studying the bronze map for days now, scouring Daedalus's laptop for information. Unfortunately, the few things she had learned made this quest seem even more impossible. "My siblings... none of them made it all the way to the shrine, did they."

Tiberinus shook his head. "But you know what prize awaits, if you can liberate it."

"Yes," Annabeth said.

"It could bring peace to the children of Greece and Rome," Rhea Silvia said. "It could change the course of the coming war."

"If I live," Annabeth said.

Tiberinus nodded sadly. "Because you also understand the guardian you must face?"

Annabeth remembered the spiders at Fort Sumter, and the dream Percy had described—the hissing voice in the dark. "Yes."

Rhea Silvia looked at her husband. "She is brave. Perhaps she is stronger than the others."

"I hope so," said the river god. "Good-bye, Annabeth Chase. And good luck."

Rhea Silvia beamed. "We have such a lovely afternoon planned! Off to shop!"

Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn sped off on their baby-blue motorbike. Then Annabeth turned and descended the steps alone.

She'd been underground plenty of times.

But halfway down the steps, she realized just how long it had been since she'd adventured by herself. She froze.

Gods... she hadn't done something like this since she was a kid. After running away from home, she'd spent a few weeks surviving on her own, living in alleyways and hiding from monsters until Thalia and Luke took her under their wings. Then, once she'd arrived at Camp Half-Blood, she'd lived there until she was twelve. After that, all her quests had been with Percy or her other friends.

The last time she had felt this scared and alone, she'd been seven years old. She remembered the day Thalia, Luke, and she had wandered into a Cyclopes' lair in Brooklyn. Thalia and Luke had gotten captured, and Annabeth had had to cut them free. She still remembered shivering in a dark corner of that dilapidated mansion, listening to the Cyclopes mimicking her friends' voices, trying to trick her into coming out into the open.

‘What if this is a trick, too?’ she wondered. What if those other children of Athena died because Tiberinus and Rhea Silvia led them into a trap? Would Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn do something like that?

She forced herself to keep going. She had no choice. If the Athena Parthenos was really down here, it could decide the fate of the war. More importantly, it could help her mom. Athena needed her.

At the bottom of the steps she reached an old wooden door with an iron pull ring. Above the ring was a metal plate with a keyhole. Annabeth started considering ways to pick the lock, but as soon as she touched the pull ring, a fiery shape burned in the middle of the door: the silhouette of Athena's owl. Smoke plumed from the keyhole. The door swung inward.

Annabeth looked up one last time. At the top of the stairwell, the sky was a square of brilliant blue. Mortals would be enjoying the warm afternoon. Couples would be holding hands at the cafes. Tourists would be bustling through the shops and museums. Regular Romans would be going about their daily business, probably not considering the thousands of years of history under their feet, and definitely unaware of the spirits, gods, and monsters that still dwelt here, or the fact that their city might be destroyed today unless a certain group of demigods succeeded in stopping the giants.

Annabeth stepped through the doorway.

She found herself in a basement that was an architectural cyborg. Ancient brick walls were crisscrossed with modern electrical cables and plumbing. The ceiling was held up with a combination of steel scaffolding and old granite Roman columns.

The front half of the basement was stacked with crates. Out of curiosity, Annabeth opened a few. Some were packed with multicolored spools of string—like for kites or arts and crafts projects. Other crates were full of cheap plastic gladiator swords. Maybe at one point this had been a storage area for a tourist shop.

In the back of the basement, the floor had been excavated, revealing another set of steps—these of white stone—leading still deeper underground.

Annabeth crept to the edge. Even with the glow cast by her dagger, it was too dark to see below. She rested her hand on the wall and found a light switch.

She flipped it. Glaring white fluorescent bulbs illuminated the stairs. Below, she saw a mosaic floor decorated with deer and fauns—maybe a room from an Ancient Roman villa, just stashed away under this modern basement along with the crates of string and plastic swords.

She climbed down. The room was about twenty feet square. The walls had once been brightly painted, but most of the frescoes had peeled or faded. The only exit was a hole dug in one corner of the floor where the mosaic had been pulled up. Annabeth crouched next to the opening. It dropped straight down into a larger cavern, but Annabeth couldn't see the bottom.

She heard running water maybe thirty or forty feet below. The air didn't smell like a sewer — just old and musty, and slightly sweet, like moldering flowers. Perhaps it was an old water line from the aqueducts. There was no way down.

"I'm not jumping," she muttered to herself.

As if in reply, something glowed in the darkness. The Mark of Athena blazed to life at the bottom of the cavern, revealing glistening brickwork along a subterranean canal forty feet below. The fiery owl seemed to be taunting her: Well, this is the way, kid. So you d better figure something out.

Annabeth considered her options. Too dangerous to jump. No ladders or ropes. She thought about borrowing some metal scaffolding from above to use as a fire pole, but it was all bolted in place. Besides, she didn't want to cause the building to collapse on top of her.

Frustration crawled through her like an army of termites. She had spent her life watching other demigods gain amazing powers. Percy could control water. If he were here, he could raise the water level and simply float down. Hazel, from what she had said, could find her way underground with flawless accuracy and even create or change the course of tunnels. She could easily make a new path. Leo would pull just the right tools from his belt and build something to do the job. Frank could turn into a bird. Jason could simply control the wind and float down. Even Piper with her charmspeak… she could have convinced Tiberinus and Rhea Silvia to be a little more helpful.

What did Annabeth have? A bronze dagger that did nothing special, and a cursed silver coin. She had her backpack with Daedalus's laptop, a water bottle, a few pieces of ambrosia for emergencies, and a box of matches — probably useless, but her dad had drilled into her head that she should always have a way to make fire.

She had no amazing powers. Even her one true magic item, her New York Yankees cap of invisibility, had stopped working, and was still back in her cabin on the Argo II.

‘You've got your intelligence’, a voice said. Annabeth wondered if Athena was speaking to her, but that was probably just wishful thinking.

Wisdom's daughter walks alone.

That didn't mean just without other people, Annabeth realized. It meant without any special powers.

Okay… so how to get down there safely and make sure she had a way to get out again if necessary?

She climbed back to the basement and stared at the open crates. Kite string and plastic swords. The idea that came to her was so ridiculous, she almost had to laugh; but it was better than nothing.

She set to work. Her hands seemed to know exactly what to do. Sometimes that happened, like when she was helping Leo with the ship's machinery or drawing architectural plans on the computer. She'd never made anything out of kite string and plastic swords, but it seemed easy, natural. Within minutes she'd used a dozen balls of string and a crateful of swords to create a makeshift rope ladder—a braided line, woven for strength yet not too thick, with swords tied at two-foot intervals to serve as hand- and footholds.

As a test, she tied one end around a support column and leaned on the rope with all her weight. The plastic swords bent under her, but they provided some extra bulk to the knots in the cord, so at least she could keep a better grip.

The ladder wouldn't win any design awards, but it might get her to the bottom of the cavern safely. First, she stuffed her backpack with the leftover spools of string. She wasn't sure why, but they were one more resource, and not too heavy.

She headed back to the hole in the mosaic floor. She secured one end of her ladder to the nearest piece of scaffolding, lowered the rope into the cavern, and shinnied down.

Chapter Text

As Annabeth hung in the air, descending hand over hand with the ladder swinging wildly, she thanked Chiron for all those years of training on the climbing course at Camp Half-Blood. She'd complained loudly and often that rope climbing would never help her defeat a monster. Chiron had just smiled, like he knew this day would come.

Finally Annabeth made it to the bottom. She missed the brickwork edge and landed in the canal, but it turned out to be only a few inches deep. Freezing water soaked into her running shoes.

She held up her glowing dagger. The shallow channel ran down the middle of a brickwork tunnel. Every few yards, ceramic pipes jutted from the walls. She guessed that the pipes were drains, part of the ancient Roman plumbing system, though it was amazing to her that a tunnel like this had survived, crowded underground with all the other centuries' worth of pipes, basements, and sewers.

A sudden thought chilled her even more than the water. A few years ago, Percy and she had gone on a quest in Daedalus's labyrinth—a secret network of tunnels and rooms, heavily enchanted and trapped, which ran under all the cities of America.

When Daedalus died in the Battle of the Labyrinth, the entire maze had collapsed—or so Annabeth believed. But what if that was only in America? What if this was an older version of the labyrinth? Daedalus once told her that his maze had a life of its own. It was constantly growing and changing. Maybe the labyrinth could regenerate, like monsters. That would make sense. It was an archetypal force, as Chiron would say—something that could never really die.

If this was part of the labyrinth…

Annabeth decided not to dwell on that, but she also decided not to assume her directions were accurate. The labyrinth made distance meaningless. If she wasn't careful, she could walk twenty feet in the wrong direction and end up in Poland.

Just to be safe, she tied a new ball of string to the end of her rope ladder. She could unravel it behind her as she explored. An old trick, but a tried and true one.

She debated which way to go. The tunnel seemed the same in both directions. Then, about fifty feet to her left, the Mark of Athena blazed against the wall. Annabeth could swear it was glaring at her with those big fiery eyes, as if to say, ‘What's your problem'? Hurry up!’

She was really starting to hate that owl.

By the time she reached the spot, the image had faded, and she'd run out of string on her first spool.

As she was attaching a new line, she glanced across the tunnel. There was a broken section in the brickwork, as if a sledgehammer had knocked a hole in the wall. She crossed to take a look. Sticking her dagger through the opening for light, Annabeth could see a lower chamber, long and narrow, with a mosaic floor, painted walls, and benches running down either side. It was shaped sort of like a subway car.

She stuck her head into the hole, hoping nothing would bite it off. At the near end of the room was a bricked-off doorway. At the far end was a stone table, or maybe an altar.

Still holding her string, she lowered herself down.

The room's ceiling was barrel-shaped with brick arches, but Annabeth didn't like the look of the supports. Directly above her head, on the arch nearest to the bricked-in doorway, the capstone was cracked in half. Stress fractures ran across the ceiling. The place had probably been intact for two thousand years, but she decided she'd rather not spend too much time here. With her luck, it would collapse in the next two minutes.

The floor was a long narrow mosaic with seven pictures in a row, like a time line. At Annabeth's feet was a raven. Next was a lion. Several others looked like Roman warriors with various weapons. The rest were too damaged or covered in dust for Annabeth to make out details. The benches on either side were littered with broken pottery. The walls were painted with scenes of a banquet: a robed man with a curved cap like an ice cream scoop, sitting next to a larger guy who radiated sunbeams. Standing around them were torchbearers and servants, and various animals like crows and lions wandered in the background. Annabeth wasn't sure what the picture represented, but it didn't remind her of any Greek legends that she knew.

At the far end of the room, the altar was elaborately carved with a frieze showing the man with the ice-cream-scoop hat holding a knife to the neck of a bull. On the altar stood a stone figure of a man sunk to his knees in rock, a dagger and a torch in his outraised hands. Again, Annabeth had no idea what those images meant.

She took one step toward the altar. Her foot went CRUNCH. She looked down and realized she'd just put her shoe through a human rib cage.

Annabeth swallowed back a scream. Where had that come from? She had glanced down only a moment before and hadn't seen any bones. Now the floor was littered with them. The rib cage was obviously old. It crumbled to dust as she removed her foot. Nearby lay a corroded bronze dagger very much like her own. Either this dead person had been carrying the weapon, or it had killed him.

She held out her blade to see in front of her. A little farther down the mosaic path sprawled a more complete skeleton in the remains of an embroidered red doublet, like a man from the Renaissance. His frilled collar and skull had been badly burned, as if the guy had decided to wash his hair with a blowtorch.

Wonderful, Annabeth thought. She lifted her eyes to the altar statue, which held a dagger and a torch.

Some kind of test, Annabeth decided. These two guys had failed. Correction: not just two guys. More bones and scraps of clothing were scattered all the way to the altar. She couldn't guess how many skeletons were represented, but she was willing to bet they were all demigods from the past, children of Athena on the same quest.

"I will not be another skeleton on your floor," she called to the statue, hoping she sounded brave.

“A girl,” said a watery voice, echoing through the room. “Girls are not allowed.”

“A female demigod,” said a second voice. “Inexcusable.”

The chamber rumbled. Dust fell from the cracked ceiling. Annabeth bolted for the hole she'd come through, but it had disappeared. Her string had been severed. She clambered up on the bench and pounded on the wall where the hole had been, hoping the hole's absence was just an illusion, but the wall felt solid.

She was trapped.

Along the benches, a dozen ghosts shimmered into existence—glowing purple men in Roman togas, like the Lares she'd seen at Camp Jupiter. They glared at her as if she'd interrupted their meeting.

She did the only thing she could. She stepped down from the bench and put her back to the bricked-in doorway. She tried to look confident, though the scowling purple ghosts and the demigod skeletons at her feet made her want to turtle in her T-shirt and scream.

"I'm a child of Athena," she said, as boldly as she could manage.

"A Greek," one of the ghosts said with disgust. "That is even worse."

At the other end of the chamber, an old-looking ghost rose with some difficulty (do ghosts have arthritis?) and stood by the altar, his dark eyes fixed on Annabeth. Her first thought was that he looked like the pope. He had a glittering robe, a pointed hat, and a shepherd's crook.

"This is the cavern of Mithras," said the old ghost. "You have disturbed our sacred rituals. You cannot look upon our mysteries and live."

"I don't want to look upon your mysteries,"

Annabeth assured him. "I'm following the Mark of Athena. Show me the exit, and I'll be on my way."

Her voice sounded calm, which surprised her. She had no idea how to get out of here, but she knew she had to succeed where her siblings had failed. Her path led farther on—deeper into the underground layers of Rome.

‘The failures of your predecessors will guide you,’ Tiberinus had said. ‘After that… I do not know.’

The ghosts mumbled to each other in Latin. Annabeth caught a few unkind words about female demigods and Athena.

Finally the ghost with the pope hat struck his shepherd's crook against the floor. The other Lares fell silent.

"Your Greek goddess is powerless here," said the pope. "Mithras is the god of Roman warriors! He is the god of the legion, the god of the empire!"

"He wasn't even Roman," Annabeth protested. "Wasn't he, like, Persian or something?"

"Sacrilege!" the old man yelped, banging his staff on the floor a few more times. "Mithras protects us! I am the pater of this brotherhood—"

"The father," Annabeth translated.

"Do not interrupt! As pater, I must protect our mysteries."

"What mysteries?" Annabeth asked. "A dozen dead guys in togas sitting around in a cave?"

The ghosts muttered and complained, until the pater got them under control with a taxicab whistle. The old guy had a good set of lungs. "You are clearly an unbeliever. Like the others, you must die."

The others. Annabeth made an effort not to look at the skeletons.

Her mind worked furiously, grasping for anything she knew about Mithras. He had a secret cult for warriors. He was popular in the legion. He was one of the gods who'd supplanted Athena as a war deity. Aphrodite had mentioned him during their teatime chat in Charleston. Aside from that, Annabeth had no idea. Mithras just wasn't one of the gods they talked about at Camp Half-Blood. She doubted the ghosts would wait while she whipped out Daedalus's laptop and did a search.

She scanned the floor mosaic—seven pictures in a row. She studied the ghosts and noticed all of them wore some sort of badge on their toga—a raven, or a torch, or a bow.

"You have rites of passage," she blurted out. "Seven levels of membership. And the top level is the pater.”

The ghosts let out a collective gasp. Then they all began shouting at once.

"How does she know this?" one demanded.

"The girl has gleaned our secrets!"

"Silence!" the pater ordered.

"But she might know about the ordeals!" another cried.

"The ordeals!" Annabeth said. "I know about them!"

Another round of incredulous gasping.

"Ridiculous!" The pater yelled. "The girl lies! Daughter of Athena, choose your way of death. If you do not choose, the god will choose for you!"

"Fire or dagger," Annabeth guessed.

Even the pater looked stunned. Apparently he hadn't remembered there were victims of past punishments lying on the floor.

"How—how did you…?" He gulped. "Who are you?"

"A child of Athena," Annabeth said again. "But not just any child. I am…uh, the mater in my sisterhood. The magna mater, in fact. There are no mysteries to me. Mithras cannot hide anything from my sight."

"The magna materl" a ghost wailed in despair. "The big mother!"

"Kill her!" One of the ghosts charged, his hands out to strangle her, but he passed right through her.

"You're dead," Annabeth reminded him. "Sit down."

The ghost looked embarrassed and took his seat.

"We do not need to kill you ourselves," the pater growled. "Mithras shall do that for us!”

The statue on the altar began to glow.

Annabeth pressed her hands against the bricked-in doorway at her back. That had to be the exit. The mortar was crumbling, but it was not weak enough for her to break through with brute force.

She looked desperately around the room—the cracked ceiling, the floor mosaic, the wall paintings, and the carved altar. She began to talk, pulling deductions from the top of her head.

"It is no good," she said. "I know all. You test your initiates with fire because the torch is the symbol of Mithras. His other symbol is the dagger, which is why you can also be tested with the blade. You want to kill me, just as… uh, as Mithras killed the sacred bull."

It was a total guess, but the altar showed Mithras killing a bull, so Annabeth figured it must be important. The ghosts wailed and covered their ears. Some slapped their faces as if to wake up from a bad dream.

"The big mother knows!" one said. "It is impossible!"

‘Unless you look around the room,’ Annabeth thought, her confidence growing.

She glared at the ghost who had just spoken. He had a raven badge on his toga—the same symbol as on the floor at her feet.

"You are just a raven," she scolded. "That is the lowest rank. Be silent and let me speak to your pater.”

The ghost cringed. "Mercy! Mercy!"

At the front of the room, the pater trembled—either from rage or fear, Annabeth wasn't sure which. His pope hat tilted sideways on his head like a gas gauge dropping toward empty. "Truly, you know much, big mother. Your wisdom is great, but that is all the more reason why you cannot leave. The weaver warned us you would come."

"The weaver..." Annabeth realized with a sinking feeling what the pater was talking about: the thing in the dark from Percy's dream, the guardian of the shrine. This was one time she wished she didn't know the answer, but she tried to maintain her calm. "The weaver fears me. She doesn't want me to follow the Mark of Athena. But you will let me pass."

"You must choose an ordeal!" the pater insisted. "Fire or dagger! Survive one, and then, perhaps!"

Annabeth looked down at the bones of her siblings. The failures of your predecessors will guide you.

They'd all chosen one or the other: fire or dagger. Maybe they'd thought they could beat the ordeal. But they had all died. Annabeth needed a third choice.

She stared at the altar statue, which was glowing brighter by the second. She could feel its heat across the room. Her instinct was to focus on the dagger or the torch, but instead she concentrated on the statue's base. She wondered why its legs were stuck in stone. Then it occurred to her: maybe the little statue of Mithras wasn't stuck in the rock. Maybe he was emerging from the rock.

"Neither torch nor dagger," Annabeth said firmly. "There is a third test, which I will pass."

"A third test?" the pater demanded.

"Mithras was born from rock," Annabeth said, hoping she was right. "He emerged fully grown from the stone, holding his dagger and torch."

The screaming and wailing told her she had guessed correctly.

"The big mother knows all!" a ghost cried. "That is our most closely guarded secret!"

‘Then maybe you shouldn't put a statue of it on your altar,’ Annabeth thought. But she was thankful for stupid male ghosts. If they'd let women warriors into their cult, they might have learned some common sense.

Annabeth gestured dramatically to the wall she'd come from. "I was born from stone, just as Mithras was! Therefore, I have already passed your ordeal!"

"Bah!" the pater spat. "You came from a hole in the wall! That's not the same thing."
Okay. So apparently the pater wasn't a complete moron, but Annabeth remained confident. She glanced at the ceiling, and another idea came to her—all the details clicking together.

"I have control over the very stones." She raised her arms. "I will prove my power is greater than Mithras. With a single strike, I will bring down this chamber."

The ghosts wailed and trembled and looked at the ceiling, but Annabeth knew they didn't see what she saw. These ghosts were warriors, not engineers. The children of Athena had many skills, and not just in combat. Annabeth had studied architecture for years. She knew this ancient chamber was on the verge of collapse. She recognized what the stress fractures in the ceiling meant, all emanating from a single point—the top of the stone arch just above her. The capstone was about to crumble, and when that happened, assuming she could time it correctly…

"Impossible!" the pater shouted. "The weaver has paid us much tribute to destroy any children of Athena who would dare enter our shrine. We have never let her down. We cannot let you pass."

"Then you fear my power!" Annabeth said. "You admit that I could destroy your sacred chamber!"

The pater scowled. He straightened his hat uneasily. Annabeth knew she'd put him in an impossible position. He couldn't back down without looking cowardly.

"Do your worst, child of Athena," he decided. "No one can bring down the cavern of Mithras, especially with one strike. Especially not a girl!"

Annabeth hefted her dagger. The ceiling was low. She could reach the capstone easily, but she'd have to make her one strike count.

The doorway behind her was blocked, but in theory, if the room started to collapse, those bricks should weaken and crumble. She should be able to bust her way through before the entire ceiling came down—assuming, of course, that there was something behind the brick wall, not just solid earth; and assuming that Annabeth was quick enough and strong enough and lucky enough. Otherwise, she was about to be a demigod pancake.

"Well, boys," she said. "Looks like you chose the wrong war god."

She struck the capstone. The Celestial bronze blade shattered it like a sugar cube. For a moment, nothing happened.

"Ha!" the pater gloated. "You see? Athena has no power here!"

The room shook. A fissure ran across the length of the ceiling and the far end of the cavern collapsed, burying the altar and the pater. More cracks widened. Bricks fell from the arches. Ghosts screamed and ran, but they couldn't seem to pass through the walls. Apparently they were bound to this chamber even in death.

Annabeth turned. She slammed against the blocked entrance with all her might, and the bricks gave way. As the cavern of Mithras imploded behind her, she lunged into darkness and found herself falling.

Chapter Text

Annabeth thought she knew pain. She had fallen off the lava wall at Camp Half-Blood. She'd been stabbed in the arm with a poison blade on the Williamsburg Bridge. She had even held the weight of the sky on her shoulders, which was how she and Percy got the grey streaks in their hair.

But that was nothing compared to landing hard on her ankle.

She immediately knew she'd broken it. Pain like a hot steel wire jabbed its way up her leg and into her hip. The world narrowed to just her, her ankle, and the agony.

She almost blacked out. Her head spun. Her breath became short and rapid.

‘No,’ she told herself. ‘You can't go into shock.’

She tried to breathe more slowly. She lay as still as possible until the pain subsided from absolute torture to just horrible throbbing.

Part of her wanted to howl at the world for being so unfair. All this way, just to be stopped by something as common as a broken ankle?

She forced her emotions back down. At camp, she'd been trained to survive in all sorts of bad situations, including injuries like this.

She looked around her. Her dagger had skittered a few feet away. In its dim light she could make out the features of the room. She was lying on a cold floor of sandstone blocks. The ceiling was two stories tall. The doorway through which she'd fallen was ten feet off the ground, now completely blocked with debris that had cascaded into the room, making a rockslide. Scattered around her were old pieces of lumber—some cracked and desiccated, others broken into kindling.

‘Stupid,’ she scolded herself. She'd lunged through that doorway, assuming there would be a level corridor or another room. It had never occurred to her that she'd be tumbling into space. The lumber had probably once been a staircase, long ago collapsed.

She inspected her ankle. Her foot didn't appear too strangely bent. She could feel her toes. She didn't see any blood. That was all good.

She reached out for a piece of lumber. Even that small bit of movement made her yelp.

The board crumbled in her hand. The wood might be centuries old, or even millennia. She had no way of knowing if this room was older than the shrine of Mithras, or if—like the labyrinth—the rooms were a hodgepodge from many eras thrown randomly together.

"Okay," she said aloud, just to hear her voice. "Think, Annabeth. Prioritize."

She remembered a silly wilderness survival course Grover had taught her back at camp. At least it had seemed silly at the time. First step: Scan your surroundings for immediate threats.

This room didn't seem to be in danger of collapsing. The rockslide had stopped. The walls were solid blocks of stone with no major cracks that she could see. The ceiling was not sagging. Good.

The only exit was on the far wall—an arched doorway that led into darkness. Between her and the doorway, a small brickwork trench cut across the floor, letting water flow through the room from left to right. Maybe plumbing from the Roman days? If the water was drinkable, that was good too.

Piled in one corner were some broken ceramic vases, spilling out shriveled brown clumps that might once have been fruit. Yuck. In another corner were some wooden crates that looked more intact, and some wicker boxes bound with leather straps.

"So, no immediate danger," she said to herself. "Unless something comes barreling out of that dark tunnel."

She glared at the doorway, almost daring her luck to get worse. Nothing happened.

"Okay," she said. "Next step: Take inventory."

What could she use? She had her water bottle, and more water in that trench if she could reach it. She had her knife. Her backpack was full of colorful string (whee), her laptop, the bronze map, some matches, and some ambrosia for emergencies.

Ah… yeah. This qualified as an emergency. She dug the godly food out of her pack and wolfed it down. As usual, it tasted like comforting memories. This time it was buttered popcorn—movie night with her dad at his place in San Francisco, no stepmom, no stepbrothers, just Annabeth and her father curled up on the sofa watching sappy old romantic comedies.

The ambrosia warmed her whole body. The pain in her leg became a dull throb. Annabeth knew she was still in major trouble. Even ambrosia couldn't heal broken bones right away. It might speed up the process, but best-case scenario, she wouldn't be able to put any weight on her foot for a day or more.

She tried to reach her knife, but it was too far away. She scooted in that direction. Pain flared again, like nails were piercing her foot. Her face beaded with sweat, but after one more scoot, she managed to reach the dagger.

She felt better holding it—not just for light and protection, but also because it was so familiar.

What next? Grover's survival class had mentioned something about staying put and waiting for rescue, but that wasn't going to happen. Even if Percy somehow managed to trace her steps, the cavern of Mithras had collapsed.

She could try contacting someone with Daedalus's laptop, but she doubted she could get a signal down here. Besides, who would she call? She couldn't text anyone who was close enough to help. Demigods never carried cell phones, because their signals attracted too much monstrous attention, and none of her friends would be sitting around checking their e-mail.

An Iris-message? She had water, but she doubted that she could make enough light for a rainbow. The only coin she had was her silver Athenian drachma, which didn't make a great tribute.

There was another problem with calling for help: this was supposed to be a solo quest. If Annabeth did get rescued, she'd be admitting defeat. Something told her that the Mark of Athena would no longer guide her. She could wander down here forever, and she'd never find the Athena Parthenos.

So… no good staying put and waiting for help. Which meant she had to find a way to keep going on her own.

“Άγε, ποιήσωμεν ταύτα,” she told herself, Ancient Greek for ‘Come on, let’s do this’.

She opened her water bottle and drank. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was. When the bottle was empty, she crawled to the gutter and refilled it.

The water was cold and moving swiftly—good signs that it might be safe to drink. She filled her bottle, then cupped some water in her hands and splashed her face. Immediately she felt more alert. She washed off and cleaned her scrapes as best she could.

Annabeth sat up and glared at her ankle.
"You had to break," she scolded it.

The ankle did not reply.

She'd have to immobilize it in some sort of cast. That was the only way she'd be able to move.

Hmm…

She raised her dagger and inspected the room again in its bronze light. Now that she was closer to the open doorway, she liked it even less. It led into a dark silent corridor. The air wafting out smelled sickly sweet and somehow evil. Unfortunately, Annabeth didn't see any other way she could go.

With a lot of gasping and blinking back tears, she crawled over to the wreckage of the stairs. She found two planks that were in fairly good shape and long enough for a splint. Then she scooted over to the wicker boxes and used her knife to cut off the leather straps.

While she was psyching herself up to immobilize her ankle, she noticed some faded words on one of the wooden crates: HERMES EXPRESS.

Annabeth scooted excitedly toward the box.

She had no idea what it was doing here, but Hermes delivered all sorts of useful stuff to gods, spirits, and even demigods. Maybe he'd dropped this care package here years ago to help demigods like her with this quest.

She pried it open and pulled out several sheets of Bubble Wrap, but whatever had been inside was gone.

"Hermes!" she protested.

She stared glumly at the Bubble Wrap. Then her mind kicked into gear, and she realized the wrapping was a gift. "Oh… that's perfect!"

Annabeth covered her broken ankle in a Bubble Wrap cast. She set it with the lumber splints and tied it all together with the leather straps.

Once before, in first aid practice, she'd splinted a fake broken leg for another camper, but she never imagined she'd have to make a splint for herself.

It was hard, painful work, but finally it was done. She searched the wreckage of the stairs until she found part of the railing—a narrow board about four feet long that could serve as a crutch. She put her back against the wall, got her good leg ready, and hauled herself up.

"Whoa." Black spots danced in her eyes, but she stayed upright.

"Next time," she muttered to the dark room, "just let me fight a monster. Much easier."

Above the open doorway, the Mark of Athena blazed to life against the arch.

The fiery owl seemed to be watching her expectantly, as if to say, ‘About time. Oh, you want monsters? Right this way!’

Annabeth wondered if that burning mark was based on a real sacred owl. If so, when she survived, she was going to find that owl and punch it in the face.

That thought lifted her spirits. She made it across the trench and hobbled slowly into the corridor.

Chapter Text

The tunnel ran straight and smooth, but after her fall, Annabeth decided to take no chances. She used the wall for support and tapped the floor in front of her with her crutch to make sure there were no traps.

As she walked, the sickly sweet smell got stronger and set her nerves on edge. The sound of running water faded behind her. In its place came a dry chorus of whispers like a million tiny voices. They seemed to be coming from inside the walls, and they were getting louder.

Annabeth tried to speed up, but she couldn't go much faster without losing her balance or jarring her broken ankle. She hobbled onward, convinced that something was following her. The small voices were massing together, getting closer.

She touched the wall, and her hand came back covered in cobwebs.

She yelped, then cursed herself for making a sound.

‘It's only a web,’ she told herself. But that didn't stop the roaring in her ears.

She'd expected spiders. She knew what was ahead: The weaver. Her Ladyship. The voice in the dark. But the webs made her realize how close she was.

Her hand trembled as she wiped it on the stones. What had she been thinking? She couldn't do this quest alone.

‘Too late,’ she told herself. ‘Just keep going.’

“Ἀλλ' ἐπίμενον. Ἀλλ' ἐπίμενον. Ἀλλ' ἐπίμενον. Ἐπὶ πορεύου. Ἐπὶ πορεύου,” she said rhythmically. It was a parody of Dory’s ‘Just keep swimming’ mantra in Finding Nemo. Annabeth’s was Ancient Greek for ‘Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep going. Going. Going’. It helped a bit.

She made her way down the corridor one painful step at a time. The whispering sounds got louder behind her until they sounded like millions of dried leaves swirling in the wind. The cobwebs became thicker, filling the tunnel. Soon she was pushing them out of her face, ripping through gauzy curtains that covered her like Silly String.

Her heart wanted to break out of her chest and run. She stumbled ahead more recklessly, trying to ignore the pain in her ankle.

Finally the corridor ended in a doorway filled waist-high with old lumber. It looked as if someone had tried to barricade the opening. That didn't bode well, but Annabeth used her crutch to push away the boards as best she could. She crawled over the remaining pile, getting a few dozen splinters in her free hand.

On the other side of the barricade was a chamber the size of a basketball court. The floor was done in Roman mosaics. The remains of tapestries hung from the walls. Two unlit torches sat in wall sconces on either side of the doorway, both covered in cobwebs.

At the far end of the room, the Mark of Athena burned over another doorway. Unfortunately, between Annabeth and that exit, the floor was bisected by a chasm fifty feet across. Spanning the pit were two parallel wooden beams, too far apart for both feet, but each too narrow to walk on unless Annabeth was an acrobat, which she wasn't, and didn't have a broken ankle, which she did.

The corridor she'd come from was filled with hissing noises. Cobwebs trembled and danced as the first of the spiders appeared: no larger than gumdrops, but plump and black, skittering over the walls and the floor.

What kind of spiders? Annabeth had no idea. She only knew they were coming for her, and she only had seconds to figure out a plan.

Annabeth wanted to sob. She wanted someone, anyone, to be here for her. She wanted Leo with his fire skills, or Jason with his lightning, or Hazel to collapse the tunnel. Most of all she wanted Percy. She always felt braver when Percy was with her.

‘I am not going to die here’, she told herself. ‘I'm going to see Percy again’.

The first spiders were almost to the door. Behind them came the bulk of the army—a black sea of creepy-crawlies.

Annabeth hobbled to one of the wall sconces and snatched up the torch. The end was coated in pitch for easy lighting. Her fingers felt like lead, but she rummaged through her backpack and found the matches. She struck one and set the torch ablaze.

She thrust it into the barricade. The old dry wood caught immediately. Flames leaped to the cobwebs and roared down the corridor in a flash fire, roasting spiders by the thousands.

Annabeth stepped back from her bonfire. She'd bought herself some time, but she doubted that she'd killed all the spiders. They would regroup and swarm again as soon as the fire died.

She stepped to the edge of the chasm.

She shined her light into the pit, but she couldn't see the bottom. Jumping in would be suicide. She could try to cross one of the bars hand over hand, but she didn't trust her arm strength, and she didn't see how she would be able to haul herself up with a full backpack and a broken ankle once she reached the other side.

She crouched and studied the beams. Each had a set of iron eye hooks along the inside, set at onefoot intervals. Maybe the rails had been the sides of a bridge and the middle planks had been removed or destroyed. But eye hooks? Those weren't for supporting planks. More like…

She glanced at the walls. The same kind of hooks had been used to hang the shredded tapestries.

She realized the beams weren't meant as a bridge. They were some kind of loom.

Annabeth threw her flaming torch to the other side of the chasm. She had no faith her plan would work, but she pulled all the string out of her backpack and began weaving between the beams, stringing a cat's cradle pattern back and forth from eye hook to eye hook, doubling and tripling the line.

Her hands moved with blazing speed. She stopped thinking about the task and just did it, looping and tying off lines, slowly extending her woven net over the pit.

She forgot the pain in her leg and the fiery barricade guttering out behind her. She inched over the chasm. The weaving held her weight. Before she knew it, she was halfway across. How had she learned to do this?

‘It's Athena,’ she told herself. ‘My mother's skill with useful crafts’. Weaving had never seemed particularly useful to Annabeth—until now.

She glanced behind her. The barricade fire was dying. A few spiders crawled in around the edges of the doorway.

Desperately she continued weaving, and finally she made it across. She snatched up the torch and thrust it into her woven bridge. Flames raced along the string. Even the beams caught fire as if they'd been pre-soaked in oil.

For a moment, the bridge burned in a clear pattern—a fiery row of identical owls. Had Annabeth really woven them into the string, or was it some kind of magic? She didn't know, but as the spiders began to cross, the beams crumbled and collapsed into the pit.

Annabeth held her breath. She didn't see any reason why the spiders couldn't reach her by climbing the walls or the ceiling. If they started to do that, she'd have to run for it, and she was pretty sure she couldn't move fast enough.

For some reason, the spiders didn't follow. They massed at the edge of the pit — a seething black carpet of creepiness. Then they dispersed, flooding back into the burned corridor, almost as if Annabeth was no longer interesting.

"Or I passed a test," she said aloud.

Her torch sputtered out, leaving her with only the light of her dagger. She realized that she'd left her makeshift crutch on the other side of the chasm.

She felt exhausted and out of tricks, but her mind was clear. Her panic seemed to have burned up along with that woven bridge.

'The weaver', she thought. 'I must be close. At least I know what's ahead'.

She made her way down the next corridor, hopping to keep the weight off her bad foot.

She didn't have far to go.

After twenty feet, the tunnel opened into a cavern as large as a cathedral, so majestic that Annabeth had trouble processing everything she saw. She guessed that this was the room from Percy's dream, but it wasn't dark. Bronze braziers of magical light, like the gods used on Mount Olympus, glowed around the circumference of the room, interspersed with gorgeous tapestries. The stone floor was webbed with fissures like a sheet of ice. The ceiling was so high, it was lost in the gloom and layers upon layers of spiderwebs.

Strands of silk as thick as pillars ran from the ceiling all over the room, anchoring the walls and the floor like the cables of a suspension bridge.

Webs also surrounded the centerpiece of the shrine, which was so intimidating that Annabeth had trouble raising her eyes to look at it. Looming over her was a forty-foot-tall statue of Athena, with luminous ivory skin and a dress of gold. In her outstretched hand, Athena held a statue of Nike, the winged victory goddess—a statue that looked tiny from here, but was probably as tall as a real person. Athena's other hand rested on a shield as big as a billboard, with a sculpted snake peeking out from behind, as if Athena was protecting it.

The goddess's face was serene and kindly…and it looked like Athena. Annabeth had seen many statues that didn't resemble her mom at all, but this giant version, made thousands of years ago, made her think that the artist must have met Athena in person. He had captured her perfectly.

"Athena Parthenos," Annabeth murmured. "It's really here."

All her life, she had wanted to visit the Parthenon. Now she was seeing the main attraction that used to be there—and she was the first child of Athena to do so in millennia.

She realized her mouth was hanging open. She forced herself to swallow. Annabeth could have stood there all day looking at the statue, but she had only accomplished half her mission. She had found the Athena Parthenos. Now, how could she rescue it from this cavern?

Strands of web covered it like a gauze pavilion. Annabeth suspected that without those webs, the statue would have fallen through the weakened floor long ago. As she stepped into the room, she could see that the cracks below were so wide, she could have lost her foot in them. Beneath the cracks, she saw nothing but empty darkness.

A chill washed over her. Where was the guardian? How could Annabeth free the statue without collapsing the floor? She couldn't very well shove the Athena Parthenos down the corridor that she'd come from.

She scanned the chamber, hoping to see something that might help. Her eyes wandered over the tapestries, which were heart-wrenchingly beautiful. One showed a pastoral scene so threedimensional, it could've been a window. Another tapestry showed the gods battling the giants. Annabeth saw a landscape of the Underworld. Next to it was the skyline of modern Rome. And in the tapestry to her left…

She caught her breath. It was a portrait of two demigods kissing underwater: Annabeth and Percy, the day their friends had thrown them into the canoe lake at camp. It was so lifelike that she wondered if the weaver had been there, lurking in the lake with a waterproof camera.

"How is that possible?" she murmured.

Above her in the gloom, a voice spoke. "For ages I have known that you would come, my sweet."

Annabeth shuddered. Suddenly she was seven years old again, hiding under her covers, waiting for the spiders to attack her in the night. The voice sounded just as Percy had described: an angry buzz in multiple tones, female but not human.

In the webs above the statue, something moved—something dark and large.

"I have seen you in my dreams," the voice said, sickly sweet and evil, like the smell in the corridors. "I had to make sure you were worthy, the only child of Athena clever enough to pass my tests and reach this place alive. Indeed, you are her most talented child. This will make your death so much more painful to my old enemy when you fail utterly.”

The pain in Annabeth's ankle was nothing compared to the icy acid now filling her veins. She wanted to run. She wanted to plead for mercy. But she couldn't show weakness—not now.

"You're Arachne," she called out. "The weaver who was turned into a spider."

The figure descended, becoming clearer and more horrible. "Cursed by your mother," she said. "Scorned by all and made into a hideous thing… because I was the better weaver."

"But you lost the contest," Annabeth said.

"That's the story written by the winner!" cried Arachne. "Look on my work! See for yourself!"

Annabeth didn't have to. The tapestries were the best she'd ever seen—better than the witch Circe's work, and, yes, even better than some weavings she'd seen on Mount Olympus. She wondered if her mother truly had lost—if she'd hidden Arachne away and rewritten the truth. But right now, it didn't matter.

"You've been guarding this statue since the ancient times," Annabeth guessed. "But it doesn't belong here. I'm taking it back."

"Ha," Arachne said.

Even Annabeth had to admit her threat sounded ridiculous. How could one girl in a Bubble Wrap ankle cast remove this huge statue from its underground chamber?

"I'm afraid you would have to defeat me first, my sweet," Arachne said. "And alas, that is impossible."

The creature appeared from the curtains of webbing, and Annabeth realized that her quest was hopeless. She was about to die.

Arachne had the body of a giant black widow, with a hairy red hourglass mark on the underside of her abdomen and a pair of oozing spinnerets. Her eight spindly legs were lined with curved barbs as big as Annabeth's dagger. If the spider came any closer, her sweet stench alone would have been enough to make Annabeth faint. But the most horrible part was her misshapen face.

She might once have been a beautiful woman. Now black mandibles protruded from her mouth like tusks. Her other teeth had grown into thin white needles. Fine dark whiskers dotted her cheeks. Her eyes were large, lidless, and pure black, with two smaller eyes sticking out of her temples.

The creature made a violent rip-rip-rip sound that might have been laughter.

"Now I will feast on you, my sweet," Arachne said. "But do not fear. I will make a beautiful tapestry depicting your death."

Chapter Text

Leo wished he wasn’t so good.

Really, sometimes it was just embarrassing. If he hadn't had such an eye for mechanical stuff, they might never have found the secret chute, gotten lost in the underground, and been attacked by metal dudes. But he just couldn't help himself.

Part of it was Hazel's fault. For a girl with super underground senses, she wasn't much good in Rome. She kept leading them around and around the city, getting dizzy, and doubling back.

"Sorry," she said. "It's just... there's so much underground here, so many layers, it's overwhelming. Like standing in the middle of an orchestra and trying to concentrate on a single instrument. I'm going deaf."

As a result, they got a tour of Rome. Frank seemed happy to plod along like a big sheepdog (hmm, Leo wondered if he could turn into one of those, or even better: a horse that Leo could ride). But Leo started to get impatient. His feet were sore, the day was sunny and hot, and the streets were choked with tourists.

Though, everyone on the Argo II had been getting impatient, hot and bothered, irritated, and snappy, mostly due to the heat and the stress of their quest. Once, the entire crew had gotten into a shouting match with each other, with Percy cussing in horse, Annabeth in Ancient Greek, Jason in Latin, Piper in France French, Hazel in Louisiana French, Frank in Chinese, Leo in Spanish, and Coach Hedge in goat. ‘On the bright side, it’s never dull on the Argo II’, Leo thought to himself.

The Forum was okay, but it was mostly ruins overgrown with bushes and trees. It took a lot of imagination to see it as the bustling center of Ancient Rome. Leo could only manage it because he'd seen New Rome in California.

They passed big churches, freestanding arches, clothing stores, and fast-food restaurants. One statue of some Ancient Roman dude seemed to be pointing to a nearby McDonald's.

On the wider streets, the car traffic was absolutely nuts—man, Leo thought people in Houston drove crazy—but they spent most of their time weaving through small alleys, coming across fountains and little cafes where Leo was not allowed to rest.

"I never thought I'd get to see Rome," Hazel said. "When I was alive, I mean the first time, Mussolini was in charge. We were at war."

"Mussolini?" Leo frowned. "Wasn't he like BFFs with Hitler?"

Hazel stared at him like he was an alien. "BFFs?"

"Never mind."

"I'd love to see the Trevi Fountain," she said.

"There's a fountain on every block," Leo grumbled.

"Or the Spanish Steps," Hazel said.

"Why would you come to Italy to see Spanish steps?" Leo asked. "That's like going to China for Mexican food, isn't it?"

"You're hopeless," Hazel complained.

"So I've been told."

She turned to Frank and grabbed his hand, as if Leo had ceased to exist. "Come on. I think we should go this way."

Frank gave Leo a confused smile—like he couldn't decide whether to gloat or to thank Leo for being a doofus—but he cheerfully let Hazel drag him along.

After walking forever, Hazel stopped in front of a church. At least, Leo assumed it was a church. The main section had a big domed roof. The entrance had a triangular roof, typical Roman columns, and an inscription across the top: M. AGRIPPA something or other.

"Latin for Get a grip?" Leo speculated.

"This is our best bet." Hazel sounded more certain than she had all day. "There should be a secret passage somewhere inside."

Tour groups milled around the steps. Guides held up colored placards with different numbers and lectured in dozens of languages like they were playing some kind of international bingo.

Leo listened to the Spanish tour guide for a few seconds, and then he reported to his friends, "This is the Pantheon. It was originally built by Marcus Agrippa as a temple to the gods. After it burned down, Emperor Hadrian rebuilt it, and it's been standing for two thousand years. It's one of the best-preserved Roman buildings in the world."

Frank and Hazel stared at him.

"How did you know that?" Hazel asked.

"I'm naturally brilliant."

"Centaur poop," Frank said. "He eavesdropped on a tour group."

Leo grinned. "Maybe. Come on. Let's go find that secret passage. I hope this place has air conditioning."

Of course, no AC.

On the bright side, there were no lines and no admission fee, so they just muscled their way past the tour groups and walked on in.

The interior was pretty impressive, considering it had been constructed two thousand years ago. The marble floor was patterned with squares and circles like a Roman tic-tac-toe game. The main space was one huge chamber with a circular rotunda, sort of like a capitol building back in the States. Lining the walls were different shrines and statues and tombs and stuff. But the real eye-catcher was the dome overhead. All the light in the building came from one circular opening right at the top. A beam of sunlight slanted into the rotunda and glowed on the floor, like Zeus was up there with a magnifying glass, trying to fry puny humans.

Leo was no architect like Annabeth, but he could appreciate the engineering. The Romans had made the dome out of big stone panels, but they'd hollowed out each panel in a square-within-square pattern. It looked cool. Leo figured it also made the dome lighter and easier to support.

He didn't mention that to his friends. He doubted they would care, but if Annabeth were here, she would've spent the whole day talking about it. Thinking about that made Leo wonder how she was doing on her Mark of Athena expedition. Leo never thought he'd feel this way, but he was worried about that scary blond girl.

But Leo was even more worried about Percy, but not in the same way. Percy had said bluntly that he’s going to become a monster if he needs to so that they could make it home. Leo had watched Lion King quite a few times when he was younger, and Percy’s eyes were definitely sometimes the exact same color green as Scar’s eyes.

Hazel stopped in the middle of the room and turned in a circle. "This is amazing. In the old days, the children of Vulcan would come here in secret to consecrate demigod weapons. This is where Imperial gold was enchanted."

Leo wondered how that worked. He imagined a bunch of demigods in dark robes trying to quietly roll a scorpion ballista through the front doors.

"But we're not here because of that," he guessed.

"No," Hazel said. "There's an entrance—a tunnel that will lead us toward Nico. I can sense it close by. I'm not sure where."

Frank grunted. "If this building is two thousand years old, it makes sense there could be some kind of secret passage left over from the Roman days."

That's when Leo made his mistake of simply being too good.

He scanned the temple's interior, thinking, ‘If I were designing a secret passage, where would I put it?’

He could sometimes figure out how a machine worked by putting his hand on it. He'd learned to fly a helicopter that way. He'd fixed Festus the dragon that way (before Festus crashed and burned). Once he'd even reprogrammed the electronic billboards in Times Square to read: ALL DA LADIES LUV LEO… accidentally, of course.

Now he tried to sense the workings of this ancient building. He turned toward a red marble altarlooking thing with a statue of the Virgin Mary on the top. "Over there," he said.

He marched confidently to the shrine. It was shaped sort of like a fireplace, with an arched recess at the bottom. The mantel was inscribed with a name, like a tomb.

"The passage is around here," he said. "This guy's final resting place is in the way. Raphael somebody?"

"Famous painter, I think," Hazel said.

Leo shrugged. He had a cousin named Raphael, and he didn't think much of the name. He wondered if he could produce a stick of dynamite from his tool belt and do a little discreet demolition; but he figured the caretakers of this place probably wouldn't approve.

"Hold on. . ." Leo looked around to make sure they weren't being watched.

Most of the tour groups were gawking at the dome, but one trio made Leo uneasy. About fifty feet away, some overweight middle-aged dudes with American accents were conversing loudly, complaining to each other about the heat. They looked like manatees stuffed into beach clothes—sandals, walking shorts, touristy T-shirts and floppy hats. Their legs were big and pasty and covered with spider veins. The guys acted extremely bored, and Leo wondered why they were hanging around.

They weren't watching him. Leo wasn't sure why they made him nervous. Maybe he just didn't like manatees.

‘Forget them’, Leo told himself.

He slipped around the side of the tomb. He ran his hand down the back of a Roman column, all the way to the base. Right at the bottom, a series of lines had been etched into the marble—Roman numerals.

"Heh," Leo said. "Not very elegant, but effective."

"What is?" Frank asked.

"The combination for a lock." He felt around the back of the column some more and discovered a square hole about the size of an electrical socket. "The lock face itself has been ripped out—probably vandalized sometime in the last few centuries. But I should be able to control the mechanism inside, if I can…”

Leo placed his hand on the marble floor. He could sense old bronze gears under the surface of the stone. Regular bronze would have corroded and become unusable long ago, but these were Celestial bronze—the handiwork of a demigod. With a little willpower, Leo urged them to move, using the Roman numerals to guide him. The cylinders turned—click, click, click. Then click, click.

On the floor next to the wall, one section of marble tile slid under another, revealing a dark square opening barely large enough to wiggle through.

"Romans must've been small." Leo looked at Frank appraisingly. "You'll need to change into something thinner to get through here."

"That's not nice!" Hazel chided.

"What? Just saying—"

"Don't worry about it," Frank mumbled. "We should go get the others before we explore. That's what Piper said."

"They're halfway across the city," Leo reminded him. "Besides, uh, I'm not sure I can close this hatch again. The gears are pretty old."

"Great," Frank said. "How do we know it's safe down there?"

Hazel knelt. She put her hand over the opening as if checking the temperature. "There's nothing alive… at least not for several hundred feet. The tunnel slants down, then levels out and goes south, more or less. I don't sense any traps…"

"How can you tell all that?" Leo asked.

She shrugged. "Same way you can pick locks on marble columns, I guess. I'm glad you're not into robbing banks."

"Oh… bank vaults," Leo said. "Never thought about that."

"Forget I said anything." Hazel sighed. "Look, it's not three o'clock yet. We can at least do a little exploring, try to pinpoint Nico's location before we contact the others. You two stay here until I call for you. I want to check things out, make sure the tunnel is structurally sound. I'll be able to tell more once I'm underground."

Frank scowled. "We can't let you go by yourself. You could get hurt."

"Frank, I can take care of myself," she said.
"Underground is my specialty. It's safest for all of us if I go first.”

"Unless Frank wants to turn into a mole," Leo suggested. "Or a prairie dog. Those things are awesome."

"Shut up," Frank mumbled.

"Or a badger."

Frank jabbed a finger at Leo's face. "Valdez, I swear—"

"Both of you, be quiet," Hazel scolded. "I'll be back soon. Give me ten minutes. If you don't hear from me by then… Never mind. I'll be fine. Just try not to kill each other while I'm down there."

She dropped down the hole. Leo and Frank blocked her from view as best they could. They stood shoulder to shoulder, trying to look casual, like it was completely natural for two teenaged guys to hang around Raphael's tomb.

Tour groups came and went. Most ignored Leo and Frank. A few people glanced at them apprehensively and kept walking. Maybe the tourists thought they would ask for tips. For some reason, Leo could unnerve people when he grinned.

The three American manatees were still hanging out in the middle of the room. One of them wore a T-shirt that said ROMA, as if he'd forget what city he was in if he didn't wear it. Every once in a while, he would glance over at Leo and Frank like he found their presence distasteful.

Something about that dude bothered Leo. He wished Hazel would hurry up.

"She talked to me earlier," Frank said abruptly. "Hazel told me you figured out about my lifeline."
Leo stirred. He'd almost forgotten Frank was standing next to him.

"Your lifeline… oh, the burning stick. Right." Leo resisted the urge to set his hand ablaze and yell: Bwah ha ha! The idea was sort of funny, but he wasn't that cruel.

"Look, man," he said. "It's cool. I'd never do anything to put you in danger. We're on the same team."

Frank fiddled with his centurion badge. "I always knew fire could kill me, but since my grandmother's mansion burned down in Vancouver…it seems a lot more real."

Leo nodded. He felt sympathy for Frank, but the guy didn't make it easy when he talked about his family mansion. Sort of like saying, ‘I crashed my Lamborghini’, and waiting for people to say, ‘Oh, you poor baby!’

Of course Leo didn't tell him that. "Your grandmother—did she die in that fire? You didn't say."

"I—I don't know. She was sick, and pretty old. She said she would die in her own time, in her own way. But I think she made it out of the fire. I saw this bird flying up from the flames."

Leo thought about that. "So your whole family has the shape-changing thing?"

"I guess," Frank said. "My mom did. Grandmother thought that's what got her killed in Afghanistan, in the war. Mom tried to help some of her buddies, and… I don't know exactly what happened. There was a firebomb."

Leo winced with sympathy. "So we both lost our moms to fire."

He hadn't been planning on it, but he told Frank the whole story of the night at the workshop when Gaea had appeared to him, and his mother had died.

Frank's eyes got watery. "I never like it when people tell me, Sorry about your mom.'"

"It never feels genuine," Leo agreed.

"But I'm sorry about your mom."

"Thanks. I’m sorry about your mom too."

No sign of Hazel. The American tourists were still milling around the Pantheon. They seemed to be circling closer, like they were trying to sneak up on Raphael's tomb without it noticing.

"Back at Camp Jupiter," Frank said, "our cabin Lar, Reticulus, told me I have more power than most demigods, being a son of Mars, plus having the shape-changing ability from my mom's side. He said that's why my life is tied to a burning stick. It's such a huge weakness that it kind of balances things out."

Leo remembered his conversation with Nemesis the revenge goddess at the Great Salt Lake. She'd said something similar about wanting the scales to balance. ‘Good luck is a sham. True success requires sacrifice’.

Her fortune cookie was still in Leo's tool belt, waiting to be opened. ‘Soon you will face a problem you cannot solve, though I could help you… for a price’.

Leo wished he could pluck that memory out of his head and shove it in his tool belt. It was taking up too much space. "We've all got weaknesses," he said. "Me, for instance. I'm tragically funny and good-looking."

Frank snorted. "You might have weaknesses. But your life doesn't depend on a piece of firewood."

"No," Leo admitted. He started thinking: if Frank's problem were his problem, how would he solve it? Almost every design flaw could be fixed. "I wonder…"

He looked across the room and faltered. The three American tourists were coming their way; no more circling or sneaking. They were making a straight line for Raphael's tomb, and all three were glaring at Leo.

"Uh, Frank?" Leo asked. "Has it been ten minutes yet?"

Frank followed his gaze. The Americans' faces were angry and confused, like they were sleepwalking through a very annoying nightmare.

"Leo Valdez, " called the guy in the ROMA shirt. His voice had changed. It was hollow and metallic. He spoke English as if it was a second language. "We meet again."

All three tourists blinked, and their eyes turned solid gold.

Frank yelped. "Eidolons!"

The manatees clenched their beefy fists. Normally, Leo wouldn't have worried about getting murdered by overweight guys in floppy hats, but he suspected the eidolons were dangerous even in those bodies, especially since the spirits wouldn't care whether their hosts survived or not.

"They can't fit down the hole," Leo said.

"Right," Frank said. "Underground is sounding really good."

He turned into a snake and slithered over the edge. Leo jumped in after him while the spirits began to wail above, "Valdez! Kill Valdez!"

Chapter Text

One problem solved: the hatch above them closed automatically, cutting off their pursuers. It also cut off all light, but Leo and Frank could deal with that. Leo just hoped they didn't need to get out the same way they came in. He wasn't sure he could open the tile from underneath.

At least the possessed manatee dudes were on the other side. Over Leo's head, the marble floor shuddered, like fat touristy feet were kicking it.

Frank must have turned back to human form. Leo could hear him wheezing in the dark.

"What now?" Frank asked.

"Okay, don't freak," Leo said. "I'm going to summon a little fire, just so we can see."

"Thanks for the warning."

Leo's index finger blazed like a birthday candle. In front of them stretched a stone tunnel with a low ceiling. Just as Hazel had predicted, it slanted down, then leveled out and went south.

"Well," Leo said. "It only goes in one direction."

"Let's find Hazel," Frank said.

Leo had no argument with that suggestion. They made their way down the corridor, Leo going first with the fire. He was glad to have Frank at his back, big and strong and able to turn into scary animals in case those possessed tourists somehow broke through the hatch, squeezed inside, and followed them. He wondered if the eidolons might just leave those bodies behind, seep underground, and possess one of them instead.

‘Oh, there's my happy thought for the day!’ Leo scolded himself.

But then he remembered Piper telling him about her, Percy’s, and Jason’s encounter with Hercules, and Percy going off on the god and saying that he, Percy, had PTSD, anxiety, depression, suicidal thoughts, survivor’s guilt, and panic attacks. ‘I guess I shouldn’t be complaining’, he thought to himself.

After a hundred feet or so, they turned a corner and found Hazel. In the light of her golden cavalry sword, she was examining a door. She was so engrossed, she didn't notice them until Leo said, "Hi."

Hazel whirled, trying to swing her spatha. Fortunately for Leo's face, the blade was too long to wield in the corridor.

"What are you doing here?" Hazel demanded.

Leo gulped. "Sorry. We ran into some angry tourists." He told her what had happened.

She hissed in frustration. "I hate eidolons. I thought Piper made them promise to stay away."

"Oh..." Frank said, like he'd just had his own daily happy thought. "Piper made them promise to stay off the ship and not possess any of us. But if they followed us, and used other bodies to attack us, then they're not technically breaking their vow… "

“Great," Leo muttered. "Eidolons who are also lawyers. Now I really want to kill them."

"Okay, forget them for now," Hazel said. "This door is giving me fits. Leo, can you try your skill with the lock?"

Leo cracked his knuckles. "Stand aside for the master, please."

The door was interesting, much more complicated than the Roman numeral combination lock above. The entire door was coated in Imperial gold. A mechanical sphere about the size of a bowling ball was embedded in the center. The sphere was constructed from five concentric rings, each inscribed with zodiac symbols—the bull, the scorpion, et cetera—and seemingly random numbers and letters.

"These letters are Greek," Leo said in surprise.

"Well, lots of Romans spoke Greek," Hazel said.

"I guess," Leo said. "But this workmanship… no offense to you Camp Jupiter types, but this is too complicated to be Roman."

Frank snorted. "Whereas you Greeks just love making things complicated."

"Hey," Leo protested. "All I'm saying is this machinery is delicate, sophisticated. It reminds me of..." Leo stared at the sphere, trying to recall where he'd read or heard about a similar ancient machine. "It's a more advanced sort of lock," he decided. "You line up the symbols on the different rings in the right order, and that opens the door."

"But what's the right order?" Hazel asked.

"Good question. Greek spheres…astronomy, geometry…" Leo got a warm feeling inside. "Oh, no way. I wonder…What's the value of pi?"

Frank frowned. "What kind of pie?"

"He means the number," Hazel guessed. "I learned that in math class once, but—"

"It's used to measure circles," Leo said. "This sphere, if it's made by the guy I'm thinking of..."

Hazel and Frank both stared at him blankly.
"Never mind," Leo said. "I'm pretty sure pi is, uh, 3.1415 blah blah blah. The number goes on forever, but the sphere has only five rings, so that should be enough, if I'm right."

"And if you're not?" Frank asked.

"Well, then, Leo fall down, go boom. Let's find out!"

He turned the rings, starting on the outside and moving in. He ignored the zodiac signs and letters, lining up the correct numbers so they made the value of pi. Nothing happened.

"I'm stupid," Leo mumbled. "Pi would expand outward, because it's infinite."

He reversed the order of the numbers, starting in the center and working toward the edge. When he aligned the last ring, something inside the sphere clicked. The door swung open.

Leo beamed at his friends. "That, good people, is how we do things in Leo World. Come on in!"

"I hate Leo World," Frank muttered.

Hazel laughed.

Inside was enough cool stuff to keep Leo busy for years. The room was about the size of the forge back at Camp Half-Blood, with bronze-topped worktables along the walls, and baskets full of ancient metalworking tools. Dozens of bronze and gold spheres like steampunk basketballs sat around in various stages of disassembly. Loose gears and wiring littered the floor. Thick metal cables ran from each table toward the back of the room, where there was an enclosed loft like a theater's sound booth. Stairs led up to the booth on either side. All the cables seemed to run into it. Next to the stairs on the left, a row of cubbyholes was filled with leather cylinders—probably ancient scroll cases.

Leo was about to head toward the tables when he glanced to his left and nearly jumped out of his shoes. Flanking the doorway were two armored manikins—like skeletal scarecrows made from bronze pipes, outfitted with full suits of Roman armor, shield and sword.

"Dude." Leo walked up to one. "These would be awesome if they worked."

Frank edged away from the manikins. "Those things are going to come alive and attack us, aren't they?"

Leo laughed. "Not a chance. They aren't complete." He tapped the nearest manikin's neck, where loose copper wires sprouted from underneath its breastplate. "Look, the head's wiring has been disconnected. And here, at the elbow, the pulley system for this joint is out of alignment. My guess? The Romans were trying to duplicate a Greek design, but they didn't have the skill."

Hazel arched her eyebrows. "The Romans weren't good enough at being complicated, I suppose."

"Or delicate," Frank added. "Or sophisticated."

"Hey, I just call it like I see it." Leo jiggled the manikin's head, making it nod like it was agreeing with him. "Still… a pretty impressive try. I've heard legends that the Romans confiscated the writings of Archimedes, but—"

"Archimedes?" Hazel looked baffled. "Wasn't he an ancient mathematician or something?"

Leo laughed. "He was a lot more than that. He was only the most famous son of Hephaestus who ever lived."

Frank scratched his ear. "I've heard his name before, but how can you be sure this manikin is his design?"

"It has to be!" Leo said. "Look, I've read all about Archimedes. He's a hero to Cabin Nine. The dude was Greek, right? He lived in one of the Greek colonies in southern Italy, back before Rome got all huge and took over. Finally the Romans moved in and destroyed his city. The Roman general wanted to spare Archimedes, because he was so valuable—sort of like the Einstein of the ancient world—but some stupid Roman soldier killed him."

"There you go again," Hazel muttered. "Stupid and Roman don't always go together, Leo."

Frank grunted agreement. "How do you know all this, anyway?" he demanded. "Is there a Spanish tour guide around here?"

"No, man," Leo said. "You can't be a demigod who's into building stuff and not know about Archimedes. The guy was seriously elite. He calculated the value of pi. He did all this math stuff we still use for engineering. He invented a hydraulic screw that could move water through pipes."

Hazel scowled. "A hydraulic screw. Excuse me for not knowing about that awesome achievement."

"He also built a death ray made of mirrors that could burn enemy ships," Leo said. "Is that awesome enough for you?"

"I saw something about that on TV," Frank admitted. "They proved it didn't work."

"Ah, that's just because modern mortals don't know how to use Celestial bronze," Leo said. "That's the key. Archimedes also invented a massive claw that could swing on a crane and pluck enemy ships out of the water."

"Okay, that's cool," Frank admitted. "I love grabber-arm games."

"Well, there you go," Leo said. "Anyway, all his inventions weren't enough. The Romans destroyed his city. Archimedes was killed. According to legends, the Roman general was a big fan of his work, so he raided Archimedes's workshop and carted a bunch of souvenirs back to Rome. They disappeared from history, except…" Leo waved his hands at the stuff on the tables. "Here they are."

"Metal basketballs?" Hazel asked.

Leo couldn't believe that they didn't appreciate what they were looking at, but he tried to contain his irritation. "Guys, Archimedes constructed spheres. The Romans couldn't figure them out. They thought they were just for telling time or following constellations, because they were covered with pictures of stars and planets. But that's like finding a rifle and thinking it's a walking stick."

"Leo, the Romans were top-notch engineers," Hazel reminded him. "They built aqueducts, roads—"

"Siege weapons," Frank added. "Public sanitation."

"Yeah, fine," Leo said. "But Archimedes was in a class by himself. His spheres could do all sorts of things, only nobody is sure…"

Suddenly Leo got an idea so incredible that his nose burst into flames. He patted it out as quickly as possible. Man, it was embarrassing when that happened.

He ran to the row of cubbyholes and examined the markings on the scroll cases. "Oh, gods. This is it!"

He gingerly lifted out one of the scrolls. He wasn't great at Ancient Greek, but he could tell the inscription on the case read On Building Spheres.

"Guys, this is the lost book!" His hands were shaking. "Archimedes wrote this, describing his construction methods, but all the copies were lost in ancient times. If I can translate this…"

The possibilities were endless. For Leo, the quest had now totally taken on a new dimension. Leo had to get the spheres and scrolls safely out of here. He had to protect this stuff until he could get it back to Bunker 9 and study it.

"The secrets of Archimedes," he murmured. "Guys, this is bigger than Daedalus's laptop. If there's a Roman attack on Camp Half-Blood, these secrets could save the camp. They might even give us an edge over Gaea and the giants!"

Hazel and Frank glanced at each other skeptically.

"Okay," Hazel said. "We didn't come here for a scroll, but I guess we can take it with us."

"Assuming," Frank added, "that you don't mind sharing its secrets with us stupid uncomplicated Romans."

"What?" Leo stared at him blankly. "No. Look, I didn't mean to insult—Ah, never mind. The point is this is good news!"

For the first time in days, Leo felt really hopeful.

Naturally, that's when everything went wrong.

On the table next to Hazel and Frank, one of the orbs clicked and whirred. A row of spindly legs extended from its equator. The orb stood, and two bronze cables shot out of the top, hitting Hazel and Frank like Taser wires. Leo's friends both crumpled to the floor.

Leo lunged to help them, but the two armored manikins that couldn't possibly move did move. They drew their swords and stepped toward Leo.

The one on the left turned its crooked helmet, which was shaped like a wolfs head. Despite the fact that it had no face or mouth, a familiar hollow voice spoke from behind its visor.

“You cannot escape us, Leo Valdez," it said. "We do not like possessing machines, but they are better than tourists. You will not leave here alive.”

Chapter Text

Leo agreed with Nemesis on one thing: good luck was a sham. At least when it came to Leo's luck.

Last winter he had watched in horror while a family of Cyclopes prepared to roast Jason and Piper with hot sauce. He'd schemed his way out of that one and saved his friends all by himself, but at least he'd had time to think.

Now, not so much. Hazel and Frank had been knocked out by the tendrils of a possessed steampunk bowling ball. Two suits of armor with bad attitudes were about to kill him.

Leo couldn't blast them with fire. Suits of armor wouldn't be hurt by that. Besides, Hazel and Frank were too close. He didn't want to burn them, or accidentally hit the piece of firewood that controlled Frank's life.

On Leo's right, the suit of armor with a lion's head helmet creaked its wiry neck and regarded Hazel and Frank, who were still lying unconscious.

"A male and female demigod, " said Lion Head. "These will do, if the others die. " Its hollow face mask turned back to Leo. "We do not need you, Leo Valdez. "

"Oh, hey!" Leo tried for a winning smile. "You always need Leo Valdez!"

He spread his hands and hoped he looked confident and useful, not desperate and terrified. He wondered if it was too late to write TEAM LEO on his shirt.

Sadly, the suits of armor were not as easily swayed as the Narcissus Fan Club had been.

The one with the wolf-headed helmet snarled, "I have been in your mind, Leo. I helped you start the war."

Leo's smile crumbled. He took a step back. "That was you?"

Now he understood why those tourists had bothered him right away, and why this thing's voice sounded so familiar. He'd heard it in his mind.

"You made me fire the ballista?" Leo demanded. "You call that helping?"

"I know how you think," said Wolf Head. "I know your limits. You are small and alone. You need friends to protect you. Without them, you are unable to withstand me. I vowed not to possess you again, but I can still kill you. "

The armored dudes stepped forward. The points of their swords hovered a few inches from Leo's face.

Leo's fear suddenly made way for a whole lot of anger. This eidolon in the wolf helmet had shamed him, controlled him, and made him attack New Rome. It had endangered his friends and botched their quest.

Leo glanced at the dormant spheres on the worktables. He considered his tool belt. He thought about the loft behind him—the area that looked like a sound booth. Presto: Operation Junk Pile was born.

"First: you don't know me," he told Wolf Head. "And second: Bye."

He lunged for the stairs and bounded to the top. The suits of armor were scary, but they were not fast. As Leo suspected, the loft had doors on either side—folding metal gates. The operators would've wanted protection in case their creations went haywire… like now. Leo slammed both gates shut and summoned fire to his hands, fusing the locks.

The suits of armor closed in on either side. They rattled the gates, hacking at them with their swords.

"This is foolish," said Lion Head. “You only delay your death. "

"Delaying death is one of my favorite hobbies." Leo scanned his new home. Overlooking the workshop was a single table like a control board. It was crowded with junk, but most of it Leo dismissed immediately: a diagram for a human catapult that would never work; a strange black sword (Leo was no good with swords); a large bronze mirror (Leo's reflection looked terrible); and a set of tools that someone had broken, either in frustration or clumsiness.

He focused on the main project. In the center of the table, someone had disassembled an Archimedes sphere. Gears, springs, levers, and rods were littered around it. All the bronze cables to the room below were connected to a metal plate under the sphere. Leo could sense the Celestial bronze running through the workshop like arteries from a heart—ready to conduct magical energy from this spot.

"One basketball to rule them all," Leo muttered.

This sphere was a master regulator. He was standing at Ancient Roman mission control.

"Leo Valdez!” the spirit howled. "Open this gate or I will kill you!"

"A fair and generous offer!" Leo said, his eyes still on the sphere. "Just let me finish this. A last request, all right?"

That must have confused the spirits, because they momentarily stopped hacking at the bars.

Leo's hands flew over the sphere, reassembling its missing pieces. Why did the stupid Romans have to take apart such a beautiful machine? They had killed Archimedes, stolen his stuff, then messed with a piece of equipment they could never understand. On the other hand, at least they'd had the sense to lock it away for two thousand years so that Leo could retrieve it.

The eidolons started pounding on the gates again.

"Who is it?" Leo called.

"Valdez!" Wolf Head bellowed.

"Valdez who?" Leo asked.

Eventually the eidolons would realize they couldn't get in. Then, if Wolf Head truly knew Leo's mind, he would decide there were other ways to force his cooperation. Leo had to work faster.

He connected the gears, got one wrong, and had to start again. Hephaestus's Hand Grenades, this was hard!

Finally he got the last spring in place. The ham-fisted Romans had almost ruined the tension adjuster, but Leo pulled a set of watchmaker's tools from his belt and did some final calibrations. Archimedes was a genius—assuming this thing actually worked.

He wound the starter coil. The gears began to turn. Leo closed the top of the sphere and studied its concentric circles—similar to the ones on the workshop door.

"Valdez!" Wolf Head pounded on the gate. "Our third comrade will kill your friends!"

Leo cursed under his breath. ‘Our third comrade’. He glanced down at the spindly-legged Taser ball that had knocked out Hazel and Frank. He had figured eidolon number three was hiding inside that thing. But Leo still had to deduce the right sequence to activate this control sphere.

"Yeah, okay," he called. "You got me. Just… just a sec."

“No more seconds!" Wolf Head shouted. "Open this gate now, or they die. "

The possessed Taser ball lashed out with its tendrils and sent another shock through Hazel and Frank. Their unconscious bodies flinched. That kind of electricity might have stopped their hearts.

Leo held back tears. This was too hard. He couldn't do it.

He stared at the face of the sphere—seven rings, each one covered with tiny Greek letters, numbers, and zodiac signs. The answer wouldn't be pi. Archimedes would never do the same thing twice. Besides, just by putting his hand on the sphere Leo could feel that the sequence had been generated randomly. It was something only Archimedes would know.

Supposedly, Archimedes's last words had been: Don't disturb my circles.

No one knew what that meant, but Leo could apply it to this sphere. The lock was much too complicated. Maybe if Leo had a few years, he could decipher the markings and figure out the right combination, but he didn't even have a few seconds.

He was out of time. Out of luck. And his friends were going to die.

‘A problem you cannot solve’, said a voice in his mind.

Nemesis… she'd told him to expect this moment. Leo thrust his hand in his pocket and brought out the fortune cookie. The goddess had warned him of a great price for her help—as great as losing an eye. But if he didn't try, his friends would die.

"I need the access code for this sphere," he said.

He broke open the cookie.

Chapter Text

Leo unfurled the little strip of paper. It read:

‘That’s your request? Seriously? (Over)’

On the back the paper read:

‘Your lucky numbers are: Twelve, Jupiter, Orion, Delta, Three, Theta, Omega. (Wreak vengeance upon Gaea, Leo Valdez.)

With trembling fingers, Leo turned the rings.

Outside the gates, Wolf Head growled in frustration. "If friends do not matter to you, perhaps you need more incentive. Perhaps I should destroy these scrolls instead—priceless works by Archimedes!"

The last ring clicked into place. The sphere hummed with power. Leo ran his hands along the surface, sensing tiny buttons and levers awaiting his commands.

Magical and electrical pulses coursed via the Celestial bronze cables, and surged through the entire room.

Leo had never played a musical instrument, but he imagined it must be like this—knowing each key or note so well that you didn't really think about what your hands were doing. You just concentrated on the kind of sound you wanted to create.

He started small. He focused on one reasonably intact gold sphere down in the main room. The gold sphere shuddered. It grew a tripod of legs and clattered over to the Taser ball. A tiny circular saw popped out of the gold sphere's head, and it began cutting into Taser ball's brain.

Leo tried to activate another orb. This one burst in a small mushroom cloud of bronze dust and smoke.

"Oops," he muttered. "Sorry, Archimedes."

"What are you doing?" Wolf Head demanded. "Stop your foolishness and surrender!"

"Oh, yes, I surrender!" Leo said. "I'm totally surrendering!"

He tried to take control of a third orb. That one broke too. Leo felt bad about ruining all these ancient inventions, but this was life or death. Frank had accused him of caring more for machines than people, but if it came down to saving old spheres or his friends, there was no choice.

The fourth try went better. A ruby-encrusted orb popped its top and helicopter blades unfolded. Leo was glad Buford the table wasn't here—he would've fallen in love. The ruby orb spun into the air and sailed straight for the cubbyholes. Thin golden arms extended from its middle and snapped up the precious scroll cases.

"Enough!" Wolf Head yelled. "I will destroy the—"

He turned in time to see the ruby sphere take off with the scrolls. It zipped across the room and hovered in the far corner.

"What?!" Wolf Head cried. "Kill the prisoners!"

He must have been talking to the Taser ball. Unfortunately, Taser ball was in no shape to comply. Leo's gold sphere was sitting on top of its sawed-open head, picking through its gears and wires like it was scooping out a pumpkin.

Thank the gods, Hazel and Frank began to stir.

"Bah!" Wolf Head gestured to Lion Head at the opposite gate. "Come! We will destroy the demigods ourselves."

"I don't think so, guys." Leo turned toward Lion Head. His hands worked the control sphere, and he felt a shock travel through the floor.

Lion Head shuddered and lowered his sword.

Leo grinned. "You're in Leo World, now."

Lion Head turned and stormed down the stairs. Instead of advancing on Hazel and Leo, he marched up the opposite stairs and faced his comrade.

"What are you doing?" Wolf Head demanded. "We have to—"

BLONG!

Lion Head slammed his shield into Wolf Head's chest. He smashed the pommel of his sword into his comrade's helmet, so Wolf Head became Flat, Deformed, Not Very Happy Wolf Head.

"Stop that!" Wolf Head demanded.

"I cannot!" Lion Head wailed.

Leo was getting the hang of it now. He commanded both suits of armor to drop their swords and shields and slap each other repeatedly.

"Valdez!" called Wolf Head in a warbling voice. “You will die for this!"

"Yeah," Leo called out. "Who's possessing who now, Casper?"

The machine men tumbled down the stairs, and Leo forced them to jitterbug like 1920s flappers. Their joints began smoking. The other spheres around the room began to pop. Too much energy was surging through the ancient system. The control sphere in Leo's hand grew uncomfortably warm.

"Frank, Hazel!" Leo shouted. "Take cover!"

His friends were still dazed, staring in amazement at the jitterbugging metal guys, but they got his warning. Frank pulled Hazel under the nearest table and shielded her with his body.

One last twist of the sphere, and Leo sent a massive jolt through the system. The armored warriors blew apart. Rods, pistons, and bronze shards flew everywhere. On all the tables, spheres popped like hot soda cans. Leo's gold sphere froze. His flying ruby orb dropped to the floor with the scroll cases.

The room was suddenly quiet except for a few random sparks and sizzles. The air smelled like burning car engines. Leo raced down the stairs and found Frank and Hazel safe under their table. He had never been so happy to see those two hugging.

"You're alive!" he said.

Hazel's left eye twitched, maybe from the Taser shock. Otherwise she looked okay. "Uh, what exactly happened?"

"Archimedes came through!" Leo said. "Just enough power left in those old machines for one final show. Once I had the access code, it was easy."

He patted the control sphere, which was steaming in a bad way. Leo didn't know if it could be fixed, but at the moment he was too relieved to care.

"The eidolons," Frank said. "Are they gone?"

Leo grinned. "My last command overloaded their kill switches—basically locked down all their circuits and melted their cores."

"In English?" Frank asked.

"I trapped the eidolons inside the wiring," Leo said. "Then I melted them. They won't be bothering anyone again."

Leo helped his friends to their feet.

"You saved us," Frank said.

"Don't sound so surprised." Leo glanced around the destroyed workshop. "Too bad all this stuff got wrecked, but at least I salvaged the scrolls. If I can get them back to Camp Half-Blood, maybe I can learn how to recreate Archimedes's inventions."

Hazel rubbed the side of her head. "But I don't understand. Where is Nico? That tunnel was supposed to lead us to Nico."

Leo had almost forgotten why they'd come down here in the first place. Nico obviously wasn't here. The place was a dead end. So why…?

"Oh." He felt like there was a buzz-saw sphere on his own head, pulling out his wires and gears. "Hazel, how exactly were you tracking Nico? I mean, could you just sense him nearby because he was your brother?"

She frowned, still looking a bit wobbly from her electric shock treatment. "Not—not totally. Sometimes I can tell when he's close, but, like I said, Rome is so confusing, so much interference because of all the tunnels and caves—"

"You tracked him with your metal-finding senses," Leo guessed. "His sword?"

She blinked. "How did you know?"

"You'd better come here." He led Hazel and Frank up to the control room and pointed to the black sword.

"Oh. Oh, no." Hazel would've collapsed if Frank hadn't caught her. "But that's impossible! Nico's sword was with him in the bronze jar. Percy saw it in his dream!"

"Either the dream was wrong," Leo said, "or the giants moved the sword here as a decoy."

"So this was a trap," Frank said. "We were lured here."

"But why?" Hazel cried. "Where's my brother?"

A hissing sound filled the control booth. At first, Leo thought the eidolons were back. Then he realized the bronze mirror on the table was steaming.

‘Ah, my poor demigods’. The sleeping face of Gaea appeared in the mirror. As usual, she spoke without moving her mouth, which could only have been creepier if she'd had a ventriloquism puppet. Leo hated those things.

‘You had your choice’, Gaea said. Her voice echoed through the room. It seemed to be coming not just from the mirror, but from the stone walls as well.

Leo realized she was all around them. Of course. They were in the earth. They'd gone to all the trouble of building the Argo II so they could travel by sea and air, and they'd ended up in the earth anyway.

‘I offered salvation to all of you’, Gaea said. ‘You could have turned back. Now it is too late. You've come to the ancient lands where I am strongest—where I will wake’.

Leo pulled a hammer from his tool belt. He whacked the mirror. Being metal, it just quivered like a tea tray, but it felt good to smash Gaea in the nose.

"In case you haven't noticed, Dirt Face," he said, "your little ambush failed. Your three eidolons got melted in bronze, and we're fine."

Gaea laughed softly. ‘Oh, my sweet Leo. You three have been separated from your friends. That was the whole point’.

The workshop door slammed shut.

‘You are trapped in my embrace’, Gaea said. ‘Meanwhile, Annabeth Chase faces her death alone, terrified and crippled, at the hands of her mother’s greatest enemy’.

The image in the mirror changed. Leo saw Annabeth sprawled on the floor of a dark cavern, holding up her bronze knife as if warding off a monster. Her face was gaunt. Her leg was wrapped up in some sort of splint. Leo couldn't see what she was looking at, but it was obviously something horrible. He wanted to believe the image was a lie, but he had a bad feeling it was real, and it was happening right now.

‘The others’, Gaea said, ‘Jason Grace, Piper McLean, and my ‘monstrous’ friend Percy Jackson—they will perish within minutes.’

The scene changed again. Percy was holding Riptide, leading Jason and Piper down a spiral staircase into the darkness.

‘Their powers will betray them’, Gaea said. ‘They will die in their own elements. I almost hoped they would survive. They would have made a better sacrifice. But alas, Hazel and Frank, you will have to do. My minions will collect you shortly and bring you to the ancient place. Your blood will awaken me at last. Until then, I will allow you to watch your friends perish. Please… enjoy this last glimpse of your failed quest’.

Leo couldn't stand it. His hand glowed white hot. Hazel and Frank scrambled back as he pressed his palm against the mirror and melted it into a puddle of bronze goo.

The voice of Gaea went silent. Leo could only hear the roar of blood in his ears. He took a shaky breath.

"Sorry," he told his friends. "She was getting annoying."

"What do we do?" Frank asked. "We have to get out and help the others."

Leo scanned the workshop, now littered with smoking pieces of broken spheres. His friends still needed him. This was still his show. As long as he had his tool belt, Leo Valdez wasn't going to sit around helplessly watching the Demigod Death Channel.

"I've got an idea," he said. "But it's going to take all three of us."

He started telling them the plan.

Chapter Text

Piper tried to make the best of the situation.

Once she and Jason had gotten tired of pacing the deck, listening to Coach Hedge sing "Old MacDonald" (with weapons instead of animals), they decided to have a picnic in the park.

Hedge grudgingly agreed. "Stay where I can see you."

"What are we, kids?" Jason asked.

Hedge snorted. "Kids are baby goats. They're cute, and they have redeeming social value. You are definitely not kids."

They spread their blanket under a willow tree next to a pond. Piper turned over her cornucopia and spilled out an entire meal—neatly wrapped sandwiches, canned drinks, fresh fruit, and (for some reason) a birthday cake with purple icing and candles already lit.

She frowned. "Is it someone's birthday?"

Jason winced. "I wasn't going to say anything."

“Jason!”

"There's too much going on," he said. "And honestly… before last month, I didn't even know when my birthday was. Thalia told me the last time she was at camp."

Piper wondered what that would be like—not even knowing the day you were born. Jason had been given to Lupa the wolf when he was only two years old. He'd never really known his mortal mom. He'd only been reunited with his sister last winter.

"July First," Piper said. "The Kalends of July."

"Yeah." Jason smirked. "The Romans would find that auspicious—the first day of the month named for Julius Caesar. Juno's sacred day. Yippee."

Piper didn't want to push it, or make a celebration if he didn't feel like celebrating.

"Sixteen?" she asked.

He nodded. "Oh, boy. I can get my driver's license."

Piper laughed. Jason had killed so many monsters and saved the world so many times that the idea of him sweating a driving test seemed ridiculous. She pictured him behind the wheel of some old Lincoln with a STUDENT DRIVER sign on top and a grumpy teacher in the passenger seat with an emergency brake pedal.

"Well?" she urged. "Blow out the candles."

Jason did. Piper wondered if he'd made a wish—hopefully that he and Piper would survive this quest and stay together forever. She decided not to ask him. She didn't want to jinx that wish, and she definitely didn't want to find out that he'd wished for something different.

Since they'd left the Pillars of Hercules yesterday evening, Jason had seemed distracted. Piper couldn't blame him. Hercules had been a pretty huge disappointment as a big brother, and the old river god Achelous had said some unflattering things about the sons of Jupiter

Piper also thought about how Percy had been acting during that same expedition. When he had tried to scare Achelous into giving them his horn, he’d listed off just a few of his opponents that he’d defeated, and the way he tried to scar the river god gave Piper mafia boss vibes, not the heroic son of Poseidon she’d come to know and trust.

Piper stared at the cornucopia. She wondered if Achelous was getting used to having no horns at all. She hoped so. Sure, he had tried to kill them, but Piper still felt bad for the old god. She didn't understand how such a lonely, depressed spirit could produce a horn of plenty that shot out pineapples and birthday cakes. Could it be that the cornucopia had drained all the goodness out of him? Maybe now that the horn was gone, Achelous would be able to fill up with some happiness and keep it for himself.

She also kept thinking about Achelous's advice: ‘If you had made it to Rome, the story of the flood would have served you better’. She knew the story he was talking about. She just didn't understand how it would help.

Jason plucked an extinguished candle from his cake. "I've been thinking."

That snapped Piper back to the present. Coming from your boyfriend, ‘I've been thinking’ was kind of a scary line.

"About?" she asked.

"Camp Jupiter," he said. "All the years I trained there. We were always pushing teamwork, working as a unit. I thought I understood what that meant. But honestly? I was always the leader. Even when I was younger—"

"The son of Jupiter," Piper said. "Most powerful kid in the legion. You were the star."

Jason looked uncomfortable, but he didn't deny it. "Being in this crew of seven… I'm not sure what to do. I'm not used to being one of so many, well, equals. I feel like I'm failing."

"Come on," she chided. "Being a hero doesn't mean you're invincible. It just means that you're brave enough to stand up and do what's needed."

"And if I don't know what's needed?"

"That's what your friends are for. We've all got different strengths. Together, we'll figure it out."
Jason studied her. Piper wasn't sure that he bought what she was saying, but she was glad he could confide in her. She liked that he had a little self-doubt. He didn't succeed all the time. He didn't think the universe owed him an apology whenever something went wrong—unlike another son of the sky god she'd recently met.

"Hercules was a jerk," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "I never want to be like that. But I wouldn't have had the courage to stand up to him without your taking the lead and Percy’s, well, his fear factor. You two were the heroes that time."

"We can take turns," she suggested.

"I don't deserve you."

"You're not allowed to say that."

"Why not?"

"It's a breakup line. Unless you're breaking up—"

Jason leaned over and kissed her. The colors of the Roman afternoon suddenly seemed sharper, as if the world had switched to high definition.

"No breakups," he promised. "I may have busted my head a few times, but I'm not that stupid."

"Good," she said. "Now, about that cake—"

Her voice faltered. Percy Jackson was running toward them, and Piper could tell from his expression that he had bad news.

They gathered on deck so that Coach Hedge could hear the story. When Percy was done, Piper still couldn't believe it.

"So Annabeth was kidnapped on a motor scooter," she summed up, "by Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn."

"Not kidnapped, exactly," Percy said. "But I've got this bad feeling..." He took a deep breath, like he was trying hard not to freak out. "Anyway, she's—she's gone. Maybe I shouldn't have let her, but—”

"You had to," Piper said. "You knew she had to go alone. Besides, Annabeth is tough and smart. She'll be fine."

Piper put some charmspeak in her voice, which maybe wasn't cool, but Percy needed to be able to focus. If they went into battle, Annabeth wouldn't want him getting hurt because he was too distracted about her.

His shoulders relaxed a little. "Maybe you're right. Anyway, Gregory—I mean Tiberinus—said we had less time to rescue Nico than we thought. Hazel and the guys aren't back yet?"

Piper checked the time on the helm control. She hadn't realized how late it was getting. "It's two in the afternoon. We said three o'clock for a rendezvous."

"At the latest," Jason said.

Percy pointed at Piper's dagger. "Tiberinus said you could find Nico's location… you know, with that."

Piper bit her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was check Katoptris for more terrifying images.

"I've tried," she said. "The dagger doesn't always show what I want to see. In fact, it hardly ever does."

“Try again,” Percy ordered, his eyes flickering to blood red before returning to their usual sea green.

"Fine," she sighed, and drew her dagger.

"While you're at it," said Coach Hedge, "see if you can get the latest baseball scores. Italians don't cover baseball worth beans."

"Shh." Piper studied the bronze blade. The light shimmered. She saw a loft apartment filled with Roman demigods. A dozen of them stood around a dining table as Octavian talked and pointed to a big map. Reyna paced next to the windows, gazing down at Central Park.

"That's not good," Jason muttered. "They've already set up a forward base in Manhattan."

"And that map shows Long Island," Percy said.

"They're scouting the territory," Jason guessed. "Discussing invasion routes."

Piper did not want to see that. She concentrated harder. Light rippled across the blade. She saw ruins—a few crumbling walls, a single column, a stone floor covered with moss and dead vines—all clustered on a grassy hillside dotted with pine trees.

"I was just there," Percy said. "That's in the old Forum."

The view zoomed in. On one side of the stone floor, a set of stairs had been excavated, leading down to a modern iron gate with a padlock. The blade's image zoomed straight through the doorway, down a spiral stairwell, and into a dark, cylindrical chamber like the inside of a grain silo.

Piper dropped the blade.

"What's wrong?" Jason asked. "It was showing us something."

Piper felt like the boat was back on the ocean, rocking under her feet. "We can't go there."

Percy snarled. "Piper, Nico is dying! We've got to find him! Not to mention, Rome is about to get destroyed! So, whether you like it or not, we’re going there! Do you understand me?!"

Piper was taken aback by Percy’s harsh words, and from Jason’s expression, he was too. Her voice wouldn't work. She'd kept that vision of the circular room to herself for so long, now she found it impossible to talk about. She had a horrible feeling that explaining it to Percy and Jason wouldn't change anything. She couldn't stop what was about to happen.

She picked up the knife again. Its hilt seemed colder than usual.

She forced herself to look at the blade. She saw two giants in gladiator armor sitting on oversized praetors' chairs. The giants toasted each other with golden goblets as if they'd just won an important fight. Between them stood a large bronze jar.

The vision zoomed in again. Inside the jar, Nico di Angelo was curled in a ball, no longer moving, all the pomegranate seeds eaten.

"We're too late," Jason said.

“No we’re not,” Percy stated, his tone cold, his eyes now fully their monstrous neon-poison green color. "No, I can't believe that. Maybe he's gone into a deeper trance to buy time. We have to hurry."

The blade's surface went dark. Piper slipped it back into its sheath, trying to keep her hands from shaking. She hoped that Percy was right and Nico was still alive. On the other hand, she didn't see how that image connected with the vision of the drowning room. Maybe the giants were toasting each other because she and Percy and Jason were dead.

"We should wait for the others," she said. "Hazel, Frank, and Leo should be back soon."

"We can't wait," Percy insisted sternly.

Coach Hedge grunted. "It's just two giants. If you guys want, I can take them."

"Uh, Coach," Jason said, "that's a great offer, but we need you to man the ship—or goat the ship. Whatever."

Hedge scowled. "And let you three have all the fun?"

“Coach,” Percy said, his tone like he was a drill sergeant talking to a new cadet. “Hazel and the others need you here. When they get back, they'll need your leadership. You're their rock.”

"Yeah." Jason managed to keep a straight face. "Leo always says you're his rock. You can tell them where we've gone and bring the ship around to meet us at the Forum."

"And here." Piper unstrapped Katoptris and put it in Coach Hedge's hands.

The satyr's eyes widened. A demigod was never supposed to leave her weapon behind, but Piper was fed up with evil visions. She'd rather face her death without any more previews.

"Keep an eye on us with the blade," she suggested. "And you can check the baseball scores."

That sealed the deal. Hedge nodded grimly, prepared to do his part for the quest.

"All right," he said. "But if any giants come this way—"

"Feel free to blast them," Jason said.

"What about annoying tourists?"

"No," they all said in unison.

"Bah. Fine. Just don't take too long, or I'm coming after you with ballistae blazing."

Chapter Text

As they walked, Piper heard Percy quietly singing to himself. “Then I’ll become the monster, I will deal the blows.” Piper recognized that from what Jason and Annabeth had said that Percy had told them.

She wanted to hear the entire song. “Hey, Percy,” she started, lacing her voice with charmspeak. “Could you maybe sing that entire song? I’d love to hear it.”

Percy side eyed Piper, his eyes still neon-poison green, but he took a deep breath and started to sing.

“How has everything been turned against us?
How did suffering become so endless?
How am I to reunite with my estranged?
Do I need to change?
I'm surrounded by the souls of those I've lost
I'm the only whose line I haven't crossed
What if the greatest threat we'll find across the sea
Is me?
What if I'm the monster?
What if I'm in the wrong?
What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?
What if I'm the one who killed you
Every time I caved to guilt?
What if I've been far too kind to foes
But a monster to ourselves?
What if I'm the monster?
Is the Cyclops struck with guilt when he kills?
Is he up in the middle of the night?
Or does he end men to avenge his friend
And then sleep knowing he has done him right?
When the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs
Is she going insane?
Or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain?
When a God comes down and makes a fleet drown
Is he scared that he's doing something wrong?
Or does he keep us in check so we must respect him
And now no one dares to piss him off?
Does a soldier use a wooden horse to kill sleeping trojans cause he is vile?
Or does he throw away his remorse and save more lives with guile?
If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away
Would that make us stronger?
Would it keep our foes at bay?
If I became the monster to everyone but us
And made sure we got home again
Who would care if we're unjust?
If I became the
Monster?
Oh, ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves
And deep down I know this well
I lost Charles, Silena, Ethan
Zoe, Bianca, Luke
This can’t go on!
I must get to see my mom, Sally
And my stepdad Paul
So if we must sail through dangerous oceans and skies
I'll go where Gaea won't reach us
And if I gotta drop an infant from a wall
In an instant so we all don't die…
Then I'll become the
Monster!
I will deal the blow!
And I'll become the
Monster
Like none they've ever known!
So what if I'm the
Monster
Lurking deep below?
I must become the
Monster
And then we'll make it home!
Monster
Sally
Monster
Paul
Monster
Oh, ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves
I'll become the monster.”

As he finished, Piper, being the daughter of Aphrodite, the goddess of emotions, fully understood what Percy was going through. Piper knew that this journey was pushing Percy to his absolute limits, and forcing him to confront his darker side.

And Piper completely understood where Percy was coming from. She knew that sometimes, in the heat of battle, you had to do things that didn't sit well with you. But the idea of Percy becoming a monster... it was almost too much to bear.

She decided not to continue with the conversation. She looked over to her other side and saw Jason’s expression, one of fear and concern.

Finding the place was easy. Percy led them right to it, on an abandoned stretch of hillside overlooking the ruined Forum.

Getting in was easy too. Jason's gold sword cut through the padlock, and the metal gate creaked open. No mortals saw them. No alarms went off. Stone steps spiraled down into the gloom.

"I'll go first," Jason said.

"No!" Piper yelped.

Both boys turned toward her.

"Pipes, what is it?" Jason asked. "That image in the blade…you've seen it before, haven't you?"

She nodded, her eyes stinging. "I didn't know how to tell you. I saw the room down there filling with water. I saw the three of us drowning."

Jason merely frowned, but Percy seemed enraged. “One, I can’t drown, McLean,” he said harshly, his eyes now glowing like spotlights. “And second, you don’t keep stuff like that from your crew! You should know that! We’re all in this together!”

Jason stepped in between Percy and Piper. “Hey! Don’t talk to my girlfriend that way, Percy,” Jason said, trying to keep his anger in check.

Percy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to snap at you, Piper.”

“It’s ok,” Piper said, her voice trembling. “I just don’t want you guys to get hurt. But we can’t just ignore it. We have to be careful."

"Maybe the future has changed," Jason speculated. "In the image you showed us just now, there wasn't any water."

Piper wished he was right, but she suspected they wouldn't be so lucky.

"Look," Percy said. "I'll check it out first. It's fine. Be right back."

Before Piper could object, he disappeared down the stairwell. Piper could faintly hear him singing for a few seconds, singing something that went, “The power of the sea. The power of the sea. It dwells inside you, and a—” Percy’s voice was out of ear shot.

She counted silently as they waited for him to come back. Somewhere around thirty-five, she heard his footsteps, and he appeared at the top, looking more baffled than relieved.

"Good news: no water," he said. "Bad news: I don't see any exits down there. And, uh, weird news: well, you should see this…"

They descended cautiously. Percy took the lead, with Riptide drawn. Piper followed, and Jason walked behind her, guarding their backs. The stairwell was a cramped corkscrew of masonry, no more than six feet in diameter. Even though Percy had given the "all clear," Piper kept her eyes open for traps. With every turn of the stairs, she anticipated an ambush. She had no weapon, just the cornucopia on a leather cord over her shoulder. If worse came to worst, the boys' swords wouldn't do much good in such close quarters. Maybe Piper could shoot their enemies with high-velocity smoked hams.

As they wound their way underground, Piper saw old graffiti gouged into the stones: Roman numerals, names and phrases in Italian. That meant other people had been down here more recently than the Roman Empire, but Piper wasn't reassured. If monsters were below, they'd ignore mortals, waiting for some nice juicy demigods to come along.

She heard Percy quietly whistling the Mission Impossible theme, which was a big difference from his earlier song. Piper swore that Percy had two different personalities.

Finally, they reached the bottom.

Percy turned. "Watch this last step."

He jumped to the floor of the cylindrical room, which was five feet lower than the stairwell. Why would someone design a set of stairs like that? Piper had no idea. Maybe the room and the stairwell had been built during different time periods.

She wanted to turn and exit, but she couldn't do that with Jason behind her, and she couldn't just leave Percy down there. She clambered down, and Jason followed.

The room was just like she'd seen it in Katoptris's blade, except there was no water. The curved walls had once been painted with frescoes, which were now faded to eggshell white with only flecks of color. The domed ceiling was about fifty feet above.

Around the back side of the room, opposite the stairwell, nine alcoves were carved into the wall. Each niche was about five feet off the floor and big enough for a human-sized statue, but each was empty.

The air felt cold and dry. As Percy had said, there were no other exits.

"All right." Percy raised his eyebrows. "Here's the weird part. Watch."

He stepped to the middle of the room.

Instantly, green and blue light rippled across the walls. Piper heard the sound of a fountain, but there was no water. There didn't seem to be any source of light except for Percy's and Jason's blades.

"Do you smell the ocean?" Percy asked.

Piper hadn't noticed at first. She was standing next to Percy, and he always smelled like the sea. But he was right. The scent of salt water and storm was getting stronger, like a summer hurricane approaching.

"An illusion?" she asked. All of a sudden, she felt strangely thirsty.

"I don't know," Percy said. "I feel like there should be water here—lots of water. But there isn't any. I've never been in a place like this."

Jason moved to the row of niches. He touched the bottom shelf of the nearest one, which was just at his eye level. "This stone… it's embedded with seashells. This is a nymphaeum."

Piper's mouth was definitely getting drier. "A what?"

"We have one at Camp Jupiter," Jason said, "on Temple Hill. It's a shrine to the nymphs."

Piper ran her hand along the bottom of another niche. Jason was right. The alcove was studded with cowries, conches, and scallops. The seashells seemed to dance in the watery light. They were icecold to the touch.

Piper had always thought of nymphs as friendly spirits—silly and flirtatious, generally harmless. They got along well with the children of Aphrodite. They loved to share gossip and beauty tips. This place, though, didn't feel like the canoe lake back at Camp Half-Blood, or the streams in the woods where Piper normally met nymphs. This place felt unnatural, hostile, and very dry.

Jason stepped back and examined the row of alcoves. "Shrines like this were all over the place in Ancient Rome. Rich people had them outside their villas to honor nymphs, to make sure the local water was always fresh. Some shrines were built around natural springs, but most were man-made."

"So... no actual nymphs lived here?" Piper asked hopefully.

"Not sure," Jason said. "This place where we're standing would have been a pool with a fountain. A lot of times, if the nymphaeum belonged to a demigod, he or she would invite nymphs to live there. If the spirits took up residence, that was considered good luck."

"For the owner," Percy guessed. "But it would also bind the nymphs to the new water source, which would be great if the fountain was in a nice sunny park with fresh water pumped in through the aqueducts—"

"But this place has been underground for centuries," Piper guessed. "Dry and buried. What would happen to the nymphs?"

The sound of water changed to a chorus of hissing, like ghostly snakes. The rippling light shifted from sea blue and green to purple and sickly lime. Above them, the nine niches glowed. They were no longer empty.

Standing in each was a withered old woman, so dried up and brittle they reminded Piper of mummies—except mummies didn't normally move. Their eyes were dark purple, as if the clear blue water of their life source had condensed and thickened inside them. Their fine silk dresses were now tattered and faded. Their hair had once been piled in curls, arranged with jewels in the style of Roman noblewomen, but now their locks were disheveled and dry as straw. If water cannibals actually existed, Piper thought, this is what they looked like.

"What would happen to the nymphs?" said the creature in the center niche.

She was in even worse shape than the others. Her back was hunched like the handle of a pitcher. Her skeletal hands had only the thinnest papery layer of skin. On her head, a battered wreath of golden laurels glinted in her roadkill hair.

She fixed her purple eyes on Piper. "What an interesting question, my dear. Perhaps the nymphs would still be here, suffering, waiting for revenge."

The next time that she got a chance, Piper swore she would melt down Katoptris and sell it for scrap metal. The stupid knife never showed her the whole story. Sure, she'd seen herself drowning. But if she'd realized that nine desiccated zombie nymphs would be waiting for her, she never would've come down here.

She considered bolting for the stairs, but when she turned, the doorway had disappeared. Naturally. Nothing was there now but a blank wall. Piper suspected it wasn't just an illusion. Besides, she would never make it to the opposite side of the room before the zombie nymphs could jump on them.

Jason and Percy stood to either side of her, their swords ready. Piper was glad to have them close, but she suspected their weapons wouldn't do any good. She'd seen what would happen in this room. Somehow, these things were going to defeat them.

But, she remembered about Percy’s ‘monster’ mode. She glanced over to him to see what color his eyes were, actually hoping to see them be neon-poison green. Instead, they were red. Blood red.

"Who are you?" Percy demanded.

The central nymph turned her head. "Ah…names. We once had names. I was Hagno, the first of the nine!"

Piper thought it was a cruel joke that a hag like her would be named Hagno, but she decided not to say that.

"The nine," Jason repeated. "The nymphs of this shrine. There were always nine niches."

"Of course." Hagno bared her teeth in a vicious smile. "But we are the original nine, Jason Grace, the ones who attended the birth of your father."

Jason's sword dipped. "You mean Jupiter? You were there when he was born?"

"Zeus, we called him then," Hagno said. "Such a squealing whelp. We attended Rhea in her labor. When the baby arrived, we hid him so that his father, Kronos, would not eat him. Ah, he had lungs, that baby! It was all we could do to drown out the noise so Kronos could not find him. When Zeus grew up, we were promised eternal honors. But that was in the old country, in Greece."

The other nymphs wailed and clawed at their niches. They seemed to be trapped in them, Piper realized, as if their feet were glued to the stone along with the decorative seashells.

Percy leaned in to whisper into Piper’s ear. “Piper, I got a plan. Tell Jason to act like I don’t, ok?”

“What’s the plan?” Piper murmured, her heart racing.

“Just trust me,” Percy murmured, his eyes still glowing crimson. “Keep them talking. I might know a way out of this.”

Piper was wondering what Percy’s plan was, but they didn’t have time for her to ask him questions.

"When Rome rose to power, we were invited here," Hagno said. "A son of Jupiter tempted us with favors. A new home, he promised. Bigger and better! No down payment, an excellent neighborhood. Rome will last forever."

"Forever," the others hissed.

"We gave in to temptation," Hagno said. "We left our simple wells and springs on Mount Lycaeus and moved here. For centuries, our lives were wonderful! Parties, sacrifices in our honor, new dresses and jewelry every week. All the demigods of Rome flirted with us and honored us."

The nymphs wailed and sighed.

"But Rome did not last," Hagno snarled. "The aqueducts were diverted. Our master's villa was abandoned and torn down. We were forgotten, buried under the earth, but we could not leave. Our life sources were bound to this place. Our old master never saw fit to release us. For centuries, we have withered here in the darkness, thirsty…so thirsty."

"I'm sorry for you," she said, trying to use charmspeak. "That must have been terrible. But we are not your enemies. If we can help you—"

"Oh, such a sweet voice!" Hagno cried. "Such beautiful features. I was once young like you. My voice was as soothing as a mountain stream. But do you know what happens to a nymph's mind when she is trapped in the dark, with nothing to feed on but hatred, nothing to drink but thoughts of violence? Yes, my dear. You can help us."

Percy raised his hand. “I’m the son of Poseidon. I could probably summon a new water source.”

‘Seriously? That’s your plan?’ Piper wanted to ask.

"Ha!" Hagno cried, and the other eight echoed, "Ha! Ha!"

"Indeed, son of Poseidon," Hagno said. "I know your father well. Ephialtes and Otis promised you would come."

Based on Percy’s grin, them refusing his offer was part of his plan. Piper put her hand on Jason's arm for balance.

"The giants," she said. "You're working for them?"

"They are our neighbors." Hagno smiled. "Their chambers lie beyond this place, where the aqueduct's water was diverted for the games. Once we have dealt with you… once you have helped us… the twins have promised we will never suffer again."

Hagno turned to Jason. "You, child of Jupiter—for the horrible betrayal of your predecessor who brought us here, you shall pay. I know the sky god's powers. I raised him as a baby! Once, we nymphs controlled the rain above our wells and springs. When I am done with you, we will have that power again. And you, Piper McLean.” Hagno's purple eyes glistened. "So young, so lovely, so gifted with your sweet voice. From you, we will reclaim our beauty. And Percy Jackson, child of the sea god… from you, we will take water, an endless supply of water."

All nine niches glowed. The nymphs disappeared, and water poured from their alcoves—sickly dark water, like oil.

“I don’t think so,” was all Percy said, before jumping into the air.

Chapter Text

Piper had seen some badass stuff. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

Percy’s eyes glowed crimson red, and he was… floating? How he was, Piper was going to ask later. He grinned like a madman, his right hand outstretched.

“I am a different beast now, I am the one who feasts now. None of us will decease now, ‘cause we won’t take more suffering from you. I am the man-made monster, I am the one who slaughters. You are a threat no longer, we won’t take more suffering from you,” he sung, despite the nymphs being gone.

“Percy, what are you doing? How are you floating?” Jason asked, his expression more bewildered than scared.

“Just trust me,” Percy repeated. Piper was scared out of her mind as the oil like water quickly rose and within about half a minute was already at her waist.

“Percy, whatever you’re doing, do it now!” Piper screamed as the water rose.

Piper felt her power being drained by the water, and she figured that Jason’s was too. But then, how wasn’t Percy’s?

Then, Piper felt hot from her waist down. Like, boiling hot. She looked at the water, which was steaming. It took all of Piper’s willpower not to scream in pain from the boiling water.

The water boiled and, within about 5 minutes, it had all evaporated. Piper looked at Percy, who had stopped floating. He looked up and she heard him say, “Thanks, Pontus.”

“What?” Piper staggered over, trying to understand. “What just happened? Who is Pontus? Since when could you evaporate water and float?” she asked, her questions coming rapid fire.

“Long story, one we don’t have time for,” Percy replied sharply. “Look.”

The niches glowed. Nine figures appeared, but they were no longer withered creatures. They were young, beautiful nymphs in shimmering blue gowns, their glossy black curls pinned up with silver and gold brooches. Their eyes were gentle shades of blue and green.

As Piper watched, eight of the nymphs dissolved into vapor and floated upward. Only the nymph in the center remained.

"Hagno?" Piper asked.

The nymph smiled. "Yes, my dear. I didn't think such selflessness existed in mortals... especially in demigods. No offense."

Percy got to his feet. "How could we take offense? You just tried to drown us and suck out our lives."

Hagno winced. "Sorry about that. I was not myself. But you have reminded me of the sun and the rain and the streams in the meadows."

Hagno pointed to the other side of the room. The stairs to the surface reappeared. Directly underneath, a circular opening shimmered into existence, like a sewer pipe, just big enough to crawl through. Piper suspected this was how the water had drained out.

"You may return to the surface," Hagno said. "Or, if you insist, you may follow the waterway to the giants. But choose quickly, because both doors will fade soon after I am gone. That pipe connects to the old aqueduct line, which feeds both this nymphaeum and the hypogeum that the giants call home."

"Ugh." Percy pressed on his temples. "Please, no more complicated words."

"Oh, home is not a complicated word." Hagno sounded completely sincere. "I thought it was, but now you have unbound us from this place. My sisters have gone to seek new homes... a mountain stream, perhaps, or a lake in a meadow. I will follow them. I cannot wait to see the forests and grasslands again, and the clear running water."

"Uh," Percy said nervously, "things have changed up above in the last few thousand years."

"Nonsense," Hagno said. "How bad could it be? Pan would not allow nature to become tainted. I can't wait to see him, in fact."

Percy looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself.

"Good luck, Hagno," Piper said. "And thank you."

The nymph smiled one last time and vaporized.

Briefly, the nymphaeum glowed with a softer light, like a full moon. Piper smelled exotic spices and blooming roses. She heard distant music and happy voices talking and laughing. She guessed she was hearing hundreds of years of parties and celebrations that had been held at this shrine in ancient times, as if the memories had been freed along with the spirits.

"What is that?" Jason asked nervously.

Piper slipped her hand into his. "The ghosts are dancing. Come on. We'd better go meet the giants."

Chapter Text

Percy was tired of water.

If he said that aloud, he would probably get kicked out of Poseidon's Junior Sea Scouts, but he didn't care.

After barely surviving the nymphaeum, he wanted to go back to the surface. He wanted to be dry and sit in the warm sunshine for a long time—preferably with Annabeth.

Unfortunately, he didn't know where Annabeth was. Frank, Hazel, and Leo were missing in action. He still had to save Nico di Angelo, assuming the guy wasn't already dead. And there was that little matter of the giants destroying Rome, waking Gaea, and taking over the world.

Seriously, these monsters and gods were thousands of years old. Couldn't they take a few decades off and let Percy live his life? Apparently not.

Percy took the lead as they crawled down the drainage pipe. “Percy,” he heard Jason start. “You mind explaining what just happened back there?”

Percy groaned, but conceded. “I kinda got some training earlier today,” he said, hoping that would suffice.

It didn’t.

“From who? What did that person teach you?” Jason pressed as they wriggled through the narrow pipe.

Percy sighed. “From Pontus, the primordial god of the sea. Before Poseidon, before Oceanus, it was him,” he said. “He taught me a bunch of stuff about my powers.”

“Like what?” Piper's voice echoed in the pipe, her curiosity piercing through the darkness.

Percy looked ahead to see if he had enough time to explain. When he saw nothing but drainage pipe ahead, he started explaining. “First, he taught me how to freeze and boil water no matter the outside temperature. He taught me how to manipulate the water vapor in the air so I can control the air, kinda like Jason, just to a lesser degree. That means that I can float, move rocks, move dead trees, and even vapor travel sort of like Nico’s shadow travel.”

“Holy crap,” Piper murmured.

“Yeah, I know. He also taught me how to manipulate the water vapor in the air of someone’s lungs, extract it, and literally take their breath away. I also learned how to break down rocks using erosion. Lastly, he taught me that I can control any liquid that has water in it, which includes poison, oil—”

“Blood and ichor,” Piper and Jason finished in unison.

“Yeah. I didn’t tell Annabeth because she already has enough on her plate, and I didn’t want to make it worse by scaring her more than she already is.” Percy’s voice echoed in the pipe, the gravity of his words palpable.

After thirty feet, it opened into a wider tunnel. To their left, somewhere in the distance, Percy heard rumbling and creaking, like a huge machine needed oiling. He had absolutely no desire to find out what was making that sound, so he figured that must be the way to go.

Several hundred feet later, they reached a turn in the tunnel. Percy held up his hand, signaling Jason and Piper to wait. He peeked around the corner.

The corridor opened into a vast room with twenty-foot ceilings and rows of support columns. It looked like the same parking-garage-type area Percy had seen in his dreams, but now much more crowded with stuff.

The creaking and rumbling came from huge gears and pulley systems that raised and lowered sections of the floor for no apparent reason. Water flowed through open trenches (oh, great, more water), powering waterwheels that turned some of the machines. Other machines were connected to huge hamster wheels with hellhounds inside. Percy couldn't help thinking of Mrs. O'Leary, and how much she would hate being trapped inside one of those.

Suspended from the ceiling were cages of live animals—a lion, several zebras, a whole pack of hyenas, and even an eight-headed hydra. Ancient-looking bronze and leather conveyor belts trundled along with stacks of weapons and armor, sort of like the Amazons' warehouse in Seattle, except this place was obviously much older and not as well organized.

Leo would love it, Percy thought. The whole room was like one massive, scary, unreliable machine.

"What is it?" Piper whispered.

Percy wasn't even sure how to answer. He didn't see the giants, so he gestured for his friends to come forward and take a look.

About twenty feet inside the doorway, a life-size wooden cutout of a gladiator popped up from the floor. It clicked and whirred along a conveyor belt, got hooked on a rope, and ascended through a slot in the roof.

Jason murmured, "What the heck?"

They stepped inside. Percy scanned the room. There were several thousand things to look at, most of them in motion, but one good aspect of being an ADHD demigod was that Percy was comfortable with chaos. About a hundred yards away, he spotted a raised dais with two empty oversized praetor chairs. Standing between them was a bronze jar big enough to hold a person.

"Look." He pointed it out to his friends.

Piper frowned. "That's too easy."

"Of course," Percy said.

"But we have no choice," Jason said. "We've got to save Nico."

"Yeah." Percy started across the room, picking his way around conveyor belts and moving platforms.

The hellhounds in the hamster wheels paid them no attention. They were too busy running and panting, their red eyes glowing like headlights. The animals in the other cages gave them bored looks, as if to say, ‘I’d kill you, but it would take too much energy’.

Percy tried to watch out for traps, but everything here looked like a trap. He remembered how many times he'd almost died in the labyrinth a few years ago. He really wished Hazel were here so she could help with her underground skills (and of course so she could be reunited with her brother).

They jumped over a water trench and ducked under a row of caged wolves. They had made it about halfway to the bronze jar when the ceiling opened over them. A platform lowered. Standing on it like an actor, with one hand raised and his head high, was the purple-haired giant Ephialtes.

Just like Percy had seen in his dreams, the Big F was small by giant standards—about twelve feet tall—but he had tried to make up for it with his loud outfit. He'd changed out of the gladiator armor and was now wearing a Hawaiian shirt that even Dionysus would've found vulgar. It had a garish print made up of dying heroes, horrible tortures, and lions eating slaves in the Colosseum. The giant's hair was braided with gold and silver coins. He had a ten-foot spear strapped to his back, which wasn't a good fashion statement with the shirt. He wore bright white jeans and leather sandals on his… well, not feet, but curved snakeheads. The snakes flicked their tongues and writhed as if they didn't appreciate holding up the weight of a giant.

Ephialtes smiled at the demigods like he was really, really pleased to see them.

"At last!" he bellowed. "So very happy! Honestly, I didn't think you'd make it past the nymphs, but it's so much better that you did. Much more entertaining. You're just in time for the main event!"

Jason and Piper closed ranks on either side of Percy. Having them there made him feel a little better. This giant was smaller than a lot of monsters he had faced, but something about him made Percy's skin crawl. Ephialtes's eyes danced with a crazy light.

"We're here," Percy said, which sounded pretty obvious once he’d said it. "Let our friend go."

"Of course!" Ephialtes said. "Though I fear he's a bit past his expiration date. Otis, where are you?”

A stone's throw away, the floor opened, and the other giant rose on a platform.

"Otis, finally!" his brother cried with glee. "You're not dressed the same as me! You're…" Ephialtes's expression turned to horror. "What are you wearing?”

Otis looked like the world's largest, grumpiest ballet dancer. He wore a skin-tight baby-blue leotard that Percy really wished left more to the imagination. The toes of his massive dancing slippers were cut away so that his snakes could protrude. A diamond tiara (Percy decided to be generous and think of it as a king's crown) was nestled in his green, firecracker-braided hair. He looked glum and miserably uncomfortable, but he managed a dancer's bow, which couldn't have been easy with snake feet and a huge spear on his back.

"Gods and Titans!" Ephialtes yelled. "It's showtime! What are you thinking?"

"I didn't want to wear the gladiator outfit," Otis complained. "I still think a ballet would be perfect, you know, while Armageddon is going on." He raised his eyebrows hopefully at the demigods.
"I have some extra costumes—"

"No!" Ephialtes snapped, and for once Percy was in agreement.

The purple-haired giant faced Percy. He grinned so painfully, he looked like he was being electrocuted.

"Please excuse my brother," he said. "His stage presence is awful, and he has no sense of style."

"Okay." Percy decided not to comment on the Hawaiian shirt. "Now, about our friend…"

"Oh, him," Ephialtes sneered. "We were going to let him finish dying in public, but he has no entertainment value. He's spent days curled up sleeping. What sort of spectacle is that? Otis, tip over the jar."

Otis trudged over to the dais, stopping occasionally to do a plie. He knocked over the jar, the lid popped off, and Nico di Angelo spilled out. The sight of his deathly pale face and too-skinny frame made Percy's heart stop. Percy couldn't tell whether he was alive or dead. He wanted to rush over and check, but Ephialtes stood in his way.

"Now we have to hurry," said the Big F. "We should go through your stage directions. The hypogeum is all set!"

Percy cracked his neck, pulled out Riptide, and twirled it in his hand. Percy was ready to slice this giant in half and get out of there, but Otis was standing over Nico. If a battle started, Nico was in no condition to defend himself. Percy needed to buy him some recovery time.

‘Or maybe I don’t’, Percy thought. ‘These two giants have ichor in their bodies. Maybe I could…’

Jason raised his gold gladius. "We're not going to be part of any show," he said. "And what's a hypo—whatever-you-call-it?"

"Hypogeum!" Ephialtes said. "You're a Roman demigod, aren't you? You should know! Ah, but I suppose if we do our job right down here in the underworks, you really wouldn't know the hypogeum exists."

"I know that word," Piper said. "It's the area under a coliseum. It housed all the set pieces and machinery used to create special effects."

Ephialtes clapped enthusiastically. "Exactly so! Are you a student of the theater, my girl?"

"Uh…my dad's an actor."

"Wonderful!" Ephialtes turned toward his brother. "Did you hear that, Otis?"

"Actor," Otis murmured. "Everybody's an actor. No one can dance."

"Be nice!" Ephialtes scolded. "At any rate, my girl, you're absolutely right, but this hypogeum is much more than the stageworks for a coliseum. You've heard that in the old days some giants were imprisoned under the earth, and from time to time they would cause earthquakes when they tried to break free? Well, we've done much better! Otis and I have been imprisoned under Rome for eons, but we've kept busy building our very own hypogeum. Now we're ready to create the greatest spectacle Rome has ever seen—and the last!"

At Otis's feet, Nico shuddered. Percy felt like a hellhound hamster wheel somewhere in his chest had started moving again. At least Nico was alive. Now they just had to defeat the giants, preferably without destroying the city of Rome, and get out of here to find their friends.

"So!" Percy said, hoping to keep the giants' attention on him. "Stage directions, you said?"

"Yes!" Ephialtes said. "Now, I know the bounty stipulates that you and the girl Annabeth should be kept alive if possible, but honestly, the girl is already doomed, so I hope you don't mind if we deviate from the plan."

Percy's mouth tasted like bad nymph water. "Already doomed. You don't mean she's—"

"Dead?" the giant asked. "No. Not yet. But don't worry! We've got your other friends locked up, you see."

Piper made a strangled sound. "Leo? Hazel and Frank?"

"Those are the ones," Ephialtes agreed. "So we can use them for the sacrifice. We can let the Athena girl die, which will please Her Ladyship. And we can use you three for the show! Gaea will be a bit disappointed, but really, this is a win-win. Your deaths will be much more entertaining."

Jason snarled. "You want entertaining? I'll give you entertaining."

Piper stepped forward. Somehow she managed a sweet smile. "I've got a better idea," she told the giants. "Why don't you let us go? That would be an incredible twist. Wonderful entertainment value, and it would prove to the world how cool you are."

Nico stirred. Otis looked down at him. His snaky feet flicked their tongues at Nico's head.

"Plus!" Piper said quickly. "Plus, we could do some dance moves as we're escaping. Perhaps a ballet number!"

Otis forgot all about Nico. He lumbered over and wagged his finger at Ephialtes. "You see? That's what I was telling you! It would be incredible!"

For a second, Percy thought Piper was going to pull it off. Otis looked at his brother imploringly. Ephialtes tugged at his chin as if considering the idea.

At last he shook his head. "No... no, I'm afraid not. You see, my girl, I am the anti-Dionysus. I have a reputation to uphold. Dionysus thinks he knows parties? He's wrong! His revels are tame compared to what I can do. That old stunt we pulled, for instance, when we piled up mountains to reach Olympus—"

"I told you that would never work," Otis muttered.

"And the time my brother covered himself with meat and ran through an obstacle course of drakons—"

“You said Hephaestus-TV would show it during prime time," Otis said. "No one even saw me."

"Well, this spectacle will be even better,” Ephialtes promised. "The Romans always wanted bread and circuses—food and entertainment! As we destroy their city, I will offer them both. Behold, a sample!"

Something dropped from the ceiling and landed at Percy's feet: a loaf of sandwich bread in a white plastic wrapper with red and yellow dots.

Percy picked it up. "Wonder bread?"

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Ephialtes's eyes danced with crazy excitement. "You can keep that loaf. I plan on distributing millions to the people of Rome as I obliterate them."

"Wonder bread is good," Otis admitted. "Though the Romans should dance for it."

Percy glanced over at Nico, who was just starting to move. Percy wanted him to be at least conscious enough to crawl out of the way when the fighting started. And Percy needed more information from the giants about Annabeth, and where his other friends were being kept.

"Maybe," Percy ventured, "you should bring our other friends here. You know, spectacular deaths... the more the merrier, right?"

"Hmm." Ephialtes fiddled with a button on his Hawaiian shirt. "No. It's really too late to change the choreography. But never fear. The circuses will be marvelous! Ah... not the modern sort of circus, mind you. That would require clowns, and I hate clowns."

"Everyone hates clowns," Otis said. "Even other clowns hate clowns."

"Exactly," his brother agreed. "But we have much better entertainment planned! The three of you will die in agony, up above, where all the gods and mortals can watch. But that's just the opening ceremony! In the old days, games went on for days or weeks. Our spectacle—the destruction of Rome—will go on for one full month until Gaea awakens."

"Wait," Jason said. "One month, and Gaea wakes up?"

Ephialtes waved away the question. "Yes, yes. Something about August First being the best date to destroy all humanity. Not important! In her infinite wisdom, the Earth Mother has agreed that Rome can be destroyed first, slowly and spectacularly. It's only fitting!"

"So…" Percy couldn't believe he was talking about the end of the world with a loaf of Wonder bread in his hand. "You're Gaea's warm-up act."

Ephialtes's face darkened. "This is no warm-up, demigod! We'll release wild animals and monsters into the streets. Our special effects department will produce fires and earthquakes. Sinkholes and volcanoes will appear randomly out of nowhere! Ghosts will run rampant."

"The ghost thing won't work," Otis said. "Our focus groups say it won't pull ratings."

"Doubters!" Ephialtes said. "This hypogeum can make anything work!"

Ephialtes stormed over to a big table covered with a sheet. He pulled the sheet away, revealing a collection of levers and knobs almost as complicated-looking as Leo's control panel on the Argo II.

"This button?" Ephialtes said. "This one will eject a dozen rabid wolves into the Forum. And this one will summon automaton gladiators to battle tourists at the Trevi Fountain. This one will cause the Tiber to flood its banks so we can reenact a naval battle right in the Piazza Navona! Percy Jackson, you should appreciate that, as a son of Poseidon!"

"Uh… I still think the letting us go idea is better," Percy said.

"He's right," Piper tried again. "Otherwise we get into this whole confrontation thing. We fight you. You fight us. We wreck your plans. You know, we've defeated a lot of giants lately. I'd hate for things to get out of control."

Ephialtes nodded thoughtfully. "You're right."

Piper blinked. "I am?"

"We can't let things get out of control," the giant agreed. "Everything has to be timed perfectly. But don't worry. I've choreographed your deaths. You'll love it."

Nico started to crawl away, groaning. Percy wanted him to move faster and to groan less. He considered throwing his Wonder bread at him.

Jason switched his sword hand. "And if we refuse to cooperate with your spectacle?"

"Well, you can't kill us." Ephialtes laughed, as if the idea was ridiculous. "You have no gods with you, and that's the only way you could hope to triumph. So really, it would be much more sensible to die painfully. Sorry, but the show must go on."

This giant was even worse than that sea god Phorcys back in Atlanta, Percy realized. Ephialtes wasn't so much the anti-Dionysus. He was Dionysus gone crazy on steroids. Sure, Dionysus was the god of revelry and out-of-control parties. But Ephialtes was all about riot and ruin for pleasure.

Percy looked at his friends. "I'm getting tired of this guy's shirt."

"Combat time?" Piper grabbed her horn of plenty.

"I hate Wonder bread," Jason said.

Together, they charged.

Chapter Text

Things went wrong immediately. The giants vanished in twin puffs of smoke. They reappeared halfway across the room, each in a different spot. Percy sprinted toward Ephialtes, but slots in the floor opened under his feet, and metal walls shot up on either side, separating him from his friends.

The walls started closing in on him like the sides of a vise grip. Percy jumped up and grabbed the bottom of the hydra's cage. He caught a brief glimpse of Piper leaping across a hopscotch pattern of fiery pits, making her way toward Nico, who was dazed and weaponless and being stalked by a pair of leopards.

Meanwhile Jason charged at Otis, who pulled his spear and heaved a great sigh, as if he would much rather dance Swan Lake than kill another demigod.

Percy registered all this in a split second, but there wasn't much he could do about it. The hydra snapped at his hands. He swung and dropped, landing in a grove of painted plywood trees that sprang up from nowhere. The trees changed positions as he tried to run through them, so he slashed down the whole forest with Riptide.

"Wonderful!" Ephialtes cried. He stood at his control panel about sixty feet to Percy's left. "We'll consider this a dress rehearsal. Shall I unleash the hydra onto the Spanish Steps now?"

He pulled a lever, and Percy glanced behind him. The cage he had just been hanging from was now rising toward a hatch in the ceiling. In three seconds it would be gone. If Percy attacked the giant, the hydra would ravage the city.

Cursing, he threw Riptide like a boomerang. The sword wasn't designed for that, but the Celestial bronze blade sliced through the chains suspending the hydra. The cage tumbled sideways. The door broke open, and the monster spilled out—right in front of Percy.

"Oh, you are a spoilsport, Jackson!" Ephialtes called. "Very well. Battle it here, if you must, but your death won't be nearly as good without the cheering crowds."

Percy stepped forward to confront the monster—then realized he'd just thrown his weapon away. A bit of bad planning on his part.

He rolled to one side as all eight hydra heads spit acid, turning the floor where he'd been standing into a steaming crater of melted stone. Percy really hated hydras. It was almost a good thing that he'd lost his sword, since his gut instinct would've been to slash at the heads, and a hydra simply grew two new ones for each one it lost.

The last time he'd faced a hydra, he'd been saved by a battleship with bronze cannons that blasted the monster to pieces. That strategy couldn't help him now.

Then, Percy had an idea. ‘Does acid have water?’ he wondered, but he didn’t have time to fact check it.

The hydra spit acid again, but this time, he outstretched his hand, and the acid curved around Percy and shot forward, splitting into eight different parts. They hit each hydra head, and each head nearly instantly melted.

Percy’s eyes turned to their shade of neon-poison green, or as Percy and Leo had decided to call it, Scar’s-eyes green. At the dais, Piper stood guard over Nico as the leopards advanced. She aimed her cornucopia and shot a pot roast over the cats' heads. It must have smelled pretty good, because the leopards raced after it.

About eighty feet to Piper's right, Jason battled Otis, sword against spear. Otis had lost his diamond tiara and looked angry about it. He probably could have impaled Jason several times, but the giant insisted on doing a pirouette with every attack, which slowed him down.

Percy felt his pocket. Riptide always returned to his pocket if he lost it, but it wasn’t instantaneous, and to Percy’s chagrin, it hadn’t returned yet. So, he’d need another weapon.

He saw the pipes on the walls. He focused and burst them, causing a good 100 gallons or so of water to spill out. No one really noticed. Percy willed some water to come to him, and willed the water to freeze. One the water reached his hand, Percy was holding an ice trident.

Ephialtes laughed as he pushed buttons on his control board, cranking the conveyor belts into high gear and opening random animal cages.

Percy didn’t know how, but an easel fired rockets or fireworks or something. The recoil knocked the easel sideways and sent more projectiles shooting all over the room. A chunk of ceiling collapsed and crushed a waterwheel. More cages snapped off their chains, unleashing two zebras and a pack of hyenas. A grenade exploded over Ephialtes's head, but it only blasted him off his feet. The control board didn't even look damaged.

Across the room, sandbags rained down around Piper and Nico. Piper tried to pull Nico to safety, but one of the bags caught her shoulder and knocked her down.

"Piper!" Jason cried. He ran toward her, completely forgetting about Otis, who aimed his spear at Jason's back.

"Look out!" Percy yelled.

Jason had fast reflexes. As Otis threw, Jason rolled. The point sailed over him and Jason flicked his hand, summoning a gust of wind that changed the spear's direction. It flew across the room and skewered Ephialtes through his side just as he was getting to his feet.

"Otis!" Ephialtes stumbled away from his control board, clutching the spear as he began to crumble into monster dust. "Will you please stop killing me!"

"Not my fault!"

Percy got out of his state of surprise and fought… no, slaughtered… no, massacred monsters left and right with his ice trident.

Otis had barely finished speaking when the missile-launching contraption spit out one last sphere of Roman candle fire. The fiery pink ball of death (naturally it had to be pink) hit the ceiling above Otis and exploded in a beautiful shower of light. Colorful sparks pirouetted gracefully around the giant. Then a ten-foot section of roof collapsed and crushed him flat.

Jason ran to Piper's side. She yelped when he touched her arm. Her shoulder looked unnaturally bent, but she muttered, "Fine. I'm fine." Next to her, Nico sat up, looking around him in bewilderment as if just realizing he'd missed a battle.

Sadly, the giants weren't finished. Ephialtes was already re-forming, his head and shoulders rising from the mound of dust. He tugged his arms free and glowered at Percy.

Across the room, the pile of rubble shifted, and Otis busted out. His head was slightly caved in. All the firecrackers in his hair had popped, and his braids were smoking. His leotard was in tatters, which was just about the only way it could've looked less attractive on him.

"Percy!" Jason shouted. "The controls!"

Percy took his ice trident and lunged for the switchboard. He slashed it across the top, decapitating the controls in a shower of bronze sparks.

“No!" Ephialtes wailed. "You've ruined the spectacle!"

Percy turned too slowly. Ephialtes swung his spear like a bat and smacked him across the chest. He fell to his knees, the pain turning his stomach to lava.

Jason ran to his side, but Otis lumbered after him. Percy managed to get up found himself shoulder to shoulder with Jason. Over by the dais, Piper was still on the floor, unable to get up. Nico was barely conscious.

The giants were healing, getting stronger by the minute. Percy was not.

Ephialtes smiled apologetically. "Tired, Percy Jackson? As I said, you cannot kill us. So I guess we're at an impasse. Oh, wait… no we're not! Because we can kill you!"

"That," Otis grumbled, picking up his fallen spear, "is the first thing sensible thing you've said all day, brother."

The giants pointed their weapons, ready to turn Percy and Jason into a demigod-kabob.

"We won't give up," Jason growled. "We'll cut you into pieces like Jupiter did to Saturn."

Percy said, “That’s right. You're both dead. I don't care if we have a god on our side or not."

"Well, that's a shame," said a new voice.

To his right, another platform lowered from the ceiling. Leaning casually on a pinecone-topped staff was a man in a purple camp shirt, khaki shorts, and sandals with white socks. He raised his broad-brimmed hat, and purple fire flickered in his eyes. "I'd hate to think I made a special trip for nothing."

Chapter Text

Percy had never thought of Mr. D as a calming influence, but suddenly everything got quiet. The machines ground to a halt. The wild animals stopped growling.

The two leopards paced over—still licking their lips from Piper's pot roast—and butted their heads affectionately against the god's legs. Mr. D scratched their ears.

"Really, Ephialtes," he chided. "Killing demigods is one thing. But using leopards for your spectacle? That's over the line."

The giant made a squeaking sound. "This—this is impossible. D-D—"

"It's Bacchus, actually, my old friend," said the god. "And of course it's possible. Someone told me there was a party going on."

He looked the same as he had in Kansas, but Percy still couldn't get over the differences between Bacchus and his old not-so-much-of-a-friend Mr. D.

Bacchus was meaner and leaner, with less of a potbelly. He had longer hair, more spring in his step, and a lot more anger in his eyes. He even managed to make a pinecone on a stick look intimidating.

Ephialtes's spear quivered. "You—you gods are doomed! Be gone, in the name of Gaea!"

"Hmm." Bacchus sounded unimpressed. He strolled through the ruined props, platforms, and special effects.

"Tacky." He waved his hand at a painted wooden gladiator, then turned to a machine that looked like an oversized rolling pin studded with knives. "Cheap. Boring. And this..." He inspected the rocket-launching contraption, which was still smoking. "Tacky, cheap, and boring. Honestly, Ephialtes. You have no sense of style."

"STYLE?" The giant's face flushed. "I have mountains of style. I define style. I—I—"

"My brother oozes style," Otis suggested.

"Thank you!" Ephialtes cried.

Bacchus stepped forward, and the giants stumbled back. "Have you two gotten shorter?" asked the god.

"Oh, that's low," Ephialtes growled. "I'm quite tall enough to destroy you, Bacchus! You gods, always hiding behind your mortal heroes, trusting the fate of Olympus to the likes of these."

He sneered at Percy.

Jason hefted his sword. "Lord Bacchus, are we going to kill these giants or what?"

"Well, I certainly hope so," Bacchus said. "Please, carry on."

Percy stared at him. "Didn't you come here to help?"

Bacchus shrugged. "Oh, I appreciated the sacrifice at sea. A whole ship full of Diet Coke. Very nice. Although I would've preferred Diet Pepsi."

"And six million in gold and jewels," Percy muttered.

"Yes," Bacchus said, "although with demigod parties of five or more the gratuity is included, so that wasn't necessary."

"What?"

"Never mind," Bacchus said. "At any rate, you got my attention. I'm here. Now I need to see if you're worthy of my help. Go ahead. Battle. If I'm impressed, I'll jump in for the grand finale."

"We speared one," Percy said. "Dropped the roof on the other. What do you consider impressive?"

"Ah, a good question..." Bacchus tapped his thyrsus. Then he smiled in a way that made Percy think, ‘Uh-oh’. "Perhaps you need inspiration! The stage hasn't been properly set. You call this a spectacle, Ephialtes? Let me show you how it's done."

The god dissolved into purple mist. Piper and Nico disappeared.

"Pipes!" Jason yelled. "Bacchus, where did you—?"

The entire floor rumbled and began to rise. The ceiling opened in a series of panels. Sunlight poured in. The air shimmered like a mirage, and Percy heard the roar of a crowd above him.

The hypogeum ascended through a forest of weathered stone columns, into the middle of a ruined coliseum.

Percy's heart did a somersault. This wasn't just any coliseum. It was the Colosseum. The giants' special effects machines had gone into overtime, laying planks across ruined support beams so the arena had a proper floor again. The bleachers repaired themselves until they were gleaming white. A giant red-and-gold canopy extended overhead to provide shade from the afternoon sun. The emperor's box was draped with silk, flanked by banners and golden eagles. The roar of applause came from thousands of shimmering purple ghosts, the Lares of Rome brought back for an encore performance.

Vents opened in the floor and sprayed sand across the arena. Huge props sprang up—garage-size mountains of plaster, stone columns, and (for some reason) life-size plastic barnyard animals. A small lake appeared to one side. Ditches crisscrossed the arena floor in case anyone was in the mood for trench warfare. Percy and Jason stood together facing the twin giants.

"This is a proper show!" boomed the voice of Bacchus. He sat in the emperor's box wearing purple robes and golden laurels. At his left sat Nico and Piper, her shoulder being tended by a nymph in a nurse's uniform. At Bacchus's right crouched a satyr, offering up Doritos and grapes. The god raised a can of Diet Pepsi and the crowd went respectfully quiet.

Percy glared up at him. "You're just going to sit there?"

"The demigod is right!" Ephialtes bellowed. "Fight us yourself, coward! Um, without the demigods."

Bacchus smiled lazily. "Juno says she's assembled a worthy crew of demigods. Show me. Entertain me, heroes of Olympus. Give me a reason to do more. Being a god has its privileges."

He popped his soda can top, and the crowd cheered.

Chapter Text

Percy had fought many battles. He'd even fought in a couple of arenas, but nothing like this. In the huge Colosseum, with thousands of cheering ghosts, the god Bacchus staring down at him, and the two twelve-foot giants looming over him, Percy felt as small and insignificant as a bug.

Fighting giants was one thing. Bacchus making it into a game was something else.

Percy remembered what Luke Castellan had told him years ago, when Percy had come back from his very first quest. ‘Didn't you realize how useless it all is? All the heroics—being pawns of the Olympians?’

Percy was almost the same age now as Luke had been then. He could understand how Luke became so spiteful. In the past five years, Percy had been a pawn too many times. The Olympians seemed to take turns using him for their schemes.

Maybe the gods were better than the Titans, or the giants, or Gaea, but that didn't make them good or wise. It didn't make Percy like this stupid arena battle.

Unfortunately, he didn't have much choice. If he was going to save his friends, he had to beat these giants. He had to survive and find Annabeth.

Ephialtes and Otis made his decision easier by attacking. Together, the giants picked up a fake mountain as big as Percy's New York apartment and hurled it at the demigods.

Percy and Jason bolted. They dove together into the nearest trench and the mountain shattered above them, spraying them with plaster shrapnel. It wasn't deadly, but it stung like crazy.

The crowd jeered and shouted for blood. "Fight! Fight!"

"I'll take Otis again?" Jason called over the noise. "Or do you want him this time?"

Percy tried to think. Dividing was the natural course—fighting the giants one-on-one, but that hadn't worked so well last time. It dawned on him that they needed a different strategy.

This whole trip, Percy had felt responsible for leading and protecting his friends. He was sure Jason felt the same way. They'd worked in small groups, hoping that would be safer. They'd fought as individuals, each demigod doing what he or she did best. But Hera had made them a team of seven for a reason.

"We attack together," he said. "Otis first, because he's weaker. Take him out quickly and move to Ephialtes. Bronze and gold together—maybe that'll keep them from re-forming a little longer."

Jason smiled dryly, like he'd just found out he would die in an embarrassing way.

"Why not?" he agreed. "But Ephialtes isn't going to stand there and wait while we kill his brother. Unless—"

"Good wind today," Percy offered. "And there're some water pipes running under the arena."

Jason understood immediately.

“On three?” Jason asked.

“Why wait?”

They charged out of the trench. As Percy suspected, the twins had lifted another plaster mountain and were waiting for a clear shot. The giants raised it above their heads, preparing to throw, and Percy caused a water pipe to burst at their feet, shaking the floor. Jason sent a blast of wind against Ephialtes's chest. The purple-haired giant toppled backward and Otis lost his grip on the mountain, which promptly collapsed on top of his brother. Only Ephialtes's snake feet stuck out, darting their heads around, as if wondering where the rest of their body had gone.

The crowd roared with approval, but Percy suspected Ephialtes was only stunned. They had a few seconds at best.

"Hey, Otis!" he shouted. "The Nutcracker bites!"

"Ahhhhh!" Otis snatched up his spear and threw, but he was too angry to aim straight. Jason deflected it over Percy's head and into the lake.

The demigods backed toward the water, shouting insults about ballet—which was kind of a challenge, as Percy didn't know much about it.

Otis barreled toward them empty-handed, before apparently realizing that a) he was emptyhanded, and b) charging toward a large body of water to fight a son of Poseidon was maybe not a good idea.

Too late, he tried to stop. The demigods rolled to either side, and Jason summoned the wind, using the giant's own momentum to shove him into the water. As Otis struggled to rise, Percy and Jason attacked as one. They launched themselves at the giant and brought their blades down on Otis's head.

The poor guy didn't even have a chance to pirouette. He exploded into powder on the lake's surface like a huge packet of drink mix.

Percy churned the lake into a whirlpool. Otis's essence tried to re-form, but as his head appeared from the water, Jason called lightning and blasted him to dust again.

So far so good, but they couldn't keep Otis down forever. Percy was already tired from his fight underground. His gut still ached from getting smacked with a spear shaft. He could feel his strength waning, and they still had another giant to deal with.

As if on cue, the plaster mountain exploded behind them. Ephialtes rose, bellowing with anger.

Percy and Jason waited as he lumbered toward them, his spear in hand. Apparently, getting flattened under a plaster mountain had only energized him. His eyes danced with murderous light. The afternoon sun glinted in his coin-braided hair. Even his snake feet looked angry, baring their fangs and hissing.

Jason called down another lightning strike, but Ephialtes caught it on his spear and deflected the blast, melting a life-size plastic cow. He slammed a stone column out of his way like a stack of building blocks.

Percy tried to keep the lake churning. He didn't want Otis rising to join this fight, but as Ephialtes closed the last few feet, Percy had to switch focus.

Jason and he met the giant's charge. They lunged around Ephialtes, stabbing and slashing in a blur of gold and bronze, but the giant parried every strike.

"I will not yield!" Ephialtes roared. "You may have ruined my spectacle, but Gaea will still destroy your world!"

Percy lashed out, slicing the giant's spear in half. Ephialtes wasn't even fazed. The giant swept low with the blunt end and knocked Percy off his feet. Percy landed hard on his sword arm, and Riptide clattered out of his grip.

Percy thought about ichor-bending, but that’d require too much energy. He was tired enough as it was.

Jason tried to take advantage. He stepped inside the giant's guard and stabbed at his chest, but somehow Ephialtes parried the strike. He sliced the tip of his spear down Jason's chest, ripping his purple shirt into a vest. Jason stumbled, looking at the thin line of blood down his sternum. Ephialtes kicked him backward.

Up in the emperor's box, Piper cried out, but her voice was drowned in the roar of the crowd. Bacchus looked on with an amused smile, munching from a bag of Doritos.

Ephialtes towered over Percy and Jason, both halves of his broken spear poised over their heads. Percy's sword arm was numb. Jason's gladius had skittered across the arena floor. Their plan had failed.

Percy glanced up at Bacchus, deciding what final curse he would hurl at the useless wine god, when he saw a shape in the sky above the Colosseum—a large dark oval descending rapidly.

From the lake, Otis yelled, trying to warn his brother, but his half-dissolved face could only manage: "Uh-umh-moooo!"

"Don't worry, brother!" Ephialtes said, his eyes still fixed on the demigods. "I will make them suffer!"

The Argo II turned in the sky, presenting its port side, and green fire blazed from the ballista.

"Actually," Percy said. "Look behind you."

He and Jason rolled away as Ephialtes turned and bellowed in disbelief.

Percy dropped into a trench just as the explosion rocked the Colosseum.

When he climbed out again, the Argo II was coming in for a landing. Jason poked his head out from behind his improvised bomb shelter of a plastic horse. Ephialtes lay charred and groaning on the arena floor, the sand around him seared into a halo of glass by the heat of the Greek fire. Otis was floundering in the lake, trying to re-form, but from the arms down he looked like a puddle of burnt oatmeal.

Percy staggered over to Jason and clapped him on the shoulder. The ghostly crowd gave them a standing ovation as the Argo II extended its landing gear and settled on the arena floor. Leo stood at the helm, Hazel and Frank grinning at his side. Coach Hedge danced around the firing platform, pumping his fist in the air and yelling, "That's what I'm talking about!"

Percy turned to the emperor's box. "Well?" he yelled at Bacchus. "Was that entertaining enough for you, you wine-breathed little—"

"No need for that." Suddenly the god was standing right next to him in the arena. He brushed Dorito dust off his purple robes. "I have decided you are worthy partners for this combat."

"Partners?" Jason growled. "You did nothing!"

Bacchus walked to the edge of the lake. The water instantly drained, leaving an Otis-headed pile of mush. Bacchus picked his way to the bottom and looked up at the crowd. He raised his thyrsus.

The crowd jeered and hollered and pointed their thumbs down. Percy had never been sure whether that meant live or die. He'd heard it both ways.

Bacchus chose the more entertaining option. He smacked Otis's head with his pinecone staff, and the giant pile of Otismeal disintegrated completely.

The crowd went wild. Bacchus climbed out of the lake and strutted over to Ephialtes, who was still lying spread-eagled, overcooked and smoking.

Again, Bacchus raised his thyrsus.

"DO IT!" the crowd roared.

"DON'T DO IT!" Ephialtes wailed.

Bacchus tapped the giant on the nose, and Ephialtes crumbled to ashes.

The ghosts cheered and threw spectral confetti as Bacchus strode around the stadium with his arms raised triumphantly, exulting in the worship. He grinned at the demigods. "That, my friends, is a show! And of course I did something. I killed two giants!”

As Percy's friends disembarked from the ship, the crowd of ghosts shimmered and disappeared. Piper and Nico struggled down from the emperor's box as the Colosseum's magical renovations began to turn into mist. The arena floor remained solid, but otherwise the stadium looked as if it hadn't hosted a good giant killing for eons.

"Well," Bacchus said. "That was fun. You have my permission to continue your voyage."

"Your permission?" Percy snarled.

"Yes." Bacchus raised an eyebrow. "Although your voyage may be a little harder than you expect, son of Neptune."

"Poseidon," Percy corrected him automatically. "What do you mean about my voyage?"

"You might try the parking lot behind the Emmanuel Building," Bacchus said. "Best place to break through. Now, good-bye, my friends. And, ah, good luck with that other little matter."

The god vaporized in a cloud of mist that smelled faintly of grape juice. Jason ran to meet Piper and Nico.

Coach Hedge trotted up to Percy, with Hazel, Frank, and Leo close behind. "Was that Dionysus?" Hedge asked. "I love that guy!"

"You're alive!" Percy said to the others. "The giants said you were captured. What happened?"

Leo shrugged. "Oh, just another brilliant plan by Leo Valdez. You'd be amazed what you can do with an Archimedes sphere, a girl who can sense stuff underground, and a weasel."

"I was the weasel," Frank said glumly.

"Basically," Leo explained, "I activated a hydraulic screw with the Archimedes device — which is going to be awesome once I install it in the ship, by the way. Hazel sensed the easiest path to drill to the surface. We made a tunnel big enough for a weasel, and Frank climbed up with a simple transmitter that I slapped together. After that, it was just a matter of hacking into Coach Hedge's favorite satellite channels and telling him to bring the ship around to rescue us. After he got us, finding you was easy, thanks to that godly light show at the Colosseum."

Percy understood about ten percent of Leo's story, but he decided it was enough since he had a more pressing question. "Where's Annabeth?"

Leo winced. "Yeah, about that… she's still in trouble, we think. Hurt, broken leg, maybe—at least according to this vision Gaea shown us. Rescuing her is our next stop."

Two seconds before, Percy had been ready to collapse. Now another surge of adrenaline coursed through his body. He wanted to strangle Leo and demand why the Argo II hadn't sailed off to rescue Annabeth first, but he thought that might sound a little ungrateful.

"Tell me about the vision," he said. "Tell me everything."

The floor shook. The wooden planks began to disappear, spilling sand into the pits of the hypogeum below.

“Let's talk on board," Hazel suggested. "We'd better take off while we still can."

They sailed out of the Colosseum and veered south over the rooftops of Rome.

All around the Piazza del Colosseo, traffic had come to a standstill. A crowd of mortals had gathered, probably wondering about the strange lights and sounds that had come from the ruins. As far as Percy could see, none of the giants' spectacular plans for destruction had come off successfully. The city looked the same as before. No one seemed to notice the huge Greek trireme rising into the sky.

Percy thought about Annabeth, wondering if she was in trouble. The thought of her in danger and him not being able to do anything made him grind his teeth and white knuckle the railing. “I am the monster, I will deal the blows. I am the monster, like none they’ve ever known,” he whispered to himself, his eyes burning with a fierce determination that could’ve melted the very metal of the ship.

The demigods gathered around the helm. Jason bandaged Piper's sprained shoulder while Hazel sat at the stern, feeding Nico ambrosia. The son of Hades could barely lift his head. His voice was so quiet, Hazel had to lean in whenever he spoke.

Frank and Leo recounted what had happened in the room with the Archimedes spheres, and the visions Gaea had shown them in the bronze mirror. They quickly decided that their best lead for finding Annabeth was the cryptic advice Bacchus had provided: the Emmanuel Building, whatever that was. Frank started typing at the helm's computer while Leo tapped furiously at his controls, muttering, "Emmanuel Building. Emmanuel Building." Coach Hedge tried to help by wrestling with an upside-down street map of Rome.

"There it is!" Leo cried, pointing to his monitor.
"Frank, you're amazing! I'm setting course."

Frank hunched his shoulders. "I just read the name off the screen. Some Chinese tourist marked it on Google Maps."

Leo grinned at the others. "He reads Chinese."

"Just a tiny bit," Frank said.

"How cool is that?"

"Guys," Hazel broke in. "I hate to interrupt your admiration session, but you should hear this."

She helped Nico to his feet. He'd always been pale, but now his skin looked like powdered milk. His dark sunken eyes reminded Percy of photos he'd seen of liberated prisoners-of-war, which Percy guessed Nico basically was.

"Thank you," Nico rasped. His eyes darted nervously around the group. "I'd given up hope."

The past week or so, Percy had imagined a lot of scathing things he might say to Nico when they met again, but the guy looked so frail and sad, Percy couldn't muster much anger.

"You knew about the two camps all along," Percy said. "You could have told me who I was the first day I arrived at Camp Jupiter, but you didn't."

Nico slumped against the helm. "Percy, I'm sorry. I discovered Camp Jupiter last year. My dad led me there, though I wasn't sure why. He told me the gods had kept the camps separate for centuries and that I couldn't tell anyone. The time wasn't right. But he said it would be important for me to know…" He doubled over in a fit of coughing.

Hazel held his shoulders until he could stand again.

"I—I thought Dad meant because of Hazel," Nico continued. "I'd need a safe place to take her. But now…I think he wanted me to know about both camps so I'd understand how important your quest was, and so I'd search for the Doors of Death."

The air turned electric—literally, as Jason started throwing off sparks.

"Did you find the doors?" Percy asked.

Nico nodded. "I was a fool. I thought I could go anywhere in the Underworld, but I walked right into Gaea's trap. I might as well have tried running from a black hole."

"Um…" Frank chewed his lip. "What kind of black hole are you talking about?"

Nico started to speak, but whatever he needed to say must have been too terrifying. He turned to Hazel.

She put her hand on her brother's arm. "Nico told me that the Doors of Death have two sides—one in the mortal world, one in the Underworld. The mortal side of the portal is in Greece. It's heavily guarded by Gaea's forces. That's where they brought Nico back into the upper world. Then they transported him to Rome."

Piper must've been nervous, because her cornucopia spit out a cheeseburger. "Where exactly in Greece is this doorway?"

Nico took a rattling breath. "The House of Hades. It's an underground temple in Epirus. I can mark it on a map, but—but the mortal side of the portal isn't the problem. In the Underworld, the Doors of Death are in…in…"

A cold pair of hands did the itsy-bitsy spider down Percy's back.

A black hole. An inescapable part of the Underworld where even Nico di Angelo couldn't go. Why hadn't Percy thought of this before? He'd been to the very edge of that place. He still had nightmares about it.

"Tartarus," he guessed. "The deepest part of the Underworld."

Nico nodded. "They pulled me into the pit, Percy. The things I saw down there…" His voice broke.

Hazel pursed her lips. "No mortal has ever been to Tartarus," she explained. "At least, no one has ever gone in and returned alive. It's the maximum-security prison of Hades, where the old Titans and the other enemies of the gods are bound. It's where all monsters go when they die on the earth. It's… well, no one knows exactly what it's like."

Her eyes drifted to her brother. The rest of her thought didn't need to be spoken. ‘No one except Nico’.

Hazel handed him his black sword.

Nico leaned on it like it was an old man's cane. "Now I understand why Hades hasn't been able to close the doors," he said. "Even the gods don't go into Tartarus. Even the god of death, Thanatos himself, wouldn't go near that place."

Leo glanced over from the wheel. "So let me guess. We'll have to go there."

Nico shook his head. "It's impossible. I'm the son of Hades, and even I barely survived. Gaea's forces overwhelmed me instantly. They're so powerful down there…no demigod would stand a chance. I almost went insane, and I barely covered any distance. Even two people together couldn’t stay sane if they travelled the entire way."

Nico's eyes looked like shattered glass. Percy wondered sadly if something inside him had broken permanently.

"Then we'll sail for Epirus," Percy said. "We'll just close the gates on this side."

"I wish it were that easy," Nico said. "The doors would have to be controlled on both sides to be closed. It's like a double seal. Maybe, just maybe, all seven of you working together could defeat Gaea's forces on the mortal side, at the House of Hades. But unless you had a team fighting simultaneously on the Tartarus side, a team powerful enough to defeat a legion of monsters in their home territory—"

"There has to be a way," Jason said.

Nobody volunteered any brilliant ideas.

Percy thought his stomach was sinking. Then he realized the entire ship was descending toward a big building like a palace.

Annabeth. Nico's news was so horrible Percy had momentarily forgotten she was still in danger, which made him feel incredibly guilty.

"We'll figure out the Tartarus problem later," he said. "Is that the Emmanuel Building?"

Leo nodded. "Bacchus said something about the parking lot in back? Well, there it is. What now?"

Percy remembered his dream of the dark chamber, the evil buzzing voice of the monster called Her Ladyship. He remembered how shaken Annabeth had looked when she'd come back from Fort Sumter after her encounter with the spiders. Percy had begun to suspect what might be down in that shrine... literally, the mother of all spiders. If he was right, and Annabeth had been trapped down there alone with that creature for hours, her leg broken… At this point, he didn't care if her quest was supposed to be solo or not.

"We have to get her out," he said.

"Well, yeah," Leo agreed. "But, uh…"

He looked like he wanted to say, ‘What if we're too late?’

Wisely, he changed tack. "There's a parking lot in the way."

Percy looked at Coach Hedge. "Bacchus said something about breaking through. Coach, you still have ammo for those ballistae?"

The satyr grinned like a wild goat. "I thought you'd never ask."

Chapter Text

Annabeth had reached her terror limit.

She'd been assaulted by chauvinist ghosts. She'd broken her ankle. She'd been chased across a chasm by an army of spiders. Now, in severe pain, with her ankle wrapped in boards and Bubble Wrap, and carrying no weapon except her dagger, she faced Arachne—a monstrous half-spider who wanted to kill her and make a commemorative tapestry about it.

In the last few hours, Annabeth had shivered, sweated, whimpered, and blinked back so many tears that her body simply gave up on being scared. Her mind said something like, ‘Okay, sorry. I can’t be any more terrified than I already am.’

So instead, Annabeth started to think.

The monstrous creature picked her way down from the top of the web-covered statue. She moved from strand to strand, hissing with pleasure, her four eyes glittering in the dark. Either she was not in a hurry, or she was slow.

Annabeth hoped she was slow.

Not that it mattered. Annabeth was in no condition to run, and she didn't like her chances in combat. Arachne probably weighed several hundred pounds. Those barbed legs were perfect for capturing and killing prey. Besides, Arachne probably had other horrible powers—a poisonous bite, or web-slinging abilities like an Ancient Greek Spider-Man.

No. Combat was not the answer.

That left trickery and brains.

In the old legends, Arachne had gotten into trouble because of pride. She'd bragged about her tapestries being better than Athena's, which had led to Mount Olympus's first reality TV punishment program: So You Think You Can Weave Better Than a Goddess? Arachne had lost in a big way.

Annabeth knew something about being prideful. It was her fatal flaw as well. She often had to remind herself that she couldn't do everything alone. She wasn't always the best person for every job. Sometimes she got tunnel vision and forgot about what other people needed, even Percy. And she could get easily distracted talking about her favorite projects.

But could she use that weakness against the spider? Maybe if she stalled for time… though she wasn't sure how stalling would help. Her friends wouldn't be able to reach her, even if they knew where to go. The cavalry would not be coming. Still, stalling was better than dying.

She tried to keep her expression calm, which wasn't easy with a broken ankle. She limped toward the nearest tapestry—a cityscape of Ancient Rome.

"Marvelous," she said. "Tell me about this tapestry."

Arachne's lips curled over her mandibles. "Why do you care? You're about to die."

"Well, yes," Annabeth said. "But the way you captured the light is amazing. Did you use real golden thread for the sunbeams?"

The weaving truly was stunning. Annabeth didn't have to pretend to be impressed.

Arachne allowed herself a smug smile. "No, child. Not gold. I blended the colors, contrasting bright yellow with darker hues. That's what gives it a three-dimensional effect."

"Beautiful." Annabeth's mind split into two different levels: one carrying on the conversation, the other madly grasping for a scheme to survive. Nothing came to her. Arachne had been beaten only once—by Athena herself, and that had taken godly magic and incredible skill in a weaving contest.

"So…" she said. "Did you see this scene yourself?"

Arachne hissed, her mouth foaming in a not-very-attractive way. "You are trying to delay your death. It won't work."

"No, no," Annabeth insisted. "It just seems a shame that these beautiful tapestries can't be seen by everyone. They belong in a museum, or…"

"Or what?" Arachne asked.

A crazy idea sprang fully formed from Annabeth's mind, like her mom jumping out of Zeus's noggin. But could she make it work?

"Nothing." She sighed wistfully. "It's a silly thought. Too bad."

Arachne scuttled down the statue until she was perched atop the goddess's shield. Even from that distance, Annabeth could smell the spider's stink, like an entire bakery full of pastries left to go bad for a month.

"What?" the spider pressed. "What silly thought?"

Annabeth had to force herself not to back away. Broken ankle or no, every nerve in her body pulsed with fear, telling her to get away from the huge spider hovering over her.

"Oh… it's just that I was put in charge of redesigning Mount Olympus," she said. "You know, after the Titan War. I've completed most of the work, but we need a lot of quality public art. The throne room of the gods, for instance... I was thinking your work would be perfect to display there. The Olympians could finally see how talented you are. As I said, it was a silly thought."

Arachne's hairy abdomen quivered. Her four eyes glimmered as if she had a separate thought behind each and was trying to weave them into a coherent web.

"You're redesigning Mount Olympus," she said. "My work…in the throne room."

"Well, other places too," Annabeth said. "The main pavilion could use several of these. That one with the Greek landscape—the Nine Muses would love that. And I'm sure the other gods would be fighting over your work as well. They'd compete to have your tapestries in their palaces. I guess, aside from Athena, none of the gods has ever seen what you can do?"

Arachne snapped her mandibles. "Hardly. In the old days, Athena tore up all my best work. My tapestries depicted the gods in rather unflattering ways, you see. Your mother didn't appreciate that."

"Rather hypocritical," Annabeth said, "since the gods make fun of each other all the time. I think the trick would be to pit one god against another. Ares, for instance, would love a tapestry making fun of my mother. He's always resented Athena.”

Arachne's head tilted at an unnatural angle. "You would work against your own mother?"

"I'm just telling you what Ares would like," Annabeth said. "And Zeus would love something that made fun of Poseidon. Oh, I'm sure if the Olympians saw your work, they'd realize how amazing you are, and I'd have to broker a bidding war. As for working against my mother, why shouldn't I? She sent me here to die, didn't she? The last time I saw her in New York, she basically disowned me."

Annabeth told her the story. She shared her bitterness and sorrow, and it must have sounded genuine. The spider did not pounce.

"This is Athena's nature," Arachne hissed. "She casts aside even her own daughter. The goddess would never allow my tapestries to be shown in the palaces of the gods. She was always jealous of me."

"But imagine if you could get your revenge at long last."

"By killing you!"

"I suppose." Annabeth scratched her head. "Or…by letting me be your agent. I could get your work into Mount Olympus. I could arrange an exhibition for the other gods. By the time my mother found out, it would be too late. The Olympians would finally see that your work is better."

"Then you admit it!" Arachne cried. "A daughter of Athena admits I am better! Oh, this is sweet to my ears."

"But a lot of good it does you," Annabeth pointed out. "If I die down here, you go on living in the dark. Gaea destroys the gods, and they never realize you were the better weaver."

The spider hissed.

Annabeth was afraid her mother might suddenly appear and curse her with some terrible affliction. The first lesson every child of Athena learned: Mom was the best at everything, and you should never, ever suggest otherwise.

But nothing bad happened. Maybe Athena understood that Annabeth was only saying these things to save her life. Or maybe Athena was in such in bad shape, split between her Greek and Roman personalities, that she wasn't even paying attention.

"This will not do," Arachne grumbled. "I cannot allow it.”

"Well…" Annabeth shifted, trying to keep her weight off her throbbing ankle. A new crack appeared in the floor, and she hobbled back.

"Careful!" Arachne snapped. "The foundations of this shrine have been eaten away over the centuries!"

Annabeth's heartbeat faltered. "Eaten away?"

"You have no idea how much hatred boils beneath us," the spider said. "The spiteful thoughts of so many monsters trying to reach the Athena Parthenos and destroy it. My webbing is the only thing holding the room together, girl! One false step, and you'll fall all the way to Tartarus—and believe me, unlike the Doors of Death, this would be a one-way trip, a very hard fall! I will not have you dying before you tell me your plan for my artwork."

Annabeth's mouth tasted like rust. ‘All the way to Tartarus'? She tried to stay focused, but it wasn't easy as she listened to the floor creak and crack, spilling rubble into the void below.

"Right, the plan," Annabeth said. "Um…as I said, I'd love to take your tapestries to Olympus and hang them everywhere. You could rub your craftsmanship in Athena's nose for all eternity. But the only way I could do that…No. It's too difficult. You might as well go ahead and kill me."

"No!" Arachne cried. "That is unacceptable. It no longer brings me any pleasure to contemplate. I must have my work on Mount Olympus! What must I do?"

Annabeth shook her head. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. Just push me into Tartarus or something."

"I refuse!"

"Don't be ridiculous. Kill me."

"I do not take orders from you! Tell me what I must do! Or…or—"

"Or you'll kill me?"

"Yes! No!" The spider pressed her front legs against her head. "I must show my work on Mount Olympus."

Annabeth tried to contain her excitement. Her plan might actually work…but she still had to convince Arachne to do something impossible.

She remembered some good advice Frank Zhang had given her: Keep it simple.

"I suppose I could pull a few strings," she conceded.

"I excel at pulling strings!" said Arachne. "I'm a spider!"

"Yes, but to get your work shown on Mount Olympus, we'd need a proper audition. I'd have to pitch the idea, submit a proposal, put together a portfolio. Hmm…do you have any headshots?"

"Headshots?"

"Glossy black-and-white…Oh, never mind. The audition piece is the most important thing. These tapestries are excellent. But the gods would require something really special—something that shows off your talent in the extreme."

Arachne snarled. "Are you suggesting that these are not my best work? Are you challenging me to a contest?"

"Oh, no!" Annabeth laughed. "Against me? Gosh, no. You are much too good. It would only be a contest against yourself, to see if you really have what it takes to show your work on Mount Olympus."

"Of course I do!"

"Well, I certainly think so. But the audition, you know…it's a formality. I'm afraid it would be very difficult. Are you sure you don't just want to kill me?"

"Stop saying that!" Arachne screeched. "What must I make?"

"I'll show you." Annabeth unslung her backpack. She took out Daedalus's laptop and opened it. The delta logo glowed in the dark.

"What is that?" Arachne asked. "Some sort of loom?"

"In a way," Annabeth said. "It's for weaving ideas. It holds a diagram of the artwork you would build.”

Her fingers trembled on the keyboard. Arachne lowered herself to peer directly over Annabeth's shoulder. Annabeth couldn't help thinking how easily those needlelike teeth could sink into her neck.

She opened her 3-D imaging program. Her last design was still up—the key to Annabeth's plan, inspired by the most unlikely muse ever: Frank Zhang.

Annabeth did some quick calculations. She increased the dimensions of the model, then showed Arachne how it could be created—strands of material woven into strips, then braided into a long cylinder.

The golden light from the screen illuminated the spider's face. "You want me to make that? But this is nothing! So small and simple!"

"The actual size would be much bigger," Annabeth cautioned. "You see these measurements? Naturally it must be large enough to impress the gods. It may look simple, but the structure has incredible properties. Your spider silk would be the perfect material—soft and flexible, yet hard as steel."

"I see…" Arachne frowned. "But this isn't even a tapestry."

"That's why it's a challenge. It's outside your comfort zone. A piece like this—an abstract sculpture—is what the gods are looking for. It would stand in the entry hall of the Olympian throne room for every visitor to see. You would be famous forever!"

Arachne made a discontented hum in her throat. Annabeth could tell she wasn't going for the idea. Her hands started to feel cold and sweaty.

"This would take a great deal of web," the spider complained. "More than I could make in a year."

Annabeth had been hoping for that. She'd calculated the mass and size accordingly. "You'd need to unravel the statue," she said. "Reuse the silk."

Arachne seemed about to object, but Annabeth waved at the Athena Parthenos like it was nothing. "What's more important—covering that old statue or proving your artwork is the best? Of course, you'd have to be incredibly careful. You'd need to leave enough webbing to hold the room together. And if you think it's too difficult—"

"I didn't say that!"

"Okay. It's just…Athena said that creating this braided structure would be impossible for any weaver, even her. So if you don't think you can—"

"Athena said that?"

"Well, yeah."

"Ridiculous! I can do it!"

"Great! But you'd need to start right away, before the Olympians choose another artist for their installations."

Arachne growled. "If you are tricking me, girl—"

"You'll have me right here as a hostage," Annabeth reminded her. "It's not like I can go anywhere. Once this sculpture is complete, you'll agree that it's the most amazing piece you've ever done. If not, I will gladly die."

Arachne hesitated. Her barbed legs were so close, she could've impaled Annabeth with a quick swipe.

“Fine," the spider said. "One last challenge—against myself!"

Arachne climbed her web and began to unravel the Athena Parthenos.

Chapter Text

Annabeth lost track of time

She could feel the ambrosia she'd eaten earlier starting to repair her leg, but it still hurt so badly that the pain throbbed right up to her neck. All along the walls, small spiders scuttled in the darkness, as if awaiting their mistress's orders. Thousands of them rustled behind the tapestries, making the woven scenes move like wind.
Annabeth sat on the crumbling floor and tried to preserve her strength. While Arachne wasn't watching, she attempted to get some sort of signal on Daedalus's laptop to contact her friends, but of course she had no luck. That left her nothing to do but watch in amazement and horror as Arachne worked, her eight legs moving with hypnotic speed, slowly unraveling the silk strands around the statue.

With its golden clothes and its luminous ivory face, the Athena Parthenos was even scarier than Arachne. It gazed down sternly as if to say, ‘Bring me tasty snacks or else’. Annabeth could imagine being an Ancient Greek, walking into the Parthenon and seeing this massive goddess with her shield, spear, and python, her free hand holding out Nike, the winged spirit of victory. It would've been enough to put a kink in the chiton of any mortal.

More than that, the statue radiated power. As Athena was unwrapped, the air around her grew warmer. Her ivory skin glowed with life. All across the room, the smaller spiders became agitated and began retreating back into the hallway.

Annabeth guessed that Arachne's webs had somehow masked and dampened the statue's magic. Now that it was free, the Athena Parthenos filled the chamber with magical energy. Centuries of mortal prayers and burnt offerings had been made it its presence. It was infused with the power of Athena.

Arachne didn't seem to notice. She kept muttering to herself, counting out yards of silk and calculating the number of strands her project would require. Whenever she hesitated, Annabeth called out encouragement and reminded her how wonderful her tapestries would look on Mount Olympus.

The statue grew so warm and bright that Annabeth could see more details of the shrine—the Roman masonry that had probably once been gleaming white, the dark bones of Arachne's past victims and meals hanging in the web, and the massive cables of silk that connected the floor to the ceiling. Annabeth now saw just how fragile the marble tiles were under her feet. They were covered in a fine layer of webbing, like mesh holding together a shattered mirror. Whenever the Athena Parthenos shifted even slightly, more cracks spread and widened along the floor. In some places, there were holes as big as manhole covers. Annabeth almost wished it were dark again. Even if her plan succeeded and she defeated Arachne, she wasn't sure how she could make it out of this chamber alive.

"So much silk," Arachne muttered. "I could make twenty tapestries—"

"Keep going!" Annabeth called up. "You're doing a wonderful job."

The spider kept working. After what seemed like forever, a mountain of glistening silk was piled at the feet of the statue. The walls of the chamber were still covered in webs. The support cables holding the room together hadn't been disturbed. But the Athena Parthenos was free.

‘Please wake up, Annabeth begged the statue. Mother, help me.

Nothing happened, but the cracks seemed to be spreading across the floor more rapidly. According to Arachne, the malicious thoughts of monsters had eaten away at the shrine's foundations for centuries. If that was true, now that it was free the Athena Parthenos might be attracting even more attention from the monsters in Tartarus.

"The design," Annabeth said. "You should hurry."

She lifted the computer screen for Arachne to see, but the spider snapped, "I've memorized it, child. I have an artist's eye for detail."

"Of course you do. But we should hurry."

"Why?"

"Well…so we can introduce your work to the world!"

"Hmm. Very well."

Arachne began to weave. It was slow work, turning silk strands into long strips of cloth. The chamber rumbled. The cracks at Annabeth's feet became wider.

If Arachne noticed, she didn't seem to care. Annabeth considered trying to push the spider into the pit somehow, but she dismissed the idea. There wasn't a big enough hole, and besides, if the floor gave way, Arachne could probably hang from her silk and escape, while Annabeth and the ancient statue would tumble into Tartarus.

Slowly, Arachne finished the long strips of silk and braided them together. Her skill was flawless. Annabeth couldn't help being impressed. She felt another flicker of doubt about her own mother. What if Arachne was a better weaver than Athena?

But Arachne's skill wasn't the point. She had been punished for being prideful and rude. No matter how amazing you were, you couldn't go around insulting the gods. The Olympians were a reminder that there was always someone better than you, so you shouldn't get a big head. Still… being turned into a monstrous immortal spider seemed like a pretty harsh punishment for bragging.

Arachne worked more quickly, bringing the strands together. Soon, the structure was done. At the feet of the statue lay a braided cylinder of silk strips, five feet in diameter and ten feet long. The surface glistened like abalone shell, but it didn't seem beautiful to Annabeth. It was just functional: a trap. It would only be beautiful if it worked.

Arachne turned to her with a hungry smile. "Done! Now, my reward! Prove to me that you can deliver on your promises."

Annabeth studied the trap. She frowned and walked around it, inspecting the weaving from every angle. Then, careful of her bad ankle, she got down on hands and knees and crawled inside. She'd done the measurements in her head. If she'd gotten them wrong, her plan was doomed. But she slipped through the silken tunnel without touching the sides. The webbing was sticky, but not impossibly so. She crawled out the other end and shook her head.

"There's a flaw," she said.

"What?!" Arachne cried. "Impossible! I followed your instructions—"

"Inside," Annabeth said. "Crawl in and see for yourself. It's right in the middle—a flaw in the weaving."

Arachne foamed at the mouth. Annabeth was afraid she'd pushed too hard, and the spider would snap her up. She'd be just another set of bones in the cobwebs.

Instead, Arachne stamped her eight legs petulantly. "I do not make mistakes."

"Oh, it's small," Annabeth said. "You can probably fix it. But I don't want to show the gods anything but your best work. Look, go inside and check. If you can fix it, then we'll show it to the Olympians. You'll be the most famous artist of all time. They'll probably fire the Nine Muses and hire you to oversee all the arts. The goddess Arachne… yes, I wouldn't be surprised."

"The goddess…" Arachne's breathing turned shallow. "Yes, yes. I will fix this flaw."

She poked her head into the tunnel. "Where is it?"

"Right in the middle," Annabeth urged. "Go ahead. It might be a bit snug for you."

"I'm fine!" she snapped, and wriggled in.

As Annabeth had hoped, the spider's abdomen fit, but only barely. As she pushed her way in, the braided strips of silk expanded to accommodate her. Arachne got all the way up to her spinnerets.

"I see no flaw!" she announced.

"Really?" Annabeth asked. "Well, that's odd. Come out and I'll take another look."

Moment of truth. Arachne wriggled, trying to back up. The woven tunnel contracted around her and held her fast. She tried to wriggle forward, but the trap was already stuck to her abdomen. She couldn't get through that way either. Annabeth had been afraid the spider's barbed legs might puncture the silk, but Arachne's legs were pressed so tightly against her body she could barely move them.

"What—what is this?" she called. "I am stuck!”

"Ah," Annabeth said. "I forgot to tell you. This piece of art is called Chinese Handcuffs. At least, it's a larger variation on that idea. I call it Chinese Spidercuffs."

"Treachery!" Arachne thrashed and rolled and squirmed, but the trap held her tight.

"It was a matter of survival," Annabeth corrected.
"You were going to kill me either way, whether I helped you or not, yes?"

"Well, of course! You're a child of Athena." The trap went still. "I mean… no, of course not! I respect my promises."

"Uh-huh." Annabeth stepped back as the braided cylinder began to thrash again. "Normally these traps are made from woven bamboo, but spider silk is even better. It will hold you fast, and it's much too strong to break—even for you."

"Gahhhh!" Arachne rolled and wriggled, but Annabeth moved out of the way. Even with her broken ankle, she could manage to avoid a giant silk finger trap.

"I will destroy you!" Arachne promised. "I mean… no, I'll be very nice to you if you let me out."

"I'd save my energy if I were you." Annabeth took a deep breath, relaxing for the first time in hours. "I'm going to call my friends."

"You—you're going to call them about my artwork?" Arachne asked hopefully.

Annabeth scanned the room. There had to be a way to send an Iris-message to the Argo II. She had some water left in her bottle, but how to create enough light and mist to make a rainbow in a dark cavern?

Arachne began to roll around again. "You're calling your friends to kill me!" she shrieked. "I will not die! Not like this!"

"Calm down," Annabeth said. "We'll let you live. We just want the statue."

"The statue?"

"Yes." Annabeth should've left it at that, but her fear was turning to anger and resentment. "The artwork that I'll display most prominently on Mount Olympus? It won't be yours. The Athena Parthenos belongs there—right in the central park of the gods."

"No! No, that's horrible!”

"Oh, it won't happen right away," Annabeth said. "First we'll take the statue with us to Greece. A prophecy told us it has the power to help defeat the giants. After that… well, we can't simply restore it to the Parthenon. That would raise too many questions. It'll be safer in Mount Olympus. It will unite the children of Athena and bring peace to the Romans and Greeks. Thanks for keeping it safe all these centuries. You've done Athena a great service."

Arachne screamed and flailed. A strand of silk shot from the monster's spinnerets and attached itself to a tapestry on the far wall. Arachne contracted her abdomen and blindly ripped away the weaving. She continued to roll, shooting silk randomly, pulling over braziers of magic fire and ripping tiles out of the floor. The chamber shook. Tapestries began to burn.

"Stop that!" Annabeth tried to hobble out of the way of the spider's silk. "You'll bring down the whole cavern and kill us both!"

"Better than seeing you win!" Arachne cried. "My children! Help me!"

Oh, great. Annabeth had hoped the statue's magic aura would keep away the little spiders, but Arachne continued shrieking, imploring them to help. Annabeth considered killing the spider woman to shut her up. It would be easy to use her knife now. But she hesitated to kill any monster when it was so helpless, even Arachne. Besides, if she stabbed through the braided silk, the trap might unravel. It was possible Arachne could break free before Annabeth could finish her off.

All these thoughts came too late. Spiders began swarming into the chamber. The statue of Athena glowed brighter. The spiders clearly didn't want to approach, but they edged forward as if gathering their courage. Their mother was screaming for help. Eventually they would pour in, overwhelming Annabeth.

"Arachne, stop it!" she yelled. "I'll—"

Somehow Arachne twisted in her prison, pointing her abdomen toward the sound of Annabeth's voice. A strand of silk hit her in the chest like a heavyweight's glove.

Annabeth fell, her leg flaring with pain. She slashed wildly at the webbing with her dagger as Arachne pulled her toward her snapping spinnerets.

Annabeth managed to cut the strand and crawl away, but the little spiders were closing around her.

She realized her best efforts had not been enough. She wouldn't make it out of here. Arachne's children would kill her at the feet of her mother's statue.

‘Percy,’ she thought, ‘I'm sorry’.

At that moment, the chamber groaned, and the cavern ceiling exploded in a blast of fiery light.

Chapter Text

Annabeth had seen some strange things before, but she’d never seen it rain cars.

As the roof of the cavern collapsed, sunlight blinded her. She got the briefest glimpse of the Argo II hovering above. It must have used its ballistae to blast a hole straight through the ground.

Chunks of asphalt as big as garage doors tumbled down, along with six or seven Italian cars. One would've crushed the Athena Parthenos, but the statue's glowing aura acted like a force field, and the car bounced off. Unfortunately, it fell straight toward Annabeth.

She jumped to one side, twisting her bad foot. A wave of agony almost made her pass out, but she flipped on her back in time to see a bright red Fiat 500 slam into Arachne's silk trap, punching through the cavern floor and disappearing with the Chinese Spidercuffs.

As Arachne fell, she screamed like a freight train on a collision course; but her wailing rapidly faded. All around Annabeth, more chunks of debris slammed through the floor, riddling it with holes.

The Athena Parthenos remained undamaged, though the marble under its pedestal was a starburst of fractures. Annabeth was covered in cobwebs. She trailed strands of leftover spider silk from her arms and legs like the strings of a marionette, but somehow, amazingly, none of the debris had hit her. She wanted to believe that the statue had protected her, though she suspected it might've been nothing but luck.

The army of spiders had disappeared. Either they had fled back into the darkness, or they'd fallen into the chasm. As daylight flooded the cavern, Arachne's tapestries along the walls crumbled to dust, which Annabeth could hardly bear to watch—especially the tapestry depicting her and Percy.

But none of that mattered when she heard Percy's voice from above: "Annabeth!"

"Here!" she sobbed.

All the terror seemed to leave her in one massive yelp. As the Argo II descended, she saw Percy leaning over the rail. His smile was better than any tapestry she'd ever seen.

The room kept shaking, but Annabeth managed to stand. The floor at her feet seemed stable for the moment. Her backpack was missing, along with Daedalus's laptop. Her bronze knife, which she'd had since she was seven, was also gone—probably fallen into the pit. But Annabeth didn't care. She was alive.

She edged closer to the gaping hole made by the Fiat 500. Jagged rock walls plunged into the darkness as far as Annabeth could see. A few small ledges jutted out here and there, but Annabeth saw nothing on them—just strands of spider silk dripping over the sides like Christmas tinsel.

Annabeth wondered if Arachne had told the truth about the chasm. Had the spider fallen all the way to Tartarus? She tried to feel satisfied with that idea, but it made her sad. Arachne had made some beautiful things. She'd already suffered for eons. Now her last tapestries had crumbled. After all that, falling into Tartarus seemed like too harsh an end.

Annabeth was dimly aware of the Argo II hovering to a stop about forty feet from the floor. It lowered a rope ladder, but Annabeth stood in a daze, staring into the darkness. Then suddenly Percy was next to her, lacing his fingers in hers.

He turned her gently away from the pit and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest and broke down in tears.

"It's okay," he said. "We're together."

He didn't say ‘you're okay’, or ‘we're alive’. After all they'd been through over the last year, he knew the most important thing was that they were together. She loved him for saying that.

Their friends gathered around them. Nico di Angelo was there, but Annabeth's thoughts were so fuzzy, this didn't seem surprising to her. It seemed only right that he would be with them.

"Your leg." Piper knelt next to her and examined the Bubble Wrap cast. "Oh, Annabeth, what happened?"

She started to explain. Talking was difficult, but as she went along, her words came more easily. Percy didn't let go of her hand, which also made her feel more confident. When she finished, her friends' faces were slack with amazement.

She started to explain. Talking was difficult, but as she went along, her words came more easily. Percy didn't let go of her hand, which also made her feel more confident. When she finished, her friends' faces were slack with amazement.

"Gods of Olympus," Jason said. "You did all that alone. With a broken ankle."

"Well… some of it with a broken ankle."

Percy grinned. "You made Arachne weave her own trap? I knew you were good, but Holy Hera—Annabeth, you did it. Generations of Athena kids tried and failed. You found the Athena Parthenos!"

Everyone gazed at the statue.

"What do we do with her?" Frank asked. "She's huge."

"We'll have to take her with us to Greece," Annabeth said. "The statue is powerful. Something about it will help us stop the giants."

"’The giants' bane stands gold and pale’, " Hazel quoted. "’Won with pain from a woven jail’. " She looked at Annabeth with admiration. "It was Arachne's jail. You tricked her into weaving it."

‘With a lot of pain’, Annabeth thought.

Leo raised his hands. He made a finger picture frame around the Athena Parthenos like he was taking measurements. "Well, it might take some rearranging, but I think we can fit her through the bay doors in the stable. If she sticks out the end, I might have to wrap a flag around her feet or something."

Annabeth shuddered. She imagined the Athena Parthenos jutting from their trireme with a sign across her pedestal that read: WIDE LOAD.

Then she thought about the other lines of the prophecy: The twins snuff out the angel's breath, who holds the keys to endless death.

"What about you guys?" she asked. "What happened with the giants?"

Jason cleared his throat. “Well, apparently, Percy got some lessons from Pontus—”

“What?” Annabeth exclaimed. She turned to Percy. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Percy made a surrender gesture. “I didn't want to make you any more distracted during your quest. But, yeah, I learned some stuff from him.”

“Like what?” Annabeth demanded, her eyes wide.

“Uh, let’s see. One, how to manipulate water vapor in the air so that I can float, move rocks all around, and lift up dead trees. Two, how to vapor travel, which is very similar to Nico’s shading travel. Three, how to boil or freeze water no matter what the temperature is. Four, how to break down, crack, and wear down rocks using erosion. And five… uhhh…”

“What?” Annabeth's voice was a mix of shock and excitement. “What else?”

“I can kinda sorta maybe… blood bend and ichor bend. I can control people’s and even a god’s body by controlling the blood or ichor in their bloodstream,” Percy said, his eyes flickering to Scar’s-eyes green, then blood red, and lastly to gold, before returning to sea green. “Basically, I can control any liquid that contains water.”

Annabeth was shocked, and scared. A power like that could have disastrous consequences. But she had to keep it together. “So, what did you guys do?”

Percy told her about rescuing Nico, the appearance of Bacchus, and the fight with the twins in the Colosseum. Nico didn't say much. The poor guy looked like he'd been wandering through a wasteland for six weeks. Percy explained what Nico had found out about the Doors of Death, and how they had to be closed on both sides. Even with sunlight streaming in from above, Percy's news made the cavern seem dark again.

"So the mortal side is in Epirus," she said. "At least that's somewhere we can reach."

Nico grimaced. "But the other side is the problem. Tartarus. I nearly went insane, and I traveled only 1/20 of the way through Tartarus. Even if two people, even if they were Percy and Annabeth, went there, they'd go insane before reaching the Doors of Death,” he said gravely.

The word seemed to echo through the chamber. The pit behind them exhaled a cold blast of air. That's when Annabeth knew with certainly. The chasm did go straight to the Underworld.

Percy must have felt it too. He guided her a little farther from the edge. Her arms and legs trailed spider silk like a bridal train. She wished she had her dagger to cut that junk off. She almost asked Percy to do the honors with Riptide, but before she could, he said, "Bacchus mentioned something about my voyage being harder than I expected. Not sure why—"

The chamber groaned. The Athena Parthenos tilted to one side. Its head caught on one of Arachne's support cables, but the marble foundation under the pedestal was crumbling.

Nausea swelled in Annabeth's chest. If the statue fell into the chasm, all her work would be for nothing. Their quest would fail.

"Secure it!" Annabeth cried.

Her friends understood immediately.

"Zhang!" Leo cried. "Get me to the helm, quick! The coach is up there alone."

Frank transformed into a giant eagle, and the two of them soared toward the ship.

Jason wrapped his arm around Piper. He turned to Percy. "Back for you guys in a sec." He summoned the wind and shot into the air.

"This floor won't last!" Hazel warned. "The rest of us should get to the ladder."

Plumes of dust and cobwebs blasted from holes in the floor. The spider's silk support cables trembled like massive guitar strings and began to snap. Hazel lunged for the bottom of the rope ladder and gestured for Nico to follow, but Nico was in no condition to sprint.

Percy gripped Annabeth's hand tighter. "It'll be fine," he muttered.

Looking up, she saw grappling lines shoot from the Argo II and wrap around the statue. One lassoed Athena's neck like a noose. Leo shouted orders from the helm as Jason and Frank flew frantically from line to line, trying to secure them.

Nico had just reached the ladder when a sharp pain shot up Annabeth's bad leg. She gasped and stumbled.

"What is it?" Percy asked.

She tried to stagger toward the ladder. Why was she moving backward instead? Her legs swept out from under her and she fell on her face.

"Her ankle!" Hazel shouted from the ladder. "Cut it! Cut it!"

Annabeth's mind was woolly from the pain. Cut her ankle?

Apparently Percy didn't realize what Hazel meant either. Then something yanked Annabeth backward and dragged her toward the pit. Percy lunged. He grabbed her arm, but the momentum carried him along as well.

"Help them!" Hazel yelled.

Annabeth glimpsed Nico hobbling in their direction, Hazel trying to disentangle her cavalry sword from the rope ladder. Their other friends were still focused on the statue, and Hazel's cry was lost in the general shouting and the rumbling of the cavern.

Annabeth sobbed as she hit the edge of the pit. Her legs went over the side. Too late, she realized what was happening: she was tangled in the spider silk. She should have cut it away immediately. She had thought it was just loose line, but with the entire floor covered in cobwebs, she hadn't noticed that one of the strands was wrapped around her foot—and the other end went straight into the pit. It was attached to something heavy down in the darkness, something that was pulling her in.

"No," Percy muttered, light dawning in his eyes. "My sword…"

But he couldn't reach Riptide without letting go of Annabeth's arm, and Annabeth's strength was gone. She slipped over the edge. Percy fell with her.

Her body slammed into something. She must have blacked out briefly from the pain. When she could see again, she realized that she'd fallen partway into the pit and was dangling over the void. Percy had managed to grab a ledge about fifteen feet below the top of the chasm. He was holding on with one hand, gripping Annabeth's wrist with the other, but the pull on her leg was much too strong.

‘No escape’, said a voice in the darkness below. ‘I go to Tartarus, and you will come too’.

Annabeth wasn't sure if she actually heard Arachne's voice or if it was just in her mind.

The pit shook. Percy was the only thing keeping her from falling. He was barely holding on to a ledge the size of a bookshelf.

Nico leaned over the edge of the chasm, thrusting out his hand, but he was much too far away to help. Hazel was yelling for the others, but even if they heard her over all the chaos, they'd never make it in time.

Annabeth's leg felt like it was pulling free of her body. Pain washed everything in red. The force of the Underworld tugged at her like dark gravity. She didn't have the strength to fight. She knew she was too far down to be saved.

"Percy, let me go," she croaked. "You can't pull me up."

His face was white with effort. She could see in his eyes that he knew it was hopeless.

He looked down at her, his eyes fiery with determination and exhaustion. “Never,” he said firmly. He looked up at Nico, fifteen feet above. "The other side, Nico! We'll see you there. Understand?"

Nico's eyes widened. "But—"

"Lead them there!" Percy shouted. "Promise me!"

"I—I will."

Below them, the voice laughed in the darkness. ‘Sacrifices. Beautiful sacrifices to wake the goddess’.

Percy tightened his grip on Annabeth's wrist. His face was gaunt, scraped and bloody, his hair dusted with cobwebs, but when he locked eyes with her, she thought he had never looked more handsome.

“We’re staying together,” he promised. “I’m not… letting you… get away again.”

Only then did she understand what would happen. ‘A one-way trip. A very hard fall’.

"As long as we're together," she said.

She now knew that Percy could manipulate the water vapor to float, but she knew that he was too exhausted to do so for himself, let alone two people.

She heard Nico and Hazel still screaming for help. She saw the sunlight far, far above—maybe the last sunlight she would ever see.

Then Percy let go of his tiny ledge, and together, holding hands, he and Annabeth fell into the endless darkness.

Chapter Text

Leo was still in shock.

Everything had happened so quickly. They had secured grappling lines to the Athena Parthenos just as the floor gave way, and the final columns of webbing snapped. Jason and Frank dove down to save the others, but they'd only found Nico and Hazel hanging from the rope ladder. Percy and Annabeth were gone. The pit to Tartarus had been buried under several tons of debris. Leo pulled the Argo II out of the cavern seconds before the entire place imploded, taking the rest of the parking lot with it.

The Argo II was now parked on a hill overlooking the city. Jason, Hazel, and Frank had returned to the scene of the catastrophe, hoping to dig through the rubble and find a way to save Percy and Annabeth, but they'd come back demoralized. The cavern was simply gone. The scene was swarming with police and rescue workers. No mortals had been hurt, but the Italians would be scratching their heads for months, wondering how a massive sinkhole had opened right in the middle of a parking lot and swallowed a dozen perfectly good cars.

Dazed with grief, Leo and the others carefully loaded the Athena Parthenos into the hold, using the ship's hydraulic winches with an assist from Frank Zhang, part-time elephant. The statue just fit, though what they were going to do with it, Leo had no idea.

Coach Hedge was too miserable to help. He kept pacing the deck with tears in his eyes, pulling at his goatee and slapping the side of his head, muttering, "I should have saved them! I should have blown up more stuff!"

Finally Leo told him to go belowdecks and secure everything for departure. He wasn't doing any good beating himself up.

The six demigods gathered on the quarterdeck and gazed at the distant column of dust still rising from the site of the implosion.

Leo rested his hand on the Archimedes sphere, which now sat on the helm, ready to be installed. He should have been excited. It was the biggest discovery of his life—even bigger than Bunker 9. If he could decipher Archimedes's scrolls, he could do amazing things. He hardly dared to hope, but he might even be able to build a new control disk for a certain dragon friend of his.

Still, the price had been too high.

He could almost hear Nemesis laughing. ‘I told you we could do business, Leo Valdez’.

He had opened the fortune cookie. He'd gotten the access code for the sphere and saved Frank and Hazel. But the sacrifice had been Percy and Annabeth. Leo was sure of it.

"It's my fault," he said miserably.

The others stared at him. Only Hazel seemed to understand. She'd been with him at the Great Salt Lake.

"No," she insisted. "No, this is Gaea's fault. It had nothing to do with you."

Leo wanted to believe that, but he couldn't. They'd started this voyage with Leo messing up, firing on New Rome. They'd ended in old Rome with Leo breaking a cookie and paying a price much worse than an eye.

"Leo, listen to me." Hazel gripped his hand. "I won't allow you to take the blame. I couldn't bear that after—after Sammy…"

She choked up, but Leo knew what she meant. His bisabuelo had blamed himself for Hazel's disappearance. Sammy had lived a good life, but he'd gone to his grave believing that he'd spent a cursed diamond and doomed the girl he loved.

Leo didn't want to make Hazel miserable all over again, but this was different. True success requires sacrifice. Leo had chosen to break that cookie. Percy and Annabeth had fallen into Tartarus. That couldn't be a coincidence.

Nico di Angelo shuffled over, leaning on his black sword. "Leo, they're not dead. If they were, I could feel it."

"How can you be sure?" Leo asked. "If that pit really led to…you know…how could you sense them so far away?"

Nico and Hazel shared a look, maybe comparing notes on their Hades/Pluto death radar. Leo shivered. Hazel had never seemed like a child of the Underworld to him, but Nico di Angelo—that guy was creepy.

"We can't be one hundred percent sure," Hazel admitted. "But I think Nico is right. Percy and Annabeth are still alive… at least, so far."

Jason pounded his fist against the rail. "I should've been paying attention. I could have flown down and saved them."

"Me, too," Frank moaned. The big dude looked on the verge of tears.

Piper put her hand on Jason's back. "It's not your fault, either of you. You were trying to save the statue."

"She's right," Nico said. "Even if the pit hadn't been buried, you couldn't have flown into it without being pulled down. I'm the only one who has actually been into Tartarus. It's impossible to describe how powerful that place is. Once you get close, it sucks you in. I never stood a chance."

Frank sniffled. "Then Percy and Annabeth don't stand a chance either?"

Nico twisted his silver skull ring. "Percy is the most powerful demigod I've ever met. No offense to you guys, but it's true. If anybody can survive, he will, especially if he's got Annabeth at his side. They're going to find a way through Tartarus."

Jason turned. "To the Doors of Death, you mean. But you told us it's guarded by Gaea's most powerful forces. How could two demigods possibly—?"

"I don't know," Nico admitted. "But Percy told me to lead you guys to Epirus, to the mortal side of the doorway. He's planning on meeting us there. If we can survive the House of Hades, fight our way through Gaea's forces, then maybe we can work together with Percy and Annabeth and seal the Doors of Death from both sides."

"And get Percy and Annabeth back safely?" Leo asked.

“Maybe.”

Leo didn't like the way Nico said that, as if he wasn't sharing all his doubts. Besides, Leo knew something about locks and doors. If the Doors of Death needed to be sealed from both sides, how could they do that unless someone stayed in the Underworld, trapped?

"What are the odds that they survive?" Frank asked, his voice hollow.

Nico sighed. "I'm not going to sugarcoat this. I travelled around 1/20 of the distance to the Doors of Death, and I barely kept my sanity. Even with each other, Percy and Annabeth probably stand less of a chance surviving the whole thing than I did surviving 1/20 of it. If I only barely stayed sane, I can't imagine what Percy and Annabeth will face."

"Well, Percy kinda... has two modes now,” Leo said, trying to lighten the mood.

Nico looked up at Leo. “What do you mean?”

Hazel put a hand on Nico’s shoulder. “You’ve missed a lot.”

“Yeah,” Piper agreed. “Percy said that ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves. He sung a song about becoming a monster.”

Nico raised an eyebrow. “A song? Really?”

Leo, Hazel, and Frank looked at each other, confused. They’d been elsewhere when Percy, Jason, and Piper were on their adventure, so they didn’t know about him singing a song. But they did know that he said that he’d become a monster.

Piper looked at Nico, deadly serious. “Yes, a song.”

“What were the lyrics?” Nico asked, his expression a mix of skepticism and amusement.

Piper took a deep breath, before reciting the lyrics. “How has everything been turned against us?
How did suffering become so endless?
How am I to reunite with my estranged?
Do I need to change?
I'm surrounded by the souls of those I've lost
I'm the only whose line I haven't crossed
What if the greatest threat we'll find across the sea
Is me?
What if I'm the monster?
What if I'm in the wrong?
What if I'm the problem that's been hiding all along?
What if I'm the one who killed you
Every time I caved to guilt?
What if I've been far too kind to foes
But a monster to ourselves?
What if I'm the monster?
Is the Cyclops struck with guilt when he kills?
Is he up in the middle of the night?
Or does he end men to avenge his friend
And then sleep knowing he has done him right?
When the witch turns men to pigs to protect her nymphs
Is she going insane?
Or did she learn to be colder when she got older and now she saves them the pain?
When a God comes down and makes a fleet drown
Is he scared that he's doing something wrong?
Or does he keep us in check so we must respect him
And now no one dares to piss him off?
Does a soldier use a wooden horse to kill sleeping trojans cause he is vile?
Or does he throw away his remorse and save more lives with guile?
If I became the monster, and threw that guilt away
Would that make us stronger?
Would it keep our foes at bay?
If I became the monster to everyone but us
And made sure we got home again
Who would care if we're unjust?
If I became the
Monster?
Oh, ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves
And deep down I know this well
I lost Charles, Silena, Ethan
Zoe, Bianca, Luke
This can’t go on!
I must get to see my mom, Sally
And my stepdad Paul
So if we must sail through dangerous oceans and skies
I'll go where Gaea won't reach us
And if I gotta drop an infant from a wall
In an instant so we all don't die…
Then I'll become the
Monster!
I will deal the blow!
And I'll become the
Monster
Like none they've ever known!
So what if I'm the
Monster
Lurking deep below?
I must become the
Monster
And then we'll make it home!
Monster
Sally
Monster
Paul
Monster
Oh, ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves
I'll become the monster.”

Nico paled even more, which Leo didn’t think was even possible. Leo decided to change the subject. “We have to get to Epirus as quickly as possible,” he said.

"It won't be easy," Hazel said. "Gaea will throw everything she's got at us to keep us from reaching Epirus."

"What else is new?" Jason sighed.

Piper nodded. "We've got no choice. We have to seal the Doors of Death before we can stop the giants from raising Gaea. Otherwise her armies will never die. And we've got to hurry. The Romans are in New York. Soon, they'll be marching on Camp Half-Blood."

"We've got one month at best," Jason added. "Ephialtes said Gaea would awaken in exactly one month."

Leo straightened. "We can do it."

Everyone stared at him.

"The Archimedes sphere can upgrade the ship," he said, hoping he was right. "I'm going to study those ancient scrolls we got. There's got to be all kinds of new weapons I can make. We're going to hit Gaea's armies with a whole new arsenal of hurt."

At the prow of the ship, Festus creaked his jaw and blew fire defiantly.

Jason managed a smile. He clapped Leo on the shoulder.

"Sounds like a plan, Admiral. You want to set the course?"

They kidded him, calling him Admiral, but for once Leo accepted the title. This was his ship. He hadn't come this far to be stopped.

They would find this House of Hades. They'd take the Doors of Death. And by the gods, if Leo had to design a grabber arm long enough to snatch Percy and Annabeth out of Tartarus, then that's what he would do.

Nemesis wanted him to wreak vengeance on Gaea? Leo would be happy to oblige. He was going to make Gaea sorry she had ever messed with Leo Valdez.

"Yeah." He took one last look at the cityscape of Rome, turning bloodred in the sunset. "Festus, raise the sails. We've got some friends to save."

Chapter Text

Chapter 1: Percy

• ‘Monster’ from EPIC: The Musical
• Alastor’s Quote About Smiles from Hazbin Hotel

Chapter 2: Jason

• ’Ruthlessness’ from EPIC: The Musical

Chapter 8: Piper

• ‘Get In the Water’ from EPIC: The Musical

Chapter 11: Percy

• The Quicksilver Method from Karate Kid Part III
• Joe and Barry’s Elevator Conversation In Season 2, Episode 6 of The Flash TV show

Chapter 12: Percy

• ’The Power Of The Roar’ from The Lion Guard

Chapter 24: Piper

• ’Different Beast’ from EPIC: The Musical

Chapter 31: Annabeth

• ”I’m not letting you get away again!” from Cars 2