NATURALLY, the situation was worse than Jason expected.
It wouldn’t have been any fun otherwise.
Peering through the olive bushes at the top of the rise, he saw what looked like an out-of-control zombie frat party.
The ruins themselves weren’t that impressive: a few stone walls, a weed-choked central courtyard, a dead-end stairwell chiselled into the rock. Some plywood sheets covered a pit and a metal scaffold supported a cracked archway.
But superimposed over the ruins was another layer of reality – a spectral mirage of the palace as it must have appeared in its heyday. Whitewashed stucco walls lined with balconies rose three storeys high. Columned porticoes faced the central atrium, which had a huge fountain and bronze braziers. At a dozen banquet tables, ghouls laughed and ate and pushed one another around.
Jason had expected about a hundred spirits, but twice that many were milling about, chasing spectral serving girls, smashing plates and cups, and basically making a nuisance of themselves.
Most looked like Lares from Camp Jupiter – transparent purple wraiths in tunics and sandals. A few revellers had decayed bodies with grey flesh, matted clumps of hair and nasty wounds. Others seemed to be regular living mortals – some in togas, some in modern business suits or army fatigues. Jason even spotted one guy in a purple Camp Jupiter T-shirt and Roman legionnaire armour.
In the centre of the atrium, a grey-skinned ghoul in a tattered Greek tunic paraded through the crowd, holding a marble bust over his head like a sports trophy. The other ghosts cheered and slapped him on the back. As the ghoul got closer, Jason noticed that he had an arrow in his throat, the feathered shaft sprouting from his Adam’s apple. Even more disturbing: the bust he was holding … was that Zeus?
It was hard to be sure. Most Greek god statues looked similar. But the bearded, glowering face reminded Jason very much of the giant Hippie Zeus in Cabin One at Camp Half-Blood.
‘Our next offering!’ the ghoul shouted, his voice buzzing from the arrow in his throat. ‘Let us feed the Earth Mother!’
The partiers yelled and pounded their cups. The ghoul made his way to the central fountain. The crowd parted, and Jason realized the fountain wasn’t filled with water. From the three-foot-tall pedestal, a geyser of sand spewed upward, arcing into an umbrella-shaped curtain of white particles before spilling into the circular basin.
The ghoul heaved the marble bust into the fountain. As soon as Zeus’s head passed through the shower of sand, the marble disintegrated like it was going through a wood chipper. The sand glittered gold, the colour of ichor – godly blood. Then the entire mountain rumbled with a muffled BOOM, as if belching after a meal.
The dead partygoers roared with approval.
‘Any more statues?’ the ghoul shouted to the crowd. ‘No? Then I guess we’ll have to wait for some real gods to sacrifice!’
His comrades laughed and applauded as the ghoul plopped himself down at the nearest feast table.
Jason clenched his walking stick. ‘That guy just disintegrated my dad. Who does he think he is?’
‘I’m guessing that’s Antinous,’ said Annabeth, ‘one of the suitors’ leaders. If I remember right, it was Odysseus who shot him through the neck with that arrow.’
Piper winced. ‘You’d think that would keep a guy down. What about all the others? Why are there so many?’
‘I don’t know,’ Annabeth said. ‘Newer recruits for Gaia, I guess. Some must’ve come back to life before we closed the Doors of Death. Some are just spirits.’
‘Some are ghouls,’ Jason said. ‘The ones with the gaping wounds and the grey skin, like Antinous … I’ve fought their kind before.’
Piper tugged at her blue harpy feather. ‘Can they be killed?’
Jason remembered a quest he’d taken for Camp Jupiter years ago in San Bernardino. ‘Not easily. They’re strong and fast and intelligent. Also, they eat human flesh.’
‘Fantastic,’ Annabeth muttered. ‘I don’t see any option except to stick to the plan. Split up, infiltrate, find out why they’re here. If things go bad –’
‘We use the backup plan,’ Piper said.
Jason hated the backup plan.
Before they left the ship, Leo had given each of them an emergency flare the size of a birthday candle. Supposedly, if they tossed one in the air, it would shoot upward in a streak of white phosphorus, alerting the Argo II that the team was in trouble. At that point, Jason and the girls would have a few seconds to take cover before the ship’s catapults fired on their position, engulfing the palace in Greek fire and bursts of Celestial bronze shrapnel.
Not the safest plan, but at least Jason had the satisfaction of knowing that he could call an air strike on this noisy mob of dead guys if the situation got dicey. Of course, that was assuming he and his friends could get away. And assuming Leo’s doomsday candles didn’t go off by accident – Leo’s inventions sometimes did that – in which case the weather would get much hotter, with a ninety percent chance of fiery apocalypse.
‘Be careful down there,’ he told Piper and Annabeth.
Piper crept around the left side of the ridge. Annabeth went right. Jason pulled himself up with his walking stick and hobbled towards the ruins.
He flashed back to the last time he’d plunged into a mob of evil spirits, in the House of Hades. If it hadn’t been for Frank Zhang and Nico di Angelo …
Gods … Nico.
Over the past few days, every time Jason sacrificed a portion of a meal to Jupiter, he prayed to his dad to help Nico. That kid had gone through so much, and yet he had volunteered for the most difficult job: transporting the Athena Parthenos statue to Camp Half-Blood. If he didn’t succeed, the Roman and Greek demigods would slaughter each other. Then, no matter what happened in Greece, the Argo II would have no home to return to.
Jason passed through the palace’s ghostly gateway. He realized just in time that a section of mosaic floor in front of him was an illusion covering a ten-foot-deep excavation pit. He sidestepped it and continued into the courtyard.
The two levels of reality reminded him of the Titan stronghold on Mount Othrys – a disorienting maze of black marble walls that randomly melted into shadow and solidified again. At least during that fight Jason had had a hundred legionnaires at his side. Now all he had was an old man’s body, a stick and two friends in slinky dresses.
Forty feet ahead of him, Piper moved through the crowd, smiling and filling wineglasses for the ghostly revellers. If she was afraid, she didn’t show it. So far the ghosts weren’t paying her any special attention. Hazel’s magic must have been working.
Over on the right, Annabeth collected empty plates and goblets. She wasn’t smiling.
Jason remembered the talk he’d had with Percy before leaving the ship.
Percy had stayed aboard to watch for threats from the sea, but he hadn’t liked the idea of Annabeth going on this expedition without him – especially since it would be the first time they were apart since returning from Tartarus.
He’d pulled Jason aside. ‘Hey, man … Annabeth would kill me if I suggested she needed anybody to protect her.’
Jason laughed. ‘Yeah, she would.’
‘But look out for her, okay?’
Jason squeezed his friend’s shoulder. ‘I’ll make sure she gets back to you safely.’
Now Jason wondered if he could keep that promise.
He reached the edge of the crowd.
Antinous, the ghoul with the arrow in his throat, was staring right at him. ‘Is that you, you old beggar?’
Hazel’s magic did its work. Cold air rippled across Jason’s face as the Mist subtly altered his appearance, showing the suitors what they expected to see.
‘That’s me!’ Jason said. ‘Iros!’
A dozen more ghosts turned towards him. Some scowled and gripped the hilts of their glowing purple swords. Too late, Jason wondered if Iros was an enemy of theirs, but he’d already committed to the part.
He hobbled forward, putting on his best cranky old man expression. ‘Guess I’m late to the party. I hope you saved me some food?’
One of the ghosts sneered in disgust. ‘Ungrateful old panhandler. Should I kill him, Antinous?’
Jason’s neck muscles tightened.
Antinous regarded him for three counts, then chuckled. ‘I’m in a good mood today. Come, Iros, join me at my table.’
Jason didn’t have much choice. He sat across from Antinous while more ghosts crowded around, leering as if they expected to see a particularly vicious arm-wrestling contest.
Up close, Antinous’s eyes were solid yellow. His lips stretched paper-thin over wolfish teeth. At first, Jason thought the ghoul’s curly dark hair was disintegrating. Then he realized a steady stream of dirt was trickling from Antinous’s scalp, spilling over his shoulders. Clods of mud filled the old sword gashes in the ghoul’s grey skin. More dirt spilled from the base of the arrow wound in his throat.
The power of Gaia, Jason thought. The earth is holding this guy together.
Antinous slid a golden goblet and a platter of food across the table. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here, Iros. But I suppose even a beggar can sue for retribution. Drink. Eat.’
Thick red liquid sloshed in the goblet. On the plate sat a steaming brown lump of mystery meat.
Jason’s stomach rebelled. Even if ghoul food didn’t kill him, his vegetarian girlfriend probably wouldn’t kiss him for a month.
He recalled what Notus the South Wind had told him: A wind that blows aimlessly is no good to anyone.
Jason’s entire career at Camp Jupiter had been built on careful choices. He mediated between demigods, listened to all sides of an argument, found compromises. Even when he chafed against Roman traditions, he thought before he acted. He wasn’t impulsive.
Notus had warned him that such hesitation would kill him. Jason had to stop deliberating and take what he wanted.
If he was an ungrateful beggar, he had to act like one.
He ripped off a chunk of meat with his fingers and stuffed it in his mouth. He guzzled some red liquid, which thankfully tasted like watered-down wine, not blood or poison. Jason fought the urge to gag, but he didn’t keel over or explode.
‘Yum!’ He wiped his mouth. ‘Now tell me about this … what did you call it? Retribution? Where do I sign up?’
The ghosts laughed. One pushed his shoulder and Jason was alarmed that he could actually feel it.
At Camp Jupiter, Lares had no physical substance. Apparently these spirits did – which meant more enemies who could beat, stab or decapitate him.
Antinous leaned forward. ‘Tell me, Iros, what do you have to offer? We don’t need you to run messages for us like in the old days. Certainly you aren’t a fighter. As I recall, Odysseus crushed your jaw and tossed you into the pigsty.’
Jason’s neurons fired. Iros … the old man who’d run messages for the suitors in exchange for scraps of food. Iros had been sort of like their pet homeless person. When Odysseus came home, disguised as a beggar, Iros thought the new guy was moving in on his territory. The two had started arguing …
‘You made Iros –’ Jason hesitated. ‘You made me fight Odysseus. You bet money on it. Even when Odysseus took off his shirt and you saw how muscular he was … you still made me fight him. You didn’t care if I lived or died!’
Antinous bared his pointed teeth. ‘Of course I didn’t care. I still don’t! But you’re here, so Gaia must have had a reason to allow you back into the mortal world. Tell me, why are you worthy of a share in our spoils?’
‘What spoils?’
Antinous spread his hands. ‘The entire world, my friend. The first time we met here, we were only after Odysseus’s land, his money and his wife.’
‘Especially his wife!’ A bald ghost in ragged clothes elbowed Jason in the ribs. ‘That Penelope was a hot little honey cake!’
Jason caught a glimpse of Piper serving drinks at the next table. She discreetly put her finger to her mouth in a gag me gesture, then went back to flirting with dead guys.
Antinous sneered. ‘Eurymachus, you whining coward. You never stood a chance with Penelope. I remember you blubbering and pleading for your life with Odysseus, blaming everything on me!’
‘Lot of good it did me.’ Eurymachus lifted his tattered shirt, revealing an inch-wide hole in the middle of his spectral chest. ‘Odysseus shot me in the heart, just because I wanted to marry his wife!’
‘At any rate …’ Antinous turned to Jason. ‘We have gathered now for a much bigger prize. Once Gaia destroys the gods, we will divide up the remnants of the mortal world!’
‘Dibs on London!’ yelled a ghoul at the next table.
‘Montreal!’ shouted another.
‘Duluth!’ yelled a third, which momentarily stopped the conversation as the other ghosts gave him confused looks.
The meat and wine turned to lead in Jason’s stomach. ‘What about the rest of these … guests? I count at least two hundred. Half of them are new to me.’
Antinous’s yellow eyes gleamed. ‘All of them are suitors for Gaia’s favour. All have claims and grievances against the gods or their pet heroes. That scoundrel over there is Hippias, former tyrant of Athens. He got deposed and sided with the Persians to attack his own countrymen. No morals whatsoever. He’d do anything for power.’
‘Thank you!’ called Hippias.
‘That rogue with the turkey leg in his mouth,’ Antinous continued, ‘that’s Hasdrubal of Carthage. He has a grudge to settle with Rome.’
‘Mhhmm,’ said the Carthaginian.
‘And Michael Varus –’
Jason choked. ‘Who?’
Over by the sand fountain, the dark-haired guy in the purple T-shirt and legionnaire armour turned to face them. His outline was blurred, smoky and indistinct, so Jason guessed he was some form of spirit, but the legion tattoo on his forearm was clear enough: the letters SPQR, the double-faced head of the god Janus and six score marks for years of service. On his breastplate hung the badge of praetorship and the emblem of the Fifth Cohort.
Jason had never met Michael Varus. The infamous praetor had died in the 1980s. Still, Jason’s skin crawled when he met Varus’s gaze. Those sunken eyes seemed to bore right through Jason’s disguise.
Antinous waved dismissively. ‘He’s a Roman demigod. Lost his legion’s eagle in … Alaska, was it? Doesn’t matter. Gaia lets him hang around. He insists he has some insight into defeating Camp Jupiter. But you, Iros – you still haven’t answered my question. Why should you be welcome among us?’
Varus’s dead eyes had unnerved Jason. He could feel the Mist thinning around him, reacting to his uncertainty.
Suddenly Annabeth appeared at Antinous’s shoulder. ‘More wine, my lord? Oops!’
She spilled the contents of a silver pitcher down the back of Antinous’s neck.
‘Gahh!’ The ghoul arched his spine. ‘Foolish girl! Who let you back from Tartarus?’
‘A Titan, my lord.’ Annabeth dipped her head apologetically. ‘May I bring you some moist towelettes? Your arrow is dripping.’
‘Begone!’
Annabeth caught Jason’s eye – a silent message of support – then she disappeared in the crowd.
The ghoul wiped himself off, giving Jason a chance to collect his thoughts.
He was Iros … former messenger of the suitors. Why would he be here? Why should they accept him?
He picked up the nearest steak knife and stabbed it into the table, making the ghosts around him jump.
‘Why should you welcome me?’ Jason growled. ‘Because I’m still running messages, you stupid wretches! I’ve just come from the House of Hades to see what you’re up to!’
That last part was true, and it seemed to give Antinous pause. The ghoul glared at him, wine still dripping from the arrow shaft in his throat. ‘You expect me to believe Gaia sent you – a beggar – to check up on us?’
Jason laughed. ‘I was among the last to leave Epirus before the Doors of Death were closed! I saw the chamber where Clytius stood guard under a domed ceiling tiled with tombstones. I walked the jewel-and-bone floors of the Necromanteion!’
That was also true. Around the table, ghosts shifted and muttered.
‘So, Antinous …’ Jason jabbed a finger at the ghoul. ‘Maybe you should explain to me why you’re worthy of Gaia’s favour. All I see is a crowd of lazy, dawdling dead folk enjoying themselves and not helping the war effort. What should I tell the Earth Mother?’
From the corner of his eye, Jason saw Piper flash him an approving smile. Then she returned her attention to a glowing purple Greek dude who was trying to make her sit on his lap.
Antinous wrapped his hand around the steak knife Jason had impaled in the table. He pulled it free and studied the blade. ‘If you come from Gaia, you must know we are here under orders. Porphyrion decreed it.’ Antinous ran the knife blade across his palm. Instead of blood, dry dirt spilled from the cut. ‘You do know Porphyrion … ?’
Jason struggled to keep his nausea under control. He remembered Porphyrion just fine from their battle at the Wolf House. ‘The giant king – green skin, forty feet tall, white eyes, hair braided with weapons. Of course I know him. He’s a lot more impressive than you.’
He decided not to mention that the last time he’d seen the giant king, Jason had blasted him in the head with lightning.
For once, Antinous looked speechless, but his bald ghost friend Eurymachus put an arm around Jason’s shoulders.
‘Now, now, friend!’ Eurymachus smelled like sour wine and burning electrical wires. His ghostly touch made Jason’s ribcage tingle. ‘I’m sure we didn’t mean to question your credentials! It’s just, well, if you’ve spoken with Porphyrion in Athens, you know why we’re here. I assure you, we’re doing exactly as he ordered!’
Jason tried to mask his surprise. Porphyrion in Athens.
Gaia had promised to pull up the gods by their roots. Chiron, Jason’s mentor at Camp Half-Blood, had assumed that meant that the giants would try to rouse the earth goddess at the original Mount Olympus. But now …
‘The Acropolis,’ Jason said. ‘The most ancient temples to the gods, in the middle of Athens. That’s where Gaia will wake.’
‘Of course!’ Eurymachus laughed. The wound in his chest made a popping sound, like a porpoise’s blowhole. ‘And, to get there, those meddlesome demigods will have to travel by sea, eh? They know it’s too dangerous to fly over land.’
‘Which means they’ll have to pass this island,’ Jason said.
Eurymachus nodded eagerly. He removed his arm from Jason’s shoulders and dipped his finger in his wineglass. ‘At that point, they’ll have to make a choice, eh?’
On the tabletop, he traced a coastline, red wine glowing unnaturally against the wood. He drew Greece like a mis-shapen hourglass – a large dangly blob for the northern mainland, then another blob below it, almost as large – the big chunk of land known as the Peloponnese. Cutting between them was a narrow line of sea – the Straits of Corinth.
Jason hardly needed a picture. He and the rest of the crew had spent the last day at sea studying maps.
‘The most direct route,’ Eurymachus said, ‘would be due east from here, across the Straits of Corinth. But if they try to go that way –’
‘Enough,’ Antinous snapped. ‘You have a loose tongue, Eurymachus.’
The ghost looked offended. ‘I wasn’t going to tell him everything! Just about the Cyclopes armies massed on either shore. And the raging storm spirits in the air. And those vicious sea monsters Keto sent to infest the waters. And of course if the ship got as far as Delphi –’
‘Idiot!’ Antinous lunged across the table and grabbed the ghost’s wrist. A thin crust of dirt spread from the ghoul’s hand, straight up Eurymachus’s spectral arm.
‘No!’ Eurymachus yelped. ‘Please! I – I only meant –’
The ghost screamed as the dirt covered his body like a shell, then cracked apart, leaving nothing but a pile of dust. Eurymachus was gone.
Antinous sat back and brushed off his hands. The other suitors at the table watched him in wary silence.
‘Apologies, Iros.’ The ghoul smiled coldly. ‘All you need to know is this – the ways to Athens are well guarded, just as we promised. The demigods would either have to risk the straits, which are impossible, or sail around the entire Peloponnese, which is hardly much safer. In any event, it’s unlikely they will survive long enough to make that choice. Once they reach Ithaca, we will know. We will stop them here and Gaia will see how valuable we are. You can take that message back to Athens.’
Jason’s heart hammered against his sternum. He’d never seen anything like the shell of earth that Antinous had summoned to destroy Eurymachus. He didn’t want to find out if that power worked on demigods.
Also, Antinous sounded confident that he could detect the Argo II. Hazel’s magic seemed to be obscuring the ship so far, but there was no telling how long that would last.
Jason had the intel they’d come for. Their goal was Athens. The safer route, or at least the not impossible route, was around the southern coast. Today was 20 July. They only had twelve days before Gaia planned to wake, on 1 August, the ancient Feast of Hope.
Jason and his friends needed to leave while they had the chance.
But something else bothered him – a cold sense of foreboding, as if he hadn’t heard the worst news yet.
Eurymachus had mentioned Delphi. Jason had secretly hoped to visit the ancient site of Apollo’s Oracle, maybe get some insight into his personal future, but if the place had been overrun by monsters …
He pushed aside his plate of cold food. ‘Sounds like everything is under control. For your sake, Antinous, I hope so. These demigods are resourceful. They closed the Doors of Death. We wouldn’t want them sneaking past you, perhaps getting help from Delphi.’
Antinous chuckled. ‘No risk of that. Delphi is no longer in Apollo’s control.’
‘I – I see. And if the demigods sail the long way around the Peloponnese?’
‘You worry too much. That journey is never safe for demigods, and it’s much too far. Besides, Victory runs rampant in Olympia. As long as that’s the case, there is no way the demigods can win this war.’
Jason didn’t understand what that meant either, but he nodded. ‘Very well. I will report as much to King Porphyrion. Thank you for the, er, meal.’
Over at the fountain, Michael Varus called, ‘Wait.’
Jason bit back a curse. He’d been trying to ignore the dead praetor, but now Varus walked over, surrounded in a hazy white aura, his deep-set eyes like sinkholes. At his side hung an Imperial gold gladius.
‘You must stay,’ Varus said.
Antinous shot the ghost an irritated look. ‘What’s the problem, legionnaire? If Iros wants to leave, let him. He smells bad!’
The other ghosts laughed nervously. Across the courtyard, Piper shot Jason a worried glance. A little further away, Annabeth casually palmed a carving knife from the nearest platter of meat.
Varus rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. Despite the heat, his breastplate was glazed with ice. ‘I lost my cohort twice in Alaska – once in life, once in death to a Graecus named Percy Jackson. Still I have come here to answer Gaia’s call. Do you know why?’
Jason swallowed. ‘Stubbornness?’
‘This is a place of longing,’ Varus said. ‘All of us are drawn here, sustained not only by Gaia’s power but also by our strongest desires. Eurymachus’s greed. Antinous’s cruelty.’
‘You flatter me,’ the ghoul muttered.
‘Hasdrubal’s hatred,’ Varus continued. ‘Hippias’s bitterness. My ambition. And you, Iros. What has drawn you here? What does a beggar most desire? Perhaps a home?’
An uncomfortable tingle started at the base of Jason’s skull – the same feeling he got when a huge electrical storm was about to break.
‘I should be going,’ he said. ‘Messages to carry.’
Michael Varus drew his sword. ‘My father is Janus, the god of two faces. I am used to seeing through masks and deceptions. Do you know, Iros, why we are so sure the demigods will not pass our island undetected?’
Jason silently ran through his repertoire of Latin cuss words. He tried to calculate how long it would take him to get out his emergency flare and fire it. Hopefully he could buy enough time for the girls to find shelter before this mob of dead guys slaughtered him.
He turned to Antinous. ‘Look, are you in charge here or not? Maybe you should muzzle your Roman.’
The ghoul took a deep breath. The arrow rattled in his throat. ‘Ah, but this might be entertaining. Go on, Varus.’
The dead praetor raised his sword. ‘Our desires reveal us. They show us for who we really are. Someone has come for you, Jason Grace.’
Behind Varus, the crowd parted. The shimmering ghost of a woman drifted forward, and Jason felt as if his bones were turning to dust.
‘My dearest,’ said his mother’s ghost. ‘You have come home.’
