“He is,” Frank grumbled. “He battled you and won.”
Mars shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe so. But every hero has a fatal flaw. Percy Jackson? He’s too loyal to his friends. He can’t give them up, not for anything. He was told that, years ago. And someday soon, he’s going to face a sacrifice he can’t make. Without you, Frank—without your sense of duty—he’s going to fail. The whole war will go sideways, and Gaea will destroy our world.”
Frank shook his head. He couldn’t hear this.
“War is a duty,” Mars continued. “The only real choice is whether you accept it, and what you fight for. The legacy of Rome is on the line—five thousand years of law, order, civilization. The gods, the traditions, the cultures that shaped the world you live in: it’s all going to crumble, Frank, unless you win this. I think that’s worth fighting for. Think about it.”
“What’s mine?” Frank asked.
Mars raised an eyebrow. “Your what?”
“Fatal flaw. You said all heroes have one.”
The god smiled dryly. “You gotta answer that yourself, Frank. But you’re finally asking the right questions. Now, get some sleep. You need the rest.”
The god waved his hand. Frank’s eyes felt heavy. He collapsed, and everything went dark.
“Fai,” said a familiar voice, harsh and impatient.
Frank blinked his eyes. Sunlight streamed into the room.
“Fai, get up. As much as I would like to slap that ridiculous face of yours, I am in no condition to get out of bed.”
“Grandmother?”
She came into focus, looking down at him from the bed. He lay sprawled on the floor. Someone had put a blanket over him during the night and a pillow under his head, but he had no idea how it had happened.
“Yes, my silly ox.” Grandmother still looked horribly weak and pale, but her voice was as steely as ever. “Now, get up. The ogres have surrounded the house. We have much to discuss if you and your friends are to escape here alive.”
ONE LOOK OUT THE WINDOW, and Frank knew he was in trouble.
At the edge of the lawn, the Laistrygonians were stacking bronze cannonballs. Their skin gleamed red. Their shaggy hair, tattoos, and claws didn’t look any prettier in the morning light.
Some carried clubs or spears. A few confused ogres carried surfboards, like they’d shown up at the wrong party. All of them were in a festive mood—giving each other high fives, tying plastic bibs around their necks, breaking out the knives and forks. One ogre had fired up a portable barbecue and was dancing in an apron that said KISS THE COOK.
The scene would’ve been almost funny, except Frank knew he was the main course.
“I’ve sent your friends to the attic,” Grandmother said.
“You can join them when we’re done.”
“The attic?” Frank turned. “You told me I could never go in there.”
“That’s because we keep weapons in the attic, silly boy. Do you think this is the first time monsters have attacked our family?”
“Weapons,” Frank grumbled. “Right. I’ve never handled weapons before.”
Grandmother’s nostrils flared. “Was that sarcasm, Fai Zhang?”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
“Good. There may be hope for you yet. Now, sit. You must eat.”
She waved her hand at the nightstand, where someone had set a glass of orange juice and a plate of poached eggs and bacon on toast—Frank’s favorite breakfast.
Despite his troubles, Frank suddenly felt hungry. He looked at Grandmother in astonishment. “Did you—”
“Make you breakfast? By Buddha’s monkey, of course not! And it wasn’t the house staff. Too dangerous for them here. No, your girlfriend Hazel made that for you. And brought you a blanket and pillow last night. And picked out some clean clothes for you in your bedroom. By the way, you should shower. You smell like burning horse hair.”
Frank opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He couldn’t make sounds come out. Hazel had done all that for him? Frank had been sure he’d destroyed any chance with her last night when he had summoned Gray.
“She’s...um...she’s not—”
“Not your girlfriend?” Grandmother guessed. “Well, she should be, you dolt! Don’t let her get away. You need strong women in your life, if you haven’t noticed. Now, to business.”
Frank ate while Grandmother gave him a sort of military briefing. In the daylight, her skin was so translucent, her veins seemed to glow. Her breathing sounded like a crackly paper bag inflating and deflating, but she spoke with firmness and clarity.
She explained that the ogres had been surrounding the house for three days, waiting for Frank to show up.
“They want to cook you and eat you,” she said distastefully, “which is ridiculous. You’d taste terrible.”
“Thank you, Grandmother.”
She nodded. “I admit, I was somewhat pleased when they said you were coming back. I am glad to see you one last time, even if your clothes are dirty and you need a haircut. Is this how you represent your family?”