“Frank,” he said, “I’m proud to be related to you.”
Frank’s ears turned red. With his head lowered, his military haircut made a sharp black arrow pointing down. “Juno has some sort of plan for us, about the Prophecy of Seven.”
“Yeah,” Percy grumbled. “I didn’t like her as Hera. I don’t like her any better as Juno.” Hazel tucked her feet underneath her. She studied Percy with her luminescent golden eyes, and he wondered how she could be so calm. She was the youngest one on the quest, but she was always holding them together and comforting them. Now they were flying to Alaska, where she had died once before. They would try to free Thanatos, who might take her back to the Underworld. Yet she didn’t show any fear. It made
Percy feel silly for being scared of airplane turbulence.
“You’re a son of Poseidon, aren’t you?” she asked. “You are a Greek demigod.”
Percy gripped his leather necklace. “I started to remember in Portland, after the gorgon’s blood. It’s been coming back to me slowly since then. There’s another camp—Camp Half-Blood.”
Just saying the name made Percy feel warm inside. Good memories washed over him: the smell of strawberry fields in the warm summer sun, fireworks lighting up the beach on the Fourth of July, satyrs playing panpipes at the nightly campfire, and a kiss at the bottom of the canoe lake.
Hazel and Frank stared at him as though he’d slipped into another language.
“Another camp,” Hazel repeated. “A Greek camp? Gods, if Octavian found out—”
“He’d declare war,” Frank said. “He’s always been sure the Greeks were out there, plotting against us. He thought Percy was a spy.”
“That’s why Juno sent me,” Percy said. “Uh, I mean, not to spy. I think it was some kind of exchange. Your friend
Jason—I think he was sent to my camp. In my dreams, I saw a demigod that might have been him. He was working with some other demigods on this flying warship. I think they’re coming to Camp Jupiter to help.”
Frank tapped nervously on the back of his seat. “Mars said Juno wants to unite the Greeks and Romans to fight Gaea. But, jeez—Greeks and Romans have a long history of bad blood.”
Hazel took a deep breath. “That’s probably why the gods have kept us apart this long. If a Greek warship appeared in the sky above Camp Jupiter, and Reyna didn’t know it was friendly—”
“Yeah,” Percy agreed. “We’ve got to be careful how we explain this when we get back.”
“If we get back,” Frank said.
Percy nodded reluctantly. “I mean, I trust you guys. I hope you trust me. I feel…well, I feel as close to you two as to any of my old friends at Camp Half-Blood. But with the other demigods, at both camps—there’s going to be a lot of suspicion.”
Hazel did something he wasn’t expecting. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It was totally a sisterly kiss. But she smiled with such affection, it warmed Percy right down to his feet.
“Of course we trust you,” she said. “We’re a family now. Aren’t we, Frank?”
“Sure,” he said. “Do I get a kiss?”
Hazel laughed, but there was nervous tension in it. “Anyway, what do we do now?”
Percy took a deep breath. Time was slipping away.
They were almost halfway through June twenty-third, and tomorrow was the Feast of Fortuna. “I’ve got to contact a friend—to keep my promise to Ella.”
“How?” Frank said. “One of those Iris-messages?”
“Still not working,” Percy said sadly. “I tried it last night at your grandmother’s house. No luck. Maybe it’s because my memories are still jumbled. Or the gods aren’t allowing a connection. I’m hoping I can contact my friend in my dreams.”
Another bump of turbulence made him grab his seat. Below them, snowcapped mountains broke through a blanket of clouds.
“I’m not sure I can sleep,” Percy said. “But I need to try. We can’t leave Ella by herself with those ogres around.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “We’ve still got hours to fly. Take the couch, man.”
Percy nodded. He felt lucky to have Hazel and Frank watching out for him. What he’d said to them was true—he trusted them. In the weird, terrifying, horrible experience of losing his memory and getting ripped out of his old life—Hazel and Frank were the bright spots.
He stretched out, closed his eyes, and dreamed he was falling from a mountain of ice toward a cold sea.
The dream shifted. He was back in Vancouver, standing in front of the ruins of the Zhang mansion. The Laistrygonians were gone. The mansion was reduced to a burned-out shell. A crew of firefighters was packing up their equipment, getting ready to move out. The lawn looked like a war zone, with smoking craters and trenches from the blown-out irrigation pipes.