“Good-bye, Don,” Hazel said quickly. “Let’s go, Percy.”
She started jogging. Percy had to sprint to catch up.
“What was that about?” Percy asked. “That diamond in the road—”
“Please,” she said. “Don’t ask.”
They walked in uneasy silence the rest of the way to TempleHill. A crooked stone path led past a crazy assortment of tiny altars and massive domed vaults. Statues of gods seemed to follow Percy with their eyes.
Hazel pointed out the Temple of Bellona. “Goddess of war,” she said. “That’s Reyna’s mom.” Then they passed a massive red crypt decorated with human skulls on iron spikes.
“Please tell me we’re not going in there,” Percy said.
Hazel shook her head. “That’s the Temple of Mars Ultor.”
“Mars ... Ares, the war god?”
“That’s his Greek name,” Hazel said. “But, yeah, same guy. Ultor means ‘the Avenger.’ He’s the second-most important god of Rome.”
Percy wasn’t thrilled to hear that. For some reason, just looking at the ugly red building made him feel angry.
He pointed toward the summit. Clouds swirled over the largest temple, a round pavilion with a ring of white columns supporting a domed roof. “I’m guessing that’s Zeus—uh, I mean, Jupiter’s? That’s where we’re heading?”
“Yeah.” Hazel sounded edgy. “Octavian reads auguries there—the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus.”
Percy had to think about it, but the Latin words clicked into English. “Jupiter…the best and the greatest?”
“Right.”
“What’s Neptune’s title?” Percy asked. “The coolest and most awesome?”
“Um, not quite.” Hazel gestured to a small blue building the size of a toolshed. A cobweb-covered trident was nailed above the door.
Percy peeked inside. On a small altar sat a bowl with three dried-up, moldy apples.
His heart sank. “Popular place.”
“I’m sorry, Percy,” Hazel said. “It’s just…Romans were always scared of the sea. They only used ships if they had to. Even in modern times, having a child of Neptune around has always been a bad omen. The last time one joined the legion
…well, it was 1906, when Camp Jupiter was located across the bay in San Francisco. There was this huge earthquake—”
“You’re telling me a child of Neptune caused that?”
“So they say.” Hazel looked apologetic. “Anyway…
Romans fear Neptune, but they don’t love him much.” Percy stared at the cobwebs on the trident. Great, he thought. Even if he joined the camp, he would never be loved. His best hope was to be scary to his new campmates. Maybe if he did really well, they’d give him some moldy apples.
Still…standing at Neptune’s altar, he felt something stirring inside him, like waves rippling through his veins.
He reached in his backpack and dug out the last bit of food from his trip—a stale bagel. It wasn’t much, but he set it on the altar.
“Hey…uh, Dad.” He felt pretty stupid talking to a bowl of fruit. “If you can hear me, help me out, okay? Give me my memory back. Tell me—tell me what to do.”
His voice cracked. He hadn’t meant to get emotional, but he was exhausted and scared, and he’d been lost for so long, he would’ve given anything for some guidance. He wanted to know something about his life for sure, without grabbing for missing memories.
Hazel put her hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. You’re here now. You’re one of us.”
He felt awkward, depending on an eighth-grade girl he barely knew for comfort, but he was glad she was there.
Above them, thunder rumbled. Red lightning lit up the hill.
“Octavian’s almost done,” Hazel said. “Let’s go.”
Compared to Neptune’s tool shed, Jupiter’s temple was definitely optimus and maximus.
The marble floor was etched with fancy mosaics and Latin inscriptions. Sixty feet above, the domed ceiling sparkled gold. The whole temple was open to the wind.
In the center stood a marble altar, where a kid in a toga was doing some sort of ritual in front of a massive golden statue of the big dude himself: Jupiter the sky god, dressed in a silk XXXL purple toga, holding a lightning bolt.
“It doesn’t look like that,” Percy muttered.
“What?” Hazel asked.
“The master bolt,” Percy said.
“What are you talking about?”
“I—” Percy frowned. For a second, he’d thought he remembered something. Now it was gone. “Nothing, I guess.”
The kid at the altar raised his hands. More red lightning flashed in the sky, shaking the temple. Then he put his hands down, and the rumbling stopped. The clouds turned from gray to white and broke apart.
A pretty impressive trick, considering the kid didn’t look like much. He was tall and skinny, with straw-colored hair, oversized jeans, a baggy T-shirt, and a drooping toga. He looked like a scarecrow wearing a bed sheet.