“Nothing?” Frank protested. “Dakota would’ve gotten trampled! You stood right in front of them, shooed them away, saved his hide. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Hazel bit her lip. She didn’t like to talk about it, and she felt uncomfortable, the way Frank made her sound like a hero. In truth, she’d been mostly afraid that the unicorns would hurt themselves in their panic. Their horns were precious metal—silver and gold—so she’d managed to turn them aside simply by concentrating, steering the animals by their horns and guiding them back to the stables. It had gotten her a full place in the legion, but it had also started rumors about her strange powers—rumors that reminded her of the bad old days.
Percy studied her. Those sea-green eyes made her unsettled.
“Did you and Nico grow up together?” he asked.
“No,” Nico answered for her. “I found out that Hazel was my sister only recently. She’s from New Orleans.”
That was true, of course, but not the whole truth. Nico let people think he’d stumbled upon her in modern New Orleans and brought her to camp. It was easier than telling the real story.
Hazel had tried to pass herself off as a modern kid. It wasn’t easy. Thankfully, demigods didn’t use a lot of technology at camp. Their powers tended to make electronic gadgets go haywire. But the first time she went on furlough to Berkeley, she had nearly had a stroke. Televisions, computers, iPods, the Internet…It made her glad to get back to the world of ghosts, unicorns, and gods. That seemed much less of a fantasy than the twenty-first century.
Nico was still talking about the children of Pluto. “There aren’t many of us,” he said, “so we have to stick together. When I found Hazel—”
“You have other sisters?” Percy asked, almost as if he knew the answer. Hazel wondered again when he and Nico had met, and what her brother was hiding.
“One,” Nico admitted. “But she died. I saw her spirit a few times in the Underworld, except that the last time I went down there...”
To bring her back, Hazel thought, though Nico didn’t say that.
“She was gone.” Nico’s voice turned hoarse. “She used to be in Elysium—like, the Underworld paradise—but she chose to be reborn into a new life. Now I’ll never see her again. I was just lucky to find Hazel…in New Orleans, I mean.”
Dakota grunted. “Unless you believe the rumors. Not saying that I do.”
“Rumors?” Percy asked.
From across the room, Don the faun yelled, “Hazel!”
Hazel had never been so glad to see the faun. He wasn’t allowed in camp, but of course he always managed to get in. He was working his way toward their table, grinning at everybody, sneaking food off plates, and pointing at campers: “Hey! Call me!” A flying pizza smacked him in the head, and he disappeared behind a couch. Then he popped up, still grinning, and made his way over.
“My favorite girl!” He smelled like a wet goat wrapped in old cheese. He leaned over their couches and checked out their food. “Say, new kid, you going to eat that?”
Percy frowned. “Aren’t fauns vegetarian?”
“Not the cheeseburger, man! The plate!” He sniffed Percy’s hair. “Hey…what’s that smell?”
“Don!” Hazel said. “Don’t be rude.”
“No, man, I just—”
Their house god Vitellius shimmered into existence, standing half embedded in Frank’s couch. “Fauns in the dining hall! What are we coming to? Centurion Dakota, do your duty!”
“I am,” Dakota grumbled into his goblet. “I’m having dinner!”
Don was still sniffing around Percy. “Man, you’ve got an empathy link with a faun!”
Percy leaned away from him. “A what?”
“An empathy link! It’s real faint, like somebody’s suppressed it, but—”
“I know what!” Nico stood suddenly. “Hazel, how about we give you and Frank time to get Percy oriented? Dakota and I can visit the praetor’s table. Don and Vitellius, you come too. We can discuss strategies for the war games.”
“Strategies for losing?” Dakota muttered.
“Death Boy is right!” Vitellius said. “This legion fights worse than we did in Judea, and that was the first time we lost our eagle. Why, if I were in charge—”
“Could I just eat the silverware first?” Don asked.
“Let’s go!” Nico stood and grabbed Don and Vitellius by the ears.
Nobody but Nico could actually touch the Lares. Vitellius spluttered with outrage as he was dragged off to the praetor’s table.
“Ow!” Don protested. “Man, watch the ’fro!”
“Come on, Dakota!” Nico called over his shoulder.
The centurion got up reluctantly. He wiped his mouth—uselessly, since it was permanently stained red. “Back soon.” He shook all over, like a dog trying to get dry. Then he staggered away, his goblet sloshing.
“What was that about?” Percy asked. “And what’s wrong with Dakota?”
Frank sighed. “He’s okay. He’s a son of Bacchus, the wine god. He’s got a drinking problem.”