“That’s what they’re called,” Percy agreed. “Laistry—uh, whatever Ella said.”
Frank scowled at the dudes in the clearing. “They could be mistaken for Bigfoot. Maybe that’s where the legend came from. Ella, you’re pretty smart.”
“Ella is smart,” she agreed. She shyly offered Frank her feather.
“Oh…thanks.” He stuck the feather in his pocket, then noticed Hazel was glaring at him. “What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She turned to Percy. “So your memory is coming back? Do you remember how you beat these guys?”
“Sort of,” Percy said. “It’s still fuzzy. I think I had help. We killed them with Celestial bronze, but that was before ... you know.”
“Before Death got kidnapped,” Hazel said. “So now, they might not die at all.”
Percy nodded. “Those bronze cannonballs…those are bad news. I think we used some of them against the giants. They catch fire and blow up.”
Frank’s hand went to his coat pocket. Then he remembered Hazel had his piece of driftwood. “If we cause any explosions,” he said, “the ogres at the other camps will come running. I think they’ve surrounded the house, which means there could be fifty or sixty of these guys in the woods.”
“So it’s a trap.” Hazel looked at Frank with concern. “What about your grandmother? We’ve got to help her.”
Frank felt a lump in his throat. Never in a million years had he thought his grandmother would need rescuing, but now he started running combat scenarios in his mind—the way he had back at camp during the war games.
“We need a distraction,” he decided. “If we can draw this group into the woods, we might sneak through without alerting the others.”
“I wish Arion was here,” Hazel said. “I could get the ogres to chase me.”
Frank slipped his spear off his back. “I’ve got another idea.”
Frank didn’t want to do this. The idea of summoning Gray scared him even more than Hazel’s horse. But he didn’t see another way.
“Frank, you can’t charge out there!” Hazel said. “That’s suicide!”
“I’m not charging,” Frank said. “I’ve got a friend. Just…nobody scream, okay?”
He jabbed the spear into the ground, and the point broke off.
“Oops,” Ella said. “No spear point. Nope, nope.”
The ground trembled. Gray’s skeletal hand broke the surface. Percy fumbled for his sword, and Hazel made a sound like a cat with a hairball. Ella disappeared and rematerialized at the top of the nearest tree.
“It’s okay,” Frank promised. “He’s under control!”
Gray crawled out of the ground. He showed no sign of damage from his previous encounter with the basilisks. He was good as a new in his camouflage and combat boots, translucent gray flesh covering his bones like glowing Jell-O. He turned his ghostly eyes toward Frank, waiting for orders.
“Frank, that’s a spartus,” Percy said. “A skeleton warrior. They’re evil. They’re killers. They’re—”
“I know,” Frank said bitterly. “But it’s a gift from Mars. Right now that’s all I’ve got. Okay, Gray. Your orders: attack that group of ogres. Lead them off to the west, causing a diversion so we can—”
Unfortunately, Gray lost interest after the word “ogres.” Maybe he only understood simple sentences. He charged toward the ogres’ campfire.
“Wait!” Frank said, but it was too late. Gray pulled two of his own ribs from his shirt and ran around the fire, stabbing the ogres in the back with such blinding speed they didn’t even have time to yell. Six extremely surprised-looking Laistrygonians fell sideways like a circle of dominoes and crumbled into dust.
Gray stomped around, kicking their ashes apart as they tried to re-form. When he seemed satisfied that they weren’t coming back, Gray stood at attention, saluted smartly in Frank’s direction, and sank into the forest floor.
Percy stared at Frank. “How—”
“No Laistrygonians.” Ella fluttered down and landed next to them. “Six minus six is zero. Spears are good for subtraction. Yep.”
Hazel looked at Frank as if he’d turned into a zombie skeleton himself. Frank thought his heart might shatter, but he couldn’t blame her. Children of Mars were all about violence. Mars’s symbol was a bloody spear for good reason. Why shouldn’t Hazel be appalled?
He glared down at broken tip of his spear. He wished he had any father but Mars. “Let’s go,” he said. “My grandmother might be in trouble.”
THEY STOPPED AT THE FRONT PORCH. As Frank had feared, a loose ring of campfires glowed in the woods, completely surrounding the property, but the house itself seemed untouched.
Grandmother’s wind chimes jangled in the night breeze. Her wicker chair sat empty, facing the road. Lights shone through the downstairs windows, but Frank decided against ringing the doorbell. He didn’t know how late it was, or if Grandmother was asleep or even home. Instead he checked the stone elephant statue in the corner—a tiny duplicate of the one in Portland. The spare key was still tucked under its foot.