Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Chalice of the Gods

Based on my past experience, the last thing this world needed was more gods.

My second thought was: Why do the gods keep losing their magic items? It was like a job requirement for them: 1) become a god, 2) get a cool magic thing, 3) lose it, 4) ask a demigod to find it. Maybe they just enjoyed doing it, the way cats like knocking things off tables.

My next thought: “If it’s so powerful, why would you trust us to get it back?”

Ganymede stared at me. “I couldn’t trust anyone else! You’ve already turned down immortality once, Percy Jackson.”

He said this as if I had done something completely inexplicable, like ordering blueberries on a pizza. (Although come to think of it . . . that could work.)

And, I mean, yes, I did turn down immortality once. Zeus had offered me a minor godship after I saved Mount Olympus from the Titans a few years ago (certain rules and restrictions may apply). But I’d chosen systemic change instead. I’d asked the gods to stop ignoring their demigod kids.

Turns out that’s another way the gods are like cats. They’re not so great at learning new tricks.

“Okay,” I told Ganymede. “Totally confidential.”

“And these others?” Ganymede gestured to Grover and Annabeth.

“These others know how to keep a secret,” Annabeth said. “Loose lips are never a good strategy.”

“Totally,” Grover said.

“They’re my best friends,” I said. “You can trust them as much as you can trust me.”

Which, come to think of it . . . was kind of open to interpretation, but Ganymede relaxed his shoulders. He wiped his tears away with his gold-ringed fingers.

“Fine,” he said. “I suspect someone on Olympus is trying to embarrass me, make me look bad in front of Zeus. If he finds out I lost my cup . . .” The god shuddered. “No. I have to recover it.”

“You have enemies?” I asked. It was hard for me to imagine how the drink server of the gods would make people mad.

“Oh, yes,” Ganymede said. “Hera, for one. She’s hated me since the day Zeus snatched me up to Olympus. Zeus was always complimenting me, you see—how handsome I was, how much I brightened up the palace. It’s not my fault I have nicer legs than she does.”

Annabeth grimaced. “Let’s hope it’s not Hera.”

“No . . .” Ganymede stared into his smoothie. “Probably not. She would consider it beneath her.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. If messing with my life wasn’t too petty for the queen of the gods, I wasn’t going to rule out her stealing beverage containers.

“But there are others,” Ganymede continued. “Everyone on Olympus hates me, really, because I’m a newcomer, an upstart kid made immortal. They call me a gold digger! Can you believe that?”

I tried not to stare at the twenty pounds of gold he was wearing. “You suspect anyone else in particular?”

He glanced around the shop, as if one of the himbos might have been a spy. He gestured for us to lean in.

“Before I was the cupbearer,” he said, “there were two other goddesses who had my job. First Hebe. Then Iris.”

Iris the messenger goddess, I had met. Every demigod calls on her from time to time to send rainbow messages—our version of video calls—but I also remembered visiting her organic health food store in California. The experience left a patchouli burn in my sinuses that took weeks to clear.

Grover slurped his Fiji Fro-Yo. “Iris seems kind of chill to be stealing chalices.”

“Perhaps.” Ganymede frowned. “But Hebe . . .”

Her, I didn’t know. She had a cabin at camp—one of the newer ones—but she’d never been on my quest bingo card before.

“The goddess of youth,” Annabeth said, probably noticing that I looked pretty clueless. “But, Ganymede, you’re, like, eternally young and beautiful. Why would she want to embarrass you?”

“Oh, you don’t know her,” Ganymede said. “In the early days, every time I would serve drinks at the feast table, she’d mutter Spill it, spill it as I walked past. She’s so immature.”

Grover shrugged. “Well, if she’s the goddess of youth . . .”

“That’s no excuse! She needs to grow up!” said the three-thousand-year-old twentysomething.

“Okay,” I said. “Do you have any proof she took it?”

“Proof?” He scoffed. “That’s what I need you for. Don’t you heroes dust for fingerprints, analyze DNA samples, that sort of thing?”

“You might be thinking of CSI. But okay, we’ll start with Hebe. Then check Iris.”

“Fine.” Ganymede sipped his smoothie. “Hmm. Not bad. Maybe when I get fired and turned back into a mortal, I could work here.”

“You’d make a great himbo,” Annabeth admitted. “So how long has your chalice been missing?”

Ganymede paused to think. “A century?”

“A century?!” I asked.

“Or a week?” Ganymede pinched his nose. “I always get those time periods confused. Not long, anyway. So far, I’ve been able to fake it with my delivery orders. The other gods kind of expect to-go cups with those. But if I don’t get my proper chalice back before the next in-person feast, everyone will notice. I’ll be humiliated!”

“When is the next feast?” Grover asked. (Grover likes feasts.)

“I don’t know!” Ganymede cried. “Zeus is unpredictable! He might schedule one in twenty years. Or it could be tomorrow. The point is, I need that goblet back before word gets out!”

He leaned forward, his expression stern. “Question those goddesses. See what they know. But don’t offend them. And don’t say I sent you. And don’t give away that my cup was stolen.”

“That’ll make it hard to question them,” Annabeth said. “Any idea where these goddesses hang out?”

I was bracing myself for him to say the North Pole or Outer Mongolia. If I had to take a leave of absence to go questing across the world, the college recommendation letters wouldn’t matter. I’d never graduate high school.

“They stay close to Mount Olympus,” he said to my relief. “I mean Manhattan. They should be around here somewhere.” He waved vaguely, as if the whole of Manhattan couldn’t possibly be too difficult to search. “Do this for me, Percy Jackson, and I will write you a letter!”

It didn’t sound like much of a reward. Then again, usually gods just asked for things and promised nothing in return. Kind of like that bratty kid in The Giving Tree.

(Speaking of which, never give that book to a satyr for his birthday, thinking he might like it because it’s about a tree. That satyr will cry, and then he will hit you. I speak from experience.)

“This recommendation letter will be positive?” I checked. “And you’ll actually sign it?”

Ganymede frowned. “You drive a hard bargain, but very well! Now, away with you, before I am undone!”

He disappeared in a glittering cloud of dust. As usual with magical happenings, the mortals around us didn’t seem to notice anything. Or maybe they just figured he had found the perfect smoothie and ascended to himbo enlightenment.

“Well.” I sipped my Salty Sailor and scanned my companions’ faces for any sign of regret. “This should be fun. Any ideas where to start?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Grover. “But let me finish my drink first. We’re going to need our strength.”





Here’s a challenge: try to do a full day of school (actually, that could be the whole challenge by itself), and then, afterward, go on a quest to find a goddess, knowing that when you get home, if you get home, you’ll still have a couple of hours of math and science homework to do.

I was feeling pretty salty as we headed downtown, and it had nothing to do with my Salty Sailor.