BLOODSHOT . . . piper mclean

71.

EDEN WAS SLIGHTLY happier when Perfect Jason almost died twice. First with the dude who nearly took out Eden's girl's nose, and secondly when apparently he'd almost bellyflopped on the deck.

Which was a fun event. Eden wouldn't know. She wasn't there for it. She was crying in her bathroom. Figuratively. Okay, she wasn't, but she still felt like she wanted to for no reason.

But anyway, while the crew ate lunch, Perfect Jason reported on his midair vision. The crew were quiet long enough for Coach Hedge to finish a peanut butter and banana sandwich, along with the ceramic plate.

The ship creaked as it sailed through the Adriatic, its remaining oars still out of alignment from the giant turtle attack. Every once in a while Festus the figurehead creaked and squeaked through the speakers, reporting the autopilot status in that weird machine language that only Leo could understand.

"A note from Annabeth." Piper shook her head in amazement. "I don't see how that's possible, but if it is—"

"She's alive," Leo said. "Thank the gods and pass the hot sauce."

Frank frowned. "What does that mean?"

Leo wiped the chip crumbs off his face. "It means pass the hot sauce, Zhang. I'm still hungry."

Frank slid over a jar of salsa as Eden snorted. "I can't believe Reyna would try to find us. It's taboo, coming to the ancient lands. She'll be stripped of her praetorship."

"If she lives," Hazel said. "It was hard enough for us to make it this far with eight demigods and a warship."

"And me." Coach Hedge belched. "Don't forget, cupcake, you got the satyr advantage."

They really didn't. But it made Eden's heart a little happier that him and Grover were so different. Grover . . . god, she missed his enchilada talk.

Eden thought about enchiladas for a few minutes in contented bliss, because she didn't really care about the conversation. Every once in awhile she'd kiss Piper's hand, but that was it.

"Jason?" Leo asked, pulling her back to reality. "Argo II to Jason. Come in."

"Yeah, sorry." Perfect Jason touched the groove that the turtle dude had cut in his hair. "Crossing the Atlantic is a hard journey, no doubt. But I'd never bet against Reyna. If anyone can make it, she will."

"Well, I'd love to see Reyna again," Eden said. "But how is she supposed to find us?"

Frank raised his hand. "Can't you just send her an Iris-message?"

"They're not working very well," Coach Hedge put in. "Horrible reception. Every night, I swear, I could kick that rainbow goddess . . ."

He faltered. His face turned bright red.

"Coach?" Leo grinned. "Who have you been calling every night, you old goat?"

"No one!" Hedge snapped. "Nothing! I just meant—"

"He means we've already tried," Hazel intervened, and the coach gave her a grateful look. "Some magic is interfering . . . maybe Gaea. Contacting the Romans is even harder. I think they're shielding themselves."

Frank drummed his fingers on the table. "I don't suppose Reyna has a cell phone . . .? Nah. Never mind. She'd probably have bad reception on a pegasus flying over the Atlantic."

"Dude, I have horrible reception here," Eden pulled out her phone, tapping away at games. "No wifi. Hmph."

"She'll find us," Perfect Jason said. "She mentioned something in the dream — she's expecting me to go to a certain place on our way to the House of Hades. I — I'd forgotten about it, actually, but she's right. It's a place I need to visit."