SAFE . . . reyna ramirez-arellano

61 - champion

ONCE BRIAR HAD gotten ready, Jason summoned the wind to carry him, Reyna, and Briar ashore.

The man in purple was waiting for them.

Briar had heard tons of stories about Hercules. She'd seen several cheesy movies and cartoons. Before today, if she had thought about him at all, she'd just roll her eyes and imagine some stupid hairy dude in his thirties with a barrel chest and a gross hippie beard, with a lion skin over his head and a big club, like a caveman. She imagined he would smell bad, belch, and scratch himself a lot.

She was not expecting this.

His feet were bare, covered in white sand. His robes made him look like a priest. His beard was fashionably scruffy, like Briar's dad wore his — the sort of I just happened not to shave for two days and I still look awesome look.

He was well built, but not too stocky. His ebony hair was close-cropped, Roman style. He had startling blue eyes like Jason's, but his skin was coppery, as if he'd spent his entire life on a tanning bed. The most surprising thing: he looked about twenty. Definitely no older. He was handsome in a rugged but not-at-all-caveman way.

He did in fact have a club, which lay in the sand next to him, but it was more like an oversized baseball bat — a five-foot-long polished cylinder of mahogany with a leather handgrip studded in bronze. Coach Hedge would have been jealous.

Jason, Reyna, and Briar landed at the edge of the surf. They approached slowly, careful not to make any threatening moves. Hercules watched them with no particular emotion, as if they were some form of seabird he had never noticed before.

"Hello," Briar said, staring at Hercules uncertainly.

"Briar Lovelace," Hercules greeted. His voice was the same in her head and in person — deep but casual, very modern. "You look different in person. And so do your friends."

"Uh, thanks?" Briar resisted the urge to grab Reyna's hand for comfort. She had a feeling that she needed to prove herself to Hercules, just because he'd noticed her in the past. Because she's his champion, like she's the Olympians' champion. "So if you know me, then you probably know Reyna and Jason—"

"Where's your lion skin?" Jason interrupted.

Briar wanted to elbow him, but Hercules looked more amused than annoyed.

"It's ninety degrees out here," he said. "Why would I wear my lion skin? Do you wear a fur coat to the beach?"

"I guess that makes sense." Jason sounded disappointed. "It's just that the pictures always show you with a lion skin."

Hercules glared at the sky accusingly, like he wanted to have words with his father, Zeus. "Don't believe everything you hear about me. Being famous isn't as fun as you might think."

Reyna raised an eyebrow. "You don't like the fame? There's a lot of stories about you. Myths. Legends. Movies, even."

Hercules snarled. "Don't get me started with the movies. Gods of Olympus, they never get anything right. Have you seen one movie about me where I look like me?"

Briar had to admit he had a point. "I'm surprised you're so young."

"Ha! Being immortal helps. But, yes, I wasn't so old when I died. Not by modern standards. I did a lot during my years as a hero . . . too much, really." His eyes drifted to Jason. "Son of Zeus, eh?"

"Jupiter," Jason said.

"Not much difference," Hercules grumbled. "Dad's annoying in either form. Me? I was called Heracles. Then the Romans came along and named me Hercules. I didn't really change that much, though lately just thinking about it gives me splitting headaches . . ."