NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

thirty seven: the prelude.

LUNCH FELT LIKE a funeral party. Everybody ate. People talked in hushed tones. Nobody seemed particularly happy. The other campers kept glancing over at Brooklyn like she was the corpse of honor. If she was a corpse, she would be the corpse of honor, though.

Reyna made a brief speech wishing them luck. Octavian ripped open a Beanie Baby and pronounced grave omens and hard times ahead, but predicted the camp would be saved by an unexpected hero ( whose name was probably OCTAVIAN ). Then the other campers went off to their afternoon classes — gladiator fighting, Latin lessons, paintball with ghosts, eagle training, and a dozen other activities that sounded better than a suicide quest. Brooklyn followed Percy, Hazel, and Frank to the barracks to pack.

Brooklyn didn't have much. Percy had the backpack, so she had literally nothing but the dress that she had borrowed last night and her ring, which she immediately slipped on her finger.

She obtained a shit ton of dresses from the girls rooming with her, plus some nectar, ambrosia, snacks, a little mortal money, and she'd nicked a deck of cards from someone's bed. At lunch, Reyna had handed her a scroll of introduction from the praetor and camp senate. Supposedly, any retired legionnaires they met on the trip would help them if shown the letter.

One of their roommates, Bobby, gave them a ride to the border of the valley on Hannibal the elephant. From the hilltops, Brooklyn could see everything below. The Little Tiber snaked across golden pastures where the unicorns were grazing. The temples and forums of New Rome gleamed in the sunlight. On the Field of Mars, engineers were hard at work, pulling down the remains of last night's fort and setting up barricades for a game of death ball. A normal day for Camp Jupiter — but on the northern horizon, storm clouds were gathering. Shadows moved across the hills.

Work with me for the future, Reyna had said. I intend to save this camp.

Looking down at the valley, Brooklyn understood why she cared so much. Even though she was new to Camp Jupiter, she felt a fierce desire to protect this place.

They got off the elephant. Bobby wished them a safe journey. Hannibal wrapped the four questers with his trunk. Then the elephant taxi service headed back into the valley.

Percy sighed. He turned to Frank, Hazel, and Brooklyn and opened his mouth to say something.

A familiar voice interrupted, "IDs, please."

A statue of Terminus appeared at the summit of the hill. The god's marble face frowned irritably. "Well? Come along!"

"You again?" Percy asked. "I thought you just guarded the city."

Terminus huffed. "Glad to see you, too, Mr. Rule Flouter. Normally, yes, I guard the city, but for international departures, I like to provide extra security at the camp borders. You really should've allowed two hours before your planned departure time, you know. But we'll have to make do. Now, come over here so I can pat you down."

"But you don't have—" Percy stopped himself. "Uh, sure."

He stood next to the armless statue. Terminus conducted a rigorous mental pat down.

"You seem to be clean," Terminus decided. "Do you have anything to declare?"

"Yes," Percy said. "I declare this is stupid."

"Hmph! Probatio tablet: Percy Jackson, Fifth Cohort, son of Neptune. Fine, go. Brooklyn Hayward, Fifth Cohort, daughter of Jupiter — following in your brother's footsteps, eh?"

Brooklyn shrugged, putting on an easygoing smile. "Just doing my duties for the camp."

"Very well. Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto. Fine. Any foreign currency or, ahem, precious metals to declare?"