Daughter of Wine

Leo

"Smart call back there," Percy says, "choosing the air-conditioning."

He and I have just searched the museum. Now we're sitting on a bridge that spans the Kladeos River, our feet dangling over the water as we wait for Frank and Hazel to finish scouting the ruins.

To our left, the Olympic valley shimmers in the afternoon heat. To our right, the visitors' lot is crammed with tour buses. Good thing the Argo II is moored a hundred feet in the air, because we never would've found parking.

I skip a stone across the river. I wish Hazel and Frank would get back. I feel awkward hanging out with Percy.

For one thing, I'm not sure what kind of small talk to make with a guy who's recently come back from Tartarus. Catch that last episode of Doctor Who? Oh, right. You were trudging through the Pit of Eternal Damnation!

Percy was intimidating enough before—summoning hurricanes, dueling pirates, killing giants in the Colosseum....

Now...well, after what happened in Tartarus, it seems like Percy has graduated to a totally different level of butt-kickery.

I have trouble even thinking of him as part of the same camp. The two of us were never at Camp Half-Blood at the same time. Percy's leather necklace has four beads for four completed summers. My leather necklace has exactly none.

The only thing we have in common is Calypso, and every time I think about that, I want to punch Percy in the face.

I keep thinking I should bring it up, just to clear the air, but the timing never seems right. And as the days go by, the subject gets harder and harder to broach.

"What?" Percy asks.

I stir. "What, what?"

"You were staring at me, like, angry."

"Was I?" I try to muster a joke, or at least a smile, but I can't. "Um, sorry."

Percy gazes at the river. "I suppose we need to talk." He opens his hand and the stone I skipped flies out of the stream, right into Percy's palm.

Oh, we're showing off now?

I consider shooting a column of fire at the nearest tour bus and blowing up the gas tank, but I decide that might be a tad dramatic. "Maybe we should talk. But not—"

"Guys!" Frank stands at the far end of the parking lot, waving at us to come over. Next to him, Hazel sits astride Arion, who appeared unannounced as soon as we landed.

Saved by the Zhang.

Percy and I jog over to meet our friends, but my heart is already sinking. Calli isn't with them. 

"This place is huge," Frank reports. "The ruins stretch from the river to the base of that mountain over there, about half a kilometer."

"How far is that in regular measurements?" Percy asks.

Frank rolls his eyes. "That is a regular measurement in Canada and the rest of the world. Only you Americans—"

"About five or six football fields," Hazel intercedes, feeding Arion a big chunk of gold.

Percy spreads his hands. "That's all you needed to say."

"Anyway," Frank continues, "from overhead, I didn't see anything suspicious."

"Neither did I," Hazel adds. "Arion took me on a complete loop around the perimeter. A lot of tourists, but no crazy goddess." She glances at me warily. "And no Calli."

The big stallion nickers and tosses his head, his neck muscles rippling under his butterscotch coat.

"Man, your horse can cuss." Percy shakes his head. "He doesn't think much of Olympia."

For once, I agree with the horse. I don't like the idea of tromping through fields full of ruins under a blazing sun, shoving my way through hordes of sweaty tourists while searching for my girlfriend and a split-personality victory goddess. Besides, Frank already flew over the whole valley as an eagle. If his sharp eyes didn't see anything, maybe there's nothing to see.

On the other hand, my tool belt pockets are full of dangerous toys. I would hate to go home without blowing anything up.

"So we blunder around together," I say, "and let trouble find us. It's always worked before."

We poke around for a while, avoiding tour groups and ducking from one patch of shade to the next. Not for the first time, I'm struck by how similar Greece is to my home state of Texas—the low hills, the scrubby trees, the drone of cicadas, and the oppressive summer heat. Switch out the ancient columns and ruined temples for cows and barbed wire, and I'd feel right at home.

Frank finds a tourist pamphlet (seriously, that dude would read the ingredients on a soup can) and gives us a running commentary on what's what.

"This is the Propylon." He waves toward a stone path lined with crumbling columns. "One of the main gates into the Olympic valley."

"Rubble!" I say.

"And over there"—Frank points to a square foundation that looks like the patio for a Mexican restaurant—"is the Temple of Hera, one of the oldest structures here."

"More rubble!" I say.

"And that round bandstand-looking thing—that's the Philipeon, dedicated to Philip of Macedonia."

"Even more rubble! First-rate rubble!"

Hazel, who's still riding Arion, kicks me in the arm. "Doesn't anything impress you?"

I glance up. Her curly gold-brown hair and golden eyes match her helmet and sword so well she might've been engineered from Imperial gold. I doubt Hazel would consider that a compliment, but as far as humans go, Hazel is first-rate craftsmanship.

I remember our trip together through the House of Hades. Hazel led me through that creepy maze of illusions. She made the sorceress Pasiphaë disappear through an imaginary hole in the floor. She battled the giant Clytius while I choked in the giant's cloud of darkness. She cut the chains binding the Doors of Death. Meanwhile I had done...well, pretty much nothing.

I'm not infatuated with Hazel. My heart belongs to a crazy, vanished, daughter of Dionysus. Still, Hazel Levesque impresses me—even when she isn't sitting atop a scary immortal supersonic horse who cusses like a sailor.

I don't say any of this, but Hazel must pick up on my thoughts. She looks away, flustered.

Happily oblivious, Frank continues his guided tour. "And over there...oh." He glances at Percy. "Uh, that semicircular depression in the hill, with the niches...that's a nymphaeum, built in Roman times."

Percy's face turns the color of limeade. "Here's an idea: let's not go there."

I heard all about his near-death experience in the nymphaeum in Rome with Jason and Piper. "I love that idea."

We keep walking.

Once in a while, my hands drift to my tool belt. Ever since the Kerkopes stole it in Bologna, I'm scared I might get belt-jacked again, though I doubt any monster is as good at thievery as those dwarfs. I wonder how the little crud monkeys are doing in New York. I hope they're still having fun harassing Romans, stealing lots of shiny zippers and causing legionnaires' pants to fall down.

"This is the Pelopion," Frank says, pointing to another fascinating pile of stones.

"Come on, Zhang," I say. "Pelopion isn't even a word. What was it—a sacred spot for plopping?"

Frank looks offended. "It's the burial site of Pelops. This whole part of Greece, the Peloponnese, was named after him."

I resist the urge to throw a grenade in Frank's face. The longer we wander without finding Calli or victory, the angrier I get. "I suppose I should know who Pelops was?"

"He was a prince, won his wife in a chariot race. Supposedly he started the Olympic games in honor of that."

Hazel sniffs. "How romantic. 'Nice wife you have, Prince Pelops.' 'Thanks. I won her in a chariot race.'"

I don't see how any of this is helping us find the victory goddess. At the moment, the only victory I want is to vanquish an ice-cold drink and maybe some nachos.

Still...the farther we get into the ruins, the more uneasy I feel. I flash back to one of my earliest memories—my babysitter Tía Callida, a.k.a. Hera, encouraging me to prod a poisonous snake with a stick when I was four years old. The psycho goddess told me it was good training for being a hero, and maybe she'd been right. These days I spend most of his time poking around until I find trouble.

I scan the crowds of tourists, looking for Calli and wondering if they're regular mortals or monsters in disguise, like those eidolons who chased us in Rome. Every so often I think I see a familiar face—my bully cousin, Raphael; my mean third grade teacher, Mr. Borquin; my abusive foster mom, Teresa—all kinds of people who treated me like dirt.

Probably I just imagine their faces, but it makes me edgy. I remember how the goddess Nemesis appeared as my Aunt Rosa, the person I most resent and want revenge on. I wonder if Nemesis is around here somewhere, watching to see what I'd do. I'm still not sure I've paid my debt to that goddess. Now my girlfriend is gone, but I suspect she wants more suffering from me. Maybe today is the day. 

We stop at some wide steps leading to another ruined building. The temple of Zeus, according to Frank. 

"Used to be a huge gold-and-ivory statue of Zeus inside," Zhang says. "One of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Made by the same dude who did the Athena Parthenos."

"Please tell me we don't have to find it," Percy says. "I've had enough huge magic statues for one trip."

"Agreed." Hazel pats Arion's flank, as the stallion is acting skittish.

I feel like whinnying and stomping my hooves too. I'm hot and agitated and hungry and bummed. I feel like we've prodded the poisonous snake about as much as we can, and the snake is about strike back. I want to call it a day and return to the ship before that happens.

Unfortunately, when Frank mentions Temple of Zeus and statue, my brain makes a connection. Against my better judgment, I share it.

"Hey, Percy," I say, "remember that statue of Nike in the museum? The one that was all in pieces?"

"Yeah?"

"Didn't it used to stand here, at the Temple of Zeus? Feel free to tell me I'm wrong. I'd love to be wrong."

Percy's hand goes to his pocket. He slips out his pen Riptide. "You're right. So if Nike was anywhere... this would be a good spot."

Frank scans our surroundings. "I don't see anything."

"What if we promoted, like, Adidas shoes?" Percy wonders. "Would that make Nike mad enough to show up?"

I smile nervously. Maybe Percy and I do share something else—a stupid sense of humor. "Yeah, I bet that would totally be against her sponsorship deal. THOSE ARE NOT THE OFFICIAL SHOES OF THE OLYMPICS! YOU WILL DIE NOW!"

Hazel rolls her eyes. "You're both impossible."

Behind me, a thunderous voice shakes the ruins: "YOU WILL DIE NOW!"

I almost jump out of my tool belt. I turn...and mentally kick myself. I just had to invoke Adidas, the goddess of off-brand shoes.

Towering over me in a golden chariot, with a spear aimed at my heart, is the goddess Nike.