𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ― j. grace ² ✓

eight

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EIGHT LETTERS

CHAPTER EIGHT
[ P E R C Y ]

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PERCY CLIMBED OUT on deck and said, "Wow."

They had landed near the summit of a forested hill. A complex of white buildings, like a museum or a university, nestled in a grove of pines to the left. Below them spread the city of Atlanta — a cluster of brown and silver downtown skyscrapers two miles away, rising from what looked like an endless flat sprawl of highways, railroad tracks, houses, and green swathes of forest.

"Ah, lovely spot." Coach Hedge inhaled the morning air. "Good choice, Valdez."

Leo shrugged. "I just picked a tall hill. That's a presidential library or something over there. At least that's what Festus says."

"I don't know about that!" Hedge barked. "But do you realize what happened on this hill? Frank Zhang, you should know!"

Frank flinched. "I should?"

"A son of Ares stood here!" Hedge cried indignantly.

"I'm Roman . . . so Mars, actually."

"Whatever! Famous spot in the American Civil War!"

"I'm Canadian, actually."

"Whatever! General Sherman, Union leader. He stood on this hill watching the city of Atlanta burn. Cut a path of destruction all the way from here to the sea. Burning, looting, pillaging — now there was a Demigod!"

Frank inched away from the Satyr. "Uh, okay."

Percy didn't care much about history, but he wondered whether landing here was a bad omen. He'd heard that most human civil wars started as fights between Greek and Roman Demigods. Now they were standing on the site of one such battle. The entire city below them had been leveled on orders of a child of Ares.

Percy could imagine some of the kids at Camp Half-Blood giving such a command. Clarisse La Rue, for instance, wouldn't hesitate. But he couldn't imagine Frank being so harsh.

"Anyway," Percy said, "let's try not to burn down the city this time."

The coach looked disappointed. "All right. But where to?"