The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1)(10)

“That I can do.” Percy reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a ballpoint pen. For a moment I thought he wanted my autograph. I can’t tell you how often that happens. Then I remembered the pen was the disguised form of his sword, Riptide.

He smiled, and some of that old demigod mischief twinkled in his eyes. “Let’s see if Meg’s ready for a field trip.”





Seven-layer dip

Chocolate chip cookies in blue

I love this woman

SALLY JACKSON was a witch to rival Circe. She had transformed Meg from a street urchin into a shockingly pretty young girl. Meg’s dark pageboy hair was glossy and brushed. Her round face was scrubbed clean of grime. Her cat-eye glasses had been polished so the rhinestones sparkled. She had evidently insisted on keeping her old red sneakers, but she wore new black leggings and a knee-length frock of shifting green hues.

Mrs. Jackson had figured out how to keep Meg’s old look but tweak it to be more complementary. Meg now had an elfish springtime aura that reminded me very much of a dryad. In fact…

A sudden wave of emotion overwhelmed me. I choked back a sob.

Meg pouted. “Do I look that bad?”

“No, no,” I managed. “It’s just…”

I wanted to say: You remind me of someone. But I didn’t dare open that line of conversation. Only two mortals ever had broken my heart. Even after so many centuries, I couldn’t think of her, couldn’t say her name without falling into despair.

Don’t misunderstand me. I felt no attraction to Meg. I was sixteen (or four thousand plus, depending on how you looked at it). She was a very young twelve. But the way she appeared now, Meg McCaffrey might have been the daughter of my former love…if my former love had lived long enough to have children.

It was too painful. I looked away.

“Well,” Sally Jackson said with forced cheerfulness, “how about I make some lunch while you three…talk.”

She gave Percy a worried glance, then headed to the kitchen, her hands protectively over her pregnant belly.

Meg sat on the edge of the sofa. “Percy, your mom is so normal.”

“Thanks, I guess.” He picked up a stack of test preparation manuals from the coffee table and chucked them aside.

“I see you like to study,” I said. “Well done.”

Percy snorted. “I hate to study. I’ve been guaranteed admission with a full scholarship to New Rome University, but they’re still requiring me to pass all my high school courses and score well on the SAT. Can you believe that? Not to mention I have to pass the DSTOMP.”

“The what?” Meg asked.

“An exam for Roman demigods,” I told her. “The Demigod Standard Test of Mad Powers.”

Percy frowned. “That’s what it stands for?”

“I should know. I wrote the music and poetry analysis sections.”

“I will never forgive you for that,” Percy said.

Meg swung her feet. “So you’re really a demigod? Like me?”

“Afraid so.” Percy sank into the armchair, leaving me to take the sofa next to Meg. “My dad is the godly one—Poseidon. What about your parents?”

Meg’s legs went still. She studied her chewed cuticles, the matching crescent rings glinting on her middle fingers. “Never knew them…much.”

Percy hesitated. “Foster home? Stepparents?”

I thought of a certain plant, the Mimosa pudica, which the god Pan created. As soon as its leaves are touched, the plant closes up defensively. Meg seemed to be playing mimosa, folding inward under Percy’s questions.

Percy raised his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.” He gave me an inquisitive look. “So how did you guys meet?”

I told him the story. I may have exaggerated my brave defense against Cade and Mikey—just for narrative effect, you understand.

As I finished, Sally Jackson returned. She set down a bowl of tortilla chips and a casserole dish filled with elaborate dip in multicolored strata, like sedimentary rock.

“I’ll be back with the sandwiches,” she said. “But I had some leftover seven-layer dip.”

“Yum.” Percy dug in with a tortilla chip. “She’s kinda famous for this, guys.”

Sally ruffled his hair. “There’s guacamole, sour cream, refried beans, salsa—”

“Seven layers?” I looked up in wonder. “You knew seven is my sacred number? You invented this for me?”

Sally wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, actually, I can’t take credit—”

“You are too modest!” I tried some of the dip. It tasted almost as good as ambrosia nachos. “You will have immortal fame for this, Sally Jackson!”

“That’s sweet.” She pointed to the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

Soon we were plowing through turkey sandwiches, chips and dip, and banana smoothies. Meg ate like a chipmunk, shoving more food in her mouth than she could possibly chew. My belly was full. I had never been so happy. I had a strange desire to fire up an Xbox and play Call of Duty.

“Percy,” I said, “your mom is awesome.”

“I know, right?” He finished his smoothie. “So back to your story…you have to be Meg’s servant now? You guys barely know each other.”