The Hidden Oracle (The Trials of Apollo #1)(89)

“Oh. I have no clue about those.”

“Harley’s beacon.” Percy laughed, though I could not understand why he was so pleased. “He said you gave it a tuning adjustment? I guess that did the trick.”

Rachel squinted at him. “Percy, what are you…” Her expression went slack. “Oh. Oh.”

“Were there any other lines?” Percy urged. “Like, except for the limerick?”

“Several,” I admitted. “Just bits and pieces I didn’t understand. The fall of the sun; the final verse. Um, Indiana, banana. Happiness approaches. Something about pages burning.”

Percy slapped his knee. “There you go. Happiness approaches. Happy is a name—well, the English version, anyway.” He stood and scanned the horizon. His eyes fixed on something in the distance. A grin spread across his face. “Yep. Apollo, your escort is on the way.”

I followed his gaze. Spiraling down from the clouds was a large winged creature that glinted of Celestial bronze. On its back were two human-size figures.

Their descent was silent, but in my mind a joyous fanfare of Valdezinator music proclaimed the good news.

Leo had returned.





Want to hit Leo?

That is understandable

Hunk Muffin earned it

THE DEMIGODS HAD TO TAKE NUMBERS.

Nico commandeered a dispenser from the snack bar and carried it around, yelling, “The line starts to the left! Orderly queue, guys!”

“Is this really necessary?” Leo asked.

“Yes,” said Miranda Gardiner, who had drawn the first number. She punched Leo in the arm.

“Ow,” said Leo.

“You’re a jerk, and we all hate you,” said Miranda. Then she hugged him and kissed his cheek. “If you ever disappear like that again, we’ll line up to kill you.”

“Okay, okay!”

Miranda had to move on, because the line was getting pretty long behind her. Percy and I sat at the picnic table with Leo and his companion—none other than the immortal sorceress Calypso. Even though Leo was the one getting punched by everyone in camp, I was reasonably sure he was the least uncomfortable one at the table.

When they first saw each other, Percy and Calypso had hugged awkwardly. I hadn’t witnessed such a tense greeting since Patroclus met Achilles’s war prize, Briseis. (Long story. Juicy gossip. Ask me later.) Calypso had never liked me, so she pointedly ignored me, but I kept waiting for her to yell “BOO!” and turn me into a tree frog. The suspense was killing me.

Percy hugged Leo and didn’t even punch him. Still, the son of Poseidon looked disgruntled.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Six months—”

“I told you,” Leo said. “We tried sending more holographic scrolls. We tried Iris messages, dream visions, phone calls. Nothing worked.—Ow! Hey, Alice, how you doing?—Anyway, we ran into one crisis after another.”

Calypso nodded. “Albania was particularly difficult.”

From down the line, Nico di Angelo yelled, “Please do not mention Albania! Okay, who’s next, folks? One line.”

Damien White punched Leo’s arm and walked away grinning. I wasn’t sure Damien even knew Leo. He simply couldn’t turn down a chance to punch someone.

Leo rubbed his bicep. “Hey, no fair. That guy’s getting back in the line. So, like I was saying, if Festus hadn’t picked up on that homing beacon yesterday, we’d still be flying around, looking for a way out of the Sea of Monsters.”

“Oh, I hate that place,” Percy said. “There’s this big Cyclops, Polyphemus—”

“I know, right?” Leo agreed. “What is up with that guy’s breath?”

“Boys,” Calypso said, “perhaps we should focus on the present?”

She did not look at me, but I got the impression she meant this silly former god and his problems.

“Yeah,” Percy said. “So the communication issues…Rachel Dare thinks it’s got something to do with this company, Triumvirate.”

Rachel herself had gone to the Big House to fetch Chiron, but Percy did a reasonable job summarizing what she had found out about the emperors and their evil corporation. Of course, we didn’t know very much. By the time six more people had punched Leo in the arm, Percy had brought Leo and Calypso up to speed.

Leo rubbed his new bruises. “Man, why does it not surprise me that modern corporations are run by zombie Roman emperors?”

“They are not zombies,” I said. “And I’m not sure they run all corporations—”

Leo waved away my explanation. “But they’re trying to take over the Oracles.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

“And that’s bad.”

“Very.”

“So you need our help.—Ow! Hey, Sherman. Where’d you get the new scar, dude?”

While Sherman told Leo the story of Crotchkicker McCaffrey and the Demon Peach Baby, I glanced at Calypso.

She looked very different from what I remembered. Her hair was still long and caramel brown. Her almond-shaped eyes were still dark and intelligent. But now, instead of a chiton she wore modern jeans, a white blouse, and a shocking-pink ski jacket. She looked younger—about my mortal age. I wondered if she had been punished with mortality for leaving her enchanted island. If so, it didn’t seem fair that she had retained her otherworldly beauty. She had neither flab nor acne.