The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus, #5)(23)

The ship was descending, which meant Leo’s projects would have to wait.

‘Sit tight, Sunshine,’ he told Calypso’s picture. ‘I’ll get back to you, just like I promised.’

Leo could imagine her response: I am not waiting for you, Leo Valdez. I am not in love with you. And I certainly don’t believe your foolish promises!

The thought made him smile. He slipped his keys back into his tool belt and headed for the mess hall.

The other six demigods were eating breakfast.

Once upon a time, Leo would have worried about all of them being together belowdecks with nobody at the helm, but ever since Piper had permanently woken up Festus with her charmspeak – a feat Leo still did not understand – the dragon figurehead had been more than capable of running the Argo II by himself. Festus could navigate, check the radar, make a blueberry smoothie and spew white-hot jets of fire at invaders – simultaneously – without even blowing a circuit.

Besides, they had Buford the Wonder Table as backup.

After Coach Hedge left on his shadow-travel expedition, Leo had decided that his three-legged table could do just as good a job as their ‘adult chaperone’. He had laminated Buford’s tabletop with a magic scroll that projected a pint-sized holographic simulation of Coach Hedge. Mini-Hedge would stomp around on Buford’s top, randomly saying things like ‘CUT THAT OUT!’ ‘I’M GONNA KILL YOU!’ and the ever-popular ‘PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!’

Today, Buford was manning the helm. If Festus’s flames didn’t scare away the monsters, Buford’s holographic Hedge definitely would.

Leo stood in the doorway of the mess hall, taking in the scene around the dining table. It wasn’t often he got to see all his friends together.

Percy was eating a huge stack of blue pancakes (what was his deal with blue food?) while Annabeth chided him for pouring on too much syrup.

‘You’re drowning them!’ she complained.

‘Hey, I’m a Poseidon kid,’ he said. ‘I can’t drown. And neither can my pancakes.’

To their left, Frank and Hazel used their cereal bowls to flatten out a map of Greece. They looked over it, their heads close together. Every once in a while Frank’s hand would cover Hazel’s, just sweet and natural like they were an old married couple, and Hazel didn’t even look flustered, which was real progress for a girl from the 1940s. Until recently, if somebody said gosh darn, she would nearly faint.

At the head of the table, Jason sat uncomfortably with his T-shirt rolled up to his ribcage as Nurse Piper changed his bandages.

‘Hold still,’ she said. ‘I know it hurts.’

‘It’s just cold,’ he said.

Leo could hear the pain in his voice. That stupid gladius blade had pierced him all the way through. The entrance wound on his back was an ugly shade of purple and it steamed. Probably not a good sign.

Piper tried to stay positive, but privately she had told Leo how worried she was. Ambrosia, nectar and mortal medicine could only help so much. A deep cut from Celestial bronze or Imperial gold could literally dissolve a demigod’s essence from the inside out. Jason might get better. He claimed he felt better. But Piper wasn’t so sure.

Too bad Jason wasn’t a metal automaton. At least then Leo would have some idea of how to help his best friend. But with humans … Leo felt helpless. They broke way too easily.

He loved his friends. He’d do anything for them. But as he looked at the six of them – three couples, all focused on each other – he thought about the warning from Nemesis, the revenge goddess: You will not find a place among your brethren. You will always be the seventh wheel.

He was starting to think Nemesis was right. Assuming Leo lived long enough, assuming his crazy secret plan worked, his destiny was with somebody else, on an island that no man ever found twice.

But for now the best he could do was to follow his old rule: Keep moving. Don’t get bogged down. Don’t think about the bad stuff. Smile and joke even when you don’t feel like it. Especially when you don’t feel like it.

‘What’s up, guys?’ He strolled into the mess hall. ‘Aw, yes to brownies!’

He grabbed the last one – from a special sea-salt recipe they’d picked up from Aphros the fish centaur at the bottom of the Atlantic.

The intercom crackled. Buford’s Mini-Hedge yelled over the speakers, ‘PUT SOME CLOTHES ON!’

Everyone jumped. Hazel ended up five feet away from Frank. Percy spilled syrup in his orange juice. Jason awkwardly wriggled back into his T-shirt, and Frank turned into a bulldog.

Piper glared at Leo. ‘I thought you were getting rid of that stupid hologram.’

‘Hey, Buford’s just saying good morning. He loves his hologram! Besides, we all miss the coach. And Frank makes a cute bulldog.’

Frank morphed back into a burly, grumpy Chinese Canadian dude. ‘Just sit down, Leo. We’ve got stuff to talk about.’

Leo squeezed in between Jason and Hazel. He figured they were the least likely to smack him if he made bad jokes. He took a bite of his brownie and grabbed a pack of Italian junk food – Fonzies – to round out his balanced breakfast. He’d become kind of addicted to the things since buying some in Bologna. They were cheesy and corny – two of his favourite qualities.

‘So …’ Jason winced as he leaned forward. ‘We’re going to stay airborne and drop anchor as close as we can to Olympia. It’s further inland than I’d like – about five miles – but we don’t have much choice. According to Juno, we have to find the goddess of victory and, um … subdue her.’