The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus, #5)(70)

Percy nodded, though he didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. ‘Why did Kymopoleia call you a Pontiac?’

Jason’s laugh literally cleared the air. ‘Pontifex. It means priest.’

‘Oh.’ Percy frowned. ‘Still sounds like a kind of car. “The new Pontifex XLS.” Will you have to wear a collar and bless people?’

‘Nah. Romans used to have a Pontifex Maximus, who oversaw all the proper sacrifices and whatnot, to make sure none of the gods got mad. Which I offered to do … I guess it does sound like a pontifex’s job.’

‘So you meant it?’ Percy asked. ‘You’re really going to try building shrines for all the minor gods?’

‘Yeah. I never really thought about it before, but I like the idea of going back and forth between the two camps – assuming, you know, we make it through next week and the two camps still exist. What you did last year on Olympus, turning down immortality and asking the gods to play nice instead – that was noble, man.’

Percy grunted. ‘Believe me, some days I regret the choice. Oh, you want to turn down our offer? Okay, fine! ZAP! Lose your memory! Go to Tartarus!’

‘You did what a hero should do. I admire you for that. The least I can do, if we survive, is continue that work – make sure all the gods get some recognition. Who knows? If the gods get along better, maybe we can stop more of these wars from breaking out.’

‘That would most definitely be good,’ Percy agreed. ‘You know, you look different … better different. Does your wound still hurt?’

‘My wound …’ Jason had been so busy with the giant and the goddess, he’d forgotten about the sword wound in his gut, even though he’d been dying from it in sickbay only an hour ago.

He lifted his shirt and pulled away the bandages. No smoke. No bleeding. No scar. No pain.

‘It’s … gone,’ he said, stunned. ‘I feel completely normal. What the heck?’

‘You beat it, man!’ Percy laughed. ‘You found your own cure.’

Jason considered that. He guessed it must be true. Maybe putting aside his pain to help his friends had done the trick.

Or maybe his decision to honour the gods at both camps had healed him, giving him a clear path to the future. Roman or Greek … the difference didn’t matter. Like he’d told the ghosts at Ithaca, his family had just got bigger. Now he saw his place in it. He would keep his promise to the storm goddess. And because of that, Michael Varus’s sword meant nothing.

Die a Roman.

No. If he had to die, he would die a son of Jupiter, a child of the gods – the blood of Olympus. But he wasn’t about to let himself get sacrificed – at least not without a fight.

‘Come on.’ Jason clapped his friend on the back. ‘Let’s go check on our ship.’





XXIX


Nico


GIVEN A CHOICE between death and the Buford Zippy Mart, Nico would’ve had a tough time deciding. At least he knew his way around the Land of the Dead. Plus the food was fresher.

‘I still don’t get it,’ Coach Hedge muttered as they roamed the centre aisle. ‘They named a whole town after Leo’s table?’

‘I think the town was here first, Coach,’ Nico said.

‘Huh.’ The coach picked up a box of powdered doughnuts. ‘Maybe you’re right. These look at least a hundred years old. I miss those Portuguese farturas.’

Nico couldn’t think about Portugal without his arms hurting. Across his biceps, the werewolf claw marks were still swollen and red. The store clerk had asked Nico if he’d picked a fight with a bobcat.

They bought a first-aid kit, a pad of paper (so Coach Hedge could write more paper aeroplane messages to his wife), some junk food and soda (since the banquet table in Reyna’s new magic tent only provided healthy food and fresh water) and some miscellaneous camping supplies for Coach Hedge’s useless but impressively complicated monster traps.

Nico had been hoping to find some fresh clothes. Two days since they’d fled San Juan, he was tired of walking around in his tropical ISLA DEL ENCANTORICO shirt, especially since Coach Hedge had a matching one. Unfortunately, the Zippy Mart only carried T-shirts with Confederate flags and corny sayings like KEEP CALM AND FOLLOW THE REDNECK. Nico decided he’d stick with parrots and palm trees.

They walked back to the campsite down a two-lane road under the blazing sun. This part of South Carolina seemed to consist mostly of overgrown fields, punctuated by telephone poles and trees covered in kudzu vines. The town of Buford itself was a collection of portable metal sheds – six or seven, which was probably also the town’s population.

Nico wasn’t exactly a sunshine person, but for once he welcomed the warmth. It made him feel more substantial – anchored to the mortal world. With every shadow-jump, coming back got harder and harder. Even in broad daylight his hand passed through solid objects. His belt and sword kept falling around his ankles for no apparent reason. Once, when he wasn’t looking where he was going, he walked straight through a tree.

Nico remembered something Jason Grace had told him in the palace of Notus: Maybe it’s time you come out of the shadows.

If only I could, he thought. For the first time in his life, he had begun to fear the dark, because he might melt into it permanently.