The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus #5)(40)

He remembered how nice the kids at Camp Half-Blood had been to him after the war with Kronos. Great job, Nico! Thanks for bringing the armies of the Underworld to save us!

Everybody smiled. They all invited him to sit at their table.

After about a week, his welcome wore thin. Campers would jump when he walked up behind them. He would emerge from the shadows at the campfire, startle somebody and see the discomfort in their eyes: Are you still here? Why are you here?

It didn’t help that immediately after the war with Kronos, Annabeth and Percy had started dating …

Nico set down his fartura. Suddenly it didn’t taste so good.

He recalled his talk with Annabeth at Epirus, just before he’d left with the Athena Parthenos.

She’d pulled him aside and said, ‘Hey, I have to talk to you.’

Panic had seized him. She knows.

‘I want to thank you,’ she continued. ‘Bob … the Titan … he only helped us in Tartarus because you were kind to him. You told him we were worth saving. That’s the only reason we’re alive.’

She said we so easily, as if she and Percy were interchangeable, inseparable.

Nico had once read a story from Plato, who claimed that in the ancient times all humans had been a combination of male and female. Each person had two heads, four arms, four legs. Supposedly, these combo-humans had been so powerful they made the gods uneasy, so Zeus split them in half – man and woman. Ever since, humans had felt incomplete. They spent their lives searching for their other halves.

And where does that leave me? Nico wondered.

It wasn’t his favourite story.

He wanted to hate Annabeth, but he just couldn’t. She’d gone out of her way to thank him at Epirus. She was genuine and sincere. She never overlooked him or avoided him like most people did. Why couldn’t she be a horrible person? That would’ve made it easier.

The wind god Favonius had warned him in Croatia: If you let your anger rule you … your fate will be even sadder than mine.

But how could his fate be anything but sad? Even if he lived through this quest, he would have to leave both camps forever. That was the only way he would find peace. He wished there was another option – a choice that didn’t hurt like the waters of the Phlegethon – but he couldn’t see one.

Reyna was studying him, probably trying to read his thoughts. She glanced down at his hands, and Nico realized he was twisting his silver skull ring – the last gift Bianca had given him.

‘Nico, how can we help you?’ Reyna asked.

Another question he wasn’t used to hearing.

‘I’m not sure,’ he admitted. ‘You’ve already let me rest as much as possible. That’s important. Perhaps you can lend me your strength again. This next jump will be the longest. I’ll have to muster enough energy to get us across the Atlantic.’

‘You’ll succeed,’ Reyna promised. ‘Once we’re back in the U.S., we should encounter fewer monsters. I might even be able to get help from retired legionnaires along the eastern seaboard. They are obliged to aid any Roman demigod who calls on them.’

Hedge grunted. ‘If Octavian hasn’t already won them over. In which case, you might find yourself arrested for treason.’

‘Coach,’ Reyna scolded, ‘not helping.’

‘Hey, just sayin’. Personally, I wish we could stay in Évora longer. Good food, good money and so far no sign of these figurative wolves –’

Reyna’s dogs sprang to their feet.

In the distance, howls pierced the air. Before Nico could stand, wolves appeared from every direction – huge black beasts leaping from the roofs, surrounding their encampment.

The largest of them padded forward. The alpha wolf stood on his haunches and began to change. His forelegs grew into arms. His snout shrank into a pointy nose. His grey fur morphed into a cloak of woven animal pelts. He became a tall, wiry man with a haggard face and glowing red eyes. A crown of finger bones circled his greasy black hair.

‘Ah, little satyr …’ The man grinned, revealing pointed fangs. ‘Your wish is granted! You will stay in Évora forever, because, sadly for you, my figurative wolves are literally wolves.’

XVI

Nico

‘YOU’RE NOT ORION,’ Nico blurted.

A stupid comment, but it was the first thing that came to his mind.

The man before him clearly was not a hunter giant. He wasn’t tall enough. He didn’t have dragon legs. He didn’t carry a bow or quiver, and he didn’t have the headlamp eyes Reyna had described from her dream.

The grey man laughed. ‘Indeed not. Orion has merely employed me to assist him in his hunt. I am –’

‘Lycaon,’ Reyna interrupted. ‘The first werewolf.’

The man gave her a mock bow. ‘Reyna Ramírez-Arellano, praetor of Rome. One of Lupa’s whelps! I’m pleased you recognize me. No doubt, I am the stuff of your nightmares.’

‘The stuff of my indigestion, perhaps.’ From her belt pouch, Reyna produced a foldable camping knife. She flicked it open and the wolves snarled, backing away. ‘I never travel without a silver weapon.’

Lycaon bared his teeth. ‘Would you keep a dozen wolves and their king at bay with a pocketknife? I heard you were brave, filia Romana. I did not realize you were foolhardy.’