The Blood of Olympus (The Heroes of Olympus #5)(71)

When Nico had woken up at Barrachina and found the Hunters’ note about kidnapping Reyna, he’d torn apart the courtyard in rage. He didn’t want the Hunters stealing another important person from him.

Fortunately, he’d got Reyna back, but he didn’t like how brooding she had become. Every time he tried to ask her about the incident on the Calle San Jose – those ghosts on the balcony, all staring at her, whispering accusations – Reyna shut him down.

Nico knew something about ghosts. Letting them get inside your head was dangerous. He wanted to help Reyna, but since his own strategy was to deal with his problems alone, spurning anyone who tried to get close, he couldn’t exactly criticize Reyna for doing the same thing.

She glanced up as they approached. ‘I figured it out.’

‘What historical site this is?’ Hedge asked. ‘Good, ’cause it’s been driving me crazy.’

‘The Battle of Waxhaws,’ she said.

‘Ah, right …’ Hedge nodded sagely. ‘That was a vicious little smackdown.’

Nico tried to sense any restless spirits in the area, but he felt nothing. Unusual for a battleground. ‘Are you sure?’

‘In 1780,’ Reyna said. ‘The American Revolution. Most of the Colonial leaders were Greek demigods. The British generals were Roman demigods.’

‘Because England was like Rome back then,’ Nico guessed. ‘A rising empire.’

Reyna picked up a crushed bouquet. ‘I think I know why we landed here. It’s my fault.’

‘Ah, come on,’ Hedge scoffed. ‘The Buford Zippy Mart isn’t anybody’s fault. Those things just happen.’

Reyna picked at the faded plastic flowers. ‘During the Revolution, four hundred Americans got overtaken here by British cavalry. The Colonial troops tried to surrender, but the British were out for blood. They massacred the Americans even after they threw down their weapons. Only a few survived.’

Nico supposed he should have been shocked. But after travelling through the Underworld, hearing so many stories of evil and death, a wartime massacre hardly seemed newsworthy. ‘Reyna, how is that your fault?’

‘The British commander was Banastre Tarleton.’

Hedge snorted. ‘I’ve heard of him. Crazy dude. They called him Benny the Butcher.’

‘Yes …’ Reyna took a shaky breath. ‘He was a son of Bellona.’

‘Oh.’ Nico stared at the oversized grave. It still bothered him that he couldn’t sense any spirits. Hundreds of soldiers massacred at this spot … that should’ve sent out some kind of death vibe.

He sat next to Reyna and decided to take a risk. ‘So you think we were drawn here because you have some sort of connection to the ghosts. Like what happened in San Juan?’

For a count of ten she said nothing, turning the plastic bouquet in her hand. ‘I don’t want to talk about San Juan.’

‘You should.’ Nico felt like a stranger in his own body. Why was he encouraging Reyna to share? It wasn’t his style or his business. Nevertheless, he kept talking. ‘The main thing about ghosts – most of them have lost their voices. In Asphodel, millions of them wander around aimlessly, trying to remember who they were. You know why they end up like that? Because in life they never took a stand one way or another. They never spoke out, so they were never heard. Your voice is your identity. If you don’t use it,’ he said with a shrug, ‘you’re halfway to Asphodel already.’

Reyna scowled. ‘Is that your idea of a pep talk?’

Coach Hedge cleared his throat. ‘This is getting too psychological for me. I’m going to write some letters.’

He took his notepad and headed into the woods. The last day or so, he’d been writing a lot – apparently not just to Mellie. The coach wouldn’t share details, but he hinted that he was calling in some favours to help with the quest. For all Nico knew, he was writing to Jackie Chan.

Nico opened his shopping bag. He pulled out a box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies and offered one to Reyna.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘Those look like they went stale in dinosaur times.’

‘Maybe. But I’ve got a big appetite these days. Any kind of food tastes good … except maybe pomegranate seeds. I’m done with those.’

Reyna picked out a creme pie and took a bite. ‘The ghosts in San Juan … they were my ancestors.’

Nico waited. The breeze ruffled the camouflage netting over the Athena Parthenos.

‘The Ramírez-Arellano family goes back a long way,’ Reyna continued. ‘I don’t know the whole story. My ancestors lived in Spain when it was a Roman province. My great-great-something-something-grandfather was a conquistador. He came over to Puerto Rico with Ponce de León.’

‘One of the ghosts on the balcony was wearing conquistador armour,’ Nico recalled.

‘That’s him.’

‘So … is your whole family descended from Bellona? I thought you and Hylla were her daughters, not legacies.’

Too late, Nico realized he shouldn’t have brought up Hylla. A look of despair passed over Reyna’s face, though she managed to hide it quickly.

‘We are her daughters,’ Reyna said. ‘We’re the first actual children of Bellona in the Ramírez-Arellano family. And Bellona has always favoured our clan. Millennia ago, she decreed that we would play pivotal roles in many battles.’