The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(118)

As if to prove his point, black lightning ripped through the sky, leaving dark spots before Frank’s eyes and making the hairs on his arms stand up.

Jason strapped on his sword belt. “Everyone, arm yourself. Leo, get us close, but don’t land—no more contact with the ground than necessary. Piper, Hazel, get the mooring ropes.”

“On it!” Piper said.

Hazel gave Frank a peck on the cheek and ran to help.

“Frank,” Jason called, “get below and find Coach Hedge.”

“Yep!”

He climbed downstairs and headed for Hedge’s cabin. As he neared the door, he slowed down. He didn’t want to surprise the satyr with any loud noises. Coach Hedge had a habit of jumping into the gangway with his baseball bat if he thought attackers were on board. Frank had almost gotten his head taken off a couple of times on his way to the bathroom.

He raised his hand to knock. Then he realized the door was cracked open. He heard Coach Hedge talking inside.

“Come on, babe!” the satyr said. “You know it’s not like that!”

Frank froze. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Hazel had mentioned being worried about the coach. She’d insisted something was bothering him, but Frank hadn’t thought much of it until now.

He’d never heard the coach talk so gently. Usually the only sounds Frank heard from the coach’s cabin were sporting events on the TV, or the coach yelling, “Yeah! Get ’em!” as he watched his favorite martial arts movies. Frank was pretty sure the coach wouldn’t be calling Chuck Norris babe.

Another voice spoke—female, but barely audible, like it was coming from a long way away.

“I will,” Coach Hedge promised. “But, uh, we’re going into battle”—he cleared his throat—“and it may get ugly. You just stay safe. I’ll get back. Honest.”

Frank couldn’t stand it anymore. He knocked loudly. “Hey, Coach?”

The talking stopped.

Frank counted to six. The door flew open.

Coach Hedge stood there scowling, his eyes bloodshot, like he’d been watching too much TV. He wore his usual baseball cap and gym shorts, with a leather cuirass over his shirt and a whistle hanging from his neck, maybe in case he wanted to call a foul against the monster armies.

“Zhang. What do you want?”

“Uh, we’re getting ready for battle. We need you above deck.”

The coach’s goatee quivered. “Yeah. ’Course you do.” He sounded strangely unexcited about the prospect of a fight.

“I didn’t mean to—I mean, I heard you talking,” Frank stammered. “Were you sending an Iris-message?”

Hedge looked like he might smack Frank in the face, or at least blow the whistle really loud. Then his shoulders slumped. He heaved a sigh and turned inside, leaving Frank standing awkwardly in the doorway.

The coach plopped down on his berth. His cupped his chin in his hand and stared glumly around his cabin. The place looked like a college dorm room after a hurricane—the floor strewn with laundry (maybe for wearing, maybe for snacks; it was hard to tell with satyrs), DVDs and dirty dishes scattered around the TV on the dresser. Every time the ship tilted, a mismatched herd of sports equipment rolled across the floor—footballs, basketballs, baseballs, and for some reason, a single billiard ball. Tufts of goat hair floated through the air and collected under the furniture in clumps. Dust goats? Goat bunnies?

On the coach’s nightstand sat a bowl of water, a stack of golden drachmas, a flashlight, and a glass prism for making rainbows. The coach had obviously come prepared to make a lot of Iris-messages.

Frank remembered what Piper had told him about the coach’s cloud nymph girlfriend who worked for Piper’s dad. What was the girlfriend’s name… Melinda? Millicent? No, Mellie.

“Uh, is your girlfriend Mellie all right?” Frank ventured.

“None of your business!” the coach snapped.

“Okay.”

Hedge rolled his eyes. “Fine! If you must know—yes, I was talking to Mellie. But she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

“Oh…” Frank’s heart sank. “You broke up?”

“No, you dolt! We got married! She’s my wife!”

Frank would’ve been less stunned if the coach had smacked him. “Coach, that’s—that’s great! When—how—?”

“None of your business!” he yelled again.

“Um…all right.”

“End of May,” the coach said. “Just before the Argo II sailed. We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Frank felt like the ship was tilting again, but it must have been just him. The herd of wild sports equipment stayed put against the far wall.

All this time the coach had been married? In spite of being a newlywed, he’d agreed to come on this quest. No wonder Hedge made so many calls back home. No wonder he was so cranky and belligerent.

Still… Frank sensed there was more going on. The coach’s tone during the Iris-message made it sound like they were discussing a problem.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Frank said. “But…is she okay?”

“It was a private conversation!”

“Yeah. You’re right.”