The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(78)

“Stars…” Damasen said the word as if he’d forgotten its meaning. “Yes. They made silver patterns in the night sky.” He threw something to the floor with a thump. “Bah. This is useless talk. We cannot—”

In the distance, the Maeonian drakon roared.

Percy sat bolt upright. “What? What—where—what?”

“It’s okay.” Annabeth took his arm.

When he registered that they were together in a giant’s bed with a skeleton cat, he looked more confused than ever. “That noise…where are we?”

“How much do you remember?” she asked.

Percy frowned. His eyes seemed alert. All his wounds had vanished. Except for his tattered clothes and a few layers of dirt and grime, he looked as if he’d never fallen into Tartarus.

“I—the demon grandmothers—and then…not much.”

Damasen loomed over the bed. “There is no time, little mortals. The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others—my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes.”

Annabeth’s pulse quickened. “What will you tell them when they get here?”

Damasen’s mouth twitched. “What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone.”

He tossed them two drakon-leather satchels. “Clothes, food, drink.”

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Annabeth as if still pondering Damasen’s words: What have the demigods given you? We are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children.

Suddenly Annabeth was struck by a thought so sharp and clear, it was like a blade from Athena herself.

“The Prophecy of Seven,” she said.

Percy had already climbed out of the bed and was shouldering his pack. He frowned at her. “What about it?”

Annabeth grabbed Damasen’s hand, startling the giant. His brow furrowed. His skin was as rough as sandstone.

“You have to come with us,” she pleaded. “The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. I thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that’s not it. The line means us—demigods, a Titan, a giant. We need you to close the Doors!”

The drakon roared outside, closer this time. Damasen gently pulled his hand away.

“No, child,” he murmured. “My curse is here. I cannot escape it.”

“Yes, you can,” Annabeth said. “Don’t fight the drakon. Figure out a way to break the cycle! Find another fate.”

Damasen shook his head. “Even if I could, I cannot leave this swamp. It is the only destination I can picture.”

Annabeth’s mind raced. “There is another destination. Look at me! Remember my face. When you’re ready, come find me. We’ll take you to the mortal world with us. You can see the sunlight and stars.”

The ground shook. The drakon was close now, stomping through the marsh, blasting trees and moss with its poison spray. Farther away, Annabeth heard the voice of the giant Polybotes, urging his followers forward. “THE SEA GOD’S SON! HE IS CLOSE!”

“Annabeth,” Percy said urgently, “that’s our cue to leave.”

Damasen took something from his belt. In his massive hand, the white shard looked like another toothpick; but when he offered it to Annabeth, she realized it was a sword—a blade of dragon bone, honed to a deadly edge, with a simple grip of leather.

“One last gift for the child of Athena,” rumbled the giant. “I cannot have you walking to your death unarmed. Now, go! Before it is too late.”

Annabeth wanted to sob. She took the sword, but she couldn’t even make herself say thank you. She knew the giant was meant to fight at their side. That was the answer—but Damasen turned away.

“We must leave,” Bob urged as his kitten climbed onto his shoulder.

“He’s right, Annabeth,” Percy said.

They ran for the entrance. Annabeth didn’t look back as she followed Percy and Bob into the swamp, but she heard Damasen behind them, shouting his battle cry at the advancing drakon, his voice cracking with despair as he faced his old enemy yet again.

PIPER DIDN’T KNOW MUCH about the Mediterranean, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to freeze in July.

Two days out to sea from Split, gray clouds swallowed the sky. The waves turned choppy. Cold drizzle sprayed across the deck, forming ice on the rails and the ropes.

“It’s the scepter,” Nico murmured, hefting the ancient staff. “It has to be.”

Piper wondered. Ever since Jason and Nico had returned from Diocletian’s Palace, they’d been acting nervous and cagey. Something major had happened there—something Jason wouldn’t share with her.

It made sense that the scepter might have caused this weather change. The black orb on top seemed to leach the color right out of the air. The golden eagles at its base glinted coldly. The scepter could supposedly control the dead, and it definitely gave off bad vibes. Coach Hedge had taken one look at the thing, turned pale, and announced that he was going to his room to console himself with Chuck Norris videos. (Although Piper suspected that he was actually making Iris-messages back home to his girlfriend Mellie; the coach had been acting very agitated about her lately, though he wouldn’t tell Piper what was going on.)

So, yes…maybe the scepter could cause a freak ice storm. But Piper didn’t think that was it. She feared something else was happening—something even worse.