The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(96)

“Oh, yeah.” Leo grinned. “You’re really warming up to me.”

Her face got even redder. “You are the most insufferable person I have ever met! I was only returning a favor. You fixed my fountain.”

“That?” Leo laughed. The problem had been so simple, he’d almost forgotten about it. One of the bronze satyrs had gotten turned sideways and the water pressure was off, so it started making an annoying ticking sound, jiggling up and down, and spewing water over the rim of the pool. He’d pulled out a couple of tools and fixed it in about two minutes. “That was no big deal. I don’t like it when things don’t work right.”

“And the curtains across the cave entrance?”

“The rod wasn’t level.”

“And my gardening tools?”

“Look, I just sharpened the shears. Cutting vines with a dull blade is dangerous. And the pruners needed to be oiled at the hinge, and—”

“Oh, yeah,” Calypso said, in a pretty good imitation of his voice. “You’re really warming up to me.”

For once, Leo was speechless. Calypso’s eyes glittered. He knew she was making fun of him, but somehow it didn’t feel mean.

She pointed at his worktable. “What are you building?”

“Oh.” He looked at the bronze mirror, which he’d just finished wiring up to the Archimedes sphere. In the screen’s polished surface, his own reflection surprised him. His hair had grown out longer and curlier. His face was thinner and more chiseled, maybe because he hadn’t been eating. His eyes were dark and a little ferocious when he wasn’t smiling—kind of a Tarzan look, if Tarzan came in extra-small Latino. He couldn’t blame Calypso for backing away from him.

“Uh, it’s a seeing device,” he said. “We found one like this in Rome, in the workshop of Archimedes. If I can make it work, maybe I can find out what’s going on with my friends.”

Calypso shook her head. “That’s impossible. This island is hidden, cut off from the world by strong magic. Time doesn’t even flow the same here.”

“Well, you’ve got to have some kind of outside contact. How did you find out that I used to wear an army jacket?”

She twisted her hair as if the question made her uncomfortable. “Seeing the past is simple magic. Seeing the present or the future—that is not.”

“Yeah, well,” Leo said. “Watch and learn, Sunshine. I just connect these last two wires, and—”

The bronze plate sparked. Smoke billowed from the sphere. A flash of fire raced up Leo’s sleeve. He pulled off his shirt, threw it down, and stomped on it.

He could tell Calypso was trying not to laugh, but she was shaking with the effort.

“Not a word,” Leo warned.

She glanced at his bare chest, which was sweaty, bony, and streaked with old scars from weapon-making accidents.

“Nothing worth commenting on,” she assured him. “If you want that device to work, perhaps you should try a musical invocation.”

“Right,” he said. “Whenever an engine malfunctions, I like to tap-dance around it. Works every time.”

She took a deep breath and began to sing.

Her voice hit him like a cool breeze—like that first cold front in Texas when the summer heat finally breaks and you start to believe things might get better. Leo couldn’t understand the words, but the song was plaintive and bittersweet, as if she were describing a home she could never return to.

Her singing was magic, no doubt. But it wasn’t like Medea’s trance-inducing voice, or even Piper’s charmspeak. The music didn’t want anything from him. It simply reminded him of his best memories—building things with his mom in her workshop; sitting in the sunshine with his friends at camp. It made him miss home.

Calypso stopped singing. Leo realized he was staring like an idiot.

“Any luck?” she asked.

“Uh…” He forced his eyes back to the bronze mirror. “Nothing. Wait…”

The screen glowed. In the air above it, holographic pictures shimmered to life.

Leo recognized the commons at Camp Half-Blood.

There was no sound, but Clarisse LaRue from the Ares Cabin was yelling orders at the campers, forming them into lines. Leo’s brethren from Cabin Nine hurried around, fitting everyone with armor and passing out weapons.

Even Chiron the centaur was dressed for war. He trotted up and down the ranks, his plumed helmet gleaming, his legs decked in bronze greaves. His usual friendly smile was gone, replaced with a look of grim determination.

In the distance, Greek triremes floated on Long Island Sound, prepped for war. Along the hills, catapults were being primed. Satyrs patrolled the fields, and riders on pegasi circled overhead, alert for aerial attacks.

“Your friends?” Calypso asked.

Leo nodded. His face felt numb. “They’re preparing for war.”

“Against whom?”

“Look,” Leo said.

The scene changed. A phalanx of Roman demigods marched through a moonlit vineyard. An illuminated sign in the distance read: GOLDSMITH WINERY.

“I’ve seen that sign before,” Leo said. “That’s not far from Camp Half-Blood.”

Suddenly the Roman ranks deteriorated into chaos. Demigods scattered. Shields fell. Javelins swung wildly, like the whole group had stepped in fire ants.