The Lost Hero (The Heroes of Olympus #1)(72)

“I’m not alone, then,” he said. “There are others like me.”

“Jason,” Piper said, “you were never alone. You’ve got us.”

“I—I know … but something Hera said. I was having a dream…”

He told them what he’d seen, and what the goddess had said inside her cage.

“An exchange?” Piper asked. “What does that mean?”

Jason shook his head. “But Hera’s gamble is me. Just by sending me to Camp Half-Blood, I have a feeling she broke some kind of rule, something that could blow up in a big way—”

“Or save us,” Piper said hopefully. “That bit about the sleeping enemy—that sounds like the lady Leo told us about.”

Leo cleared his throat. “About that … she kind of appeared to me back in Detroit, in a pool of Porta-Potty sludge.”

Jason wasn’t sure he’d heard that right. “Did you say … Porta-Potty?”

Leo told them about the big face in the factory yard. “I don’t know if she’s completely unkillable,” he said, “but she cannot be defeated by toilet seats. I can vouch for that. She wanted me to betray you guys, and I was like, ‘Pfft, right, I’m gonna listen to a face in the potty sludge.’”

“She’s trying to divide us.” Piper slipped her arms from around Jason’s waist. He could sense her tension without even looking at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I just … Why are they toying with us? Who is this lady, and how is she connected to Enceladus?”

“Enceladus?” Jason didn’t think he’d heard that name before.

“I mean …” Piper’s voice quavered. “That’s one of the giants. Just one of the names I could remember.”

Jason got the feeling there was a lot more bothering her, but he decided he not to press her. She’d had a rough morning.

Leo scratched his head. “Well, I dunno about Enchiladas—”

“Enceladus,” Piper corrected.

“Whatever. But Old Potty Face mentioned another name. Porpoise Fear, or something?”

“Porphyrion?” Piper asked. “He was the giant king, I think.”

Jason envisioned that dark spire in the old reflecting pool—growing larger as Hera got weaker. “I’m going to take wild guess,” he said. “In the old stories, Porphyrion kidnapped Hera. That was the first shot in the war between the giants and the gods.”

“I think so,” Piper agreed. “But those myths are really garbled and conflicted. It’s almost like nobody wanted that story to survive. I just remember there was a war, and the giants were almost impossible to kill.”

“Heroes and gods had to work together,” Jason said. “That’s what Hera told me.”

“Kind of hard to do,” Leo grumbled, “if the gods won’t even talk to us.”

They flew west, and Jason became lost in his thoughts—all of them bad. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before the dragon dove through a break in the clouds, and below them, glittering in the winter sun, was a city at the edge of a massive lake. A crescent of skyscrapers lined the shore. Behind them, stretching out to the western horizon, was a vast grid of snow-covered neighborhoods and roads.

“Chicago,” Jason said.

He thought about what Hera had said in his dream. His worst mortal enemy would be waiting here. If he was going to die, it would be by her hand.

“One problem down,” Leo said. “We got here alive. Now, how do we find the storm spirits?”

Jason saw a flash of movement below them. At first he thought it was a small plane, but it was too small, too dark and fast. The thing spiraled toward the skyscrapers, weaving and changing shape—and, just for a moment it became the smoky figure of a horse.

“How about we follow that one,” Jason suggested, “and see where it goes?”

JASON WAS AFRAID THEY’D LOSE THEIR TARGET. The ventus moved like … well, like the wind.

“Speed up!” he urged.

“Bro,” Leo said, “if I get any closer, he’ll spot us. Bronze dragon ain’t exactly a stealth plane.”

“Slow down!” Piper yelped.

The storm spirit dove into the grid of downtown streets. Festus tried to follow, but his wingspan was way too wide. His left wing clipped the edge of a building, slicing off a stone gargoyle before Leo pulled up.

“Get above the buildings,” Jason suggested. “We’ll track him from there.”

“You want to drive this thing?” Leo grumbled, but he did what Jason asked.

After a few minutes, Jason spotted the storm spirit again, zipping through the streets with no apparent purpose—blowing over pedestrians, ruffling flags, making cars swerve.

“Oh great,” Piper said. “There’re two.”

She was right. A second ventus blasted around the corner of the Renaissance Hotel and linked up with the first. They wove together in a chaotic dance, shooting to the top of a skyscraper, bending a radio tower, and diving back down toward the street.

“Those guys do not need any more caffeine,” Leo said.

“I guess Chicago’s a good place to hang out,” Piper said. “Nobody’s going to question a couple more evil winds.”