The Lost Hero (The Heroes of Olympus #1)(84)

When they had left Medea in that exploding store, Leo had felt a little too good. He hoped she wouldn’t make it out, and would go right back to the Fields of Punishment, where she belonged. Those feelings didn’t make him proud, either.

And if souls were coming back from the Underworld …was it possible Leo’s mom could be brought back?

He tried to put the idea aside. That was Frankenstein thinking. It wasn’t natural. It wasn’t right. Medea might’ve been brought back to life, but she hadn’t seemed quite human, with the hissing nails and the glowing head and whatnot.

No, Leo’s mom had passed on. Thinking any other way would just drive Leo nuts. Still, the thought kept poking at him, like an echo of Medea’s voice.

“We’re going to have to put down soon,” he warned his friends. “Couple more hours, maybe, to make sure Medea’s not following us. I don’t think Festus can fly much longer than that.”

“Yeah,” Piper agreed. “Coach Hedge probably wants to get out of his canary cage, too. Question is—where are we going?”

“The Bay Area,” Leo guessed. His memories of the department store were fuzzy, but he seemed to remember hearing that. “Didn’t Medea say something about Oakland?”

Piper didn’t respond for so long, Leo wondered if he’d said something wrong.

“Piper’s dad,” Jason put in. “Something’s happened to your dad, right? He got lured into some kind of trap.”

Piper let out a shaky breath. “Look, Medea said you would both die in the Bay Area. And besides … even if we went there, the Bay Area is huge! First we need to find Aeolus and drop off the storm spirits. Boreas said Aeolus was the only one who could tell us exactly where to go.”

Leo grunted. “So how do we find Aeolus?”

Jason leaned forward. “You mean you don’t see it?” He pointed ahead of them, but Leo didn’t see anything except clouds and the lights of a few towns glowing in the dusk.

“What?” Leo asked. “That … whatever it is,” Jason said. “In the air.”

Leo glanced back. Piper looked just as confused as he was.

“Right,” Leo said. “Could you be more specific on the ‘whatever-it-is’ part?”

“Like a vapor trail,” Jason said. “Except it’s glowing. Really faint, but it’s definitely there. We’ve been following it since Chicago, so I figured you saw it.”

Leo shook his head. “Maybe Festus can sense it. You think Aeolus made it?”

“Well, it’s a magic trail in the wind,” Jason said. “Aeolus is the wind god. I think he knows we’ve got prisoners for him. He’s telling us where to fly.”

“Or it’s another trap,” Piper said.

Her tone worried Leo. She didn’t just sound nervous. She sounded broken with despair, like they’d already sealed their fate, and like it was her fault.

“Pipes, you all right?” he asked.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, fine. You don’t like any of the names I make up for you. But if your dad’s in trouble and we can help—”

“You can’t,” she said, her voice getting shakier. “Look, I’m tired. If you don’t mind …”

She leaned back against Jason and closed her eyes.

All right, Leo thought—pretty clear signal she didn’t want to talk.

They flew in silence for a while. Festus seemed to know where he was going. He kept his course, gently curving toward the southwest and hopefully Aeolus’s fortress. Another wind god to visit, a whole new flavor of crazy—Oh, boy, Leo couldn’t wait.

He had way too much on his mind to sleep, but now that he was out danger, his body had different ideas. His energy level was crashing. The monotonous beat of the dragon’s wings made his eyes feel heavy. His head started to nod.

“Catch a few Z’s,” Jason said. “It’s cool. Hand me the reins.”

“Nah, I’m okay—”

“Leo,” Jason said, “you’re not a machine. Besides, I’m the only one who can see the vapor trail. I’ll make sure we stay on course.”

Leo’s eyes started to close on their own. “All right. Maybe just …”

He didn’t finish the sentence before slumping forward against the dragon’s warm neck.

In his dream, he heard a voice full of static, like a bad AM radio: “Hello? Is this thing working?”

Leo’s vision came into focus—sort of. Everything was hazy and gray, with bands of interference running across his sight. He’d never dreamed with a bad connection before.

He seemed to be in a workshop. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw bench saws, metal lathes, and tool cages. A forge glowed cheerfully against one wall.

It wasn’t the camp forge—too big. Not Bunker 9—much warmer and more comfortable, obviously not abandoned.

Then Leo realized something was blocking the middle of his view—something large and fuzzy, and so close, Leo had to cross his eyes to see it properly. It was a large ugly face.

“Holy mother!” he yelped.

The face backed away and came into focus. Staring down at him was a bearded man in grimy blue coveralls. His face was lumpy and covered with welts, as if he’d been bitten by a million bees, or dragged across gravel. Possibly both.