The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3)(74)

Leo stared down at the monster’s head. This would be a tough shot, but he had no choice. He raised the vial in his left hand. He pressed his right hand against the tentacle and summoned fire to his palm—a narrowly focused, white-hot burst.

That got the creature’s attention. A tremble went all the way down the tentacle as its flesh blistered under Leo’s touch. The monster raised its maw, bellowing in pain, and Leo threw his Greek fire straight down its throat.

After that, things got fuzzy. Leo felt the tentacle release them. They fell. He heard a muffled explosion and saw a green flash of light inside the giant pink lampshade of the monster’s body. The water hit Leo’s face like a brick wrapped in sandpaper, and he sank into darkness. He clamped his mouth shut, trying not to breathe, but he could feel himself losing consciousness.

Through the sting of the salt water, he thought he saw the hazy silhouette of the ship’s hull above—a dark oval surrounded by a green fiery corona, but he couldn’t tell if the ship was actually on fire.

Killed by a giant shrimp, Leo thought bitterly. At least let the Argo II survive. Let my friends be okay.

His vision began to dim. His lungs burned.

Just as he was about to give up, a strange face hovered over him—a man who looked like Chiron, their trainer back at Camp Half-Blood. He had the same curly hair, shaggy beard, and intelligent eyes—a look somewhere between wild hippie and fatherly professor, except this man’s skin was the color of a lima bean. The man silently held up a dagger. His expression was grim and reproachful, as if to say: Now, hold still, or I can’t kill you properly.

Leo blacked out.

When Leo woke, he wondered if he was a ghost in another flashback, because he was floating weightlessly. His eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light.

“About time.” Frank’s voice had too much reverb, like he was speaking through several layers of plastic wrap.

Leo sat up…or rather he drifted upright. He was underwater, in a cave about the size of a two-car garage. Phosphorescent moss covered the ceiling, bathing the room in a blue-and-green glow. The floor was a carpet of sea urchins, which would have been uncomfortable to walk on, so Leo was glad he was floating. He didn’t understand how he could be breathing with no air.

Frank levitated nearby in meditation position. With his chubby face and his grumpy expression, he looked like a Buddha who’d achieved enlightenment and wasn’t thrilled about it.

The only exit to the cave was blocked by a massive abalone shell—its surface glistening in pearl and rose and turquoise. If this cave was a prison, at least it had an awesome door.

“Where are we?” Leo asked. “Where is everyone else?”

“Everyone?” Frank grumbled. “I don’t know. As far as I can tell, it’s just you and me and Hazel down here. The fish-horse guys took Hazel about an hour ago, leaving me with you.”

Frank’s tone made it obvious he didn’t approve of those arrangements. He didn’t look injured, but Leo realized that he no longer had his bow or quiver. In a panic, Leo patted his waist. His tool belt was gone.

“They searched us,” Frank said. “Took anything that could be a weapon.”

“Who?” Leo demanded. “Who are these fish-horse—?”

“Fish-horse guys,” Frank clarified, which wasn’t very clear. “They must have grabbed us when we fell in the ocean and dragged us…wherever this is.”

Leo remembered the last thing he’d seen before he passed out—the lima-bean-colored face of the bearded man with the dagger. “The shrimp monster. The Argo II—is the ship okay?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said darkly. “The others might be in trouble or hurt, or—or worse. But I guess you care more about your ship than your friends.”

Leo felt like his face had just hit the water again. “What kind of stupid thing—?”

Then he realized why Frank was so angry: the flashback. Things had happened so fast with the monster attack, Leo had almost forgotten. Coach Hedge had made that stupid comment about Leo and Hazel holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes. It probably hadn’t helped that Leo had gotten Frank knocked overboard right after that.

Suddenly Leo found it hard to meet Frank’s gaze.

“Look, man…I’m sorry I got us into this mess. I totally jacked things up.” He took a deep breath, which felt surprisingly normal, considering he was underwater. “Me and Hazel holding hands…it’s not what you think. She was showing me this flashback from her past, trying to figure out my connection with Sammy.”

Frank’s angry expression started to unknot, replaced by curiosity. “Did she…did you figure it out?”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Well, sort of. We didn’t get a chance to talk about it afterward because of Shrimpzilla, but Sammy was my great-grandfather.”

He told Frank what they’d seen. The weirdness hadn’t fully registered yet, but now, trying to explain it aloud, Leo could hardly believe it. Hazel had been sweet on his bisabuelo, a guy who had died when Leo was a baby. Leo hadn’t made the connection before, but he had a vague memory of older family members calling his grandfather Sam Junior. Which meant Sam Senior was Sammy, Leo’s bisabuelo. At some point, Tía Callida—Hera herself—had talked with Sammy, consoling him and giving him a glimpse into the future, which meant that Hera had been shaping Leo’s life generations before he was even born. If Hazel had stayed in the 1940s, if she’d married Sammy, Leo might’ve been her great-grandson.