The Son of Neptune (The Heroes of Olympus #2)(92)

“Frank?” Hazel asked.

“Ella is nervous,” the harpy muttered from her perch on the railing. “The elephant—the elephant is looking at Ella.”

“It’ll be fine.” Frank’s hand was shaking so badly he could barely fit the key in the lock. “Just stay together.”

Inside, the house smelled closed-up and musty. Usually the air was scented with jasmine incense, but all the burners were empty.

They examined the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink, which wasn’t right. Grandmother’s maid came every day—unless she’d been scared off by the giants.

Or eaten for lunch, Frank thought. Ella had said the Laistrygonians were cannibals.

He pushed that thought aside. Monsters ignored regular mortals. At least, they usually did.

In the parlor, Buddha statues and Taoist immortals grinned at them like psycho clowns. Frank remembered Iris, the rainbow goddess, who’d been dabbling in Buddhism and Taoism. Frank figured one visit to this creepy old house would cure her of that.

Grandmother’s large porcelain vases were strung with cobwebs. Again—that wasn’t right. She insisted that her collection be dusted regularly. Looking at the porcelain, Frank felt a twinge of guilt for having destroyed so many pieces the day of the funeral. It seemed silly to him now—getting angry at Grandmother when he had so many others to be angry at: Juno, Gaea, the giants, his dad Mars. Especially Mars.

The fireplace was dark and cold.

Hazel hugged her chest as if to keep the piece of firewood from jumping into the hearth. “Is that—”

“Yeah,” Frank said. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?” Percy asked.

Hazel’s expression was sympathetic, but that just made Frank feel worse. He remembered how terrified, how repulsed she had looked when he had summoned Gray.

“It’s the fireplace,” he told Percy, which sounded stupidly obvious. “Come on. Let’s check upstairs.”

The steps creaked under their feet. Frank’s old room was the same. None of his things had been touched—his extra bow and quiver (he’d have to grab those later), his spelling awards from school (yeah, he probably was the only non-dyslexic spelling champion demigod in the world, as if he weren’t enough of a freak already), and his photos of his mom—in her flak jacket and helmet, sitting on a Humvee in Kandahar Province; in her soccer coach uniform, the season she’d coached Frank’s team; in her military dress uniform, her hands on Frank’s shoulders, the time she’d visited his school for career day.

“Your mother?” Hazel asked gently. “She’s beautiful.”

Frank couldn’t answer. He felt a little embarrassed—a sixteen-year-old guy with a bunch of pictures of his mom.

How hopelessly lame was that? But mostly he felt sad. Six weeks since he’d been here. In some ways it seemed like forever. But when he looked at his mom’s smiling face in those photos, the pain of losing her was as fresh as ever.

They checked the other bedrooms. The middle two were empty. A dim light flickered under the last door—Grandmother’s room.

Frank knocked quietly. No one answered. He pushed open her door. Grandmother lay in bed, looking gaunt and frail, her white hair spread around her face like a basilisk’s crown. A single candle burned on the nightstand. At her bedside sat a large man in beige Canadian Forces fatigues. Despite the gloom, he wore dark sunglasses with blood red light glowing behind the lenses.

“Mars,” Frank said.

The god looked up impassively. “Hey, kid. Come on in. Tell your friends to take a hike.”

“Frank?” Hazel whispered. “What do mean, Mars? Is your grandmother ... is she okay?”

Frank glanced at his friends. “You don’t see him?”

“See who?” Percy gripped his sword. “Mars? Where?”

The war god chuckled. “Nah, they can’t see me. Figured it was better this time. Just a private conversation—father/son, right?”

Frank clenched his fists. He counted to ten before he trusted himself to speak.

“Guys, it’s…it’s nothing. Listen, why don’t you take the middle bedrooms?”

“Roof,” Ella said. “Roofs are good for harpies.”

“Sure,” Frank said in a daze. “There’s probably food in the kitchen. Would you give me a few minutes alone with my grandmother? I think she—”

His voice broke. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to cry orscream or punch Mars in the glasses—maybe all three.

Hazel laid her hand on his arm. “Of course, Frank. Come on, Ella, Percy.”

Frank waited until his friends’ steps receded. Then he walked into the bedroom and closed the door.

“Is it really you?” he asked Mars. “This isn’t a trick or illusion or something?”

The god shook his head. “You’d prefer it if it wasn’t me?”

“Yes,” Frank confessed.

Mars shrugged. “Can’t blame you. Nobody welcomes war—not if they’re smart. But war finds everyone sooner or later. It’s inevitable.”

“That’s stupid,” Frank said. “War isn’t inevitable. It kills people. It—”

“—took your mom,” Mars finished.