by Rick Riordan
“Haven’t heard what?” Sally asked.
I swallowed dryly. “That we were coming back to New York. No matter. We’ll just—”
“Enough small talk,” Lu interrupted. “We are in grave danger. These mortals cannot help us. We must go.”
Lu’s tone wasn’t exactly disdainful—just irritated, and maybe concerned for our hosts. If Nero tracked us to this apartment, he wouldn’t spare Percy’s family just because they weren’t demigods.
On the other hand, the Arrow of Dodona had told us to come here. There had to be a reason. I hoped it had something to do with what Paul was cooking.
Sally studied our large tattooed friend. She didn’t look offended, more like she was taking Lu’s measure and pondering whether she had any clothes large enough to fit her. “Well, you can’t leave dripping wet. Let’s get you some dry things to wear, at least, and some food if you’re hungry.”
“Yes, please,” Meg said. “I love you.”
Estelle burst into a fresh peal of giggles. She had apparently just discovered that her father’s fingers could wiggle, and she considered this hilarious.
Sally smiled at her baby, then at Meg. “I love you, too, dear. Percy’s friends are always welcome.”
“I have no idea who this Percy is,” Lu protested.
“Anyone who needs help is always welcome,” Sally amended. “Believe me, we’ve been in danger before, and we’ve come through it. Right, Paul?”
“Yep,” he agreed without hesitation. “There’s plenty of food. I think Percy has some clothes that will fit, uh, is it Apollo?”
I nodded morosely. I knew all too well that Percy’s clothes would fit me, because I’d left here six months ago wearing his hand-me-downs. “Thank you, Paul.”
Lu grunted. “I suppose.…Is that lasagna I smell?”
Paul grinned. “The Blofis family recipe.”
“Hm. I suppose we could stay for a bit,” Lu decided.
The wonders never ceased. The Gaul and I actually agreed on something.
“Here, try this.” Paul tossed me a faded Percy T-shirt to go with my ratty Percy jeans.
I did not complain. The clothes were clean, warm, and dry, and after trudging underground across half of Manhattan, my old outfit smelled so bad it would have to be sealed in a hazardous waste pouch and incinerated.
I sat on Percy’s bed next to Estelle, who lay on her back, staring in fascination at a blue plastic donut.
I ran my hand across the faded words on the T-shirt: AHS SWIM TEAM. “What does AHS stand for?”
Paul wrinkled his nose. “Alternative High School. It was the only place that would take Percy for just his senior year, after…You know.”
I remembered. Percy had disappeared for the entirety of his junior year thanks to the meddling of Hera, who zapped him across the country and gave him amnesia, all for the sake of making the Greek and Roman demigod camps unite for the war with Gaea. My stepmother just loved bringing people together.
“You didn’t approve of the situation, or the school?” I asked.
Paul shrugged. He looked uncomfortable, as if saying anything negative would go against his nature.
Estelle gave me a drooling grin. “Gah?” I took this to mean Can you believe how lucky we are to be alive right now?
Paul sat next to her and gently cupped his hand over her wispy hair.
“I’m an English teacher at another high school,” he said. “AHS was…not the best. For kids who are struggling, at risk, you want a safe place with good accommodations and excellent support. You want to understand each student as an individual. Alt High was more like a holding pen for everybody who didn’t fit into the system. Percy had been through so much…I was worried about him. But he made the best of the situation. He really wanted to get that diploma. I’m proud of him.”
Estelle cooed. Paul’s eyes wrinkled around the edges. He tapped her nose. “Boop.”
The baby was stunned for a millisecond. Then she laughed with such glee I worried she might choke on her own spit.
I found myself staring in amazement at Paul and Estelle, who struck me as even greater miracles than Percy’s graduation. Paul seemed like a caring husband, a loving father, a kind stepfather. In my own experience, such a creature was harder to find than an albino unicorn or three-winged griffin.
As for baby Estelle, her good nature and sense of wonder rose to the level of superpowers. If this child grew up to be as perceptive and charismatic as she appeared to be now, she would rule the world. I decided not to tell Zeus about her.
“Paul…” I ventured. “Aren’t you worried about having us here? We might endanger your family.”
The corners of his mouth tightened. “I was at the Battle of Manhattan. I’ve heard about some of the horrible things Sally went through—fighting the Minotaur, being imprisoned in the Underworld. And Percy’s adventures?” He shook his head in respect. “Percy has put himself on the line for us, for his friends, for the world, plenty of times. So, can I risk giving you a place to catch your breath, some fresh clothes, and a hot meal? Yeah, how could I not?”
“You are a good man, Paul Blofis.”
He tilted his head, as if wondering what other kind of man anyone would possibly try to be. “Well, I’ll leave you to get cleaned up and dressed. We don’t want dinner to get burned, do we, Estelle?”
The baby went into a fit of giggles as her father scooped her up and carried her out of the room.
I took my time in the shower. I needed a good scrubbing, yes. But mostly I needed to stand with my forehead against the tiles, shaking and weeping until I felt like I could face other people again.
What was it about kindness? In my time as Lester Papadopoulos, I had learned to stand up under horrendous verbal abuse and constant life-threatening violence, but the smallest act of generosity could ninja-kick me right in the heart and break me into a blubbering mess of emotions.
Darn you, Paul and Sally, and your cute baby, too!
How could I repay them for providing me this temporary refuge? I felt like I owed them the same thing I owed Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood, the Waystation and the Cistern, Piper and Frank and Hazel and Leo and, yes, especially Jason Grace. I owed them everything.
How could I not?
Once I was dressed, I staggered out to the dining area. Everyone was seated around the table except Estelle, who Paul informed me was down for the night. No doubt all that pure joy required a great amount of energy.
Meg wore a new pink smock dress and white leggings. If she cherished these as much as the last outfit Sally had given her, she would end up wearing them until they fell off her body in burned-and-shredded rags. Together with her red high-tops—which thankfully had been well cleaned—she sported a Valentine’s Day color theme that seemed quite out of character, unless you considered her sweetheart to be the mountain of garlic bread she was shoveling into her mouth.
Lu was dressed in an XXL men’s work shirt with ELECTRONICS MEGA-MART stitched over the pocket. She wore a fluffy turquoise towel around her waist like a kilt, because, she informed me, the only other pants in the apartment large enough to fit her were Sally’s old maternity pants and, no thank you, Lu would just wait for hers to get out of the dryer.
Sally and Paul provided us with heaping plates of salad, lasagna, and garlic bread. It wasn’t Sally’s famous seven-layer dip, but it was a family-style feast like I hadn’t experienced since the Waystation. That memory gave me a twinge of melancholy. I wondered how everyone there was doing: Leo, Calypso, Emmie, Jo, little Georgina.…At the time, our trials in Indianapolis had felt like a nightmare, but in retrospect they seemed like happier, simpler days.
Sally Jackson sat down and smiled. “Well, this is nice.” Shockingly, she sounded sincere. “We don’t have guests often. Now, let’s eat, and you can tell us who or what is trying to kill you this time.”
I WISHED WE COULD HAVE HAD REGULAR small talk around the dinner table: the weather, who liked whom at school, which gods
were casting plagues on which cities and why. But no, it was always about who was trying to kill me.
I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s appetite, especially since Paul’s savory family-recipe lasagna was making me drool like Estelle. Also, I wasn’t sure I trusted Luguselwa enough to share our whole story.
Meg had no such qualms. She opened up about everything we’d been through—with the exception of the tragic deaths. I was sure she only skipped those to spare Sally and Paul from worrying too much about Percy.
I don’t think I’d ever heard Meg talk as much as she did at Sally and Paul’s dinner table, as if the presence of kindly parental figures had uncorked something inside her.
Meg told them of our battles with Commodus and Caligula. She explained how we had freed four ancient Oracles and had now returned to New York to face the last and most powerful emperor, Nero. Paul and Sally listened intently, interrupting only to express concern or sympathy. When Sally looked at me and said, “You poor dear,” I almost lost it again. I wanted to cry on her shoulder. I wanted Paul to dress me in a yellow onesie and rock me until I feel asleep.
“So, Nero is after you,” Paul said at last. “The Nero. A Roman emperor has set up his evil lair in a Midtown high-rise.”
He sat back and placed his hands on the table, as if trying to digest the news along with the meal. “I guess that’s not the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. And now you have to do what…defeat him in combat? Another Battle of Manhattan?”
I shuddered. “I hope not. The battle with Commodus and Caligula was…hard for Camp Jupiter. If I asked Camp Half-Blood to attack Nero’s base—”
“No.” Lu dipped her garlic bread in her salad dressing, proving her barbarian bona fides. “A large-scale assault would be suicide. Nero is expecting one. He’s hoping for one. He’s prepared to cause massive collateral damage.”
Outside, rain lashed the windows. Lightning boomed as if Zeus were warning me not to get too comfortable with these kindly surrogate parents.
As much as I distrusted Luguselwa, I believed what she said. Nero would relish a fight, despite what had happened to his two compadres in the Bay Area, or maybe because of it. I was afraid to ask what Lu meant by massive collateral damage.
An all-out war with Nero would not be another Battle of Manhattan. When Kronos’s army had stormed the Empire State Building, entrance to Mount Olympus, the Titan Morpheus had put all the mortals in the city to sleep. The damage to the city itself, and its human population, had been negligible.
Nero didn’t work that way. He liked drama. He would welcome chaos, screaming crowds, countless civilian deaths. This was a man who burned people alive to illuminate his garden parties.
“There has to be another way,” I decided. “I won’t let any more innocents suffer on my account.”
Sally Jackson crossed her arms. In spite of the grim matters we were discussing, she smiled. “You’ve grown up.”
I assumed she was talking about Meg. Over the last few months, my young friend had indeed gotten taller and— Wait. Was Sally referring to me?
My first thought: Preposterous! I was four thousand years old. I didn’t grow up.
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “The last time you were here, you were so lost. So…well, if you don’t mind me saying—”
“Pathetic,” I blurted out. “Whiny, entitled, selfish. I felt terribly sorry for myself.”
Meg nodded along with my words as if listening to her favorite song. “You still feel sorry for yourself.”
“But now,” Sally said, sitting back again, “you’re more…human, I suppose.”
There was that word again: human, which not long ago I would have considered a terrible insult. Now, every time I heard it, I thought of Jason Grace’s admonition: Remember what it’s like to be human.
He hadn’t meant all the terrible things about being human, of which there were plenty. He’d meant the best things: standing up for a just cause, putting others first, having stubborn faith that you could make a difference, even if it meant you had to die to protect your friends and what you believed in. These were not the kind of feelings that gods had…well, ever.
Sally Jackson meant the term in the same way Jason had—as something worth aspiring to.
“Thank you,” I managed.
She nodded. “So how can we help?”
Lu slurped the last of the lasagna from her plate. “You’ve done more than enough, Jackson Mother and Blofis Father. We must go.”
Meg glanced out the window at the thunderstorm, then at the remaining garlic bread in the basket. “Maybe we could stay until the morning?”
“That’s a good idea,” Paul agreed. “We have plenty of space. If Nero’s men are out there searching for you in the dark and the lashing rain…wouldn’t you rather they be out there while you’re in here, warm and comfortable?”
Lu seemed to consider this. She belched, long and deep, which in her culture was probably a sign of appreciation, or a sign that she had gas.
“Your words are sensible, Blofis Father. Your lasagna is good. Very well. I suppose the cameras will see us better in the morning anyway.”
“Cameras?” I sat up. “As in Nero’s surveillance cameras? I thought we don’t want to be seen.”
Lu shrugged. “I have a plan.”
“A plan like the one on the train? Because—”
“Listen here, small Lester—”
“Hold it,” Paul ordered. His voice was calm but firm, giving me an inkling as to how this kind, gentle man could control a classroom. “Let’s not argue. We’ll wake Estelle. I guess I should have asked this before, but, uh…” He glanced between Meg, me, and Lu. “How exactly do you know each other?”
“Lu held us hostage on a train,” I said.
“I saved you from capture on a train,” she corrected.
“Lu’s my guardian,” Meg said.
That got everyone’s attention.
Sally raised her eyebrows. Lu’s ears turned bright red.
Paul’s face remained in teacher mode. I could imagine him asking Meg to elaborate on her statement, to provide three examples in a well-argued paragraph.
“Guardian in what sense, Meg?” he asked.
Lu glanced at the girl. The Gaul had a strange look of hurt in her eyes as she waited for Meg to describe their relationship.
Meg pushed her fork across her plate. “Legally. Like, if I needed somebody to sign stuff. Or pick me up from the police station or…whatever.”
The more I thought about this, the less absurd it seemed. Nero wouldn’t bother with the technicalities of parenthood. Signing a permission slip? Taking Meg to the doctor? No, thanks. He would delegate such things. And legal status? Nero didn’t care about formal guardianship. In his mind, he owned Meg.
“Lu taught me swords.” Meg squirmed in her new pink dress. “She taught me…well, most stuff. When I lived in the palace, Nero’s tower, Lu tried to help me. She was…She was the nice one.”
I studied the giant Gaul in her Electronics Mega-Mart shirt and her bath-towel kilt. I could think of many descriptions for her. Nice wasn’t the first one that sprang to mind.
However, I could imagine her being nicer than Nero. That was a low bar. And I could imagine Nero using Lu as his proxy—giving Meg another authority figure to look up to, a woman warrior. After dealing with Nero and his terrifying alternate personality the Beast, Meg would have seen Lu as a welcome relief.
“You were the good cop,” I guessed.
Lu’s neck veins bulged against her golden torque. “Call me what you like. I didn’t do enough for my Sapling, but I did what I could. She and I trained together for years.”
“Sapling?” Paul asked. “Oh, right. Because Meg’s a daughter of Demeter.” His expression remained serious, but his eyes twinkled, like he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to be having this conversation.
I didn’t feel quite as fortunate. I was gripping my fork so tightly my fist trembled. The gesture might
have looked threatening if the tines hadn’t been topped with a cherry tomato.
“You were Meg’s legal guardian.” I glared at Lu. “You could have taken her out of that tower. You could have relocated. Run with her. But you stayed. For years.”
“Hey,” Meg warned.
“No, he’s right.” Lu’s eyes bored a hole in the casserole dish. “I owed Nero my life. Back in the old times, he spared me from…Well, it doesn’t matter now, but I served him for centuries. I’ve done many hard things for him. Then the sapling came along. I did my best. Wasn’t enough. Then Meg ran away with you. I heard what Nero was planning, what would happen when you two came back to the city…” She shook her head. “It was too much. I couldn’t bring Meg back to that tower.”
“You followed your conscience,” Sally said.
I wished I could be as forgiving as our hostess. “Nero doesn’t hire warriors for their consciences.”
The big woman scowled. “That’s true, little Lester. Believe me, or don’t. But if we can’t work together, if you don’t listen to me, then Nero will win. He’ll destroy all of this.”
She gestured around the room. Whether she meant the world, Manhattan, or the Jackson/Blofis apartment, any of those possibilities was unacceptable.
“I believe you,” Sally announced.
It seemed ridiculous that a huge warrior like Lu would care about Sally Jackson’s approval, but the Gaul looked genuinely relieved. Her facial muscles relaxed. The elongated Celtic tattoos on her arms settled back into concentric circles. “Thank you, Jackson Mother.”
“I believe you, too.” Meg frowned at me, her meaning clear: And so will you, or I’ll order you to run into a wall.
I set down my tomato-topped fork. It was the best gesture of peace I could offer.
I couldn’t make myself trust Luguselwa completely. A “good cop” was still a cop…still a part of the mind game. And Nero was an expert at playing with people’s heads. I glanced at Paul, hoping for support, but he gave me an almost imperceptible shrug: What else can you do?
“Very well, Luguselwa,” I said. “Tell us your plan.”
