The House of Hades (The Heros of Olympus, Book 4)

FRANK WAS HOPING FOR FIREWORKS.

Or at least a big sign that read: WELCOME HOME!

More than three thousand years ago, his Greek ancestor—good old Periclymenus the shape-shifter—had sailed east with the Argonauts. Centuries later, Periclymenus’s descendants had served in the eastern Roman legions. Then, through a series of misadventures, the family had ended up in China, finally emigrating to Canada in the twentieth century. Now Frank was back in Greece, which meant that the Zhang family had completely circled the globe.

That seemed like cause for celebration, but the only welcoming committee was a flock of wild, hungry harpies who attacked the ship. Frank felt kind of bad as he shot them down with his bow. He kept thinking of Ella, their freakishly smart harpy friend from Portland. But these harpies weren’t Ella. They gladly would have chewed Frank’s face off. So he blasted them into clouds of dust and feathers.

The Greek landscape below was just as inhospitable. The hills were strewn with boulders and stunted cedars, all shimmering in the hazy air. The sun beat down as if trying to hammer the countryside into a Celestial bronze shield. Even from a hundred feet up, Frank could hear the drone of cicadas buzzing in the trees—a sleepy, otherworldly sound that made his eyes heavy. Even the dueling voices of the war gods inside his head seemed to have dozed off. They had hardly bothered Frank at all since the crew had crossed into Greece.

Sweat trickled down his neck. After being frozen below deck by that crazy snow goddess, Frank had thought he would never feel warm again; but now the back of his shirt was soaked.

“Hot and steamy!” Leo grinned at the helm. “Makes me homesick for Houston! What do you say, Hazel? All we need now are some giant mosquitoes, and it’ll feel just like the Gulf Coast!”

“Thanks a lot, Leo,” Hazel grumbled. “We’ll probably get attacked by Ancient Greek mosquito monsters now.”

Frank studied the two of them, quietly marveling how the tension between them had disappeared. Whatever had happened to Leo during his five days of exile, it had changed him. He still joked around, but Frank sensed something different about him—like a ship with a new keel. Maybe you couldn’t see the keel, but you could tell it was there by the way the ship cut through the waves.

Leo didn’t seem so intent on teasing Frank. He chatted more easily with Hazel—not stealing those wistful, mooning glances that had always made Frank uncomfortable.

Hazel had diagnosed the problem privately to Frank: “He met someone.”

Frank was incredulous. “How? Where? How could you possibly know?”

Hazel smiled. “I just do.”

As if she were a child of Venus rather than Pluto. Frank didn’t get it.

Of course he was relieved that Leo wasn’t hitting on his girl, but Frank was also kind of worried about Leo. Sure, they’d had their differences; but after all they’d been through together, Frank didn’t want to see Leo get his heart broken.

“There!” Nico’s voice shook Frank out of his thoughts. As usual, di Angelo was perched atop the foremast. He pointed toward a glittering green river snaking through the hills a kilometer away. “Maneuver us that way. We’re close to the temple. Very close.”

As if to prove his point, black lightning ripped through the sky, leaving dark spots before Frank’s eyes and making the hairs on his arms stand up.

Jason strapped on his sword belt. “Everyone, arm yourself. Leo, get us close, but don’t land—no more contact with the ground than necessary. Piper, Hazel, get the mooring ropes.”

“On it!” Piper said.

Hazel gave Frank a peck on the cheek and ran to help.

“Frank,” Jason called, “get below and find Coach Hedge.”

“Yep!”

He climbed downstairs and headed for Hedge’s cabin. As he neared the door, he slowed down. He didn’t want to surprise the satyr with any loud noises. Coach Hedge had a habit of jumping into the gangway with his baseball bat if he thought attackers were on board. Frank had almost gotten his head taken off a couple of times on his way to the bathroom.

He raised his hand to knock. Then he realized the door was cracked open. He heard Coach Hedge talking inside.

“Come on, babe!” the satyr said. “You know it’s not like that!”

Frank froze. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Hazel had mentioned being worried about the coach. She’d insisted something was bothering him, but Frank hadn’t thought much of it until now.

He’d never heard the coach talk so gently. Usually the only sounds Frank heard from the coach’s cabin were sporting events on the TV, or the coach yelling, “Yeah! Get ’em!” as he watched his favorite martial arts movies. Frank was pretty sure the coach wouldn’t be calling Chuck Norris babe.

Another voice spoke—female, but barely audible, like it was coming from a long way away.

“I will,” Coach Hedge promised. “But, uh, we’re going into battle”—he cleared his throat—“and it may get ugly. You just stay safe. I’ll get back. Honest.”

Frank couldn’t stand it anymore. He knocked loudly. “Hey, Coach?”

The talking stopped.

Frank counted to six. The door flew open.

Coach Hedge stood there scowling, his eyes bloodshot, like he’d been watching too much TV. He wore his usual baseball cap and gym shorts, with a leather cuirass over his shirt and a whistle hanging from his neck, maybe in case he wanted to call a foul against the monster armies.

“Zhang. What do you want?”

“Uh, we’re getting ready for battle. We need you above deck.”

The coach’s goatee quivered. “Yeah. ’Course you do.” He sounded strangely unexcited about the prospect of a fight.

“I didn’t mean to—I mean, I heard you talking,” Frank stammered. “Were you sending an Iris-message?”

Hedge looked like he might smack Frank in the face, or at least blow the whistle really loud. Then his shoulders slumped. He heaved a sigh and turned inside, leaving Frank standing awkwardly in the doorway.

The coach plopped down on his berth. His cupped his chin in his hand and stared glumly around his cabin. The place looked like a college dorm room after a hurricane—the floor strewn with laundry (maybe for wearing, maybe for snacks; it was hard to tell with satyrs), DVDs and dirty dishes scattered around the TV on the dresser. Every time the ship tilted, a mismatched herd of sports equipment rolled across the floor—footballs, basketballs, baseballs, and for some reason, a single billiard ball. Tufts of goat hair floated through the air and collected under the furniture in clumps. Dust goats? Goat bunnies?

On the coach’s nightstand sat a bowl of water, a stack of golden drachmas, a flashlight, and a glass prism for making rainbows. The coach had obviously come prepared to make a lot of Iris-messages.

Frank remembered what Piper had told him about the coach’s cloud nymph girlfriend who worked for Piper’s dad. What was the girlfriend’s name… Melinda? Millicent? No, Mellie.

“Uh, is your girlfriend Mellie all right?” Frank ventured.

“None of your business!” the coach snapped.

“Okay.”

Hedge rolled his eyes. “Fine! If you must know—yes, I was talking to Mellie. But she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

“Oh…” Frank’s heart sank. “You broke up?”

“No, you dolt! We got married! She’s my wife!”

Frank would’ve been less stunned if the coach had smacked him. “Coach, that’s—that’s great! When—how—?”

“None of your business!” he yelled again.

“Um…all right.”

“End of May,” the coach said. “Just before the Argo II sailed. We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Frank felt like the ship was tilting again, but it must have been just him. The herd of wild sports equipment stayed put against the far wall.

All this time the coach had been married? In spite of being a newlywed, he’d agreed to come on this quest. No wonder Hedge made so many calls back home. No wonder he was so cranky and belligerent.

Still… Frank sensed there was more going on. The coach’s tone during the Iris-message made it sound like they were discussing a problem.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Frank said. “But…is she okay?”

“It was a private conversation!”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Fine! I’ll tell you.” Hedge plucked some fur off his thigh and let it float through the air. “She took a break from her job in L.A., went to Camp Half-Blood for the summer, because we figured—” His voice cracked. “We figured it would be safer. Now she’s stuck there, with the Romans about to attack. She’s…she’s pretty scared.”

Frank became very aware of the centurion badge on his shirt, the SPQR tattoo on his forearm.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “But if she’s a cloud spirit, couldn’t she just…you know, float away?”

The coach curled his fingers around the grip of his baseball bat. “Normally, yeah. But see…she’s in a delicate condition. It wouldn’t be safe.”

“A delicate…” Frank’s eyes widened. “She’s going to have a baby? You’re going to be a dad?”

“Shout it a little louder,” Hedge grumbled. “I don’t think they heard you in Croatia.”

Frank couldn’t help grinning. “But, Coach, that’s awesome! A little baby satyr? Or maybe a nymph? You’ll be a fantastic dad.”

Frank wasn’t sure why he felt that way, considering the coach’s love of baseball bats and roundhouse kicks, but he was sure.

Coach Hedge scowled even deeper. “The war’s coming, Zhang. Nowhere is safe. I should be there for Mellie. If I gotta die somewhere—”

“Hey, nobody’s going to die,” Frank said.

Hedge met his eyes. Frank could tell the coach didn’t believe it.

“Always had a soft spot for children of Ares,” Hedge muttered. “Or Mars—whichever. Maybe that’s why I’m not pulverizing you for asking so many questions.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“Fine, I’ll tell you!” Hedge sighed again. “Back when I was on my first assignment as a seeker, I was way out in Arizona. Brought in this kid named Clarisse.”

“Clarisse?”

“Sibling of yours,” Hedge said. “Ares kid. Violent. Rude. Lots of potential. Anyway, while I was out, I had this dream about my mom. She—she was a cloud nymph like Mellie. I dreamed she was in trouble and needed my help right away. But I said to myself, Nah, it’s just a dream. Who would hurt a sweet old cloud nymph? Besides, I gotta get this half-blood to safety. So I finished my mission, brought Clarisse to Camp Half-Blood. Afterward, I went looking for my mom. I was too late.”

Frank watched the tuft of goat hair settle on top of a basketball. “What happened to her?”

Hedge shrugged. “No idea. Never saw her again. Maybe if I’d been there for her, if I’d got back sooner…”

Frank wanted to say something comforting, but he wasn’t sure what. He had lost his mom in the war in Afghanistan, and he knew how empty the words I’m sorry could sound.

“You were doing your job,” Frank offered. “You saved a demigod’s life.”

Hedge grunted. “Now my wife and my unborn kid are in danger, halfway across the world, and I can’t do anything to help.”

“You are doing something,” Frank said. “We’re over here to stop the giants from waking Gaea. That’s the best way we can keep our friends safe.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose.”

Frank wished he could do more to lift Hedge’s spirits, but this talk was making him worry about everyone he’d left behind. He wondered who was defending Camp Jupiter now that the legion had marched east, especially with all the monsters Gaea was unleashing from the Doors of Death. He worried about his friends in the Fifth Cohort, and how they must be feeling as Octavian ordered them to march on Camp Half-Blood. Frank wanted to be back there, if only to stuff a teddy bear down the throat of that slimeball augur.

The ship listed forward. The herd of sports equipment rolled under the coach’s berth.

“We’re descending,” said Hedge. “We’d better get above.”

“Yeah,” Frank said, his voice hoarse.

“You’re a nosy Roman, Zhang.”

“But—”

“Come on,” Hedge said. “And not a word about this to the others, you blabbermouth.”

As the others made fast the aerial moorings, Leo grabbed Frank and Hazel by the arms. He dragged them to the aft ballista. “Okay, here’s the plan.”

Hazel narrowed her eyes. “I hate your plans.”

“I need that piece of magic firewood,” Leo said. “Snappy!”

Frank nearly choked on his own tongue. Hazel backed away, instinctively covering her coat pocket. “Leo, you can’t—”

“I found a solution.” Leo turned to Frank. “It’s your call, big guy, but I can protect you.”

Frank thought about how many times he’d seen Leo’s fingers burst into flame. One false move, and Leo could incinerate the piece of tinder that controlled Frank’s life.

But for some reason, Frank wasn’t terrified. Since facing down the cow monsters in Venice, Frank had barely thought about his fragile lifeline. Yes, the smallest bit of fire might kill him. But he’d also survived some impossible things and made his dad proud. Frank had decided that whatever his fate was, he wouldn’t worry about it. He would just do the best he could to help his friends.

Besides, Leo sounded serious. His eyes were still full of that weird melancholy, like he was in two places at once; but nothing about his expression indicated any kind of joke.

“Go ahead, Hazel,” Frank said.

“But…” Hazel took a deep breath. “Okay.” She took out the piece of firewood and handed it to Leo.

In Leo’s hands, it wasn’t much bigger than a screwdriver. The tinder was still charred on one side from where Frank had used it to burn through the icy chains that had imprisoned the god Thanatos in Alaska.

From a pocket of his tool belt, Leo produced a piece of white cloth. “Behold!”

Frank scowled. “A handkerchief?”

“A surrender flag?” Hazel guessed.

“No, unbelievers!” Leo said. “This is a pouch woven from seriously cool fabric—a gift from a friend of mine.”

Leo slipped the firewood into the pouch and pulled it closed with a tie of bronze thread.

“The drawstring was my idea,” Leo said proudly. “It took some work, lacing that into the fabric, but the pouch won’t open unless you want it to. The fabric breathes just like regular cloth, so the firewood isn’t any more sealed up than it would be in Hazel’s coat pocket.”

“Uh…” Hazel said. “How is that an improvement, then?”

“Hold this so I don’t give you a heart attack.” Leo tossed the pouch to Frank, who almost fumbled it.

Leo summoned a white-hot ball of fire into his right hand. He held his left forearm over the flames, grinning as they licked the sleeve of his jacket.

“See?” he said. “It doesn’t burn!”

Frank didn’t like to argue with a guy who was holding a ball of fire, but he said, “Uh…you’re immune to flames.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but I have to concentrate if I don’t want my clothes to burn. And I’m not concentrating, see? This is totally fireproof cloth. Which means your firewood won’t burn in that pouch.”

Hazel looked unconvinced. “How can you be sure?”

“Sheesh, tough audience.” Leo shut off the fire. “Guess there’s only one way to persuade you.” He held out his hand to Frank.

“Uh, no, no.” Frank backed off. Suddenly all those brave thoughts about accepting his fate seemed far away. “That’s okay, Leo. Thanks, but I—I can’t—”

“Man, you gotta trust me.”

Frank’s heart raced. Did he trust Leo? Well, sure…with an engine. With a practical joke. But with his life?

He remembered the day they had gotten stuck in the underground workshop in Rome. Gaea had promised they would die in that room. Leo had promised he would get Hazel and Frank out of the trap. And he’d done it.

Now Leo spoke with the same kind of confidence.

“Okay.” Frank handed Leo the pouch. “Try not to kill me.”

Leo’s hand blazed. The pouch didn’t blacken or burn.

Frank waited for something to go horribly wrong. He counted to twenty, but he was still alive. He felt as if a block of ice were melting just behind his sternum—a frozen chunk of fear he’d gotten so used to he didn’t even think about it until it was gone.

Leo extinguished his fire. He wriggled his eyebrows at Frank. “Who’s your best buddy?”

“Don’t answer that,” Hazel said. “But, Leo, that was amazing.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Leo agreed. “So who wants to take this newly ultra-safe piece of firewood?”

“I’ll keep it,” Frank said.

Hazel pursed her lips. She looked down, maybe so Frank wouldn’t see the hurt in her eyes. She’d protected that firewood for him through a lot of hard battles. It was a sign of trust between them, a symbol of their relationship.

“Hazel, it’s not about you,” Frank said, as gently as he could. “I can’t explain, but I—I have a feeling I’m going to need to step up when we’re in the House of Hades. I need to carry my own burden.”

Hazel’s golden eyes were full of concern. “I understand. I just…I worry.”

Leo tossed Frank the pouch. Frank tied it around his belt. He felt strange carrying his fatal weakness so openly, after months of keeping it hidden.

“And, Leo,” he said, “thanks.”

It seemed inadequate for the gift Leo had given him, but Leo grinned. “What are genius friends for?”

“Hey, guys!” Piper called from the bow. “Better get over here. You need to see this.”

They’d found the source of the dark lightning.

The Argo II hovered directly over the river. A few hundred meters away at the top of the nearest hill stood a cluster of ruins. They didn’t look like much—just some crumbling walls encircling the limestone shells of a few buildings—but from somewhere within the ruins, tendrils of black ether curled into the sky, like a smoky squid peeking from its cave. As Frank watched, a bolt of dark energy ripped through the air, rocking the ship and sending a cold shockwave across the landscape.

“The Necromanteion,” Nico said. “The House of Hades.”

Frank steadied himself at the rail. He supposed it was too late to suggest turning back. He was starting to feel nostalgic about the monsters he’d fought in Rome. Heck, chasing poison cows through Venice had been more appealing than this place.

Piper hugged her arms. “I feel vulnerable floating up here like this. Couldn’t we set down in the river?”

“I wouldn’t,” Hazel said. “That’s the River Acheron.”

Jason squinted in the sunlight. “I thought the Acheron was in the Underworld.”

“It is,” Hazel said. “But its headwaters are in the mortal world. That river below us? Eventually it flows underground, straight into the realm of Pluto—er, Hades. Landing a demigod ship on those waters—”

“Yeah, let’s stay up here,” Leo decided. “I don’t want any zombie water on my hull.”

Half a kilometer downstream, some fishing boats were puttering along. Frank guessed they didn’t know or care about the history of this river. Must be nice, being a regular mortal.

Next to Frank, Nico di Angelo raised the scepter of Diocletian. Its orb glowed with purple light, as if in sympathy with the dark storm. Roman relic or not, the scepter troubled Frank. If it really had the power to summon a legion of the dead…well, Frank wasn’t sure that was such a great idea.

Jason had once told him that the children of Mars had a similar ability. Supposedly, Frank could call on ghostly soldiers from the losing side of any war to serve him. He’d never had much luck with that power, probably because it freaked him out too much. He was worried he might become one of those ghosts if they lost this war—eternally doomed to pay for his failures, assuming there was anyone left to summon him.

“So, uh, Nico…” Frank gestured at the scepter. “Have you learned to use that thing?”

“We’ll find out.” Nico stared at the tendrils of darkness undulating from the ruins. “I don’t intend to try until I have to. The Doors of Death are already working overtime bringing in Gaea’s monsters. Any more activity raising the dead, and the Doors might shatter permanently, leaving a rip in the mortal world that can’t be closed.”

Coach Hedge grunted. “I hate rips in the world. Let’s go bust some monster heads.”

Frank looked at the satyr’s grim expression. Suddenly he had an idea. “Coach, you should stay on board, cover us with the ballistae.”

Hedge frowned. “Stay behind? Me? I’m your best soldier!”

“We might need air support,” Frank said. “Like we did in Rome. You saved our braccae.”

He didn’t add: Plus, I’d like you to get back to your wife and baby alive.

Hedge apparently got the message. His scowl relaxed. Relief showed in his eyes.

“Well…” he grumbled, “I suppose somebody’s got to save your braccae.”

Jason clapped the coach on the shoulder. Then he gave Frank an appreciative nod. “So that’s settled. Everybody else—let’s get to the ruins. Time to crash Gaea’s party.”