Waking up in the infirmary felt less like waking up and more like being reassembled, piece by piece.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. It wasn't the sterile, bleach smell of a normal hospital. It smelled like cedar wood, fresh grapes, and something burning—like a fireplace in winter.
I opened my eyes. I was lying in a cot in a room with pine walls. Sunlight was streaming through an open window, carrying the sound of distant sword clashes and shouting.
It wasn't a dream, I thought, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. I'm actually here.
I tried to sit up. My body protested. My ribs ached where the Minotaur had swatted me, and my stomach felt like a hollow cave.
"Careful," a voice said. "You're still healing."
I looked over. Sitting in a chair next to my bed was a blond guy with a surfer tan and a stethoscope around his neck. He looked about sixteen.
"Lee Fletcher," he said, offering a smile. "Counselor for Apollo Cabin. You took a pretty nasty hit. Most kids would have a shattered ribcage. You just have... deep bruising. It's weird."
"I drink a lot of milk," I croaked. My voice sounded like I'd swallowed gravel.
Lee handed me a glass with a straw. The liquid inside was golden, like apple juice but thicker. "Drink. It's nectar."
I knew this part. Nectar and Ambrosia. The food of the gods. In the books, it tasted like your favorite comfort food.
I took a sip.
My eyes widened. It didn't taste like chocolate chip cookies (which I assumed was Percy's flavor). It tasted like a perfectly seared medium-rare ribeye steak followed by a sip of an expensive, smoky scotch. It was warm, rich, and utterly inappropriate for a twelve-year-old.
"Good?" Lee asked.
"Expensive," I muttered, draining the glass. I felt the warmth spread through my chest, knitting my bruised muscles back together. The pain vanished instantly.
"Where's the other one?" I asked. "The drooler?"
"Percy? He's still out," Lee pointed to the cot next to me. Percy was snoring softly, looking pale. Grover was sitting on a stool nearby, chewing nervously on a plastic furniture coaster.
"He saved us," Grover bleated when he saw me looking. "He killed the Minotaur."
"With my assist," I reminded him, swinging my legs off the bed. I stood up. I felt strong again. Better than strong. The air here was different—cleaner, charged with magic. "How long was I out?"
"Two days," Lee said.
"Two days?" I frowned. My mom must be freaking out. Or maybe... maybe the Mist handled that, too.
The Perspective ShiftI walked out of the infirmary room and found myself on the wraparound porch of the Big House.
The view was exactly what I needed to see to believe it.
The farmhouse sat at the top of the valley. Below us, the North Shore of Long Island stretched out, but you couldn't see the highway or the smog of New York.
To the left, there were strawberry fields—acres of them, shimmering in the heat. That was the cover story. Delphi Strawberry Service. That's how the camp paid the bills. They sold enchanted strawberries to high-end New York restaurants.
To the right, the woods. Dark, ancient, and definitely full of things that wanted to eat me.
And in the center, the cabins. Twelve of them arranged in a U-shape.
But what caught my attention was the newspaper lying on a card table on the porch.
Two men were sitting there playing pinochle. One was the wheelchair guy from the museum, Mr. Brunner (Chiron). The other was a short, fat man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt, sipping a Diet Coke.
I walked over and picked up the newspaper. The headline screamed:
MISSING TEENAGERS AND "CRAZED GUNMAN" ON LONG ISLAND EXPRESSWAY.
I read the article. According to the mortal police, a "violent fugitive" (who they hinted was Percy) had kidnapped his mother. Witnesses reported an explosion and a "wild bear" attacking a Camaro. The car had been found upside down. Sally Jackson was listed as Missing, Presumed Dead.
"The Mist," I said aloud, dropping the paper. "It turns a Minotaur into a bear and a kidnapping."
"Indeed," Mr. Brunner—no, Chiron—said, turning his wheelchair to face me. "The mortal mind struggles to comprehend our reality, Valerius. It fills in the gaps with things it understands. Gunmen. Bears. Explosions."
I looked at him. Now that I was looking for it, the Mist faded slightly. I could see the faint outline of the horse body condensed into the wheelchair box. It was like a bad CGI effect if you squinted.
"And you," the man in the Hawaiian shirt grumbled, not looking up from his cards. "You're the other stray. The loud one."
"Mr. D," Chiron introduced. "Camp Director. And this is Valerius... Castellan, is it?"
"Just Valerius," I said. I didn't want to bring up the Castellan name yet. I knew Luke Castellan was here somewhere—the traitor. If we were related, that would make things... complicated.
Mr. D looked at me with bloodshot, watery eyes. He looked like a guy who hung out at off-track betting parlors. It was hard to believe this was Dionysus, the God of Wine.
"Another boy," Mr. D sighed, pouring more Diet Coke. "I suppose you want to be a hero, too? Go on a quest? Get yourself killed in a spectacular fashion?"
"I plan on skipping the dying part," I said, leaning against the porch railing. "But the quest sounds fun."
Mr. D scoffed. "Arrogant. I hate the arrogant ones. They make the loudest popping sound when you step on them."
Chiron cleared his throat, giving Mr. D a warning look. He turned his intense, brown eyes on me. "Valerius, you are... unique. Argus carried you in. He said you are heavier than you look. Denser."
"I work out," I said.
"And," Chiron continued, his voice dropping an octave, "Grover tells me you smell of ozone. And that you bent a metal bat on the Minotaur's leg."
The air on the porch grew heavy. Chiron suspected. He knew the Pact of the Big Three (Zeus, Poseidon, Hades promising not to have kids) had been broken. He just didn't know which god was the culprit yet.
"I just have good genes," I lied smoothly. "So, where do I sleep? Or do I have to wait for the drooling kid to wake up?"
"You will stay in Cabin Eleven," Chiron said. "Hermes. Travelers and the undetermined."
"Great," I said. "The crowded one."
The Tour (Reality vs. Expectation)I left the porch to explore. I needed to map the territory.
In the movies, the camp looked like a high-budget adventure resort. In reality? It looked like a summer camp that had been designed by Spartans on a budget.
The volleyball court had sharp wooden spikes around the perimeter. The climbing wall... oh, that was impressive. It was a fifty-foot slab of rock that shook violently, clashed together, and spilled lava down the sides.
Real lava, I noted, feeling the heat from fifty yards away. OSHA would have a field day here.
I walked toward the cabins.
Cabin Eleven was a peeling, brown log cabin that looked ready to collapse. It was packed. I could hear music, shouting, and the sound of theft happening in real-time.
I didn't go in yet. I walked past it to the center of the U-shape.
I stood before the hearth. And then, I looked at the head of the U.
Cabin One. Zeus. It was a massive white marble building with heavy columns and bronze doors that looked like they needed a lightning bolt to open. It hummed with energy. It was empty, cold, and majestic.
Cabin Three. Poseidon. Low, made of sea stone and coral. It smelled like the ocean. Also empty.
I stared at Cabin One. I felt a magnetic pull toward it. The static in my blood was singing. That's my house, I thought. I shouldn't be sleeping on the floor with the Hermes kids. I should be in the penthouse.
"Don't even think about it."
I turned. A guy was leaning against a tree, sharpening a knife. He was about nineteen, tall, with a scar running down the side of his face. He had sandy hair and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Luke Castellan.
My stomach did a weird flip. This was the villain. The guy who would try to destroy Olympus. And judging by my last name... probably my cousin? Or brother?
"You're the new guy," Luke said, sheathing the knife. "Valerius."
"And you're the camp counselor," I said, keeping my face neutral. "Luke."
"News travels fast," he said. He pushed off the tree and walked toward me. He moved with the grace of a cat. "You're eyeing the Big Three cabins. Bad idea. They're empty for a reason."
"Bad luck?" I asked.
"Bad history," Luke corrected. "Gods don't keep promises, Valerius. Those cabins are monuments to that."
He sounded bitter. I knew why. His dad, Hermes, was a deadbeat.
"You look like you can handle yourself," Luke noted, looking at my arms. "Chiron said you took a hit from the Minotaur and lived. That's rare."
"I like to fight," I said.
Luke's eyes lit up. A genuine spark of interest. "Good. We need fighters. Capture the Flag is on Friday. You should be on my team."
"Hermes team?"
"We're the biggest cabin," Luke grinned. "We usually lose because we're disorganized. But if you're as strong as you look... maybe we can change that."
I looked at him. I knew he was evil. I knew he was plotting to steal the bolt (or maybe he already had it?).
But man, he was charming.
"Sure," I said, shaking his hand. His grip was iron-strong. "I'll play. But I don't plan on losing."
"Neither do I," Luke said.
Suddenly, a conch shell blew in the distance. A dinner horn.
"Come on," Luke said, gesturing toward the pavilion. "Time to sacrifice the best part of your meal to the gods. You're going to love the food. The nymphs make great barbecue."
I followed him, my mind racing.
I had arrived. The setting was established. The players were on the board.
Percy was the confused hero. Luke was the hidden villain. And me?
I looked back at Cabin One, the white marble glowing in the sunset.
I'm the wildcard, I thought. And I'm going to flip the table.