NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

twenty eight: the death of the pillow pet.

ON THE WAY out of camp, Hazel bought Percy an espresso drink and a cherry muffin from Bombilo the two-headed coffee merchant. She bought Brooklyn the sugariest drink and pastry that was there.

Brooklyn inhaled the pastry. The latte was great. Now, she thought, if she could just get a shower, a change of clothes, and some sleep, she'd be golden. Maybe even Imperial golden. Who was she, just wanting the bare minimum? Someone who's fallen, she told herself with disgust. Ugh. Stupid wilderness and lowering her standards.

She watched a bunch of kids in swimsuits and towels head into a building that had steam coming out of a row of chimneys. Laughter and watery sounds echoed from inside, like it was an indoor pool — Brooklyn's kind of place.

"Bath house," Hazel said. "We'll get you both in there before dinner, hopefully. You haven't lived until you've had a Roman bath." Percy sighed with anticipation. Brooklyn laughed at him. He elbowed her.

As they approached the front gate, the barracks got bigger and nicer. Even the ghosts looked better — with fancier armor and shinier auras. Brooklyn tried to decipher the banners and symbols hanging in front of the buildings.

"You guys are divided into different cabins?" Percy asked.

"Sort of." Hazel ducked as a kid riding a giant eagle swooped overhead. "We have five cohorts of about forty kids each. Each cohort is divided into barracks of ten — like roommates, kind of."

Brooklyn had never been great at math, but she tried to multiply. "You're telling me there's two hundred kids at camp?"

"Roughly."

"And all of them are children of the gods? Damn, the gods have been busy."

Hazel laughed. "Not all of them are children of major gods. There are hundreds of minor Roman gods. Plus, a lot of the campers are legacies — second or third generation. Maybe their parents were demigods. Or their grandparents."

Percy blinked. "Children of demigods?"

"Why? Does that surprise you?"

Brooklyn wasn't sure. The last few weeks she'd been so worried about surviving day to day. The idea of living long enough to be an adult and have kids of her own — that seemed like an impossible dream. Then again, she didn't trust herself with a fish, let alone a child. No thanks.

"These Legos—" Percy started.

"Legacies," Hazel corrected. Brooklyn snorted.

Naturally, he ignored her. "They have powers like a demigod?"

"Sometimes," Hazel explained. "Sometimes not. But they can be trained. All the best Roman generals and emperors — you know, they all claimed to be descended from gods. Most of the time, they were telling the truth. The camp augur we're going to meet, Octavian, he's a legacy, descendant of Apollo. He's got the gift of prophecy, supposedly."

"Supposedly?" Brooklyn repeated.

Hazel made a sour face. "You'll see."

That didn't make Brooklyn feel so great, if this dude Octavian had her fate in his hands.

"So the divisions," Percy asked, "the cohorts, whatever — you're divided according to who your godly parent is?"

Hazel stared at him. "What a horrible idea! No, the officers decide where to assign recruits. If we were divided according to god, the cohorts would be all uneven. I'd be alone."

Brooklyn felt a twinge of sympathy, like she'd been in that situation. "Why? What's your ancestry?"

Before Hazel could answer, someone behind them yelled, "Wait!"