THE HEALER| Heroes of Olympus

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I couldn't deny I was nervous. 

I wasn't sure why I was. Sure, the last time I'd talked with my father he had a bit of a split personality issue but that didn't mean that the visit would go horribly. 

Maybe he would be in the mood for bobbleheads like Leo suggested...

I was wrong. 

Apollo didn't seem to be in the mood for haiku. He wasn't selling bobbleheads, either.

We found the island deserted, maybe because the seas were too choppy for the tourist boats. The windswept hills were barren except for rocks, grass and wildflowers – and, of course, a bunch of crumbling temples. The rubble was probably very impressive, but, ever since Olympia, I had been on ancient ruins overload. I was so done with white marble columns. I wanted to get back to the U.S., where the oldest buildings were the public schools and Ye Olde McDonald's.

We walked down an avenue lined with white stone lions, the faces weathered almost featureless.

"It's eerie." I said. 

"See any ghosts?" Leo joked. 

"The lack of ghosts is eerie." I said honestly. "Back in ancient times, Delos was sacred ground.No mortal was allowed to be born here or die here. There are literally no mortal spirits on this whole island."

"Cool with me," Leo said. "Does that mean nobody's allowed to kill us here?"

"I didn't say that." I stopped at the summit of a low hill. "Look. Down there."

Below us, the hillside had been carved into an amphitheater. Scrubby plants sprouted between the rows of stone benches, so it looked like a concert for thorn bushes. Down at the bottom, sitting on a block of stone in the middle of the stage, the god Apollo hunched over a ukulele, plucking out a mournful tune.

At least, I assumed it was my dad. The dude looked about seventeen, with curly blond hair and a perfect tan. He wore tattered jeans, a black T-shirt and a white linen jacket with glittering rhinestone lapels, like he was trying for an Elvis/Ramones/Beach Boys hybrid look.

I didn't usually think of the ukulele as a sad instrument. (Pathetic, sure. But not sad.) Yet the tune Apollo strummed was so melancholy it broke my feelings.

Sitting in the front row was a young girl of about thirteen, wearing black leggings and a silver tunic, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was whittling on a long piece of wood – making a bow.

"Those are the gods?" Jasper asked. "They don't look like twins."

"Well, think about it," I said. "If you're a god, you can look like whatever you want. If you hada twin –"

"I'd choose to look like anything but my sibling," Jasper agreed. 'So what's the plan?"

"Maybe I should head down first-"

"Don't shoot!" yelled Leo. He must've thought it was a good opening line, facing two archery gods. He raised his arms and headed down to the stage.

Neither god looked surprised to see them.

Apollo sighed and went back to playing his ukulele.

When we got to the front row, Artemis muttered, "There you are. We were beginning to wonder."

"So you were expecting us, then," Leo said. "I can tell, because you're both so excited."Apollo plucked a tune that sounded like the funeral version of 'Camptown Races'. "We were expecting to be found, bothered and tormented. Can you not leave us to our misery?"