invisible string | f. zhang

xix. topeka

Thunder crackles in the clear sky.

Jason smiles, "Soon."

"Too late." Percy points east, where a black winged shape was spiraling toward them. For only a moment, Maribelle thought Percy and Frank had accomplished telepathy and Frank's crow-figure was coming to their rescue. That was ridiculous.

"A black pegasus?" Piper asks, "Never seen one like that."

The winged stallion came in for a landing. He trots over to Percy and nuzzles his face, then turns his head inquisitively towards Maribelle, Piper and Jason.

"Blackjack," Percy says, "This is Belle, Piper and Jason. They're friends."

The horse nickers.

"Uh, maybe later," Percy answers.

"What does Blackjack want?" Maribelle asks as she admires the horse.

"Donuts," Percy answers, "Always donuts. He can carry all three of us if—"

Suddenly the air turns cold and Maribelle's ears pop. A miniature cyclone three stories tall tore across the tops of the sunflowers. It touches down on the road next to Jason and took the form of a horse.

"Tempest," Jason says, grinning broadly, "Long time, my friend."

The storm spirit rears and whinnies. Blackjack backs up skittishly.

"Easy, boy," Percy says, "He's a friend too. Nice ride, Grace."

Jason shrugs, "I made friends with him during our fight at the Wolf House. He's a free spirit, literally, but once in a while he agrees to help me."

Percy and Jason climb on their respective horses. Piper accepts Jason's hand and climbs on, Maribelle gets on Blackjack.

Tempest races down the road with Blackjack soaring overhead. They land not too long later.

Blackjack whinnies.

"You're right," Percy says, "No sign of the wine dude."

"I beg your pardon?" Comes a voice from the field.

Maribelle's grip tightens around Percy.

The wheat parts, and a man wearing a wide-brimmed hat wreathed in grapevines, a purple short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, and Birkenstocks with white socks steps forward. He looked maybe thirty, with a slight potbelly, Maribelle raises an eyebrow.

"Did someone just call me the wine dude?" He asks, "It's Bacchus, please. Or Mr. Bacchus. Or Lord Bacchus. Or, sometimes, Oh-My-Gods-Please-Don't-Kill-Me, Lord Bacchus."

Percy urges Blackjack forward, "You look different. Skinnier. Your hair is longer. And your shirt isn't so loud."

The wine god squints up at him, "What in blazes are you talking about? Who are you, and where is Ceres?"

"Uh . . . what series?" Maribelle asks him.

"I think he means Ceres," Jason corrects, "The goddess of agriculture. The greeks call her Demeter."

Maribelle nods, feeling slightly stupid.

"Lord Bacchus, do you remember me? I helped you with that missing leopard in Sonoma," Jason tells him.

Bacchus scratches his stubbly chin, "Ah . . . yes. John Green."

"Jason Grace."

"Whatever," the god says, "Did Ceres send you, then?"

"No, Lord Bacchus," Jason says, "Were you expecting to meet her here?"

The god snorts, "Well, I didn't come to Kansas to party, my boy. Ceres asked me here for a council of war. What with Gaea rising, the crops are withering. Droughts are spreading. The karpoi are in revolt. Even my grapes aren't safe. Ceres wanted a united front in the plant war."