Where You Go ― Jason Grace

iii. balogna dwarfs ruin breakfast

OPHELIA WAS SO tired she could barely chew her chocolate-chip bagel. She'd hoped after hers and Hazel's little chat with Hecate and their escape into Hecate's secret pass, she could get a few hours of sleep, but no. Apparently Nico di Angelo just had to talk to the dead and use her to keep them from fading away before he could get the information he wanted. 

But she'd made him promise to teach her a few basics about using a Stygian iron sword without reaping her own soul, so she couldn't really be too mad at him. 

"So," Jason said, "now that we're here..."

He sat at the head of the table, kind of by default. Since they'd lost Annabeth, Jason had done his best to act as the group's leader. He had experience leading, since he'd been praetor at Camp Jupiter, but Ophelia could see the stress he was under. His eyes were more sunken than usual, his blonde hair uncharacteristically messy.

The others didn't look much better.

Hazel was bleary-eyed, having been up all night guiding the ship through the mountains. Next to her, Frank only looked a little more awake, but his expression was grim. Then there was Nico, his eyes sad and kind of empty, which was unfortunately his default look. Piper and Coach Hedge were both absent, the two of them at the helm of the ship. 

Poor Piper. Hopefully Hedge wasn't practicing any of his nursery-rhymes-turned-war-songs while they were on watch. 

Ophelia tuned back in to hear Jason talking. "—the House of Hades," he was saying. "Nico?"

Nico sat forward. "Ophelia and I communed with the dead last night," he informed them casually. "We were able to learn more about what we'll face. In ancient times, the House of Hades was a major site for Greek pilgrims. They would come to speak with the dead and honor their ancestors."

Leo frowned. "Sounds like Día de los Muertos. My Aunt Rosa took that stuff seriously."

Frank grunted. "Chinese have that, too—ancestor worship, sweeping the graves in the springtime." He glanced at Leo. "Your Aunt Rosa would've gotten along great with my grandmother."

"Yeah," Leo said. "I'm sure they would've been best buds."

Nico cleared his throat. "A lot of cultures have seasonal traditions to honor the dead, but the House of Hades was open year-round. Pilgrims could actually speak to the ghosts. In Greek, the place was called Necromanteion, the Oracle of Death. You'd work your way through different levels of tunnels, leaving offerings and drinking special potions—"

"Special potions," Leo muttered. "Yum."

Jason flashed him a look like, Dude, enough. "Nico, go on."

"The pilgrims believed that each level of the temple brought you closer to the Underworld, until the dead would appear before you. If they were pleased with your offerings, they would answer your questions, maybe even tell you the future."

Frank tapped his mug of hot chocolate. "And if the spirits weren't pleased?"

"Take a wild guess," Ophelia mumbled.

"Some pilgrims found nothing," Nico said. "Some went insane, or died after leaving the temple. Others lost their way in the tunnels and were never seen again."

"The point is," Jason said quickly, before Leo could try to make a joke, "Nico and Ophelia found some information that might help us."

"Yeah," Ophelia said. "The ghost we spoke to last night was a former priest of Hecate. He confirmed what she told Hazel and me yesterday at the crossroads. In the first war with the giants, Hecate fought for the gods. She slew one of the giants—one who'd been designed as the anti-Hecate. A guy named Clytius."