Invisible ― Jason Grace

xvi. gaea makes a proposition

AS IT TURNED OUT, Hercules was kind of a jerk. But after drowning him in pineapples and saltwater, the Argo II sailed into the Mare Nostrum and away from the Pillars—right into the most dangerous place for a demigod.

And clearly, that danger had nothing to do with the weather.

Several times an hour, something attacked the ship. A flock of flesh-eating Stymphalian birds swooped out of the night sky, and Festus the fire-breathing metal dragon torched them. Storm spirits swirled around the mast, and Jason blasted them with lightning. While Coach Hedge was having dinner on the foredeck, a wild pegasus appeared from nowhere, stampeded over the coach's enchiladas, and flew off again, leaving cheesy hoof prints all across the deck.

"What was that for?" the coach demanded.

Finally around midnight, after the ninth or tenth aerial attack, Jason convinced her to go belowdecks and get some sleep.

"Be careful," she whispered.

Jason smiled softly, nodding. He kissed her cheek, and Camilla's face grew warmer. She was glad it was too dark for Jason to see her red cheeks and that everyone else was already belowdecks—except for Leo, but he was so preoccupied with his controls Camilla doubted he even noticed they were there.

"Sweet dreams," Jason told her.

Camilla retired to her cabin, falling asleep almost as soon as she got into bed.

◈

Her dream was anything but sweet.

Camilla wasn't sure where she was. It was too dark for her to make out her surroundings. The ground was hard and rough underneath her feet, and it was cold—so cold that she shivered in her dream, goosebumps erupting across her bare arms and legs.

Hello, little storm, came a voice that reverberated in Camilla's mind like it was being injected directly into her temporal lobes. It was gravelly, but undeniably feminine. The sound of it sent a bolt of ice-cold fear down her spine, making her skin prickle and tingle painfully.

She'd never heard the voice before, but Camilla knew who it had to belong to.

"Gaea," she whispered, her voice shaking.

Yes, little storm, the voice said, as soothing as it was gravelly—like a smoker trying to sing a lullaby to a wailing baby. The comparison might have made Camilla laugh if she wasn't so terrified.

She'd gone this whole time without a nightmare-visit from the big bad they were trying to stop from waking up. Now, here she was—Gaea, the earth goddess intent on destroying the mortal world and everyone Camilla cared about.

Don't be afraid of me, Camilla, Gaea said, her tone too soft—too much like she was trying to coax Camilla into her arms. I won't hurt you—not if you come to me.

"What are you talking about?" Camilla asked. "I'd never come to you, you're—you're evil! You're trying to destroy the world!"

To build a new one, Gaea murmured. A better one, without these neglectful gods and cruel mortals who would ignore their children to protect themselves.

Camilla didn't want to, but she couldn't help but think of her mother—a demigod, a daughter of the goddess of magic who could have easily raised a daughter and kept her safe, who abandoned her instead.

She thought of her father, listening to a hundred prayers and ignoring every one of them, only acknowledging Camilla's existence when it was useful for him—a father who would always prefer his other children over her.