— HAVING FINALLY COME to from what he thought was an endless nightmare, Perseus Jackson was naïve to think the strangeness would end with his half-goat best friend. Unfortunately, he was sadly mistaken.
Grover Underwood, the recently revealed satyr, led Percy across the curving porch of the Big House. The ravenette wobbled behind, a large horn clutched in his hand: a trophy from his successful bullfight. He was alive, yes, but the battle was not without casualty. Sally Jackson, the boy's loving mother, was not so lucky, fading into a yellow powder within the Minotaur's clutch like a palm-full of glitter slipping into the wind.
The boy glanced around, his lips parted. His gaze inhaled the many buildings dotted around him, all in the style of Ancient Greek architecture — an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena — except, these structures had not been lost to time. On the contrary, they shimmered beneath the sun, shinier than the hood of a brand new car.
Several high school-aged kids and satyrs played volleyball in a nearby sandpit. Canoes glided across a small lake. Children clad in bright orange t-shirts like Grover's chased each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some practiced archery, others guided horses down a wooded trail. And, unless, Percy was hallucinating, he could've sworn some of those horses had wings.
Nevertheless, the boys reached their destination. Percy looked startled when he was shown three more strangers.
Two of them, well aged men, sat across each other at a card table. Whereas the third, a familiar blonde-haired girl, leaned against a nearby railing. She looked expectant. Percy recognised her because she spoon fed him popcorn-flavoured pudding as he teetered between awareness and unconsciousness.
"That's Mr. D," Grover said, gesturing to a watery-eyed man with abyssal hair and a nose as red as Santa Claus. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl," he continued, "that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron..."
The satyr gestured to the man whose back faced Percy. He was in a wheelchair, wearing a very recognisable tweed jacket. The thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard, it had to be him. "Mr. Brunner!" Percy cried.
His former Latin teacher turned and smiled. "Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."
He offered the boy a chair to the right of the camp director, who gazed at Percy with bloodshot eyes as he heaved a large sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now don't expect me to be glad to see you."
"Uh, thanks," Percy spoke confusedly, scooting his chair further from the Hawaiian-shirt-wearing man. Percy assumed he was unmistakably hammered, to an absurd degree for the middle of the day.
"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called. The blonde girl came forward. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now."
"Sure, Chiron," she replied. This girl was taller than Percy, much more athletic-looking as well. With her deep tan and blonde curls, she was almost the spitting stereotype of a California girl to Percy, except, her eyes ruined the image. A startling grey that thundered with cold, calculated intensity.
Her eyes caught the severed horn in Percy's grip. The boy half expected her to grin with adoration, praising him for his epic feat. Only, she didn't, not by a long shot. "You drool when you sleep," she instead told him, before sprinting off down the lawn with her hair blowing behind her.
Maybe the other campers wouldn't be as... unique as Annabeth Chase. Ha! A boy can dream.
• • •
— ONCE PERCY HAD recovered from the shock of finding out his Latin teacher was a horse, the tour around Camp Half-Blood was actually quite nice.
Only now revealed to Percy, eyes watched his every move. "That's him," one would say. "The one who killed the Minotaur."
Percy was never a shy person by nature, but the stares made him nervous. The majority of the campers were older than him, bigger, too. However, the eyes of demigods weren't the only stares burning holes through his clothes. He questioned Chiron, the recently revealed centaur, who insisted there was nothing to fear. "Somebody lives there?" asked Percy, on the topic of the Big House's attic. "No," said Chiron with finality. "Not a single living thing."
The pair continued forward, through the strawberry fields and the thickest woods Percy had ever experienced. The boy asked what they were for, why the centaur had used to word "stocked" to describe it. Chiron replied with: "You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own sword and shield?"
"My own-"
"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do. I'll visit the armoury later."
Finally, Percy was shown the cabins. Twelve buildings nestled in the woods by the lake he had seen only minutes earlier. They were arranged in a U shape, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. They were the most bizarre group of buildings Percy had ever seen.
Other than the large brass numbers above the doors (odds on the left, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike.
Cabin nine had smokestacks like a small factory. Number four had tomato vines coiling around the walls and the grass roof. Seven seemed to be crafted from solid gold, gleaming so brightly in the sunlight it was practically impossible to see. The boy inspected cabins one and two, the pair appearing like his-and-hers mausoleums. "Zeus and Hera?" guessed Percy.
"Correct," answered Chiron. "Their cabins look empty," Percy pointed out. Chiron replied promptly. "Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."
'Okay,' Percy thought. 'So each cabin has a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?'
However, cabin three caught his eye. With its walls of rough, grey stone studded with seashells and corals, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the ocean floor. He attempted to peek inside before Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"
The centaur placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, noticing the longing look in his forest green eyes. Percy turned away, his attention consumed by what stood before him and his ex-Latin teacher.
Cabin number five. A bright red building with one nasty paint job, as if the paint had been slapped on by buckets and fists. Barbed wire lined the roof. Why? Percy had no clue. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, it's eyes seeming to follow you like the Mona Lisa. Inside, Percy saw several kids. Mean and tough and built like juvie veterans. They arm wrestled and argued over the blaring rock music shaking the ground beneath them.
The loudest was a girl, around thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL Camp Half-Blood t-shirt under a camouflage jacket. Her eyes zeroed in on Percy, throwing an evil sneer in his direction. She reminded the green-eyed boy of his former bully, Nancy Bobofit, though, this girl was much, much bigger. Before the pair could cower, a voice called out to them.
"Chiron!" it yelled. The pair turned around, watching a boy emerge from the chaos of his cabin.
He matched his fellow campers with his bright orange t-shirt, only, the sleeves had been torn off. Messily, as if they were sawed off with a dull bread knife. He wore black jeans, ripped at the knees so his scratched skin poked through. His shoes, red converse that he obviously wore often, were dirtied with graffiti. Scribbles of spears, skulls, knives and stars dotting the died canvas of his shoes.
His hair was dark brown and straight, a medium length that flowed like waves as he jogged toward Percy and Chiron. His ears sparkled with silver jewellery. His nails were painted black, the knuckles of his fingers and hands dusted with purple and red bruises. Dents and scarring swirled up his arms like tattoos. This guy was definitely a fighter. With his defined biceps and strong shoulders, he had the body of an adolescent boxer.
Percy's could feel his jaw go slack.
"I was just wondering if you knew if my gear was done yet." His voice was young, breaking. He wasn't the tallest, average height for a boy in his age range; which Percy assumed was from thirteen to fifteen.
He was very pretty, for a boy. His brown eyes could make anyone—no matter how full—crave the sweet taste of chocolate. His European features were young and round, slightly feminine. Percy was awestruck. This guy looked like a model.
His skin was an enticing ivory shade, shimmering beneath the sun with a light sweat. Something told Percy this boy didn't handle heat all that well. He finally noticed the raven-haired newbie, a wave of surprise drowning his coffee-coloured eyes. "Oh, sorry, didn't see you there." He held his bruised hand. "I'm Hugo Cadieux. Nice to meet you."
Percy was taken aback slightly. Partly because of the way he spoke his name; with a thick French accent that seemingly came out of nowhere.
From the impression that girl had given him, he assumed the number five kids were cruel and bloodthirsty who hated strangers for no reason. Hugo was intimidating, yes, but his eyes were much gentler than that girl's. He looked a lot more cuddly than they did.
"Percy Jackson," the other boy added, shaking Hugo's hand firmly. "Nice to meet you too." Chiron interrupted the introduction with his mellow voice as he said, "To answer your question, Hugo, I don't know I'm afraid. Perhaps you could ask them yourself?"
The french boy groaned at the centaur's suggestion, his hands smoothing out his chestnut hair. "But it's so hot in there. Seriously! I don't get how Beckendorf even survives in there." His dramatic tone made Percy chuckle.
Chiron looked between the two boys, a mischievous glint coating them that Percy knew all too well. "Say, Hugo," he began, "why don't you show Percy to his bunk in cabin eleven?"
The boy grinned, showing off his slightly crooked bottom teeth. "Sure. Follow me, petit nouveau." Percy obeyed silently, jogging to catch up to the boy's long strides. Percy was still looking around, wonder sparkling in his eyes. Hugo grinned when he saw it. 'Adorable,' he thought.
Annabeth Chase stood at the doorway of cabin eleven. Her face stoic as her eyes flickered between every word of the book in her hand. With its pictures of statues and columns, the two boys assumed it was a book on architecture. Hugo watched Percy squint at the title, like he was trying to solve a code without a cipher.
Annabeth looked over the new camper critically. It unnerved Percy, her stare, like she was still thinking about how much he drooled. But, the storm in her eyes mellowed when she glanced over at Hugo. She smiled a small smile, holding out her hand. The pair performed a very complicated handshake, giggling all the while. Percy felt left out.
Hugo turned back to the boy, his almond eyes kind and gentle. "Cabin eleven," he announced, a hand gesturing to the old cabin, "make yourself at home."
Percy examined the structure. Out of the twelve, this was by far the most normal. Emphasis on old, though. With the worn threshold and the peeling brown paint. A caduceus rested above the doorway, the symbol of eleven's god.
There were at least twice the amount of campers than beds, sleeping bags sprawled all over the cabin's dusted floor. It looked like a poorly funded homeless shelter.
Percy turned to Hugo and Annabeth. "Percy Jackson," they said in sync, "meet cabin eleven."
"Regular or undetermined?" somebody inside asked. Percy glanced at Hugo, his eyes begging for help. "Undetermined," the French boy answered. Everybody groaned.
One of the older campers came forward. "Now, now campers," he meditated. "That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy. You can have that spot on the floor right over there."
The boy was tall and blonde with a warm smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs and a leather necklace with five clay beads strewn below his collarbone. It was hard not to stare. Primarily because of the thick, white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw. "This is Luke," Annabeth said.
Her voice sounded different, so drastic even a stranger like Percy could notice. Her cheeks glowed pink with her switched demeanour, as if someone turned on a light switch behind her grey eyes. Hugo snorted. Annabeth punched him and cleared her throat. "He'll be your counsellor for now."
Before Percy could asked any more questions, Hugo let out a yawn. "Well, I'm gonna go," he announced, clapping Percy on the back and giving him a wink. "Good look, un macho." He looked up at the cabin eleven kids, more like glared, actually. "If any of you steal his stuff I will personally mould you a new face. Got it?" They shivered, nodding in fear. "Très bien," he grinned, before he jogged down to cabin five.
Percy's eyes followed him until he disappeared into the ugly, red cabin. His gaze tainted with something. Something new. Something growing.