"LADY HECATE," Ophelia greeted as politely as she could. It wasn't that she hated the goddess, necessarily. But it was hard to like the goddess whose curse led to your mother's suicide, which led to the curse passing onto you and making you deal with ghosts at the tender age of ten.
Safe to say, they weren't exactly close.
"Ophelia," Hecate said. "Congratulations on your victory against Maren."
"Uh... thanks."
Hecate placed her torches in two torch-stands that had erupted from the dirt like plant stalks. She turned her focus toward Hazel, walking a slow circle around the girl, regarding her as if they were partners in some eerie dance.
The black dog and the weasel followed in her wake.
"You are like your mother," Hecate decided.
Hazel looked a little shell-shocked. "You knew her?"
"Of course. Marie was a fortune-teller. She dealt in charms and curses and gris-gris. I am the goddess of magic." She shifted her gaze momentarily toward Ophelia. "Among other things.
"Many fear me," Hecate said after a moment. "But magic is neither good nor evil. It is a tool, like a knife. Is a knife evil? Only if the wielder is evil."
"My—my mother..." Hazel stammered. "She didn't believe in magic. Not really. She was just faking it, for the money."
The weasel chittered and bared its teeth. Then it made a squeaking sound from its back end.
Under other circumstances, a weasel passing gas might have been funny, but Ophelia could only grimace. The rodent's red eyes glared at Hazel balefully, like tiny coals.
Hazel sidestepped closer to Ophelia, watching the weasel with wary eyes.
"Peace, Gale," Hecate said. "But, yes—Gale was once a disagreeable human witch. She had terrible personal hygiene, plus extreme—ah, digestive issues." Hecate waved her hand in front of her nose. "It gave my other followers a bad name."
"Okay." Hazel tried not to look at weasel.
"At any rate," Hecate said, "I turned her into a polecat. She's much better as a polecat."
Hazel looked at the black dog, which was affectionately nuzzling the goddess's hand. "And your Labrador...?"
"Oh, she's Hecuba, the former queen of Troy," Hecate said, as if that should be obvious.
Ophelia blinked. "Of course she is."
The dog grunted.
"You're right, Hecuba," the goddess said. "We don't have time for long introductions. The point is, Hazel Levesque, your mother may have claimed not to believe, but she had true magic. Eventually, she realized this. When she searched for a spell to summon the god Pluto, I helped her find it."
Ophelia raised an eyebrow.
"You...?" Hazel looked lost.
"Yes." Hecate continued circling Hazel. "I saw potential in your mother. I see even more potential in you."
Hazel stared at the goddess of magic. "My mother suffered because of that magic. My whole life—"
"Your life wouldn't have happened without me," Hecate said flatly. "Neither of yours would, in fact." She looked purposefully toward Ophelia. "I have no time for your anger, Hazel Levesque. Neither do you. Without my help, you will die."
Hecuba the Labrador snarled. Gale the polecat snapped its teeth and passed gas.
"What kind of help?" Hazel demanded.
Hecate raised her pale arms. The three gateways she'd come from—north, east, and west—began to swirl with Mist. A flurry of black-and-white images glowed and flickered, like one of those old-timey silent movies.
In the western doorway, Roman and Greek demigods in full armor fought one another on a hillside under a large pine tree. The grass was strewn with the wounded and the dying. Ophelia saw Hazel riding Arion, charging through the melee and shouting—trying to stop the violence.
In the gateway to the east, Ophelia saw the Argo II plunging through the sky above the Apennines. Its rigging was in flames. A boulder smashed into the quarterdeck. Another punched through the hull. The ship burst like a rotten pumpkin, and the engine exploded.
The images in the northern doorway were even worse. Ophelia saw Leo, unconscious—or dead—falling through the clouds. She saw Frank staggering alone down a dark tunnel, clutching his arm, his shirt soaked in blood. Ophelia saw herself on her knees, clutching her head as dozens of ghosts bore down on her, a mirror image to her first night at the Wolf House years ago. And she saw Hazel in a vast cavern filled with strands of light like a luminous web. She was struggling to break through while, in the distance, Percy and Annabeth lay sprawled and unmoving at the foot of two black-and-silver metal doors.
"Choices," Hecate said. "You stand at the crossroads, Hazel Levesque. And I am the goddess of crossroads."
The ground rumbled at Hazel's feet. Ophelia looked down and saw the glint of silver coins... thousands of old Roman denarii breaking the surface all around her, as if the entire hilltop was coming to a boil.
"The past is close to the surface in this place," Hecate said. "In ancient times, two great Roman roads met here. News was exchanged. Markets were held. Friends met, and enemies fought. Entire armies had to choose a direction. Crossroads are always a place of decision."
"Like... like Janus," Hazel said.
Ophelia remembered the shrine to Janus on Temple Hill back at Camp Jupiter. Demigods would go there to make decisions. They would flip a coin, heads or tails, and hope the two-faced god would guide them well. She'd never really liked that place—she preferred to make her own decisions, free from the influence of wishy-washy gods.
The goddess of magic made a disgusted hiss. "Janus and his doorways. He would have you believe that all choices are black and white, yes or no, in or out. In fact, it's not that simple. Whenever you reach a crossroads, there are always at least three ways to go... four, if you count going backward. You are at a crossing now, Hazel."
Hazel looked at each of the gateways: a demigod war, the destruction of the Argo II, disaster for herself and her friends. "All the choices are bad."
"All choices have risks," Hecate corrected. "But what is your goal?"
"My goal?" Hazel waved helplessly at the doorways. "None of these."
The dog Hecuba snarled. Gale the polecat skittered around the goddess's feet, farting and gnashing her teeth.
"You could go backward," Hecate suggested, "retrace your steps to Rome... but Gaea's forces are expecting that. None of you will survive."
"So... what are you saying?"
Hecate stepped toward the nearest torch. She scooped a handful of fire and sculpted the flames until she was holding a miniature relief map of Italy.
"You could go west." Hecate let her finger drift away from her fiery map. "Go back to America with your prize, the Athena Parthenos. Your comrades back home, Greek and Roman, are on the brink of war. Leave now, and you might save many lives."
"Might," Hazel repeated. "But Gaea is supposed to wake in Greece. That's where the giants are gathering."
"True. Gaea has set the date of August first, the Feast of Spes, goddess of hope, for her rise to power. By waking on the Day of Hope, she intends to destroy all hope forever. Even if you reached Greece by then, could you stop her? I do not know."
Hecate traced her finger along the tops of the fiery Apennines. "You could go east, across the mountains, but Gaea will do anything to stop you from crossing Italy. She has raised her mountain gods against you."
"We noticed," Ophelia deadpanned.
"Any attempt to cross the Apennines will mean the destruction of your ship," the goddess continued. "Ironically, this might be the safest option for your crew. I foresee that you would survive the explosion. It is possible, though unlikely, you could still reach Epirus and close the Doors of Death. You might find Gaea and prevent her rise. But by then, both demigod camps would be destroyed. You would have no home to return to."
Hecate smiled. "More likely, the destruction of your ship would strand you in the mountains. It would mean the end of your quest, but it would spare you and your friends much pain and suffering in the days to come. The war with the giants would have to be won or lost without you."
Won or lost without us.
A tiny part of Ophelia found that idea appealing. After fighting one war already... she was tired. Exhausted. She didn't want to go through any more pain or suffering, and she didn't want that for her friends, either. They'd all been through so much already.
Ophelia looked behind Hecate at the middle gateway. She saw Percy and Annabeth sprawled helplessly before those black-and-silver doors. A massive dark shape, vaguely humanoid, now loomed over them, its foot raised to crush Percy.
"What about them?" Hazel asked, her voice ragged. "Percy and Annabeth?"
Hecate shrugged. "West, east, or south... they die."
"Not an option," Ophelia growled.
Hecate shifted her gaze momentarily to Ophelia, before returning her attention to Hazel. "Then you have only one path, though it is the most dangerous."
Hecate's finger crossed her miniature Apennines, leaving a glowing white line in the red flames. "There is a secret pass here in the north, a place where I hold sway, where Hannibal once crossed when he marched across Rome."
The goddess made a wide loop... to the top of Italy, then east to the sea, then down along the western coast of Greece. "Once through the pass, you would travel north to Bologna, and then to Venice. From there, sail the Adriatic to your goal, here: Epirus in Greece."
"That's so far out of the way," Hazel said.
"Which is why Gaea will not expect you to take this route," Hecate said. "I can obscure your progress somewhat, but the success of your journey will depend on you, Hazel Levesque. You must learn to use the Mist."
"Me?" Hazel asked. "Why not Ophelia?"
"My granddaughter's magic is limited to the world of ghosts," Hecate said. "Even her mother couldn't quite get a handle on manipulating the Mist."
"Well, how do I do it?" Hazel asked. "I don't know anything about manipulating the Mist."
Hecate extinguished her map of Italy. She flicked her hand at the black dog Hecuba. Mist collected around the Labrador until she was completely hidden in a cocoon of white. The fog cleared with an audible poof!
Where the dog had stood was a disgruntled-looking black kitten with golden eyes.
"Mew," it complained.
"I am the goddess of the Mist," Hecate explained. "I am responsible for keeping the veil that separates the world of the gods from the world of the living. My children learn to use the Mist to their advantage, to create illusions or influence the minds of mortals. Other demigods can do this as well. And so must you, Hazel, if you are to help your friends."
"But..." Hazel looked at the cat. "I can't do that."
"Your mother had the talent," Hecate said. "You have even more. As a child of Pluto who has returned from the dead, you understand the veil between worlds better than most. You can control the Mist. If you do not... well, your brother Nico has already warned you. The spirits have whispered to him, told him of your future. When you reach the House of Hades, you will meet a formidable enemy. She cannot be overcome by strength or sword. You alone can defeat her, and you will require magic."
Ophelia frowned. She didn't understand what Hecate was saying about Nico and Hazel's future, but it certainly didn't sound good.
"Who?" Hazel croaked. "Who is the enemy?"
"I will not speak her name," Hecate said. "That would alert her to your presence before you are ready to face her. Go north, Hazel. As you travel, practice summoning the Mist. When you arrive in Bologna, seek out the two dwarfs. They will lead you to a treasure that may help you survive the House of Hades."
"I don't understand," Hazel said.
"Mew," the kitten complained.
"Yes, yes, Hecuba." The goddess flicked her hand again, and the cat disappeared. The black Labrador was back in its place.
"You will understand, Hazel," Hecate promised. "From time to time, I will send Gale to check on your progress."
The polecat hissed, its beady red eyes full of malice.
"Wonderful," Hazel muttered.
"Before you reach Epirus, you must be prepared," the goddess said. "If you succeed, then perhaps we will meet again... for the final battle."
A final battle, Ophelia thought. How fun.
Hecate turned her cold, pitch-black eyes to her granddaughter. "Let me see your sword."
Ophelia frowned, but wordlessly pulled her gladius from its sheath and handed it to the goddess.
Hecate held it in her hand, regarding it with a bored expression. She snapped her free hand, and the sword disappeared in thin air.
Ophelia gaped. "Wh—why—what was that for?" she stammered.
"When you come to the House of Hades, you will face ghosts you cannot control," Hecate told her. "If you let down your guard, they will tear you into pieces. You must defeat them, or you will never make it to the mortal side of the Doors. And if you do reach them, cutting the chains Gaea has placed on them will be your responsibility."
Ophelia stared up at her grandmother. "That doesn't explain why you just snapped my sword out of existence."
Hecate lifted her hand, and a different sword appeared in her hand—one made of pure black metal, almost as if Hecate had fashioned it from a black hole in outer space. It glowed a faint, eerie purple, like Nico's sword, though this sword was a gladius, a classic Roman sword.
For a second, Ophelia wondered if it was another illusion, but it was as if she could feel the blade's deadly power from where she stood.
"Stygian iron," Hazel whispered from next to her.
"Your Imperial gold blade would not cut through the chains on the Doors," Hecate informed her. "Nor would it properly aid you in a fight against vengeful spirits. This will be your new weapon."
The goddess held the blade out, but Ophelia made no move to take it.
"I thought only children of Pluto could wield Stygian iron," Ophelia said, looking between Hecate and Hazel. "My father's Mercury."
Hecate sighed in annoyance. "Any child of an Underworld deity can wield Stygian iron, so long as their will is strong enough," she corrected. "Mercury's role as a psychopomp qualifies him as an Underworld deity. That makes you capable of carrying this weapon."
Ophelia wanted to ask, Are you sure? She'd heard horror stories of Stygian iron—if someone other than a child of the Underworld attempted to wield it, they could be driven mad, or even killed in the attempt.
She really didn't want to die because she touched a forbidden sword. After every dangerous thing she'd already done—that would just be embarrassing.
She hesitated, but at the growing annoyance on Hecate's face, Ophelia finally reached out for the sword. She took hold of the hilt gingerly, waiting for her brain to scramble or for her to just drop dead right there.
Nothing of the sort happened, thank the gods.
"Thanks, I guess," Ophelia said, carefully sliding the black sword into her scabbard. It was the same size and build as her old sword, so it fit perfectly in the sheath. "But did you really have to get rid of my old one? Couldn't I have kept it for later?"
"You should be honored to wield that sword," Hecate said sharply. "Without your special compass attached to it, your old sword was as plain as any other. This sword is capable of absorbing the souls of your opponents."
That just makes me want to use it even less.
Ophelia did the smart thing for once and bit her tongue.
Hazel frowned, looking up at the goddess. "Why are you helping us?" she demanded. "At Camp Jupiter, they said you sided with the Titans in the last war."
Hecate's dark eyes glinted. "Because I am a Titan—daughter of Perses and Asteria. Long before the Olympians came to power, I ruled the Mist. Despite this, in the First Titan War, millennia ago, I sided with Zeus against Kronos. I was not blind to Kronos's cruelty. I hoped Zeus would prove a better king."
She gave a small, bitter laugh. "When Demeter lost her daughter Persephone, kidnapped by your father, I guided Demeter through the darkest night with my torches, helping her search. And when the giants rose the first time, I again sided with the gods. I fought my archenemy Clytius, made by Gaea to absorb and defeat all my magic."
"Clytius," Hazel repeated. She glanced at the images in the northern doorway—the massive dark shape looming over Percy and Annabeth. "Is he the threat in the House of Hades?"
"Oh, he waits for you there," Hecate said. "But first you must defeat the witch, then the ghosts and their master." Ophelia frowned at the way Hecate said master, like it was sarcastic, but decided not to ask—she doubted her grandmother's answer would be helpful. "Unless you manage that..."
Hecate snapped her fingers, and all of the gateways turned dark. The Mist dissolved, the images gone.
"We all face choices," Hecate said. "When Kronos arose the second time, I made a mistake. I supported him. I had grown tired of being ignored by the so-called major gods. Despite my years of faithful service, they mistrusted me, refused me a seat in their hall..."
Gale chittered angrily.
"It does not matter anymore." The goddess sighed. "I have made peace again with Olympus. Even now, when they are laid low—their Greek and Roman personas fighting each other—I will help them. Greek or Roman, my power does not change. I will assist you against the giants, if you prove yourselves worthy. So now it is your choice. Will you trust me... or will you shun me, as the Olympian gods have done too often?"
Hazel looked at Ophelia, as if waiting for an answer. Ophelia nodded for her to make the choice—this was her crossroads, not Ophelia's. It was Hazel's choice.
"We'll go north," Hazel decided. "We'll take your secret pass through the mountains."
Hecate nodded, the slightest hint of satisfaction in her face. "You have chosen well, though the path will not be easy. Many monsters will rise against you. Even some of my own servants have sided with Gaea, hoping to destroy your mortal world."
Hecate took her double torches from their stands. "Prepare yourselves. If you succeed against the witch and the ghosts, we will meet again."
"We'll succeed," Hazel promised. "And Hecate? I'm not choosing one of your paths. I'm making my own."
The goddess arched her eyebrows. Her polecat writhed, and her dog snarled.
"We're going to find a way to stop Gaea," Hazel said, her tone full of confidence. "We're going to rescue our friends from Tartarus. We're going to keep the crew and the ship together, and we're going to stop Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood from going to war. We're going to do it all."
The storm howled, the black walls of the funnel cloud swirling faster.
"Interesting," Hecate said, as if Hazel were an unexpected result in a science experiment. "That would be magic worth seeing."
A wave of darkness blotted out the world. When Ophelia's sight returned, the storm, the goddess, and her minions were gone. She and Hazel stood on the hillside in the morning sunlight, alone in the ruins except for Arion, who paced next to them, nickering impatiently.
"I agree," Hazel told the horse. "Let's get out of here."
❖
"What happened?" Leo asked as Hazel and Ophelia climbed aboard the Argo II.
Hazel's hands were still shaking. Ophelia couldn't blame her—Hecate was... a lot, especially the first time around.
"Hazel?" Nico asked.
Hazel's knees buckled. Ophelia and Nico grabbed her arms and helped her up the steps of the foredeck.
"We met Hecate," Ophelia explained.
As Hazel recovered from her meeting with the terrifying goddess, Ophelia told them about the secret northern pass through the mountains, and the detour Hecate had described that would take them to Epirus.
When Ophelia was done, Nico took Hazel's hand, his eyes full of concern. "Hazel, you guys met Hecate at a crossroads. That's... that's something many demigods don't survive. And the ones that do survive are never the same. Are you sure you're—?"
"I'm fine," Hazel insisted.
"What if Hecate's tricking us?" Leo asked. "No offense to your grandma, Phee, but... this route could be a trap."
Hazel shook her head. "If it was a trap, I think Hecate would've made the northern pass sound tempting."
"She definitely did not," Ophelia muttered.
Leo pulled a calculator out of his magic tool belt and punched some numbers. "That's... something like three hundred miles out of the way to get to Venice. Then we'd have to backtrack down the Adriatic. And you said something about baloney dwarfs?"
"Dwarfs in Bologna," Ophelia corrected. "Pretty sure that's a city. But we have to find the dwarfs there. They have some sort of treasure to help us with the quest."
"Huh," Leo said. "I mean, I'm all about treasure, but—"
"It's our best option." Nico helped Hazel to her feet. "We have to make up for lost time, travel as fast as we can. Percy's and Annabeth's lives might depend on it."
"Fast?" Leo grinned. "I can do fast. Co-pilot, to the helm!"
Ophelia sighed, trudging over to the helm for another gods-know how many hours.
❖