The messenger

He ripped off a chunk of meat with his fingers and stuffed it in his mouth. He guzzled some red liquid, which thankfully tasted like watered-down wine, not blood or poison. Jason fought the urge to gag, but he didn’t keel over or explode. 

‘Yum!’ He wiped his mouth. ‘Now tell me about this … what did you call it? Retribution? Where do I sign up?’ 

The ghosts laughed. One pushed his shoulder and Jason was alarmed that he could actually feel it. 

At Camp Jupiter, Lares had no physical substance. Apparently these spirits did – which meant more enemies who could beat, stab or decapitate him. 

Antinous leaned forward. ‘Tell me, Iros, what do you have to offer? We don’t need you to run messages for us like in the old days. Certainly you aren’t a fighter. As I recall, Odysseus crushed your jaw and tossed you into the pigsty.’ 

Jason’s neurons fired. Iros … the old man who’d run messages for the suitors in exchange for scraps of food. Iros had been sort of like their pet homeless person. When Odysseus came home, disguised as a beggar, Iros thought the new guy was moving in on his territory. The two had started arguing … 

‘You made Iros –’ Jason hesitated. ‘You made me fight Odysseus. You bet money on it. Even when Odysseus took off his shirt and you saw how muscular he was … you still made me fight him. You didn’t care if I lived or died!’ 

Antinous bared his pointed teeth. ‘Of course I didn’t care. I still don’t! But you’re here, so Gaia must have had a reason to allow you back into the mortal world. Tell me, why are you worthy of a share in our spoils?’ 

‘What spoils?’ 

Antinous spread his hands. ‘The entire world, my friend. The first time we met here, we were only after Odysseus’s land, his money and his wife.’ 

‘Especially his wife!’ A bald ghost in ragged clothes elbowed Jason in the ribs. ‘That Penelope was a hot little honey cake!’ 

Jason caught a glimpse of Piper serving drinks at the next table. She discreetly put her finger to her mouth in a gag me gesture, then went back to flirting with dead guys. 

Antinous sneered. ‘Eurymachus, you whining coward. You never stood a chance with Penelope. I remember you blubbering and pleading for your life with Odysseus, blaming everything on me!’ 

‘Lot of good it did me.’ Eurymachus lifted his tattered shirt, revealing an inch-wide hole in the middle of his spectral chest. ‘Odysseus shot me in the heart, just because I wanted to marry his wife!’

‘At any rate …’ Antinous turned to Jason. ‘We have gathered now for a much bigger prize. Once Gaia destroys the gods, we will divide up the remnants of the mortal world!’ 

‘Dibs on London!’ yelled a ghoul at the next table. 

‘Montreal!’ shouted another. 

‘Duluth!’ yelled a third, which momentarily stopped the conversation as the other ghosts gave him confused looks. 

The meat and wine turned to lead in Jason’s stomach. ‘What about the rest of these … guests? I count at least two hundred. Half of them are new to me.’ 

Antinous’s yellow eyes gleamed. ‘All of them are suitors for Gaia’s favour. All have claims and grievances against the gods or their pet heroes. That scoundrel over there is Hippias, former tyrant of Athens. He got deposed and sided with the Persians to attack his own countrymen. No morals whatsoever. He’d do anything for power.’ 

‘Thank you!’ called Hippias. 

‘That rogue with the turkey leg in his mouth,’ Antinous continued, ‘that’s Hasdrubal of Carthage. He has a grudge to settle with Rome.’ 

‘Mhhmm,’ said the Carthaginian. 

‘And Michael Varus –’ 

Jason choked. ‘Who?’ 

Over by the sand fountain, the dark-haired guy in the purple T-shirt and legionnaire armour turned to face them. His outline was blurred, smoky and indistinct, so Jason guessed he was some form of spirit, but the legion tattoo on his forearm was clear enough: the letters SPQR, the double-faced head of the god Janus and six score marks for years of service. On his breastplate hung the badge of praetorship and the emblem of the Fifth Cohort. 

Jason had never met Michael Varus. The infamous praetor had died in the 1980s. Still, Jason’s skin crawled when he met Varus’s gaze. Those sunken eyes seemed to bore right through Jason’s disguise. 

Antinous waved dismissively. ‘He’s a Roman demigod. Lost his legion’s eagle in … Alaska, was it? Doesn’t matter. Gaia lets him hang around. He insists he has some insight into defeating Camp Jupiter. But you, Iros – you still haven’t answered my question. Why should you be welcome among us?’ 

Varus’s dead eyes had unnerved Jason. He could feel the Mist thinning around him, reacting to his uncertainty. 

Suddenly Annabeth appeared at Antinous’s shoulder. ‘More wine, my lord? Oops!’

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The Blood of Olympus

He ripped off a chunk of meat with his fingers and stuffed it in his mouth. He guzzled some red liquid, which thankfully tasted like watered-down wine, not blood or poison. Jason fought the urge to gag, but he didn’t keel over or explode. 

‘Yum!’ He wiped his mouth. ‘Now tell me about this … what did you call it? Retribution? Where do I sign up?’ 

The ghosts laughed. One pushed his shoulder and Jason was alarmed that he could actually feel it. 

At Camp Jupiter, Lares had no physical substance. Apparently these spirits did – which meant more enemies who could beat, stab or decapitate him. 

Antinous leaned forward. ‘Tell me, Iros, what do you have to offer? We don’t need you to run messages for us like in the old days. Certainly you aren’t a fighter. As I recall, Odysseus crushed your jaw and tossed you into the pigsty.’ 

Jason’s neurons fired. Iros … the old man who’d run messages for the suitors in exchange for scraps of food. Iros had been sort of like their pet homeless person. When Odysseus came home, disguised as a beggar, Iros thought the new guy was moving in on his territory. The two had started arguing … 

‘You made Iros –’ Jason hesitated. ‘You made me fight Odysseus. You bet money on it. Even when Odysseus took off his shirt and you saw how muscular he was … you still made me fight him. You didn’t care if I lived or died!’ 

Antinous bared his pointed teeth. ‘Of course I didn’t care. I still don’t! But you’re here, so Gaia must have had a reason to allow you back into the mortal world. Tell me, why are you worthy of a share in our spoils?’ 

‘What spoils?’ 

Antinous spread his hands. ‘The entire world, my friend. The first time we met here, we were only after Odysseus’s land, his money and his wife.’ 

‘Especially his wife!’ A bald ghost in ragged clothes elbowed Jason in the ribs. ‘That Penelope was a hot little honey cake!’ 

Jason caught a glimpse of Piper serving drinks at the next table. She discreetly put her finger to her mouth in a gag me gesture, then went back to flirting with dead guys. 

Antinous sneered. ‘Eurymachus, you whining coward. You never stood a chance with Penelope. I remember you blubbering and pleading for your life with Odysseus, blaming everything on me!’ 

‘Lot of good it did me.’ Eurymachus lifted his tattered shirt, revealing an inch-wide hole in the middle of his spectral chest. ‘Odysseus shot me in the heart, just because I wanted to marry his wife!’

‘At any rate …’ Antinous turned to Jason. ‘We have gathered now for a much bigger prize. Once Gaia destroys the gods, we will divide up the remnants of the mortal world!’ 

‘Dibs on London!’ yelled a ghoul at the next table. 

‘Montreal!’ shouted another. 

‘Duluth!’ yelled a third, which momentarily stopped the conversation as the other ghosts gave him confused looks. 

The meat and wine turned to lead in Jason’s stomach. ‘What about the rest of these … guests? I count at least two hundred. Half of them are new to me.’ 

Antinous’s yellow eyes gleamed. ‘All of them are suitors for Gaia’s favour. All have claims and grievances against the gods or their pet heroes. That scoundrel over there is Hippias, former tyrant of Athens. He got deposed and sided with the Persians to attack his own countrymen. No morals whatsoever. He’d do anything for power.’ 

‘Thank you!’ called Hippias. 

‘That rogue with the turkey leg in his mouth,’ Antinous continued, ‘that’s Hasdrubal of Carthage. He has a grudge to settle with Rome.’ 

‘Mhhmm,’ said the Carthaginian. 

‘And Michael Varus –’ 

Jason choked. ‘Who?’ 

Over by the sand fountain, the dark-haired guy in the purple T-shirt and legionnaire armour turned to face them. His outline was blurred, smoky and indistinct, so Jason guessed he was some form of spirit, but the legion tattoo on his forearm was clear enough: the letters SPQR, the double-faced head of the god Janus and six score marks for years of service. On his breastplate hung the badge of praetorship and the emblem of the Fifth Cohort. 

Jason had never met Michael Varus. The infamous praetor had died in the 1980s. Still, Jason’s skin crawled when he met Varus’s gaze. Those sunken eyes seemed to bore right through Jason’s disguise. 

Antinous waved dismissively. ‘He’s a Roman demigod. Lost his legion’s eagle in … Alaska, was it? Doesn’t matter. Gaia lets him hang around. He insists he has some insight into defeating Camp Jupiter. But you, Iros – you still haven’t answered my question. Why should you be welcome among us?’ 

Varus’s dead eyes had unnerved Jason. He could feel the Mist thinning around him, reacting to his uncertainty. 

Suddenly Annabeth appeared at Antinous’s shoulder. ‘More wine, my lord? Oops!’

She spilled the contents of a silver pitcher down the back of Antinous’s neck. 

‘Gahh!’ The ghoul arched his spine. ‘Foolish girl! Who let you back from Tartarus?’ 

‘A Titan, my lord.’ Annabeth dipped her head apologetically. ‘May I bring you some moist towelettes? Your arrow is dripping.’ 

‘Begone!’ 

Annabeth caught Jason’s eye – a silent message of support – then she disappeared in the crowd. 

The ghoul wiped himself off, giving Jason a chance to collect his thoughts. 

He was Iros … former messenger of the suitors. Why would he be here? Why should they accept him? 

He picked up the nearest steak knife and stabbed it into the table, making the ghosts around him jump. 

‘Why should you welcome me?’ Jason growled. ‘Because I’m still running messages, you stupid wretches! I’ve just come from the House of Hades to see what you’re up to!’ 

That last part was true, and it seemed to give Antinous pause. The ghoul glared at him, wine still dripping from the arrow shaft in his throat. ‘You expect me to believe Gaia sent you – a beggar – to check up on us?’ 

Jason laughed. ‘I was among the last to leave Epirus before the Doors of Death were closed! I saw the chamber where Clytius stood guard under a domed ceiling tiled with tombstones. I walked the jewel-and-bone floors of the Necromanteion!’ 

That was also true. Around the table, ghosts shifted and muttered. 

‘So, Antinous …’ Jason jabbed a finger at the ghoul. ‘Maybe you should explain to me why you’re worthy of Gaia’s favour. All I see is a crowd of lazy, dawdling dead folk enjoying themselves and not helping the war effort. What should I tell the Earth Mother?’ 

From the corner of his eye, Jason saw Piper flash him an approving smile. Then she returned her attention to a glowing purple Greek dude who was trying to make her sit on his lap. 

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