The Lost Hero

―Right,‖ Leo said. ―Could you be more specific on the ‗whatever-it-is‘ part?‖
―Like a vapor trail,‖ Jason said. ―Except it‘s glowing. Really faint, but it‘s definitely there. We‘ve been
following it since Chicago, so I figured you saw it.‖
Leo shook his head. ―Maybe Festus can sense it. You think Aeolus made it?‖
―Well, it‘s a magic trail in the wind,‖ Jason said. ―Aeolus is the wind god. I think he knows we‘ve got
prisoners for him. He‘s telling us where to fly.‖
―Or it‘s another trap,‖ Piper said.
Her tone worried Leo. She didn‘t just sound nervous. She sounded broken with despair, like they‘d already
sealed their fate, and like it was her fault.
―Pipes, you all right?‖ he asked.
―Don‘t call me that.‖
―Okay, fine. You don‘t like any of the names I make up for you. But if your dad‘s in trouble and we can
help—‖
―You can‘t,‖ she said, her voice getting shakier. ―Look, I‘m tired. If you don‘t mind …‖
She leaned back against Jason and closed her eyes.
All right, Leo thought—pretty clear signal she didn‘t want to talk.
They flew in silence for a while. Festus seemed to know where he was going. He kept his course, gently
curving toward the southwest and hopefully Aeolus‘s fortress. Another wind god to visit, a whole new flavor of
crazy—Oh, boy, Leo couldn‘t wait.
He had way too much on his mind to sleep, but now that he was out danger, his body had different ideas.
His energy level was crashing. The monotonous beat of the dragon‘s wings made his eyes feel heavy. His head
started to nod.
―Catch a few Z‘s,‖ Jason said. ―It‘s cool. Hand me the reins.‖
―Nah, I‘m okay—‖
―Leo,‖ Jason said, ―you‘re not a machine. Besides, I‘m the only one who can see the vapor trail. I‘ll make
sure we stay on course.‖
Leo‘s eyes started to close on their own. ―All right. Maybe just …‖
He didn‘t finish the sentence before slumping forward against the dragon‘s warm neck.
In his dream, he heard a voice full of static, like a bad AM radio: ―Hello? Is this thing working?‖
Leo‘s vision came into focus—sort of. Everything was hazy and gray, with bands of interference running
across his sight. He‘d never dreamed with a bad connection before.
He seemed to be in a workshop. Out of the corners of his eyes he saw bench saws, metal lathes, and tool
cages. A forge glowed cheerfully against one wall.
It wasn‘t the camp forge—too big. Not Bunker 9—much warmer and more comfortable, obviously not
abandoned.
Then Leo realized something was blocking the middle of his view—something large and fuzzy, and so
close, Leo had to cross his eyes to see it properly. It was a large ugly face.
―Holy mother!‖ he yelped.
The face backed away and came into focus. Staring down at him was a bearded man in grimy blue
coveralls. His face was lumpy and covered with welts, as if he‘d been bitten by a million bees, or dragged
across gravel. Possibly both.
―Humph,‖ the man said. ―Holy father, boy. I should think you‘d know the difference.‖
Leo blinked. ―Hephaestus?‖
Being in the presence of his father for the first time, Leo probably should‘ve been speechless or awestruck
or something. But after what he‘d been through the last couple of days, with Cyclopes and a sorceress and a
face in the potty sludge, all Leo felt was a surge of complete annoyance.
―Now you show up?‖ he demanded. ―After fifteen years? Great parenting, Fur Face. Where do you get off
sticking your ugly nose into my dreams?‖
The god raised an eyebrow. A little spark caught fire in his beard. Then he threw back his head and
laughed so loudly, the tools rattled on the workbenches.
―You sound just like your mother,‖ Hephaestus said. ―I miss Esperanza.‖
―She‘s been dead seven years.‖ Leo‘s voice trembled. ―Not that you‘d care.‖
―But I do care, boy. About both of you.‖
―Uh-huh. Which is why I never saw you before today.‖