the_blood_of_olympus_-_rick_riordan

vii
Reyna
THE HORDES HAD ARRIVED.
In groups of twenty or thirty, tourists swarmed through the ruins, milling around the villas,
wandering the cobblestone paths, gawking at the colourful frescoes and mosaics.
Reyna worried how the tourists would react to a forty-foot-tall statue of Athena in the middle of the
courtyard, but the Mist must have been working overtime to obscure the mortals’ vision.
Each time a group approached, they’d stop at the edge of the courtyard and stare in disappointment
at the statue. One British tour guide announced, ‘Ah, scaffolding. It appears this area is undergoing
restoration. Pity. Let’s move along.’
And off they went.
At least the statue didn’t rumble, ‘DIE, UNBELIEVERS!’ and zap the mortals to dust. Reyna had
once dealt with a statue of the goddess Diana like that. It hadn’t been her most relaxing day.
She recalled what Annabeth had told her about the Athena Parthenos: its magical aura both
attracted monsters and kept them at bay. Sure enough, every so often, out of the corner of her eye,
Reyna would spot glowing white spirits in Roman clothes flitting among the ruins, frowning at the
statue in consternation.
‘Those lemures are everywhere,’ Gleeson muttered. ‘Keeping their distance for now – but come
nightfall we’d better be ready to move. Ghosts are always worse at night.’
Reyna didn’t need to be reminded of that.
She watched as an elderly couple in matching pastel shirts and Bermuda shorts tottered through a
nearby garden. She was glad they didn’t come any closer. Around the camp, Coach Hedge had rigged
all sorts of trip wires, snares and oversized mousetraps that wouldn’t stop any self-respecting
monster, but they might very well bring down a senior citizen.
Despite the warm morning, Reyna shivered from her dreams. She couldn’t decide which was more
terrifying – the impending destruction of New Rome, or the way Octavian was poisoning the legion
from the inside.
Your quest is a fool’s errand.
Camp Jupiter needed her. The Twelfth Legion needed her. Yet Reyna was halfway across the
world, watching a satyr toast blueberry waffles on a stick over an open fire.
She wanted to talk about her nightmares, but she decided to wait until Nico woke up. She wasn’t
sure she’d have the courage to describe them twice.
Nico kept snoring. Reyna had discovered that once he fell asleep it took a lot to wake him up. The
coach could do a goat-hoof tap dance around Nico’s head and the son of Hades wouldn’t even budge.