the_blood_of_olympus_-_rick_riordan

The strange thing was, the closer they got to 1 August, the more upbeat his friends acted. Or maybe
upbeat wasn’t the right word. They seemed to be pulling together for the final lap – aware that the
next two days would make or break them. There was no point moping around when you faced
imminent death. The end of the world made gelato taste a lot better.
Of course, the rest of the crew hadn’t been down in the stables with Leo, talking with the victory
goddess Nike over the past three days …
Piper set down her ice-cream cup. ‘So, the island of Delos is right across the harbour. Artemis and
Apollo’s home turf. Who’s going?’
‘Me,’ Leo said immediately.
Everybody stared at him.
‘What?’ Leo demanded. ‘I’m diplomatic and stuff. Frank and Hazel volunteered to back me up.’
‘We did?’ Frank lowered his half-eaten apple. ‘I mean … sure we did.’
Hazel’s gold eyes flashed in the sunlight. ‘Leo, did you have a dream about this or something?’
‘Yes,’ Leo blurted. ‘Well … no. Not exactly. But … you got to trust me on this, guys. I need to talk
to Apollo and Artemis. I’ve got an idea I need to bounce off them.’
Annabeth frowned. She looked like she might object, but Jason spoke up.
‘If Leo has an idea,’ he said, ‘we need to trust him.’
Leo felt guilty about that, especially considering what his idea was, but he mustered a smile.
‘Thanks, man.’
Percy shrugged. ‘Okay. But a word of advice: when you see Apollo, don’t mention haiku.’
Hazel knitted her eyebrows. ‘Why not? Isn’t he the god of poetry?’
‘Just trust me.’
‘Got it.’ Leo rose to his feet. ‘And, guys, if they have a souvenir shop on Delos, I’m totally bringing
you back some Apollo and Artemis bobbleheads!’
Apollo didn’t seem to be in the mood for haiku. He wasn’t selling bobbleheads, either.
Frank had turned into a giant eagle to fly to Delos, but Leo hitched a ride with Hazel on Arion’s
back. No offence to Frank, but after the fiasco at Fort Sumter Leo had become a conscientious
objector to riding giant eagles. He had a one hundred percent failure rate.
They found the island deserted, maybe because the seas were too choppy for the tourist boats. The
windswept hills were barren except for rocks, grass and wildflowers – and, of course, a bunch of
crumbling temples. The rubble was probably very impressive, but, ever since Olympia, Leo had been
on ancient ruins overload. He was so done with white marble columns. He wanted to get back to the
U.S., where the oldest buildings were the public schools and Ye Olde McDonald’s.
They walked down an avenue lined with white stone lions, the faces weathered almost featureless.
‘It’s eerie,’ Hazel said.
‘You sense any ghosts?’ Frank asked.
She shook her head. ‘The lack of ghosts is eerie. Back in ancient times, Delos was sacred ground.
No mortal was allowed to be born here or die here. There are literally no mortal spirits on this whole
island.’