BLOOD OF OLYMPUS

‘This is a place of longing,’ Varus said. ‘All of us are drawn here, sustained not only by Gaia’s
power but also by our strongest desires. Eurymachus’s greed. Antinous’s cruelty.’
‘You flatter me,’ the ghoul muttered.
‘Hasdrubal’s hatred,’ Varus continued. ‘Hippias’s bitterness. My ambition. And you, Iros. What
has drawn you here? What does a beggar most desire? Perhaps a home?’
An uncomfortable tingle started at the base of Jason’s skull – the same feeling he got when a huge
electrical storm was about to break.
‘I should be going,’ he said. ‘Messages to carry.’
Michael Varus drew his sword. ‘My father is Janus, the god of two faces. I am used to seeing
through masks and deceptions. Do you know, Iros, why we are so sure the demigods will not pass our
island undetected?’
Jason silently ran through his repertoire of Latin cuss words. He tried to calculate how long it
would take him to get out his emergency flare and fire it. Hopefully he could buy enough time for the
girls to find shelter before this mob of dead guys slaughtered him.
He turned to Antinous. ‘Look, are you in charge here or not? Maybe you should muzzle your
Roman.’
The ghoul took a deep breath. The arrow rattled in his throat. ‘Ah, but this might be entertaining.
Go on, Varus.’
The dead praetor raised his sword. ‘Our desires reveal us. They show us for who we really are.
Someone has come for you, Jason Grace.’
Behind Varus, the crowd parted. The shimmering ghost of a woman drifted forward, and Jason felt
as if his bones were turning to dust.
‘My dearest,’ said his mother’s ghost. ‘You have come home.’