BLOOD OF OLYMPUS

would never drink alcohol again.
‘You’re a mania,’ Jason decided, the word coming to him from his studies at Camp Jupiter long
ago. ‘A spirit of insanity. That’s what you’ve been reduced to.’
‘I am all that remains,’ Beryl Grace agreed. Her image flickered through a spectrum of colours.
‘Embrace me, son. I am all you have left.’
The memory of the South Wind spoke in his mind: You can’t choose your parentage. But you can
choose your legacy.
Jason felt like he was being reassembled, one layer at a time. His heartbeat steadied. The chill left
his bones. His skin warmed in the afternoon sun.
‘No,’ he croaked. He glanced at Annabeth and Piper. ‘My loyalties haven’t changed. My family has
just expanded. I’m a child of Greece and Rome.’ He looked back at his mother for the last time. ‘I’m
no child of yours.’
He made the ancient sign of warding off evil – three fingers thrust out from the heart – and the ghost
of Beryl Grace disappeared with a soft hiss, like a sigh of relief.
The ghoul Antinous tossed aside his goblet. He studied Jason with a look of lazy disgust. ‘Well,
then,’ he said, ‘I suppose we’ll just kill you.’
All around Jason, the enemies closed in.