DURING THE THIRD ATTACK, Hazel almost ate a boulder. She was peering into the fog, wondering
how it could be so difficult to fly across one stupid mountain range, when the ship’s alarm bells
“Hard to port!” Nico yelled from the foremast of the flying ship.
Back at the helm, Leo yanked the wheel. The Argo II veered left, its aerial oars slashing through
the clouds like rows of knives.
Hazel made the mistake of looking over the rail. A dark spherical shape hurtled toward her. She
thought: Why is the moon coming at us? Then she yelped and hit the deck. The huge rock passed so
close overhead it blew her hair out of her face.
The foremast collapsed—sail, spars, and Nico all crashing to the deck. The boulder, roughly the
size of a pickup truck, tumbled off into the fog like it had important business elsewhere.
“Nico!” Hazel scrambled over to him as Leo brought the ship level.
“I’m fine,” Nico muttered, kicking folds of canvas off his legs.
She helped him up, and they stumbled to the bow. Hazel peeked over more carefully this time.
The clouds parted just long enough to reveal the top of the mountain below them: a spearhead of black
rock jutting from mossy green slopes. Standing at the summit was a mountain god—one of the numina
montanum, Jason had called them. Or ourae, in Greek. Whatever you called them, they were nasty.
Like the others they had faced, this one wore a simple white tunic over skin as rough and dark as
basalt. He was about twenty feet tall and extremely muscular, with a flowing white beard, scraggly
hair, and a wild look in his eyes, like a crazy hermit. He bellowed something Hazel didn’t understand,
but it obviously wasn’t welcoming. With his bare hands, he pried another chunk of rock from his
mountain and began shaping it into a ball.
The scene disappeared in the fog, but when the mountain god bellowed again, other numina
answered in the distance, their voices echoing through the valleys.
“Stupid rock gods!” Leo yelled from the helm. “That’s the third time I’ve had to replace that
mast! You think they grow on trees?”
Nico frowned. “Masts are from trees.”
“That’s not the point!” Leo snatched up one of his controls, rigged from a Nintendo Wii stick,
and spun it in a circle. A few feet away, a trapdoor opened in the deck. A Celestial bronze cannon
rose. Hazel just had time to cover her ears before it discharged into the sky, spraying a dozen metal
spheres that trailed green fire. The spheres grew spikes in midair, like helicopter blades, and hurtled
away into the fog.
A moment later, a series of explosions crackled across the mountains, followed by the outraged
roars of mountain gods.
“Ha!” Leo yelled.
Unfortunately, Hazel guessed, judging from their last two encounters, Leo’s newest weapon had
only annoyed the numina.
Another boulder whistled through the air off to their starboard side.
Nico yelled, “Get us out of here!”
Leo muttered some unflattering comments about numina, but he turned the wheel. The engines
hummed. Magical rigging lashed itself tight, and the ship tacked to port. The Argo II picked up speed,
retreating northwest, as they’d been doing for the past two days.
Hazel didn’t relax until they were out of the mountains. The fog cleared. Below them, morning
sunlight illuminated the Italian countryside—rolling green hills and golden fields not too different
from those in Northern California. Hazel could almost imagine she was sailing home to Camp Jupiter.
The thought weighed on her chest. Camp Jupiter had only been her home for nine months, since
Nico had brought her back from the Underworld. But she missed it more than her birthplace of New
Orleans, and definitely more than Alaska, where she’d died back in 1942.
She missed her bunk in the Fifth Cohort barracks. She missed dinners in the mess hall, with wind
spirits whisking platters through the air and legionnaires joking about the war games. She wanted to
wander the streets of New Rome, holding hands with Frank Zhang. She wanted to experience just
being a regular girl for once, with an actual sweet, caring boyfriend.
Most of all, she wanted to feel safe. She was tired of being scared and worried all the time.
She stood on the quarterdeck as Nico picked mast splinters out of his arms and Leo punched
buttons on the ship’s console.
“Well, that was sucktastic,” Leo said. “Should I wake the others?”
Hazel was tempted to say yes, but the other crew members had taken the night shift and had
earned their rest. They were exhausted from defending the ship. Every few hours, it seemed, some
Roman monster had decided the Argo II looked like a tasty treat.
A few weeks ago, Hazel wouldn’t have believed that anyone could sleep through a numina
attack, but now she imagined her friends were still snoring away belowdecks. Whenever she got a
chance to crash, she slept like a coma patient.
“They need rest,” she said. “We’ll have to figure out another way on our own.”
“Huh.” Leo scowled at his monitor. In his tattered work shirt and grease-splattered jeans, he
looked like he’d just lost a wrestling match with a locomotive.
Ever since their friends Percy and Annabeth had fallen into Tartarus, Leo had been working
almost nonstop. He’d been acting angrier and even more driven than usual.
Hazel worried about him. But part of her was relieved by the change. Whenever Leo smiled and
joked, he looked too much like Sammy, his great-grandfather…Hazel’s first boyfriend, back in 1942.
Ugh, why did her life have to be so complicated?
“Another way,” Leo muttered. “Do you see one?”
On his monitor glowed a map of Italy. The Apennine Mountains ran down the middle of the bootshaped
country. A green dot for the Argo II blinked on the western side of the range, a few hundred
miles north of Rome. Their path should have been simple. They needed to get to a place called Epirus
in Greece and find an old temple called the House of Hades (or Pluto, as the Romans called him; or
as Hazel liked to think of him: the World’s Worst Absent Father).
To reach Epirus, all they had to do was go straight east—over the Apennines and across the
Adriatic Sea. But it hadn’t worked out that way. Each time they tried to cross the spine of Italy, the
mountain gods attacked.
For the past two days they’d skirted north, hoping to find a safe pass, with no luck. The numina
montanum were sons of Gaea, Hazel’s least favorite goddess. That made them very determined
enemies. The Argo II couldn’t fly high enough to avoid their attacks; and even with all its defenses,
the ship couldn’t make it across the range without being smashed to pieces.
“It’s our fault,” Hazel said. “Nico’s and mine. The numina can sense us.”
She glanced at her half brother. Since they’d rescued him from the giants, he’d started to regain
his strength, but he was still painfully thin. His black shirt and jeans hung off his skeletal frame. Long
dark hair framed his sunken eyes. His olive complexion had turned a sickly greenish white, like the
color of tree sap.
In human years, he was barely fourteen, just a year older than Hazel, but that didn’t tell the whole
story. Like Hazel, Nico di Angelo was a demigod from another era. He radiated a kind of old energy
—a melancholy that came from knowing he didn’t belong in the modern world.
Hazel hadn’t known him very long, but she understood, even shared, his sadness. The children of
Hades (Pluto—whichever) rarely had happy lives. And judging from what Nico had told her the night
before, their biggest challenge was yet to come when they reached the House of Hades—a challenge
he’d implored her to keep secret from the others.
Nico gripped the hilt of his Stygian iron sword. “Earth spirits don’t like children of the
Underworld. That’s true. We get under their skin—literally. But I think the numina could sense this
ship anyway. We’re carrying the Athena Parthenos. That thing is like a magical beacon.”
Hazel shivered, thinking of the massive statue that took up most of the hold. They’d sacrificed so
much saving it from the cavern under Rome; but they had no idea what to do with it. So far the only
thing it seemed to be good for was alerting more monsters to their presence.
Leo traced his finger down the map of Italy. “So crossing the mountains is out. Thing is, they go a
long way in either direction.”
“We could go by sea,” Hazel suggested. “Sail around the southern tip of Italy.”
“That’s a long way,” Nico said. “Plus, we don’t have…” His voice cracked. “You know…our
sea expert, Percy.”
The name hung in the air like an impending storm.
Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon…probably the demigod Hazel admired most. He’d saved her
life so many times on their quest to Alaska; but when he had needed Hazel’s help in Rome, she’d
failed him. She’d watched, powerless, as he and Annabeth had plunged into that pit.
Hazel took a deep breath. Percy and Annabeth were still alive. She knew that in her heart. She