I didn't have any clothes of my own since my duffel bag was still in my mom's Honda, probably being investigated by the FBI.
So, I had to raid the camp store. I picked out a pair of dark denim jeans and the standard-issue Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. It was bright orange—not my color. It made me look like a traffic cone with biceps.
I rolled the sleeves up to my shoulders. If I had to wear a uniform, I was at least going to show off the guns. I caught my reflection in a bronze shield hanging on the wall of the store. Messy black hair, electric blue eyes, strong jawline.
Not bad, I thought. Definitely an upgrade from my corporate zombie look.
I walked toward the dining pavilion. The sun was setting, casting long, golden shadows across the valley.
The pavilion was an open-air Greek structure with white columns and no roof. Torches blazed on the pillars. The place was buzzing with about a hundred kids.
As I walked in, heads turned. I wasn't trying to strut, but when you're almost six feet tall in a crowd of middle schoolers, you stand out.
I heard giggling from a table on the left. I glanced over. A group of girls with perfect hair and makeup were whispering and looking at me. One of them, a girl with caramel hair and a kaleidoscope of eye colors, winked.
The Aphrodite Cabin, I realized. Cabin Ten.
I smirked back. A few of them blushed. Okay, this life has perks.
I made my way to the Hermes table. It was the most crowded table, packed with kids of all ages—some looking like thieves, others just looking confused.
Luke scooted over to make space.
"Nice shirt," Luke grinned. "Orange really brings out the 'I'm new here' vibe."
"It burns my retinas," I muttered, sitting down.
"So," Luke said, stabbing a grape with a knife. "Chiron tells me your last name is Castellan."
The table went quiet. A few Hermes kids looked up, wary.
"Yeah," I said, grabbing a goblet. "Valerius Castellan."
Luke studied my face. "My last name is Castellan."
"I know," I said. "I checked the family tree. No relation. Just a cosmic joke. Apparently, the Fates ran out of last names."
Luke laughed, the tension breaking instantly. "Good. I don't need another sibling fighting me for the top bunk. Welcome to Table Eleven, Valerius. The table for leftovers."
The Nymphs and the ToastDinner was served by the Wood Nymphs (Dryads).
I'd seen pictures in books, but seeing them in person was trippy. Their skin had the texture of birch bark or cherry wood. Their hair wasn't hair—it was leaves that rustled when they moved. One of them, a girl with green skin and moss for eyebrows, dropped a platter of brisket in front of me.
"Enjoy, tree-killer," she whispered, eyeing the wooden bench I was sitting on.
"It's... recycled wood?" I offered.
She huffed and dissolved into a nearby maple tree. Literally just walked into the wood and vanished.
Note to self: Don't date the plants.
When everyone had food, Luke stood up. "Come on. Burnt offerings."
We walked to the central fire. It was a massive bronze brazier. The flames were weird—they changed color depending on what you threw in.
I watched a girl scrape a perfectly good slice of pizza into the fire.
"To my dad," she muttered. The smoke smelled like pizza.
I stepped up. I had a the juiciest piece of brisket on my plate. It hurt my soul to waste it, considering how hungry I was.
I scraped the meat into the flames.
Zeus, I thought, staring at the fire. I know you're listening. Don't think this makes us friends. I'm just paying the rent.
Thunder rumbled softly in the distance. The smoke from my brisket rose up and formed a perfect, spinning ring before vanishing.
I walked back to the table. I saw Percy Jackson sitting alone at the edge of the Hermes table. He looked miserable. He was picking at his grapes like they were poison.
"Cheer up, Jackson," I said, sliding onto the bench across from him. "You're not dead yet."
"I might as well be," Percy mumbled. "I don't know who I am. I don't know where my dad is. And everyone keeps looking at me like I'm a freak."
"You are a freak," I said cheerfully. "We all are. Look at that guy." I pointed to Argus, the security guard leaning against a pillar.
Argus was wearing a surfer outfit, but he had eyes everywhere. On his hands, his neck, his ankles. Even his chin had an eyeball on it. He blinked a dozen eyes at once.
"That guy sees everything," I said. "Literally. Compared to him, you're normal."
Percy cracked a tiny smile. "Thanks. I think."
The BullyThe peace didn't last.
After dinner, as the campers filed out toward the campfire sing-along, we got intercepted.
Standing by the path was a girl who looked like she chewed rocks for gum. She was big—taller than Percy, though not as tall as me. She had stringy brown hair, a camouflage jacket, and a sneer that could peel paint.
She was flanked by three other goons who looked like they enjoyed pushing little kids into mud puddles.
Clarisse La Rue. Daughter of Ares. The big bad bully of Camp Half-Blood.
"Well, well," Clarisse sneered, stepping in front of Percy. "The newbie. The 'Big Three' suspect."
Percy blinked. "The what?"
"Don't play dumb, Prissy," she growled. "I heard you killed the Minotaur. I bet it's a lie. You look like a stiff breeze would snap you in half."
I leaned against a tree, crossing my arms. This was entertaining.
"Leave him alone, Clarisse," a voice said.
Annabeth Chase stepped forward. She looked intense. Her blonde curls were tied back, and her gray eyes were calculating, like she was solving a math problem in her head. "He's been here one day."
"Stay out of it, Princess," Clarisse snapped. She grabbed Percy by the collar of his borrowed oversized shirt. "We have an initiation ceremony for newbies. It involves the bathroom."
"The bathroom?" Percy asked, voice cracking.
"Clarisse," I spoke up. My voice was deep, bored, and loud enough to stop the conversation.
Clarisse turned her glare on me. She looked me up and down. Her eyes lingered on my arms for a second—threat assessment—before returning to my face.
"And who are you?" she demanded. "The bodyguard?"
"I'm the guy who thinks picking on the scrawny kid is lazy writing," I said, pushing off the tree. I walked over, standing right next to her. I had a good three inches of height on her.
"Let him go," I said calmly.
Clarisse laughed. "Or what? You gonna cry to Chiron?"
"Or I'm going to fold you like a lawn chair," I stated.
The Ares kids laughed. Clarisse's face went red.
"You're next, pretty boy," she spat. "But first, Prissy gets a swirlie."
She yanked Percy hard, dragging him toward the bathroom block. Her goons blocked my path.
"Valerius, don't!" Annabeth warned. "You'll get in trouble!"
"I love trouble," I said.
I shoved past the goons. They tried to grab me, but I didn't even use technique. I just flexed and kept walking. They bounced off me like I was made of brick.
The ExplosionI followed them into the girls' bathroom. It was tiled in ugly gray stone. Clarisse had Percy on his knees in front of a toilet.
"Get a good look, Prissy!" Clarisse yelled, shoving his head down.
Percy was thrashing. "No! Get off!"
I was about to step in. I was going to grab Clarisse by her camo jacket and throw her through the window.
But then, the air changed.
I felt it before I saw it. A pressure drop. The pipes in the walls groaned. The water in the toilets started to gurgle violently.
Oh right, I remembered. The water powers.
"Clarisse, move!" I shouted, not out of concern for her, but because I didn't want to get wet.
Too late.
BOOM.
It wasn't a splash. It was a geyser.
The water didn't just spray; it exploded out of the toilets and the showers like a fire hose on steroids. It blasted Clarisse backward. She flew through the air and landed on her butt in the middle of the room, sputtering. Her goons got hosed down, slipping and falling on the wet tiles.
I stood near the door. The water seemed to curve around me, splashing my boots but leaving my new jeans dry.
Percy was sitting on the dry floor next to the toilet. He looked shocked. The water hadn't touched him. He was completely dry.
Clarisse sat up, spitting out toilet water. She looked like a drowned rat. Her hair was plastered to her face.
"You are dead, Jackson!" she screamed. "You are totally dead!"
I couldn't help it. I started laughing.
"Nice shot, Prissy," I said, leaning against the doorframe.
Clarisse scrambled up, slipping on the wet floor. She glared at Percy, then at me. "You think this is funny?"
"Clarisse," I said, pointing at her hair. "You have... uh... toilet paper..."
She swiped at her head. A wet clump of TP was stuck to her forehead. She shrieked—a sound of pure rage—and charged at Percy.
Percy scrambled back.
I stepped in. I put one hand out, catching Clarisse by the shoulder. I held her back. She struggled, her boots squeaking on the tiles, but she couldn't move me. It was like she was trying to push a statue.
"That's enough," I said, my voice dropping the humor. "You lost. Walk away."
Clarisse looked at me. For a second, I saw fear in her eyes. Not of me, but of the strength I was using to hold her in place effortlessly.
"This isn't over," she snarled. She shook my hand off and stormed out, her goons trailing behind her, dripping wet.
Annabeth was standing at the door. She looked from Percy (dry) to the destroyed bathroom, to me (dry-ish).
"How did you..." she started, looking at Percy.
"I don't know," Percy stammered.
I patted Percy on the shoulder. "Nice magic trick, Jackson. Next time, aim for the open window."
I walked past Annabeth. She caught my arm. Her grip was strong for a skinny girl.
"You knew," she whispered, her gray eyes piercing. "You weren't surprised."
"I have excellent poker face," I winked.
I walked out into the cool night air. The bathroom incident confirmed it. Percy was Poseidon's kid. I was Zeus's kid.
The board was set. Now we just had to wait for the game to start.
"Capture the Flag," I whispered to the moon. "Friday night. That's when I take the crown."