They both shook their heads.
“I’m almost as new as you. ” Frank tapped his probatio plate. “Just got here last month. But everyone’s heard the story. It’s bad luck to even talk about this. There was this huge expedition to Alaska back in the eighties. …”
“That prophecy you noticed in the temple,” Hazel continued, “the one about the seven demigods and the Doors of Death? Our senior praetor at the time was Michael Varus, from the Fifth Cohort. Back then the Fifth was the best in camp. He thought it would bring glory to the legion if he could figure out the prophecy and make it come true—save the world from storm and fire and all that. He talked to the augur, and the augur said the answer was in Alaska. But he warned Michael it wasn’t time yet. The prophecy wasn’t for him. ”
“But he went anyway,” Percy guessed. “What happened?”
Frank lowered his voice. “Long, gruesome story. Almost the entire Fifth Cohort was wiped out. Most of legion’s Imperial gold weapons were lost, along with the eagle. The survivors went crazy or refused to talk about what had attacked them. ”
I know, Hazel thought solemnly. But she kept silent.
“Since the eagle was lost,” Frank continued, “the camp has been getting weaker. Quests are more dangerous. Monsters attack the borders more often. Morale is lower. The last month or so, things have been getting much worse, much faster. ”
“And the Fifth Cohort took the blame,” Percy guessed. “So now everyone thinks we’re cursed. ”
Hazel realized her gumbo was cold. She sipped a spoonful, but the comfort food didn’t taste very comforting. “We’ve been the outcasts of the legion since…well, since the Alaska disaster. Our reputation got better when Jason became praetor—”
“The kid who’s missing?” Percy asked.
“Yeah,” Frank said. “I never met him. Before my time. But I hear he was a good leader. He practically grew up in the Fifth Cohort. He didn’t care what people thought about us. He started to rebuild our reputation. Then he disappeared. ”
“Which put us back at square one,” Hazel said bitterly. “Made us look cursed all over again. I’m sorry, Percy. Now you know what you’ve gotten yourself into. ”
Percy sipped his blue soda and gazed thoughtfully across the dining hall. “I don’t even know where I come from…but I’ve got a feeling this isn’t the first time I’ve been an underdog. ” He focused on Hazel and managed a smile. “Besides, joining the legion is better than being chased through the wilderness by monsters. I’ve got myself some new friends. Maybe together we can turn things around for the Fifth Cohort, huh?”
A horn blew at the end of the hall. The officers at the praetor’s table got to their feet—even Dakota, his mouth vampire-red from Kool-Aid.
“The games begin!” Reyna announced. The campers cheered and rushed to collect their equipment from the stacks along the walls.
“So we’re the attacking team?” Percy asked over the noise. “Is that good?”
Hazel shrugged. “Good news: we get the elephant. Bad news—”
“Let me guess,” said Percy. “The Fifth Cohort always loses. ”
Frank slapped Percy on the shoulder. “I love this guy. Come on, new friend. Let’s go chalk up my thirteenth defeat in a row!”
IX Frank
AS HE MARCHED TO THE WA
R GAMES, Frank replayed the day in his mind. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to death.
That morning on sentry duty, before Percy showed up, Frank had almost told Hazel his secret. The two of them had been standing for hours in the chilly fog, watching the commuter traffic on Highway 24. Hazel had been complaining about the cold.
“I’d give anything to be warm,” she said, her teeth chattering. “I wish we had a fire. ” Even with her armor on, she looked great. Frank liked the way her cinnamon-toast–colored hair curled around the edges of her helmet, and the way her chin dimpled when she frowned. She was tiny compared to Frank, which made him feel like a big clumsy ox. He wanted to put his arms around her to warm her up, but he’d never do that. She’d probably hit him, and he’d lose the only friend he had at camp.
I could make a really impressive fire, he thought. Of course, it would only burn for a few minutes, and then I’d die. …
It was scary that he even considered it. Hazel had that effect on him. Whenever she wanted something, he had the irrational urge to provide it. He wanted to be the old-fashioned knight riding to her rescue, which was stupid, as she was way more capable at everything than he was.
He imagined what his grandmother would say: Frank Zhang riding to the rescue? Ha! He’d fall off his horse and break his neck.
Hard to believe it had been only six weeks since he’d left his grandmother’s house—six weeks since his mom’s funeral.
Everything had happened since then: wolves arriving at his grandmother’s door, the journey to Camp Jupiter, the weeks he’d spent in the Fifth Cohort trying not to be a complete failure. Through it all, he’d kept the half-burned piece of firewood wrapped in a cloth in his coat pocket.
Keep it close, his grandmother had warned. As long as it is safe, you are safe.
The problem was that it burned so easily. He remembered the trip south from Vancouver. When the temperature dropped below freezing near Mount Hood, Frank had brought out the piece of tinder and held it in his hands, imagining how nice it would be to have some fire. Immediately, the charred end blazed with a searing yellow flame. It lit up the night and warmed Frank to the bone, but he could feel his life slipping away, as if he were being consumed rather than the wood. He’d thrust the flame into a snowbank. For a horrible moment it kept burning. When it finally went out, Frank got his panic under control. He wrapped the piece of wood and put it back in his coat pocket, determined not to bring it out again. But he couldn’t forget it.
It was as though someone had said, “Whatever you do, don’t think about that stick bursting into flame!”
So of course, that’s all he thought about.
On sentry duty with Hazel, he would try to take his mind off it. He loved spending time with her. He asked her about growing up in New Orleans, but she got edgy at his questions, so they made small talk instead. Just for fun, they tried to speak French to each other. Hazel had some Creole blood on her mother’s side. Frank had taken French in school. Neither of them was very fluent, and Louisiana French was so different from Canadian French it was almost impossible to converse. When Frank asked Hazel how her beef was feeling today, and she replied that his shoe was green, they decided to give up.