“She’s my best friend,” Frank said. “I lost my mom, my grandmother…I can’t lose her, too. ”
Percy thought about his old life—his mom in New York, Camp Half-Blood, Annabeth. He’d lost all of that for eight months. Even now, with the memories coming back…he’d never been this far away from home before. He’d been to the Underworld and back. He’d faced death dozens of times. But sitting at this picnic table, thousands of miles away, beyond the power of Olympus, he’d never been so alone—except for Hazel and Frank.
“I’m not going to lose either of you,” he promised. “I’m not going to let that happen. And, Frank, you are a leader. Hazel would say the same thing. We need you. ”
Frank lowered his head. He seemed lost in thought. Finally he leaned forward until his head bumped the picnic table. He started to snore in harmony with Hazel.
Percy sighed. “Another inspiring speech from Jackson,” he said to himself. “Rest up, Frank. Big day ahead. ”
* * *
At dawn, the store opened up. The owner was a little surprised to find three teenagers crashed out on his picnic table, but when Percy explained that they had stumbled away from last night’s train wreck, the guy felt sorry for them and treated them to breakfast. He called a friend of his, an Inuit native who had a cabin close to Seward. Soon they were rumbling along the road in a beat-up Ford pickup that had been new about the time Hazel was born.
Hazel and Frank sat in back. Percy rode up front with the leathery old man, who smelled like smoked salmon. He told Percy stories about Bear and Raven, the Inuit gods, and all Percy could think was that he hoped he didn’t meet them. He had enough enemies already.
The truck broke down a few miles outside Seward. The driver didn’t seem surprised, as though this happened to him several times a day. He said they could wait for him to fix the engine, but since Seward was only a few miles away, they decided to walk it.
By midmorning, they climbed over a rise in the road and saw a small bay ringed with mountains. The town was a thin crescent on the right-hand shore, with wharves extending into the water and a cruise ship in the harbor.
Percy shuddered. He’d had bad experiences with cruise ships.
“Seward,” Hazel said. She didn’t sound happy to see her old home.
They’d already lost a lot of time, and Percy didn’t like how fast the sun was rising. The road curved around the hillside, but it looked like they could get to town faster going straight across the meadows.
Percy stepped off the road. “Come on. ”
The ground was squishy, but he didn’t think much about it until Hazel shouted, “Percy, no!”
His next step went straight through the ground. He sank like a stone until the earth closed over his head—and the earth swallowed him.
XLI Hazel
“YOUR BOW!” HAZEL SHOUTED.
Frank didn’t ask questions. He dropped his pack and slipped the bow off his shoulder.
Hazel’s heart raced. She hadn’t thought about this boggy soil—muskeg—since before she had died. Now, too late, she remembered the dire warnings the locals had given her. Marshy silt and decomposed plants made a surface that looked completely solid, but it was even worse than quicksand. It could be twenty feet deep or more, and impossible to escape.
She tried not to think what would happen if it were deeper than the length of the bow.
“Hold one end,” she told Frank. “Don’t let go. ”
She grabbed the other end, took a deep breath, and jumped into the bog. The earth closed over her head.
Instantly, she was frozen in a memory.
Not now! she wanted to scream. Ella said I was done with blackouts!
Oh, but my dear, said the voice of Gaea, this is not one of your blackouts. This is a gift from me.
Hazel was back in New Orleans. She and her mother sat in the park near their apartment, having a picnic breakfast. She remembered this day. She was seven years old. Her mother had just sold Hazel’s first precious stone: a small diamond. Neither of them had yet realized Hazel’s curse.
Queen Marie was in an excellent mood. She had bought orange juice for Hazel and champagne for herself, and beignets sprinkled with chocolate and powdered sugar. She’d even bought Hazel a new box of crayons and a pad of paper. They sat together, Queen Marie humming cheerfully while Hazel drew pictures.
The French Quarter woke up around them, ready for Mardi Gras. Jazz bands practiced. Floats were being decorated with fresh-cut flowers. Children laughed and chased each other, decked in so many colored necklaces they could barely walk. The sunrise turned the sky to red gold, and the warm steamy air smelled of magnolias and roses.
It had been the happiest morning of Hazel’s life.
“You could stay here. ” Her mother smiled, but her eyes were blank white. The voice was Gaea’s.
“This is fake,” Hazel said.
She tried to get up, but the soft bed of grass made her lazy and sleepy. The smell of baked bread and melting chocolate was intoxicating. It was the morning of Mardi Gras, and the world seemed full of possibilities. Hazel could almost believe she had a bright future.
“What is real?” asked Gaea, speaking through her mother’s face. “Is your second life real, Hazel? You’re supposed to be dead. Is it real that you’re sinking into a bog, suffocating?”