On the right were neat beds of vegetables and herbs, arranged like spokes around a big sparkling fountain where bronze satyrs spewed water into a central bowl.
At the back of the garden, where the footpath ended, a cave opened in the side of a grassy hill. Compared to Bunker Nine back at camp, the entrance was tiny, but it was impressive in its own way. On either side, crystalline rock had been carved into glittering Grecian columns. The tops were fitted with a bronze rod that held silky white curtains.
Leo’s nose was assaulted by good smells—cedar, juniper, jasmine, peaches, and fresh herbs. The aroma from the cave really caught his attention—like beef stew cooking.
He started toward the entrance. Seriously, how could he not? He stopped when he noticed the girl. She was kneeling in her vegetable garden, her back to Leo. She muttered to herself as she dug furiously with a trowel.
Leo approached her from one side so she could see him. He didn’t feel like surprising her when she was armed with a sharp gardening implement.
She kept cursing in Ancient Greek and stabbing at the dirt. She had flecks of soil all over her arms, her face, and her white dress, but she didn’t seem to care.
Leo could appreciate that. She looked better with a little mud—less like a beauty queen and more like an actual get-your-hands-dirty kind of person.
“I think you’ve punished that dirt enough,” he offered.
She scowled at him, her eyes red and watery. “Just go away. ”
“You’re crying,” he said, which was stupidly obvious; but seeing her that way took the wind out of his helicopter blades, so to speak. It was hard to stay mad at someone who was crying.
“None of your business,” she muttered. “It’s a big island. Just…find your own place. Leave me alone. ” She waved vaguely toward the south. “Go that way, maybe. ”
“So, no magic raft,” Leo said. “No other way off the island?”
“Apparently not!”
“What am I supposed to do, then? Sit in the sand dunes until I die?”
“That would be fine. …” The girl threw down her trowel and cursed at the sky. “Except I suppose he can’t die here, can he? Zeus! This is not funny!”
Can’t die here?
“Hold up. ” Leo’s head spun like a crankshaft. He couldn’t quite translate what this girl was saying—like when he heard Spaniards or South Americans speaking Spanish. Yeah, he could understand it, sort of; but it sounded so different, it was almost another language.
“I’m go
ing to need some more information here,” he said. “You don’t want me in your face, that’s cool. I don’t want to be here either. But I’m not going to go die in a corner. I have to get off this island. There’s got to be a way. Every problem has a fix. ”
She laughed bitterly. “You haven’t lived very long, if you still believe that. ”
The way she said it sent a shiver up his back. She looked the same age as him, but he wondered how old she really was.
“You said something about a curse,” he prompted.
She flexed her fingers, like she was practicing her throat-strangling technique. “Yes. I cannot leave Ogygia. My father, Atlas, fought against the gods, and I supported him. ”
“Atlas,” Leo said. “As in the Titan Atlas?”
The girl rolled her eyes. “Yes, you impossible little…” Whatever she was going to say, she bit it back. “I was imprisoned here, where I could cause the Olympians no trouble. About a year ago, after the Second Titan War, the gods vowed to forgive their enemies and offer amnesty. Supposedly Percy made them promise—”
“Percy,” Leo said. “Percy Jackson?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. A tear trickled down her cheek.
Oh, Leo thought.
“Percy came here,” he said.
She dug her fingers into the soil. “I—I thought I would be released. I dared to hope…but I am still here. ”
Leo remembered now. The story was supposed to be a secret, but of course that meant it had spread like wildfire across the camp. Percy had told Annabeth. Months later, when Percy had gone missing, Annabeth told Piper. Piper told Jason…
Percy had talked about visiting this island. He had met a goddess who’d gotten a major crush on him and wanted him to stay, but eventually she let him go.
“You’re that lady,” Leo said. “The one who was named after Caribbean music. ”
Her eyes glinted murderously. “Caribbean music. ”
“Yeah. Reggae?” Leo shook his head. “Merengue? Hold on, I’ll get it. ”
He snapped his fingers. “Calypso! But Percy said you were awesome. He said you were all sweet and helpful, not, um…”
She shot to her feet. “Yes?”
“Uh, nothing,” Leo said.
“Would you be sweet,” she demanded, “if the gods forgot their promise to let you go? Would you be sweet if they laughed at you by sending another hero, but a hero who looked like—like you?”
“Is that a trick question?”
“Di Immortales!” She turned and marched into her cave.
“Hey!” Leo ran after her.
When he got inside, he lost his train of thought. The walls were made from multicolored chunks of crystal. White curtains divided the cave into different rooms with comfy pillows and woven rugs and platters of fresh fruit. He spotted a harp in one corner, a loom in another, and a big cooking pot where the stew was bubbling, filling the cavern with luscious smells.
The strangest thing? The chores were doing themselves. Towels floated through the air, folding and stacking into neat piles. Spoons washed themselves in a copper sink. The scene reminded Leo of the invisible wind spirits that had served him lunch at Camp Jupiter.