CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
FINLEY              BRIGGS

Jason was old.

Yes, for the smart-asses reading this story, Jason was older than Finn no matter what. Thirty days older, in fact.

But right now he was really old.

As they climbed the hill, his lungs rattled like a box of rocks. Finn almost thought it was Sylvie making those noises, but then she would look and see Jason's heinous face. His fingers were gnarled and bony. Bulging blue veins webbed the backs of his hands.

He even had that old man smell—mothballs and chicken soup. How was that possible? He'd gone from seventeen to seventy-five in a matter of seconds, but the old man smell happened instantly, like boom.

"We're almost there, Peepaw," she told him. "Let's get a move on."

"Shut up, Briggs," Jason wheezed miserably.

Finn failed to restrain an amused grin. "If this is how you're going to be when you're old, I wouldn't try to make it that far."

"Stop enjoying this so much."

It was easier for her to than for him. Finn and Sylvie were disguised as lovely Greek serving maidens. Even in their white sleeveless gowns and laced sandals, they had no trouble navigating the rocky path.

Now, that wasn't to say how they were dressed was what Finn was enjoying. Her copper hair was pinned up in some braided spiral that Annabeth had whipped up. Too many silver bracelets adorned her arms. She looked innocent and pure and dainty, and it pissed her off a little bit. Sylvie wasn't doing much better. Ever since falling into... The-Land-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named, she didn't seem keen on putting on a dress any time soon. But here she was. Wearing a dress quite soon.

"Worst idea ever." Jason leaned against a cedar tree and wiped his forehead. "Hazel's magic is too good. If I have to fight, I'll be useless." 

"So not much different than usual—"

"Shut up, Finn, I knew you were going to say that!"

"Y'all, please," Sylvie sighed. "Finley, he's right. You're enjoying this too much. Jason, don't manifest us having to fight. I really don't want it to come to that."

It was no surprise she looked uncomfortable in her serving-maiden outfit. She tugged at the fabric in either an anxious habit or an attempt to keep it from slipping off her frame which had slimmed a concerning amount since surviving Tartarus. Her pinned-up auburn bun had come undone in the back and her hair dangled like long spider legs.

"We infiltrate the place," she said. "We get the information we need, and we get out. And we don't bicker the whole time about stupid stuff like Jason smelling horribly."

"Hey!" Jason protested.

"Sorry. But you do." She set down her amphora, the tall ceramic wine (yes, wine, ironic, Finn knows) jar. "We can rest for a second. Catch your breath, Jason."

Tucked somewhere in the folds of her dress was her dagger, Halcyon; but even without a visible weapon, she looked deadly. Her facial scar gave her a more rugged look, although it always did. The change now was the dangerous edge that The-Land-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named gave her. And sometimes, because of her ribs, her words were tinged with a slight groan.

Finn slung her own amphora off her shoulder when the smell of wine grew too much, too tempting. It was where her Greek shortsword was hidden (her gun stayed strapped to her thigh, underneath her gown). She didn't doubt she looked just as dangerous as Sylvie—Finn always had an aura of insanity that naturally lingered around her. She could certainly spook people when she wanted to.

Well, not all people.

Finn typically made people feel uneasy—She had terrifying eyes that people struggled to meet head-on. There was a witch light in them. But Jason Grace met her gaze easily, like there was nothing terrible there. He looked at her like she could never be horrific to him, and that was... it was...

It felt intimate, even more so than when they'd held hands after making amends. Finn thought about that interaction more than she'd like to admit.

She tried to steady her breathing.

Below them, Afales Bay glittered, the water so blue it might've been dyed with food coloring. A few hundred yards offshore, the Argo II rested at anchor. Its white sails looked no bigger than postage stamps, its ninety oars like toothpicks. Finn imagined her friends on deck following her progress, taking turns with Leo's spyglass, trying not to laugh as they watched Peepaw Jason hobble uphill.

"Stupid Ithaca," he muttered.

For all of his attitude, Finn thought the island was pretty. A spine of forested hills twisted down its center. Chalky white slopes plunged into the sea. Inlets formed rocky beaches and harbors where red-roofed houses and white stucco churches nestled against the shoreline.

The hills were dotted with poppies, crocuses, and wild cherry trees. The breeze smelled of blooming myrtle. She caught Sylvie beaming at the scenery. All very nice—except the temperature was about a hundred and five degrees. The air was as steamy as a Roman bathhouse.

"You sure this is the right hill?" Jason asked. "Seems kind of—I don't know—quiet."

Finn studied the ridgeline. Sticking out of her bun was a bright blue harpy feather—a souvenir from last night's attack. The feather didn't exactly go with her disguise, but Finn had earned it, defeating an entire flock of demon chicken ladies by herself while she was on duty.

"Me and Hazel agreed on it, remember?" Finn said. "This is the biggest—"

"Biggest fathering of evil spirits you two have ever sensed," Jason recalled. "Yeah, sounds awesome."

It didn't sound awesome. But the answer lay here in Ithica, at the ancient palace of Odysseus, where a horde of evil spirits had gathered to await Gaea's orders. The plan was to sneak among them, learn what was going on, and decide the best course of action. Then get out, preferably alive.

Sylvie readjusted her golden belt (for the millionth time). "I hope our disguises hold up. The suitors were nasty customers when they were alive. If they find out we're demigods—"

"Hazel's magic will work," Finn promised.

The suitors: a hundred of the greediest, evil cutthroats who'd ever lived. When Odysseus, the Greek king of Ithaca, went missing after the Trojan War, this mob of B-list princes had invaded his palace and refused to leave, each one hoping to marry Queen Penelope and take over the kingdom. Odysseus managed to return in secret and slaughter them all—your basic happy homecoming. Since Finn was half-dead, she could sense it now: the suitors were back, haunting the place where they'd died.

"Well..." Jason steadied himself with his walking stick. "If I look as old as I feel, my disguise must be perfect. Let's get going."

As they climbed, sweat trickled down Finn's neck. Her calves ached. Despite the heat, she began to shiver. And try as she might, she couldn't stop thinking about the wine she was holding in her hands.

Twenty days ago, Finn had made the decision to finally get sober (fuck, had it already been that long?). Since then, she hadn't relapsed, but she'd experienced the most horrible side effects. That was bound to happen when you drank nothing but alcohol for four years straight. Just holding the amphora now made her hands tremble with the desire to chug the entire jar.

Finn clenched her jaw. She tried thinking of something, anything else to distract herself. Her eyes settled themselves on Jason to help the time pass.

"Almost there," Sylvie said. "Woohoo. Let's—"

BOOM! The hillside rumbled. Somewhere over the ridge, a crowd roared in approval, like spectators in a coliseum.

"What was that explosion?" Jason wondered.

"Don't know," Finn said. "But it sounds like they're having fun. I love a good party. Let's go make some dead friends!"

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Naturally, the situation was worse than Finn expected.

It wouldn't have been any fun otherwise!

Peering through the olive bushes at the top of the rise, she saw what looked like an out-of-control zombie frat party.

The ruins themselves weren't that impressive: a few stone walls, a weed-choked central courtyard, a dead-end stairwell chiseled into the rock. Some plywood sheets covered a pit and a metal scaffold supported a cracked archway.

But superimposed over the ruins was another layer of reality—a spectral mirage of the palace as it must have appeared in its heyday. Whitewashed stucco walls lined with balconies rose three stories high. Columned porticoes faced the central atrium, which had a huge fountain and bronze braziers. At a dozen banquet tables, ghouls laughed and ate and pushed one another around.

Finn sensed about two hundred spirits milling about, chasing spectral serving girls, smashing plates and cups, and basically making a nuisance of themselves.

Most looked like Lares from Camp Jupiter—transparent purple wreaths in tunics and sandals. A few revelers had decayed bodies with gray flesh, matted clumps of hair, and nasty wounds. Others seemed to be regular living mortals—some in togas, some in modern business suits or army fatigues.

Finn's blood ran cold when she spotted one guy in a purple Camp Jupiter T-shirt and Roman legionnaire armor. He looked too much like the Roman legionnaires back in... back in Alaska.

Disgrace to Rome!

Humiliation of the legion!

You're not a worthy Roman!

Finn's hand flew up to hold her neck, like there was an Imperial gold bullet that had just been shot straight through. Her hand flickered out of tangibility for a moment, so it just passed right through. That didn't help. It was just a cruel reminder of everything that had happened that day.

Born a Roman, die a Roman.

Jason put a gentle hand on Finn's back. Old guy or not, she still knew it was Jason who cared about her. Who could read her.

It made her relax. The air stopped smelling like grapes. Her hand fell back down to her side. She forced her gaze away from the dead legionnaire.

In the center of the atrium, a gray-skinned ghoul in a tattered Greek tunic paraded through the crowd, holding a marble bust over his head like a sports trophy. The other ghosts cheered and slapped him on the back. As the ghoul got closer, Finn noticed that he had an arrow in his throat, the feathered shaft sprouting from his Adam's apple. The bust he was holding was... was that Zeus?

It was hard to be sure. Most Greek god statues looked familiar.

"Our next offering!" the ghoul shouted, his voice buzzing from the arrow in his throat. "Let us feed the Earth Mother!"

The partyers yelled and pounded their cups. The ghoul made his way to the central fountain. The crowd parted, and Finn realized the fountain wasn't filled with water. From the three-foot-tall pedestal, a geyser of sand spewed upward, arcing into an umbrella-shaped curtain of white particles before spilling into the circular basin.

The ghoul heaved the marble bust into the fountain. As soon as Zeus's head passed through the shower of sand, the marble disintegrated like it was going through a wood chipper. The sand glittered gold, the color of ichor—godly blood. Then the entire mountain rumbled with a muffled BOOM, as if belching after a meal.

The dead partygoers roared with approval.

"Any more statues?" the ghoul shouted to the crowd. "No? Then I guess we'll have to wait for some real gods to sacrifice!"

His comrades laughed and applauded as the ghoul plopped himself down at the nearest feast table.

Jason clenched his walking stick. "That guy just disintegrated my dad. Who does he think he is?"

"Quick Greek lesson for the Camp Jupiter kids," Sylvie said. "That's Antinous—one of the suitors' leaders. Odysseus shot him through the neck with that arrow."

Finn winced. That fate was all too familiar to her. "What about all the others? Why are there so many?"

"I dunno," Sylvie said. "Newer recruits for Gaea, I guess. Some must've come back to life before we closed the Doors of Death. Some are just spirits."

"Some are ghouls," Finn said. "The ones with gaping wounds and the gray skin, like Antinous... I can tell."

Jason shifted his walking stick again. "Can they be killed?"

"Not easily. They're strong and fast and intelligent. Also, they eat human flesh."

"Fantastic," Sylvie muttered. "I don't see any option except to stick to the plan. Split up, infiltrate, find out why they're here. If things go bad—"

"We use the backup plan," Jason said. "Which I hate."

Before they left the ship, Leo had given each of them an emergency flare the size of a birthday candle. Supposedly, if they tossed one in the air, it would shoot upward in a streak of white phosphorus, altering the Argo II that the team was in trouble. At that point, Finn, Jason, and Sylvie would have a few seconds to take cover before the ship's catapults fired on their position, engulfing the palace in Greek fire and bursts of Celestial bronze shrapnel.

Not the safest plan, but at least Finn had the satisfaction of knowing that she could call an air strike on the noisy mob of dead guys if the situation got dicey. Of course, that was assuming she and her friends could get away. And assuming Leo's doomsday candles didn't go off by accident—Leo's inventions sometimes did that—in which case the weather would get much hotter, with a ninety percent chance of fiery apocalypse.

"Be careful down there," Jason told Finn and Sylvie.

Dramatically, Finn cooed, "We'll be so careful."

"Okay, never mind," he said. "Sylv, be careful."

"You too, Peepaw."

She crept around the right side of the ridge. Finn went left. Jason pulled himself up with his walking stick and hobbled toward the ruins.

The ghostly mob was forty feet away. That gave Finn enough time to console herself before she reached the dead suitors. Even after being alive for so long, she was still a little terrified of ghostly spirits. That was ironic, because she was a ghostly spirit. 

(Case in point: Nico di Angelo being able to control her just like any other undead being.)

Gods... Nico.

Over the past couple days, every time Finn sacrificed a portion of a meal to Bacchus, she prayed to her dad to help Nico. That kid had gone through so much, and yet he had volunteered for the most difficult job: transporting the Demeter of Knidos statue to Camp Half-Blood. If he didn't succeed, the Roman and Greek demigods would slaughter each other. Then, no matter what happened in Greece, the Argo II would have no home to return to.

Well, anyway!

Finn surprised herself with how easily she flitted around with the dead. It was second nature for her to play the part of "submissive serving maiden." Her father was the god of theater, making Finn an excellent actress.

She moved through the crowd, smiling and filling wine glasses for the ghostly revelers. She was afraid, but she didn't show it. Luckily, the ghosts weren't paying her any special attention. So far.

Over on the right, Sylvie collected empty plates and goblets. She kept trying to smile, but it wavered so much that she looked like she never learned how to smile.

Finn remembered the talk she'd had with Percy before leaving the ship.

Percy had stayed aboard to watch for threats from the sea, but he hadn't liked the idea of Sylvie going on this expedition without him—especially since it would be the first time they were apart since returning from Tartarus.

He'd pulled Finn aside. "Hey, Finnegan... I—I know Sylv doesn't need anyone to protect her."

Finn laughed. "Well, yeah, we all know that."

"But look out for her, okay?"

She ruffled his hair. "I'll make sure she gets back to you all in one piece, Skipper."

Now Finn wondered if she could keep that promise.

"IROS!" a raspy voice cried. Antinous, the ghoul with the arrow in his throat, was staring right at Peepaw Jason. "Is that you, you old beggar?"

Hazel's magic did its work. Not only was Jason's face old and unrecognizable to Finn, but to the suitors as well.

"That's me!" Jason said. "Iros!"

A dozen more ghosts turned toward him. Some scowled and gripped the hilts of their glowing purple swords. Too late, Finn wondered if Iros was an enemy of theirs.

Jason hobbled forward, wearing his best cranky old-man expression. "Guess I'm late to the party. I hope you saved me some food?"

Maybe Finn forcing him to act with her all those years actually paid off.

One of the ghosts sneered in disgust. "Ungrateful old panhandler. Should I kill him, Antinous?"

Finn's hands clenched on the amphora.

Antinous regarded Jason for a three count, then chuckled. "I'm in a good mood today. Come, Iros, join me at my table.

Jason sat across from Antinous while more ghosts crowded around, leering as if they expected to see a particularly vicious arm-wrestling contest.

Finn was called to continue serving the dead spirits. Meaning, she had to turn her flirtatious charm back on to earn the favor of drunken spirits. They called her around, snapping to demand her presence. 

Like the good little serving maiden she was, Finn continued pouring wine into their goblets.

"The first time we met here," she tuned in to hear Antinous say, "we were only after Odysseus's land, his money, and his wife."

"Especially his wife!" A bald ghost in ragged clothes elbowed Jason in the ribs. "That Penelope was a hot little honey cake!"

Finn, serving drinks at the next table over, couldn't help her face from twisting in disgust. She looked up to see Jason glancing her way. She discreetly put a hand gun up to the side of her temple before pretending to shoot herself in the head. 

Jason had to duck his head in order not to laugh. Finn went back to flirting with dead guys.

She tried her best not to tune into what the men said. They were talking about Penelope as some object, and while Finn didn't really know who Penelope was before this encounter, she was ready to defend the woman with her dying breath.

Finn looked over to Sylvie to see how she was faring with all of this. She held the wine jar with one hand, while her other pressed against her torso, as if her ribs were throbbing in pain again. She looked uncomfortable for more reasons than one. 

Finn caught her eye. She tried saluting with two fingers to make Sylvie feel better. If the wink Sylvie sent her was anything to go by, Finn would assume her attempt worked.

"At any rate..." Antinous's boastful voice echoed. "We have gathered now for a much bigger prize. Once Gaea destroys the gods, we will divide up the remnants of the mortal world!"

"Dibs on London!" yelled a ghoul at Finn's table.

"Montreal!" shouted another.

"Duluth!" yelled a third, which momentarily stopped the conversation as the other ghosts gave him confused looks.

Jason shifted in his chair, struggling to swallow. "What about the rest of these... guests? I count at least two hundred. Half of them are new to me."

Antinous's yellow eyes gleamed. "All of them are suitors for Gaea's favor. All have claims and grievances against the gods or their pet heroes. That scoundrel over there is Hippias, former tyrant of Athens. He got deposed and sided with the Persians to attack his countrymen. No morals whatsoever. He'd do anything for power."

"Thank you!" called Hippias.

"That rogue with the turkey leg in his mouth," Antinous continued, "that's Hasdrubal of Carthage. He has a grudge to settle with Rome."

"Mhhmm," said the Carthaginian.

"And Michael Varus—"

Finn almost dropped the amphora. Jason choked. "Who?" he asked.

Over by the sand fountain, the dark-haired guy in the purple shirt and legionnaire armor turned to face Jason. His outline was blurred, smoky, and indistinct, so Finn could tell he was some form of spirit, but the legion tattoo on his forearm was clear enough: SPQR, the double-faced head of the god Janus, and six score-marks for years of service. On his breastplate hung the badge of praetorship and the emblem of the Fifth Cohort.

Finn knew too much about Michael Varus. The infamous praetor had died in the 1980s, leading a group of legionnaires that had gone on to kill Finn ruthlessly. Her skin scrawled at the look in Varus's eyes, and he wasn't even gazing at her.

Someone cleared their throat. A needy suitor requested more wine. Finn plastered a smile on her face and granted his request. Still, she eavesdropped.

"He's a Roman demigod," Antinous said carelessly. "Lost his legion's eagle in... Alaska, was it? Doesn't matter. Gaea lets him hang around. He insists he has some insight into defeating Camp Jupiter. But you, Iros—you still haven't answered my question. Why should you be welcome among us?"

Varus's appearance had startled Jason almost as much as it had Finn. Alarm spiked in her gut when she noticed the Mist thinning around him, reacting to his uncertainty.

Their savior came in the form of a seventeen-year-old nature freak.

"More wine, my lord?" Sylvie appeared at Antinous's shoulder. "Oops!"

She spilled the contents of a silver pitcher down the back of Antinous's neck.

"Gahh!" The ghoul arched his spine. "Foolish girl! Who let you back from Tartarus?"

"A Titaness, my lord." Sylvie dipped her head apologetically. "May I bring you some moist towlettes? Your arrow is dripping."

"Begone!"

Sylvie caught Jason's eye—a silent message of support—then she disappeared into the crowd.

The ghoul wiped himself off, giving Jason a chance to recuperate. He picked up the nearest steak knife and stabbed it into the table, making the ghosts around him jump.

"Why should you welcome me?" Jason growled. "Because I'm still running messages, you stupid wretches! I've just come from the House of Hades to see what you're up to!"

Antinous paused. The ghoul glared at him, wine still dripping from the arrow shaft in his throat. "You expect me to believe Gaea sent you—a beggar—to check up on us?"

Jason laughed. "I was among the last to leave Epirus before the Doors of Death were closed! I saw the chamber where Clytius stood guard under a domed ceiling tiled with tombstones. I walked the jewel-and-bone floors of the Necromanteion!"

Around the table, ghosts shifted and muttered.

"So, Antinous..." Jason jabbed a finger at the ghoul. "Maybe you should explain to me why you're worthy of Gaea's favor. All I see is a crowd of lazy, dawdling dead folk enjoying themselves and not helping the war effort. What should I tell the Earth Mother?"

Finn couldn't refrain herself from smiling. She made sure Jason saw her do so before she returned her attention to a glowing purple Greek dude who was trying to make her sit on his lap.

Ew.

Antinous wrapped his hand around the steak knife Jason had impaled in the table. He pulled it free and studied the blade. "If you come from Gaea, you must know we are here under orders. Porphyrion decreed it." Antinous ran the knife blade across his palm. Instead of blood, dry dirt spilled from the cut. "You do know Porphyrion...?"

"The giant king—green skin, forty feet tall, white eyes, hair braided with weapons," Jason snapped. "Of course I know him. He's a lot more impressive than you."

For once, Antinous looked speechless, but his bald ghost friend Eurymachus put an arm around Jason's shoulders.

"Now, now, friend! I'm sure we didn't mean to question your credentials! It's just, well, if you've spoken with Porphyrion in Athens, you know why we're here. I assure you, we're doing exactly as he ordered!"

"The Acropolis," Jason said. "The most ancient temples to the gods, in the middle of Athens. That's where Gaea will wake."

"Of course!" Eurymachus laughed. The wound in his chest made a popping sound, like a porpoise's blowhole. "And to get there, those meddlesome demigods will have to travel by sea, eh? They know it's too dangerous to fly over land."

"Which means they'll have to pass this island," Jason said.

Eurymachus nodded eagerly. He removed his arm from Jason's shoulders and dipped his finger in his wineglass. "At that point, they'll have to make a choice, eh?"

On the tabletop, he traced a coastline, red wine glowing unnaturally against the wood. Finn didn't need to peer over to see the picture. She and the rest of the crew had spent the last day at sea studying maps.

"The most direct route," Eurymachus said, "would be due east from here, across the Straits of Corinth. But if they try to go that way—"

"Enough," Antinous snapped. "You have a loose tongue, Eurymachus."

The ghost looked offended. "I wasn't going to tell him everything! Just about the Cyclopes armies massed on either shore. And the raging storm spirits in the air. And those vicious sea monsters Keto sent to infest the waters. And of course if the ship got as far as Delphi—"

"Idiot!" Antinous lunged across the table and grabbed the ghost's wrist. A thin crust of dirt spread from the ghoul's hand, straight up Eurymachus's spectral arm.

"No!" Eurymachus yelped. "Please! I—I only meant—"

The ghost screamed as the dirt covered his body like a shell, then cracked apart, leaving nothing but a pile of dust. Eurymachus was gone.

Antinous sat back and brushed off his hands. The other suitors at the table watched him in wary silence.

"Apologies, Iros." The ghoul smiled coldly. "All you need to know—the ways to Athens are well guarded, just as we promised. The demigods would either have to risk the straits, which are impossible, or sail around the entire Peloponnese, which is hardly much safer. In any event, it's unlikely they will survive long enough to make that choice. Once they reach Ithaca, we will know. We will stop them here, and Gaea will see how valuable we are. You can take that message back to Athens."

Finn's heart hammered against her sternum. She'd never seen anything like the shell of earth that Antinous had summoned to destroy Eurymachus. She didn't want to find out if that power worked on demigods.

At least Jason got the intel they'd come for. Their goal was Athens. The safer route, or at least the not impossible route, was around the southern coast. Today was July 20th. They only had twelve days before Gaea planned to wake, on August 1st, the ancient Feast of Hope.

Finn, Jason, and Sylvie needed to leave while they had the chance.

But something else bothered her—a cold sense of foreboding, as if she hadn't heard the worst news yet.

Jason pushed aside his plate of food. "Sounds like everything is under control. For your sake, Antinous, I hope so. These demigods are resourceful. They closed the Doors of Death. We wouldn't want them sneaking past you, perhaps getting help from Delphi."

Antinous chuckled. "No risk of that. Delphi is no longer in Apollo's control."

"I—I see. And if the demigods sail the long way around the Peloponnese?"

"You worry too much. That journey is never safe for demigods, and it's much too far. Besides, Victory runs rampant in Olympia. As long as that's the case, there is no way the demigods can win this war."

Jason nodded. "Very well. I will report as much to King Porphyrion. Thank you for the, er, meal."

Over at the fountain, Michael Varus called, "Wait."

Finn bit back a curse. Jason stiffened as the dead praetor walked over, surrounded in a hazy white aura, his deep-set eyes like sinkholes. At his side hung an Imperial gold gladius.

"You must stay," Varus said.

Antinous shot the ghost an irritated look. "What's the problem, legionnaire? If Iros wants to leave, let him. He smells bad!"

The other ghosts laughed nervously. Across the courtyard, Finn and Jason shared worried glances. A little farther away, Sylvie kept her hand over one of the folds in her dress—no doubt getting ready to use Halcyon if necessary.

Varus rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. Despite the heat, his breastplate was glazed with ice. "I lost my cohort twice in Alaska—once in life, once in death to Rome's disgrace, Finley Briggs, and a Graecus named Percy Jackson. Still I have come here to answer Gaea's call. Do you know why?"

Finn really was crazy. Her mind convinced her Varus had looked her way when her name was mentioned. She ducked her head anxiously.

Jason swallowed. "Stubbornness?"

"This is a place of longing," Varus said. "All of us are drawn here, sustained not only by Gaea's power, but also by our strongest desires. Eurymachus's greed. Antinous's cruelty."

"You flatter me," the ghoul muttered.

"Hasdrubal's hatred," Varus continued. "Hippias's bitterness. My ambition. And you, Iros. What has drawn you here? What does a beggar most desire? Perhaps a home?"

An uncomfortable tingle started at the base of Finn's skull—the same feeling she got when chaos was about to reign.

"I should be going," Jason said. "Messages to carry."

Michael Varus drew his sword. "My father is Janus, the god of two faces. I am used to seeing through masks and deceptions. Do you know, Iros, why we are so sure the demigods will not pass our island undetected?"

Finn's heart was really pounding now. She silently ran through her repertoire of cuss words, both English and Latin. She tried to calculate how long it would take her to get out her emergency flare and fire it. Hopefully she could buy enough time for Jason and Sylvie to find shelter before this mob of dead guys slaughtered them.

Jason turned to Antinous. "Look, are you in charge here or not? Maybe you should muzzle your Roman."

The ghoul took a deep breath. The arrow rattled in his throat. "Ah, but this might be entertaining. Go on, Varus."

The dead praetor raised his sword. "Our desires reveal us. They show us for who we really are. Someone has come for you, Jason Grace."

Behind Varus, the crowd parted. The shimmering ghost of a woman drifted forward, and Finn really did curse then.

"My dearest," said the ghost of Beryl Grace. "You have come home."

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BAILEY YAPS...

It's chapter 69 and you thought I WOULDN'T write it in Finn's POV???

She's twenty days sober☹️☹️☹️ Everyone please tell her congratulations and you love her or I will cry ☹️

Every time Roman demigods or Camp Jupiter try to get anywhere near Jason Grace and Finley Briggs I want to tear the whole world apart GET AWAY FROM THEM THEY ARE JUST BABIES!!! THEY ARE 0 YEARS OLD HERE!!!

The trio ever might just be Finn, Jason, and Sylvie like that's gang to me

Alternatively titled: Epic the Musical and Odyssey superfan tries to be chill and nonchalant writing a chapter about Odysseus and Ithaca