The Hidden Oracle
I wanted to say: You remind me of someone. But I didn’t dare open that line of conversation. Only two mortals ever had broken my heart. Even after so many centuries, I couldn’t think of her, couldn’t say her name without falling into despair.
Don’t misunderstand me. I felt no attraction to Meg. I was sixteen (or four thousand plus, depending on how you looked at it). She was a very young twelve. But the way she appeared now, Meg McCaffrey might have been the daughter of my former love…if my former love had lived long enough to have children.
It was too painful. I looked away.
“Well,” Sally Jackson said with forced cheerfulness, “how about I make some lunch while you three…talk.”
She gave Percy a worried glance, then headed to the kitchen, her hands protectively over her pregnant belly.
Meg sat on the edge of the sofa. “Percy, your mom is so normal.”
“Thanks, I guess.” He picked up a stack of test preparation manuals from the coffee table and chucked them aside.
“I see you like to study,” I said. “Well done.”
Percy snorted. “I hate to study. I’ve been guaranteed admission with a full scholarship to New Rome University, but they’re still requiring me to pass all my high school courses and score well on the SAT. Can you believe that? Not to mention I have to pass the DSTOMP.”
“The what?” Meg asked.
“An exam for Roman demigods,” I told her. “The Demigod Standard Test of Mad Powers.”
Percy frowned. “That’s what it stands for?”
“I should know. I wrote the music and poetry analysis sections.”
“I will never forgive you for that,” Percy said.
Meg swung her feet. “So you’re really a demigod? Like me?”
“Afraid so.” Percy sank into the armchair, leaving me to take the sofa next to Meg. “My dad is the godly one—Poseidon. What about your parents?”
Meg’s legs went still. She studied her chewed cuticles, the matching crescent rings glinting on her middle fingers. “Never knew them…much.”
Percy hesitated. “Foster home? Stepparents?”
I thought of a certain plant, the Mimosa pudica, which the god Pan created. As soon as its leaves are touched, the plant closes up defensively. Meg seemed to be playing mimosa, folding inward under Percy’s questions.
Percy raised his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.” He gave me an inquisitive look. “So how did you guys meet?”
I told him the story. I may have exaggerated my brave defense against Cade and Mikey—just for narrative effect, you understand.
As I finished, Sally Jackson returned. She set down a bowl of tortilla chips and a casserole dish filled with elaborate dip in multicolored strata, like sedimentary rock.
“I’ll be back with the sandwiches,” she said. “But I had some leftover seven-layer dip.”
“Yum.” Percy dug in with a tortilla chip. “She’s kinda famous for this, guys.”
Sally ruffled his hair. “There’s guacamole, sour cream, refried beans, salsa—”
“Seven layers?” I looked up in wonder. “You knew seven is my sacred number? You invented this for me?”
Sally wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, actually, I can’t take credit—”
“You are too modest!” I tried some of the dip. It tasted almost as good as ambrosia nachos. “You will have immortal fame for this, Sally Jackson!”
“That’s sweet.” She pointed to the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
Soon we were plowing through turkey sandwiches, chips and dip, and banana smoothies. Meg ate like a chipmunk, shoving more food in her mouth than she could possibly chew. My belly was full. I had never been so happy. I had a strange desire to fire up an Xbox and play Call of Duty.
“Percy,” I said, “your mom is awesome.”
“I know, right?” He finished his smoothie. “So back to your story…you have to be Meg’s servant now? You guys barely know each other.”
“Barely is generous,” I said. “Nevertheless, yes. My fate is now linked with young McCaffrey.”
“We are cooperating,” Meg said. She seemed to savor that word.
From his pocket, Percy fished his ballpoint pen. He tapped it thoughtfully against his knee. “And this whole turning-into-a-mortal thing…you’ve done it twice before?”
“Not by choice,” I assured him. “The first time, we had a little rebellion in Olympus. We tried to overthrow Zeus.”
Percy winced. “I’m guessing that didn’t go well.”
“I got most of the blame, naturally. Oh, and your father, Poseidon. We were both cast down to earth as mortals, forced to serve Laomedon, the king of Troy. He was a harsh master. He even refused to pay us for our work!”
Meg nearly choked on her sandwich. “I have to pay you?”
I had a terrifying image of Meg McCaffrey trying to pay me in bottle caps, marbles, and pieces of colored string.
“Never fear,” I told her. “I won’t be presenting you with a bill. But as I was saying, the second time I became mortal, Zeus got mad because I killed some of his Cyclopes.”
Percy frowned. “Dude, not cool. My brother is a Cyclops.”
“These were wicked Cyclopes! They made the lightning bolt that killed one of my sons!”