The Kiss Of Death - A Percy Jackson And The Sea Of Monsters Fanfiction

17 - I Lose a Chariot Race, But Hug My Big-Bros

We arrived in Long Island just after Clarisse, thanks to the centaurs' travel powers.

When we got to camp, the centaurs were anxious to meet Dionysus. They'd heard he threw some really wild parties, but they were disappointed. The wine god was in no mood to celebrate as the whole camp gathered at the top of Half-Blood Hill. The camp had been through a hard two weeks. The arts and crafts cabin had burned to the ground from an attack by a Draco Aionius (which as near as I could figure was Latin for "really-big-lizard-with-breath-that-blows-stuff-up"). The Big House's rooms were overflowing with wounded. The kids in the Apollo cabin, who were the best healers, had been working overtime performing first aid. Everybody looked weary and battered as we crowded around Thalia's tree.

The moment Clarisse draped the Golden Fleece over the lowest bough, the moonlight seemed to brighten, turning from grey to liquid silver. A cool breeze rustled in the branches and rippled through the grass, all the way into the valley. Everything came into sharper focus-the glow of the fireflies down in the woods, the smell of the strawberry fields, the sound of the waves on the beach. Gradually, the needles on the pine tree started turning from brown to green.

Everybody cheered. It was happening slowly, but there could be no doubt – the Fleece's magic was seeping into the tree, filling it with new power and expelling the poison.

Chiron ordered a twenty-four/seven guard duty on the hilltop, at least until he could find an appropriate monster to protect the Fleece. He said he'd place an ad in Olympus Weekly right away.

In the meantime, Clarisse was carried on her cabin mates' shoulders down to the amphitheatre, where she was honoured with a laurel wreath and a lot of celebrating around the campfire.

Nobody gave Annabeth, Percy or I a second look. It was as if we'd never left. In a way, I guess that was the best thank-you anyone could give us, because if they admitted we'd snuck out of camp to do the quest, they'd have to expel us. And really, I didn't want any more attention. It felt good to be just one of the campers for once.

Later that night, as we were roasting s'mores and listening to the Stoll brothers tell us a ghost story about an evil king who was eaten alive by demonic breakfast pastries, Clarisse shoved me from behind and whispered in my ear, "Just because you were cool one time, Al-Hasan, don't think you're off the hook with Ares. I'm still waiting for the right opportunity to pulverize you."

I gave her a grudging smile.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," I said. "Just good to be home."

The next morning, after the party ponies headed back to Florida, Chiron made a surprise announcement: the chariot races would go ahead as scheduled. We'd all figured they were history now that Tantalus was gone, but completing them did feel like the right thing to do, especially now that Chiron was back and the camp was safe.

The Stoll brothers and I spent the next two days training like crazy.

The night before the race, I stayed late at the stables. I was singing to our horses, giving them one final brushing, when somebody right behind me said, "Fine animals, horses. Wish I'd thought of them."

A middle-aged guy in a postal carrier outfit was leaning against the stable door. He was slim, with curly black hair under his white pith helmet, and he had a mailbag slung over his shoulder.

"Hermes?" I stammered.

"Hello, Maliha. Didn't recognize me without being on Olympus?"

"Uh ..." I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to kneel or buy stamps from him or what. Then it occurred to me why he must be here. "Oh, listen, Lord Hermes, about Luke ..."