This Cold Year ― Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase²

―xix. welcome to alaska

PERCY WASN'T DOING GREAT. Every time the plane hit a spot of turbulence, Percy gripped Naomi's hand like a stress ball, looking out of the plane window like he was looking for Jupiter's angry face glaring at him from the clouds. Naomi rubbed her thumb along the back of his hand, not sure how else to make him feel better so high in the air.

She didn't love flying, either, but it was more the disconcerted feeling of being off of the earth, her mother's domain. She wasn't afraid of Jupiter blasting her out of the sky, the same way she wasn't afraid at sea of Neptune trying to drown her. She just missed the feeling of solid ground under her feet, the reassurance of roots and shadows all around her, at her beck-and-call.

Across from them, Hazel was reassuring Frank that he'd done everything he could for his grandmother. Frank had saved them from the Laistrygonians and gotten them out of Vancouver. He'd been incredibly brave.

Frank kept his head down like he was ashamed to have been crying, but it was impossible to blame him. He'd just lost his grandmother and watched his house go up in flames. He was allowed to be upset.

He refused to explain exactly what his "family gift" was, but as they flew north, Frank did tell them about his conversation with Mars the night before. He explained the prophecy Juno had issued when he was a baby—about his life being tied to a piece of firewood, and how he'd asked Hazel to keep it for him.

Some of that, Naomi had already guessed. Hazel and Frank had obviously shared some crazy experiences when they had blacked out together, and they'd made some sort of deal. It also explained why even now, out of habit, Frank kept checking his coat pocket, and why he was so nervous around fire.

Still, Naomi couldn't imagine the kind of courage it had taken for Frank to embark on a quest, knowing that one small flame could snuff out his life.

"Frank," Percy said, "I'm proud to be related to you."

Frank's ears turned red. With his head lowered, his military haircut made a sharp black arrow pointing down. "Juno has some sort of plan for us, about the Prophecy of Eight."

"Yeah," Percy grumbled. "I didn't like her as Hera. I don't like her any better as Juno."

Naomi grunted. "Ditto."

Hazel tucked her feet underneath her. She studied Percy and Naomi with her warm eyes, and Naomi wondered how she could be so calm. She was the youngest one on the quest, but she was always holding them together and comforting them. Now they were flying to Alaska, where she had died once before. They would try to free Thanatos, who might take her back to the Underworld. Yet she didn't show any fear.

"You're a son of Poseidon, aren't you?" she asked Percy. She shifted her gaze to Naomi. "And you're a daughter of Persephone. You are Greek demigods."

Naomi nodded.

Hazel frowned. "But I don't understand," she said. "You're still a Patterson—how can you be Greek and Roman?"

Naomi chewed on her lip. "It was a mistake," she said. "I remember my mom saying... saying if she'd known who my father was, she never would have approached him. But something pulled them together."

"Fate?" Hazel asked.

Naomi shook her head. "Something darker. Maybe... Maybe Gaea."

Hazel looked lost. "It's so hard to think..."

Percy gripped his leather necklace. "I started to remember in Portland, after the gorgon's blood. It's been coming back to me slowly since then. There's another camp."

"Camp Half-Blood," Naomi murmured. Just saying the name made Naomi feel warm inside. She remembered bits and pieces of it; the smell of strawberry fields in the warm summer sun, fireworks lighting up the beach on the Fourth of July, satyrs playing panpipes at the nightly campfire, and kisses at the bottom of the canoe lake. There were fuzzier memories, too, like they had happened a long time ago—afternoons spent in a greenhouse, the smell of flowers everywhere; mornings in a cabin that smelled like designer perfume, someone braiding her hair and someone else teasing her about something or another; evenings running through the forest, sword in hand, searching for a banner.