WINGED ₁

67

DESPITE BEING ONE OF THE ONLY CABINS AT CAMP WITH TWO STORIES, THE HERMES CABIN WAS ALWAYS HORRIBLY CROWDED. All of the unclaimed demigods―a minimum of ten at all times, a mix of new and old―stayed there. There were also the kids like Ethan or Nico, who knew their godly parent but whose godly parent was not relevant enough to have their own cabin. Those kids usually stayed downstairs, their space dictated by a pile of blankets or a sleeping bag. Ethan had earned the right to stay upstairs because of Madeleine's fondness for him and his brutal personality that put everyone else on edge.

Madeleine's own siblings, like Connor, slept upstairs. There were only six bunks, and usually two were taken by Connor and Travis. Hermes didn't have many children, which didn't surprise Madeleine very much. Knowing her father, she knew that he loved rarely; but when he did love, he loved hard. 

It made her wonder about Luke's mother, or who Connor and Travis's mortal parent had been. They must have been special, for Hermes to go back.

The problem with this arrangement, though, was that Madeleine never had her own space. She was infinitely envious of the other cabins―Percy, with his cozy nook and its sheer curtains and wide-open windows. Drew, with her silken dividers and soft bedsheets. Even Clarisse had her own space, though thinking about Clarisse right now put a bitter taste in Madeleine's mouth.

Madeleine had too much space in the mortal world and not enough space at camp. It was pathetic, a medium she could never quite reach. She was confined to her stupid, small bunk and the stupid, small trunk at the side of her bed.

So she waited until night fell, after the campfire. They had elected to burn Beckendorf's shroud the next day, and she could not face that without facing his death first.

Travis had returned to camp, looking more serious than Madeleine had ever seen him. He was sitting on the small floor of the cabin's community kitchen with Katie. They were talking in hushed tones, and Madeleine guessed Connor had told him about the council.

Connor was snoring loudly in his bunk, but on her way out, Madeleine passed Ethan. He was sitting on one of the threadbare couches, staring at nothing, but he turned to her when she passed. She wondered if he recognized the patter of her footsteps.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Out," she replied.

"Do you want me to come?"

She shook her head, and he didn't ask anything else. He just turned back to the wall, listening to the even breathing of all of those unwanted kids in the dark.

She slipped out of the cabin. She knew that it was technically illegal for demigods to be out past dark, but the harpies had never bothered her; and, really, she figured Chiron had better things to do with his time nowadays. She imagined Apollo, blasted from the sky, blood in his teeth and a twelve-foot-long gash in the ground where his broken body lay. A space carved out just for him.

She was going to be sick again.

She made her way to the stables, because it was dark and relatively quiet, and she didn't think anyone would look for her here. It reminded her of her father. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing.

She hunkered down next to a pile of hay and listened to the sounds of the pegasi for a while, her arms tucked around her knees. She wasn't sure when she started crying. She felt breathless and sad and incredibly hopeless. She had opened herself up last summer, despite the fact that she had lost Zoe. Her body had shut itself down and she had forced it to reopen.

In a way, it had been a good thing. She would not have loved Apollo so hard, would not have found the hole in her filled with Hermes. She would not have realized how much she loved her friends. She would not have saved Lee or Castor. She would not have met Calypso, and she would never have let Ethan kiss her neck again.