𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩

Chapter 9

Five - Cyrus
⌑

Godly Pinnacle

Cyrus had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. A few of them wanted food. Most of them probably thought of him as food, considering how they were practically thirsty for his blood.

He must've woken up countless times, though what he heard and saw made no sense, so he just passed out again. He could barely see himself lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like deep-fried Mars chocolate, just that it was pudding. Luna hovered over him, spacing out as she scraped drips off his chin with the spoon.

When she saw the boy's eyes open, she asked with half hope, "What will happen at the summer solstice, Cy?"

He managed to croak out, "Wha'?"

She looked around, as if terrified of someone was listening in. "What's goin' on? Who stole what?"

"Hey," Cyrus mumbled, "I don't..."

Somebody knocked on the door, and Luna quickly filled his mouth with pudding.

The next time Cyrus woke up, the woman was gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over him. He had
blue eyes-like a dozen of those-on his cheeks, forehead, backs of his hands, you name it.

❓✾

When Cyrus finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about his surroundings, except that they were nicer than he was used to. He was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over his legs, a pillow behind his neck. All that was great, but his mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest.

His tongue was dry and nasty and every one of his teeth hurt.

On the table next to him was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper
parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

His hand was so weak he almost dropped the glass once he got his fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he
cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said
CAMP HALF-BLOOD.

So maybe he'd had a nightmare. They were still on vacation, and they'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And ...

"We met Luna and you halfway here," Grover said. "I figured you'd probably want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoe box in Cyrus's lap.

Inside was a miniature tentacle, splattered with dried blood. It hadn't been a nightmare.

"The Kraken," he said.

"Urn, Cy, it isn't a good idea-"

"That's what they call it in the Greek myths, isn't it?" Cyrus demanded. "The Kraken. Giant squid or octopus."

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"I dunno. Passed out on the beach?" Cyrus shrugged, unsure if he had done anything else besides that.

Grover hummed, nodding his head to himself. "So you really don't remember...?"

Cyrus frowned in confusion and worry, tilting his head to the side. "Don't remember what, exactly?"