Walking Ghost

II

IF YOU LIVE IN NEW ROME, it's probably best if you weren't scared of ghosts, because half the people in camp were dead.

Shimmering purple warriors stood outside the armory, polishing ethereal swords. Others hung out in front of the barracks. A ghostly boy chased a ghostly dog down the street. They were Lares. Ghosts of rome.

None of the campers paid them much attention, like usual, but as our entourage walked by, with Reyna in the lead and Frank and Hazel on Percy's left, me on his right, all the spirits stopped what they were doing and stared at him. A few looked angry. The little boy ghost shrieked "Graecus!" and turned invisible.

Percy looked very uneasy. He shrunk in between us and tried to disappear.

"Am I seeing things?" he asked. "Or are those –"

"Ghosts?" Hazel turned. "They're Lares. House gods."

"House gods," Percy said. "Like ... smaller than real gods, but larger than apartment gods?"

I laughed. This guy had humor.

"They're ancestral spirits," Frank explained. He'd removed his helmet, showing off his brown eyes. "The Lares are kind of like mascots. Mostly they're harmless, but I've never seen them so agitated."

"They're staring at me," Percy said. "That ghost kid called me Greggus. My name isn't Greg."

"Graecus," I said. "Once you've been here a while, you'll start understanding Latin. Demigods have a natural sense for it. Graecus means Greek."

"Is that bad?" Percy asked.

Frank cleared his throat. "Maybe not. You've got that type of complexion, dark hair and all. Maybe they think you're actually Greek. Is your family from there?"

"Don't know. Like I said, my memory is gone."

"Or maybe ..." Frank hesitated.

"What?"

"Probably nothing," Frank said. "Romans and Greeks have an old rivalry. Sometimes Romans use graecus as an insult for someone who's an outsider – an enemy. I wouldn't worry about it."

He sounded pretty worried.

We stopped at the center of camp, where two wide stone-paved roads met at a T.

The street sign labeled the road to the main gates as VIA PRAETORIA. The other road, cutting across the middle of camp, was labeled VIA PRINCIPALIS. Under those markers were hand-painted signs like BERKELEY 5 MILES; NEW ROME 1 MILE; OLD ROME 7,280 MILES; HADES 2,310 MILES (pointing straight down); RENO 208 MILES; and CERTAIN DEATH: YOU ARE HERE!

The place was very clean and orderly. The buildings were always freshly whitewashed, laid out in neat grids like the camp had been designed by a math teacher. The barracks had shady porches, where campers lounged in hammocks or played cards and drank sodas. Each dorm had a different collection of banners out front displaying Roman numerals and various animals – eagle, bear, horse, etc. They were our Cohort cabins.

Along the Via Praetoria, rows of shops advertised food, armor, weapons, coffee, gladiator equipment and toga rentals. A chariot dealership had a big advertisement out front: CAESAR XLS /W/ ANTI LOCK BRAKES, NO DENARII DOWN! At one corner of the crossroads stood our most impressive building – a two-storey wedge of white marble with a columned portico. Our principia.

Guards stood out front. Over the doorway hung a big purple banner with the gold letters SPQR embroidered inside a laurel wreath. Sometimes I had to do principia guard duty. It was always so boring. Reyna constantly checked on us to make sure we weren't snoozing, so the two guards couldn't talk to each other at all without getting caught.