LABYRINTH ↬ leo valdez x reader, book three

2. POMPEII

"A lot of unanswered questions," Frank muttered. "A lot of miles to cover before we get to Athens."
"First things first," Annabeth said. "You guys have to find Nike and figure out how to subdue her ... whatever Juno meant by that. I still don't understand how you defeat a goddess who controls victory. Seems impossible."
Leo started to grin. "We'll see about that." He rose to his feet. "Let me get my collection of grenades and I'll meet you guys on deck!"
"Why the hell would that tempt me?" I groaned.

Frank and Hazel were scouting the ruins, conveniently leaving Leo and I to our lonesome.

Of course, we picked to search the museum. I claimed it was for the air conditioning, and gullible Mr. Candle Wick believed me. Little did he recall my touristy tendencies (which were probably recollected by him by my starry eyes and tensed knuckles.)

To our left, the Olympic valley shimmered in the afternoon heat. To the right, the visitors' lot was crammed with tour buses. Good thing the Argo II was moored a hundred feet in the air, because we never would've found parking. Leo skipped a stone across the river. He leaned very closely to me and huffed, fiddling with his bead necklace– except for the very obvious fact that he did not have a single bead on said necklace. However, mine had five, marking each year I've stayed at camp. I could tell Leo wanted to bring up Calypso, but he couldn't bring himself to. That's what was making him so mopey lately, the fact that we had left her behind.

'Guys!' Frank stood at the far end of the parking lot, waving at us to come over. Next to him, Hazel sat astride her horse Arion, who had appeared unannounced as soon as we'd landed.
"This place is huge," Frank reported. "The ruins stretch from the river to the base of that mountain over there, about half a kilometre."
"How far is that in regular measurements?" Leo asked.

Frank rolled his eyes. "That is a regular measurement in Canada and the rest of the world. Only you Americans –"

"About five or six football fields," Hazel interceded, feeding Arion a big chunk of gold.
"Anyway," Frank continued, "from overhead, I didn't see anything suspicious."
"Neither did I,' Hazel said. "Arion took me on a complete loop around the perimeter. A lot of tourists, but no crazy goddess." The big stallion nickered and tossed his head, his neck muscles rippling under his butterscotch coat.

"So we blunder around together," he said, "and let trouble find us. It's always worked before."
We poked about for a while, avoiding tour groups and ducking from one patch of shade to the next. Frank DID NOT just 'find' a tourist pamphlet but he stole it from out of my grasp.

"This is the Propylon." He waved towards a stone path lined with crumbling columns. "One of the main gates into the Olympic valley."
"Rubble!" said Leo.
"And over there–" Frank pointed to a square foundation that looked like the patio for a Mexican restaurant.

"That's the Temple of Hera, one of the oldest structures here." I grumbled. "See? I was reading that pamphlet." Hazel gave me a pat of reassurance.
"More rubble!' Leo said.
"And that round bandstand-looking thing – that's the Philipeon, dedicated to Philip of Macedonia."
"Even more rubble! First-rate rubble!"
"Gods, Leo, doesn't anything impress you?" I stood on his foot.
"You impress me." He grinned, laying an arm across my shoulders. I shrugged them off tiredly.
"Too warm for PDA."

Happily oblivious, Frank continued at an admirably dedicated tour-guide-like pace. "This is the Pelopion," Frank said, pointing to another fascinating pile of stones.
"Come on, Zhang," Leo said. "Pelopion isn't even a word. What was it – a sacred spot for plopping?"
Frank looked offended. "It's the burial site of Pelops. This whole part of Greece, the Peloponnese, was named after him."
"I suppose I should know who Pelops was?"