ONE LAST TIME . . . heroes of olympus

93

APOLLO, THANKFULLY, DIDN'T seem to be in the mood for haiku. He wasn't selling bobbleheads, either.

Frank turned into a giant eagle to fly to Delos, holding Kat in his talons. It was an exhilarating feeling, she didn't know what Leo was talking about. He'd immediately hitched a ride with Hazel on Arion's back. Which, whatever.

The island was deserted, though Kat should've definitely expected that. The windswept hills were barren except for rocks, grass and wildflowers — and, of course, a bunch of crumbling temples. The rubble was probably very impressive, but Kat was sick of rubble. Europe had too much rubble.

They walked down an avenue lined with white stone lions, the faces weathered almost featureless.

"It's eerie," said Hazel.

"You sense any ghosts?" asked Frank.

"She's not supposed to," said Kat. "Back in ancient times, Delos was sacred ground. No mortal was allowed to be born here or die here. There are literally no mortal spirits on this whole island."

"Cool with me," Leo said. "Does that mean nobody's allowed to kill us here?"

"We can be killed everywhere, Luchik, get it right." Kat stopped at the summit of a low hill. "Look. Down there."

Below them, the hillside had been carved into an amphitheater. Scrubby plants sprouted between the rows of stone benches, so it looked like a concert for thorn bushes. Down at the bottom, sitting on a block of stone in the middle of the stage, the god Apollo hunched over a ukulele, plucking out a mournful tune.

The dude looked about seventeen, with curly blond hair and a perfect tan. He wore tattered jeans, a black T-shirt and a white linen jacket with glittering rhinestone lapels, like he was trying for an Elvis / Ramones / Beach Boys hybrid look.

Kat didn't usually think of the ukulele as a sad instrument. ( Pathetic, maybe. But not sad. ) Yet the tune Apollo strummed was so melancholy it made her feel sad.

Sitting in the front row was a familiar young girl of about thirteen, wearing black leggings and a silver tunic, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was whittling on a long piece of wood — making a bow.

"Those are the gods?" asked Frank. "They don't look like twins."

"Well, think about it," said Hazel, always the smart one of the bunch. "If you're a god, you can look like whatever you want. If you had a twin—"

"I'd choose to look like anything but my sibling," agreed Frank. "So what's the plan?"

"Don't shoot!" yelled Leo. He raised his arms and headed down to the stage.

"Oh my gods, I'm going to murder him," muttered Kat as she followed at his heels.

Neither god looked surprised to see them.

Apollo sighed and went back to playing his ukulele.

When they got to the front row, Artemis muttered, "There you are. We were beginning to wonder."

"So you were expecting us, then," said Leo. "I can tell, because you're both so excited."

Apollo plucked a tune that sounded like the funeral version of 'Camptown Races'. "We were expecting to be found, bothered and tormented. We didn't know by whom. Can you not leave us to our misery?"

"You know they can't, brother," chided Artemis. "They require our help with their quest, even if the odds are hopeless."

"Nice to see you two again," Kat drawled. "Why are you hiding out here anyway? Shouldn't you be . . . like, fighting giants or something?"