The Warrior | Heroes of Olympus

2

While I had my discussion with Reyna, Hazel bought Percy an espresso drink and a cherry muffin from Bombilo the two-headed coffee merchant. Percy inhaled the muffin. 

Percy watched a bunch of kids in swimsuits and towels head into a building that had steam coming out of a row of chimneys.

"Bath house," I said. "We'll get you in there before dinner,hopefully." 

"You haven't lived until you've had a Roman bath." Hazel added. Percy sighed with anticipation.As they approached the front gate, the barracks got bigger and nicer.Even the ghosts looked better—with fancier armor and shinier auras. Percy tried to decipher the banners and symbols hanging in front of the buildings. 

"You guys are divided into different cabins?" he asked. 

"Sort of." Hazel ducked as a kid riding a giant eagle swooped overhead. "We have five cohorts of about forty kids each. Each cohort is divided into barracks of ten—like roommates, kind of." 

 "You'retelling me there's two hundred kids at camp?" 

"Roughly." I said. "And all of them are children of gods? The gods have been busy." 

Hazel laughed. 

"Not all of them are children of major gods. There are hundreds of minor Roman gods. Plus, a lot of the campers are legacies—second or third generation. Maybe their parents were demigods. Or their grandparents." I explained.

Percy blinked. "Children of demigods?" 

"Why? Does that surprise you?"

 "These Legos—" 

"Legacies," Hazel corrected. 

"They have powers like a demigod?

"Sometimes. Sometimes not. But they can be trained. All the bestRoman generals and emperors—you know, they all claimed to be descended from gods. Most of the time, they were telling the truth. The camp augur we're going to meet, Octavian, he's a legacy, descendant ofApollo. He's got the gift of prophecy, supposedly." I said. 

"Supposedly?" 

I made a sour face. "You'll see."

This did not make Percy feel better. 

"So the divisions," he asked, "the cohorts, whatever—you're divided according to who your godly parent is?" 

Hazel stared at him. "What a horrible idea! No, the officers decide where to assign recruits. If we were divided according to god, the cohorts would be all uneven. I'd be alone."

 "Why? What's your ancestry?"Before she could answer, someone behind them yelled, "Wait!"A ghost ran toward them—an old man with a medicine-ball belly and toga so long he kept tripping on it. He caught up to them and gasped forair, his purple aura flickering around him. 

"This is him?" the ghost panted. "A new recruit for the Fifth, perhaps?"

 "Vitellius," I said, "we're sort of in a hurry."

The ghost scowled at Percy and walked around him, inspecting him like a used car. "I don't know," he grumbled. "We need only the best for the cohort. Does he have all his teeth? Can he fight? Does he clean stables?" 

"Yes, yes, and no," Percy said. "Who are you?"

 "Percy, this is Vitellius." Hazel's expression said: Just humor him. "He's one of our Lares; takes an interest in new recruits."On a nearby porch, other ghosts snickered as Vitellius paced back and forth, tripping over his toga and hiking up his sword belt.