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Somehow Theo knew her. She recognized her pants—a light linen material, perfect for a summer in Europe—or perfect for a child to bury her face in. She recognized the colorful plastic bangles on her wrists that were in every photo set up across every flat surface in Carrie Scott's apartment. She recognized her hair, a thin, brighter version of the dark blonde bun pinned up on the back of Theo's own head.
Her eyes were hazel like Theo's, but they gleamed with fractured light, like she'd just come out of a bunker after a nuclear war—hungry for the sun, devoid of it for gods knew how long.
"Darling." She held out her arms.
Theo's vision tunneled. The ghosts and ghouls no longer mattered. She could feel her disguise burning off—her dress shimmering back into shorts and an old Camp Half-Blood T-shirt, her sash transforming into her bow strewn across her back, her lovely leather necklace contorting until it was back to boring and strung with her camp beads. She was Theo again, not a Greek serving maiden, and her cover was blown—but that didn't matter.
Even once she was back to herself, the burning sensation didn't stop. She felt as if layers of her life were being seared away—her quest to destroy the Apollo Belvedere, her years at Camp Half-Blood, her childhood with her despicable aunt. She was a scared and vulnerable two-year-old again, and she half expected someone to come out of the shadows and begin berating her like she had been so used to.
"Mom?" she managed.
"Yes, dear." She smiled, and her image flickered. "Come, embrace me."
Theo wet her lips and shook her head uneasily. "You're not real. You died two years ago. You're not.. real."
"Of course she is real." Michael Varus's voice sounded far away. "Did you think Gaea would let such an important spirit languish in the Underworld? She is your mother, Theresa Scott, renowned medic, sweetheart to the Casanova of Olympus—who rejected her not once but twice and left her to be considered clinical, as the mortal world described her. She deserves justice as much as any of us."
Theo's entire body felt uneven, like she would topple over at any second. She wished she had her crutch, but she forced herself to stay steady, to not give into her unease. The suitors crowded around her, watching.
I'm their entertainment, Theo realized. The ghosts probably found this even more amusing than tossing busts of the gods into destruction.
Jason's voice cut through the buzzing in her head. "Theo, hey."
He stood only five feet away, but Theo felt like it was a mile. His disguise was gone, which Theo was grateful for—she hated the old-man smell. His blue eyes were sharp and commanding, as impossible to ignore as the gold gladius clutched in his hands. "That isn't your mother, okay? Her voice is working the way Piper's does, like Charmspeak—but more dangerous. Can you feel it?"
