Wildfires, Heroes of Olympus ₂

022, place name backstory stuff...

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
FINLEY                   BRIGGS

They stopped at the front porch. As Finn expected, a loose ring of campfires glowed in the woods, completely surrounding the property, but the house itself seemed untouched.

Wind chimes jangled in the night breeze. A wicker chair sat empty, facing the road. Lights shone through the downstairs windows, but Frank didn't want to ring the doorbell. Instead he checked the stone elephant statue in the corner—a tiny duplicate of the one in Portland. There was a spare key tucked under its foot.

"What's wrong?" Percy asked.

For a long time, Frank didn't say anything. There was something at work in his eyes that made Finn think, maybe, he was thinking about his mom.

See, Finn's mom was just as dead as Frank's mom. That was to say, very dead. So it was easy to recognize that look of longing and mourning, because Finn often wore it herself, even after ten years of Isla Briggs's absence.

"Frank?" Hazel asked, when the silence went on for too long.

"Ella is nervous," the harpy muttered from her perch on the railing. "The elephant—the elephant is looking at Ella."

"It'll be fine." Frank's hand was shaking so badly he could barely fit the key in the lock. "Just stay together."

Inside, the house smelled closed-up and musty. They examined the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink. In the parlor, Buddha statues and Taoist immortals grinned at them like psycho clowns. Finn remembered Iris, the rainbow goddess, who'd been dabbling in Buddhism and Taoism. Finn figured one visit to this creepy old house would cure her of that.

Large porcelain vases were strung with cobwebs. The fireplace was dark and cold. The sight made Hazel hug her chest.

"Is that—?"

"Yeah," Frank said. "That's it."

"That's what?" Percy asked.

"'It,' apparently," answered Finn, unhelpfully. Percy rolled his eyes and nudged her in the side, then she nudged him back harder. They probably would've kept going like this if Frank hadn't interrupted their fight.

"It's the fireplace," he told them, which was stupidly obvious, but Finn didn't comment on that. "Come on. Let's check upstairs."

The steps creaked under their feet. Frank's room almost looked exactly as Finn would have expected it too—an extra bow and quiver, spelling awards (because he was the only demigod without dyslexia. Finn could only dream), and photos of an older woman that shared his features.

"Your mom?" Finn asked, and she'd never sounded this gentle before. "She's beautiful."

Frank was too choked up to answer, but the fact that it was Finn handing out the compliment seemed to mean a lot to him.

They checked the other bedrooms. The middle three were empty. A dim light flickered under the last door—his grandmother's room.

Frank knocked quietly. No one answered. He pushed open her door. Frank's grandmother lay in bed, looking gaunt and frail, her white hair spread around her face like a crown. A single candle burned on the nightstand.