Eye of Hecate

Ozzy

My jaw drops. The central section of Aeolus's fortress is as big as a cathedral, with a soaring domed roof covered in silver. Television equipment floats randomly through the air—cameras, spotlights, set pieces, potted plants. And there's no floor. Leo almost falls into the chasm before I pull him back.

"Holy—!" Leo gulps. "Hey, Mellie. A little warning next time!"

An enormous circular pit plunges into the heart of the mountain. It's probably half a mile deep, honeycombed with caves. Some of the tunnels probably lead straight outside. I remember seeing winds blast out of them when we were on Pikes Peak. Other caves are sealed with some glistening material like glass or wax. The whole cavern bustles with harpies, aurai, and paper airplanes. I can sense the winds below, churning and blowing in a chaotic frenzy. 

"Oh, my," Mellie gasps. "I'm so sorry." She unclips a walkie-talkie from somewhere inside her robes and speaks into it: "Hello, sets? Is that Nuggets? Hi, Nuggets. Could we get a floor in the main studio, please? Yes, a solid one. Thanks."

A few seconds later, an army of harpies rises from the pit—three dozen or so demon chicken ladies, all carrying squares of various building material. They go to work hammering and gluing—and using large quantities of duct tape, which doesn't reassure me. In no time there's a makeshift floor snaking out over the chasm. It's made of plywood, marble blocks, carpet squares, wedges of grass sod—just about anything.

"That can't be safe," Jason says.

"Oh, it is!" Mellie assures him. "The harpies are very good."

Easy for her to say. She just drifts across without touching the floor. Jason steps onto the makeshift walkway first and amazingly, it holds his weight. 

Piper grips his hand and follows him. "If I fall, you're catching me."

"Uh, sure." Jason blushes.

Leo grabs my hand too. "Looks like we're buddies. You better catch me if we fall, Oz."

"I'll see what I can do," I tease, though my own cheeks feel red.

Mellie leads us toward the middle of the chamber, where a loose sphere of flat-panel video screens floats around a kind of control center. A man hovers inside, checking monitors and reading paper airplane messages. The man pays us no attention as Mellie brings us forward. She pushes a forty-two-inch Sony out of our way and leads us into the control area.

Leo whistles. "I got to get a room like this."

The floating screens show all sorts of television programs. Some I recognize—news broadcasts, mostly—but some programs look a little strange: gladiators fighting, people who I assume are demigods battling monsters. Maybe they're movies, but they look more like reality shows.

At the far end of the sphere is a silky blue backdrop like a cinema screen, with cameras and studio lights floating around it.

The man in the center is talking into an earpiece phone. He has a remote control in each hand and is pointing them at various screens, seemingly at random.

He wears a business suit that looks like the sky—blue mostly, but dappled with clouds that change and darken and move across the fabric. He looks like he's in his sixties, with a shock of white hair, but he has a ton of stage makeup on, and that smooth plastic-surgery look to his face, so he appears not really young, not really old, just wrong—like a Ken doll someone halfway melted in a microwave. His eyes dart back and forth from screen to screen, like he's trying to absorb everything at once. He mutters things into his phone, and his mouth keeps twitching. He's either amused, or crazy, or both.

Mellie floats toward him. "Ah, sir, Mr. Aeolus, these demigods—"

"Hold it!" He holds up a hand to silence her, then points at one of the screens. "Watch!"

It's one of those storm-chaser programs, where insane thrill-seekers drive after tornados. As we watch, a Jeep plows straight into a funnel cloud and gets tossed into the sky.

Aeolus shrieks with delight. "The Disaster Channel. People do that on purpose!" He turns toward us with a mad grin. "Isn't that amazing? Let's watch it again."

"Um, sir," Mellie says, "this is Jason, son of—"

"Yes, yes, I remember," Aeolus says. "You're back. How did it go?"

We all look to Jason curiously.

Jason hesitates. "Sorry? I think you've mistaken me—"

"No, no, Jason Grace, aren't you? It was—what—last year? You were on your way to fight a sea monster, I believe."

"I—I don't remember."

Aeolus laughs. "Must not have been a very good sea monster! No, I remember every hero who's ever come to me for aid. Odysseus—gods, he docked at my island for a month! At least you only stayed a few days. Now, watch this video. These ducks get sucked straight into—"

"Sir," Mellie interrupts. "Two minutes to air."

"Air!" Aeolus exclaims. "I love air. How do I look? Makeup!"

Immediately a small tornado of brushes, blotters, and cotton balls descends on Aeolus. They blur across his face in a cloud of flesh-tone smoke until his coloration is even more gruesome than before. Wind swirls through his hair and leaves it sticking up like a frosted Christmas tree.

"Mr. Aeolus." Jason slips off the golden backpack. "We brought you these rogue storm spirits."

"Did you!" Aeolus looks at the bag like it's a gift from a fan—something he really doesn't want. "Well, how nice."

Leo nudges him, and Jason offers the bag. "Boreas sent us to capture them for you. We hope you'll accept them and stop—you know—ordering demigods to be killed."

Aeolus laughs, and looks incredulously at Mellie. "Demigods be killed—did I order that?"

Mellie checks her computer tablet. "Yes, sir, fifteenth of September. 'Storm spirits released by the death of Typhon, demigods to be held responsible,' etc....yes, a general order for them all to be killed."

"Oh, pish," Aeolus says. "I was just grumpy. Rescind that order, Mellie, and um, who's on guard duty—Teriyaki?—Teri, take these storm spirits down to cell block Fourteen E, will you?"

A harpy swoops out of nowhere, snatches the golden bag, and spirals into the abyss.

Aeolus grins at Jason. "Now, sorry about that kill-on-sight business. But gods, I really was mad, wasn't I?" His face suddenly darkens, and his suit does the same, the lapels flashing with lightning. "You know...I remember now. Almost seemed like a voice was telling me to give that order. A little cold tingle on the back of my neck."

Jason tenses. "A...um, voice in your head, sir?"

"Yes. How odd. Mellie, should we kill them?"

"No, sir," she says patiently. "They just brought us the storm spirits, which makes everything all right."

"Of course." Aeolus laughs. "Sorry. Mellie, let's send the demigods something nice. A box of chocolates, perhaps."

"A box of chocolates to every demigod in the world, sir?"

"No, too expensive. Never mind. Wait, it's time! I'm on!"

Aeolus flies off toward the blue screen as newscast music starts to play.

Jason looks back at us, just as confused as I feel. 

"Mellie," I say, "is he...always like that?"

She smiles sheepishly. "Well, you know what they say. If you don't like his mood, wait five minutes. That expression 'whichever way the wind blows'—that was based on him."

"And that thing about the sea monster," Jason says. "Was I here before?"

Mellie blushes. "I'm sorry, I don't remember. I'm Mr. Aeolus's new assistant. I've been with him longer than most, but still—not that long."

"How long do his assistants usually last?" Piper asks.

"Oh..." Mellie thinks for a moment. "I've been doing this for...twelve hours?"

A voice blares from floating speakers: "And now, weather every twelve minutes! Here's your forecaster for Olympian Weather—the OW! channel—Aeolus!"

Lights blaze on Aeolus, who's now standing in front of the blue screen. His smile is unnaturally white, and he looks like he's had so much caffeine his face is about to explode.

"Hello, Olympus! Aeolus, master of the winds here, with weather every twelve! We'll have a low-pressure system moving over Florida today, so expect milder temperatures since Demeter wishes to spare the citrus farmers!" He gestures at the blue screen, but when I check the monitors, I see that a digital image is being projected behind Aeolus, so it looks like he's standing in front of a U.S. map with animated smiley suns and frowny storm clouds. "Along the eastern seaboard—oh, hold on." He taps his earpiece. "Sorry, folks! Poseidon is angry with Miami today, so it looks like that Florida freeze is back on! Sorry, Demeter. Over in the Midwest, I'm not sure what St. Louis did to offend Zeus, but you can expect winter storms! Boreas himself is being called down to punish the area with ice. Bad news, Missouri! No, wait. Hephaestus feels sorry for central Missouri, so you all will have much more moderate temperatures and sunny skies."

Aeolus keeps going like that—forecasting each area of the country and changing his prediction two or three times as he gets messages over his earpiece—the gods apparently putting in orders for various winds and weather.

"This can't be right," I whisper, my mind reeling. "Weather isn't this random."

Mellie smirks. "And how often are the mortal weathermen right? They talk about fronts and air pressure and moisture, but the weather surprises them all the time. At least Aeolus tells us why it's so unpredictable. Very hard job, trying to appease all the gods at once. It's enough to drive anyone..."

She trails off, but I know what she means. Mad. Aeolus is completely mad.

"And that's the weather," Aeolus concludes. "See you in twelve minutes, because I'm sure it'll change!"

The lights shut off, the video monitors go back to random coverage, and just for a moment, Aeolus's face sags with weariness. Then he seems to remember he has guests, and he puts a smile back on.

"So, you brought me some rogue storm spirits," Aeolus says. "I suppose...thanks! And did you want something else? I assume so. Demigods always do."

Mellie says, "Um, sir, this is Zeus's son."

"Yes, yes. I know that. I said I remembered him from before."

"But, sir, they're here from Olympus."

Aeolus looks stunned. Then he laughs so abruptly, I almost jump into the chasm. "You mean you're here on behalf of your father this time? Finally! I knew they would send someone to renegotiate my contract!"

"Um, what?" Jason asks.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Aeolus sighs with relief. "It's been what, three thousand years since Zeus made me master of the winds. Not that I'm ungrateful, of course! But really, my contract is so vague. Obviously I'm immortal, but 'master of the winds.' What does that mean? Am I a nature spirit? A demigod? A god? I want to be god of the winds, because the benefits are so much better. Can we start with that?"

Jason looks at us, mystified.

"Dude," Leo says, "you think we're here to promote you?"

"You are, then?" Aeolus grins. His business suit turns completely blue—not a cloud in the fabric. "Marvelous! I mean, I think I've shown quite a bit of initiative with the weather channel, eh? And of course I'm in the press all the time. So many books have been written about me: Into Thin Air, Up in the Air, Gone with the Wind—"

"Er, I don't think those are about you," I say, before I notice Mellie shaking her head.

"Nonsense," Aeolus says. "Mellie, they're biographies of me, aren't they?"

"Absolutely, sir," she squeaks.

"There, you see? I don't read. Who has time? But obviously the mortals love me. So, we'll change my official title to god of the winds. Then, about salary and staff—"

"Sir," Jason says, "we're not from Olympus."

Aeolus blinks. "But—"

"I'm the son of Zeus, yes," Jason says, "but we're not here to negotiate your contract. We're on a quest and we need your help."

Aeolus's expression hardens. "Like last time? Like every hero who comes here? Demigods! It's always about you, isn't it?"

"Sir, please, I don't remember last time, but if you helped me once before—"

"I'm always helping! Well, sometimes I'm destroying, but mostly I'm helping, and sometimes I'm asked to do both at the same time! Why, Aeneas, the first of your kind—"

"My kind?" Jason asks. "You mean, demigods?"

"Oh, please!" Aeolus says. "I mean your line of demigods. You know, Aeneas, son of Venus—the only surviving hero of Troy. When the Greeks burned down his city, he escaped to Italy, where he founded the kingdom that would eventually become Rome, blah, blah, blah. That's what I meant."

"I don't get it," Jason admits.

Aeolus rolls his eyes. "The point being, I was thrown in the middle of that conflict, too! Juno calls up: 'Oh, Aeolus, destroy Aeneas's ships for me. I don't like him.' Then Neptune says, 'No, you don't! That's my territory. Calm the winds.' Then Juno is like, 'No, wreck his ships, or I'll tell Jupiter you're uncooperative!' Do you think it's easy juggling requests like that?"

"No," Jason says. "I guess not."

"And don't get me started on Amelia Earhart! I'm still getting angry calls from Olympus about knocking her out of the sky!"

"What happened with Amelia Earhart?" I ask. 

"We just want information," Piper says in her most calming voice. "We hear you know everything."

Aeolus straightens his lapels and looks slightly mollified. "Well...that's true, of course. For instance, I know that this business here"—he waggles his fingers at the four of us—"this harebrained scheme of Juno's to bring you all together is likely to end in bloodshed. As for you, Piper McLean, I know your father is in serious trouble." He holds out his hand, and a scrap of paper flutters into his grasp. It's a photo of Piper with a guy who must be her dad.

Piper takes the photo. Her hands are shaking. "This—this is from his wallet."

"Yes," Aeolus says. "All things lost in the wind eventually come to me. The photo blew away when the Earthborn captured him."

"The what?" I ask.

Aeolus waves aside the question and narrows his eyes at Leo. "Now, you, son of Hephaestus...yes, I see your future." Another paper falls into the wind god's hands—an old tattered drawing done in crayons.

Leo takes it as if it might be coated in poison. He staggers backward.

"Leo?" Jason says. "What is it?"

"Something I—I drew when I was a kid." He folds it quickly and puts it in his coat. "It's...yeah, it's nothing."

I caught a glimpse of it before he could put it away, and I suddenly remember that drawing. He made it at a picnic table when we were kids, right before he almost lit me on fire.

Aeolus laughs. "Really? Just the key to your success!"

Aeolus turns to me. "Now, as for you...yes, you're quite interesting. I've got a little something for you too." He plucks another photo out of the air and hands it to me. I stare at it, my brain short-circuiting. It's my dad, clearly from many years ago. Beside him is a woman with black-brown hair and pale blue eyes. Her skin is almost pure white. Between them, they hold a pudgy little baby with my same olive toned skin, silky black-brown hair, and blue eyes. 

I look up at Aeolus incredulously. "Where'd you get this?"

"As I said, all things lost in the wind come to me. Your mother lost that photo when she found out you were with your uncle. Tossed it right out the metaphorical window, I believe. Yes, yes she did. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, you wanted information. Are you sure about that? Sometimes information can be dangerous."

He smiles at Jason like he's issuing a challenge. Behind him, Mellie shakes her head in warning.

"Yeah," Jason says. "We need to find the lair of Enceladus."

Aeolus's smile melts. "The giant? Why would you want to go there? He's horrible! He doesn't even watch my program!"

Piper holds up the photo. "Aeolus, he's got my father. We need to rescue him and find out where Hera is being held captive."

"Now, that's impossible," Aeolus says. "Even I can't see that, and believe me, I've tried. There's a veil of magic over Hera's location—very strong, impossible to locate."

"She's at a place called the Wolf House," Jason says.

"Hold on!" Aelous puts a hand to his forehead and closes his eyes. "I'm getting something! Yes, she's at a place called the Wolf House! Sadly, I don't know where that is."

"Enceladus does," Piper persists. "If you help us find him, we could get the location of the goddess—"

"Yeah," Leo says, catching on. "And if we save her, she'd be really grateful to you—"

"And Zeus might promote you," I finish.

Aeolus's eyebrows creep up. "A promotion—and all you want from me is the giant's location?"

"Well, if you could get us there, too," Jason amends, "that would be great."

Mellie claps her hands in excitement. "Oh, he could do that! He often sends helpful winds—"

"Mellie, quiet!" Aeolus snaps. "I have half a mind to fire you for letting these people in under false pretenses."

Her face pales. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"It wasn't her fault," Jason says. "But about that help..."

Aeolus tilts his head as if thinking. Then I realize the wind lord is listening to voices in his earpiece. 

"Well...Zeus approves," Aeolus mutters. "He says...he says it would be better if you could avoid saving her until after the weekend, because he has a big party planned—Ow! That's Aphrodite yelling at him, reminding him that the solstice starts at dawn. She says I should help you. And Hephaestus...yes. Hmm. Very rare they agree on anything. Hold on..."

Jason smiles at us. Finally, we're having some good luck. Their godly parents are standing up for them.

Back toward the entrance, I hear a loud belch. Coach Hedge waddles in from the lobby, grass all over his face. Mellie sees him coming across the makeshift floor and catches her breath. "Who is that?"

Jason stifles a cough. "That? That's just Coach Hedge. Uh, Gleeson Hedge. He's our...Our guide."

"He's so goatly," Mellie murmurs.

I snort. Beside me, Piper poofs out her cheeks, pretending to vomit.

"What's up, guys?" Hedge trots over. "Wow, nice place. Oh! Sod squares."

"Coach, you just ate," Jason says. "And we're using the sod as a floor. This is, ah, Mellie—"

"An aura." Hedge smiles winningly. "Beautiful as a summer breeze."

Mellie blushes.

"And Aeolus here was just about to help us," Jason says.

"Yes," the wind lord mutters. "It seems so. You'll find Enceladus on Mount Diablo."

"Devil Mountain?" Leo and I ask simultaneously.

"That doesn't sound good." I shake my head.

"I remember that place!" Piper says. "I went there once with my dad. It's just east of San Francisco Bay."

"The Bay Area again?" The coach shakes his head. "Not good. Not good at all."

"Now..." Aeolus begins to smile. "As to getting you there—"

Suddenly his face goes slack. He bends over and taps his earpiece as if it's malfunctioning. When he straightens again, his eyes are wild. Despite the makeup, he looks like an old man—an old, very frightened man. "She hasn't spoke to me for centuries. I can't—yes, yes I understand."

He swallows, regarding Jason as if he suddenly turned into a giant cockroach. "I'm sorry, son of Jupiter. New orders. You all have to die."

Mellie squeaks. "But—but, sir! Zeus said to help them. Aphrodite, Hephaestus—"

"Mellie!" Aeolus snaps. "Your job is already on the line. Besides, there are some orders that transcend even the wishes of the gods, especially when it comes to the forces of nature."

"Whose orders?" Jason says. "Zeus will fire you if you don't help us!"

"I doubt it." Aeolus flicks his wrist, and far below us, a cell door opens in the pit. I can hear storm spirits screaming out of it, spiraling up toward us, howling for blood.

"Even Zeus understands the order of things," Aeolus says. "And if she is waking—by all the gods—she cannot be denied. Good-bye, heroes. I'm terribly sorry, but I'll have to make this quick. I'm back on the air in four minutes."

Jason summons his sword. Coach Hedge pulls out his club. Mellie the aura yells, "No!"

She dives at our feet just as the storm spirits hit with hurricane force, blasting the floor to pieces, shredding the carpet samples and marble and linoleum into what should've been lethal projectiles, had Mellie's robes not spread out like a shield and absorbed the brunt of the impact. The six of us fall into the pit, and Aeolus screams above us, "Mellie, you are so fired!"

"Quick," Mellie yells. "Son of Zeus, do you have any power over the air?"

"A little!"

"Then help me, or you're all dead!" Mellie grabs Jason's hand, and Jason grabs Piper's. The storm spirits follow behind us as we fall, closing rapidly, bringing with them a cloud of deadly shrapnel.