Daughter Of The Moon

Chapter 25

Luna

"Have you ever once seen a stuffed olive in New York?" I whisper to Kai, fascinated as I poke the odd little green thing experimentally. It looks way too shiny to possibly be food, and my fork just sort of glances off it.

Kai shrugs, the corner of his mouth tilting up slightly to give him the closest honest expression to happiness I've seen on him yet since arriving in London. "I've never seen one myself," he says, "but poke around in Hoboken long enough and you'll find anything."

I shoot him a haughty look. "And you call yourself a New Yorker, Kai Murphy. Hoboken's in New Jersey."

"I never called myself a New Yorker." Kai looks away from me, regarding Zack, who is chatting amicably with Odysseus at the other end of the table. As he does so, his smile vanishes and his brow furrows in a frown. "Your little sunshine..." he says, "he really is nice to absolutely everybody, isn't he?"

"Yes." I can't keep the fondness from my tone or the smile from my face as I watch Zack. We're in some tiny little nook of the British museum; even further down than the crypt. Even though it's dimly lit down here, every little bit of light seems to be shining on the son of Apollo.

"It's nauseating."

I swat Kai with my napkin. "I know it's probably impossibly for you, but try to be nice." I tell him. "Anyway: so if you aren't from New York, where are you from?"

Kai suddenly seems to be very interested in his own stuffed olives, and starts chasing them around the plate with his fork. But alas, those things are slippery, and even Kai wouldn't eat with his fingers in front of his host, so he just gives up and drops his cutlery with a clatter. He stares down at his plate for a moment, still frowning, and I'm just about to turn my head and strike up conversation with Magnolius Finch when he says: "I'll tell you some time, Jacy."

"Miss Night?" The deep, authoritative voice of Odysseus stops me asking Kai more questions, and I look his way and smile politely.

"Yes sir?"

He waves a dismissive hand. "Call me Odysseus. Anyway: could you explain your existence to me? I am curious."

"Umm..." I rack my brain, but even if I could answer his question, I probably wouldn't be able to complete a coherent sentence. I know that he isn't a god or even a demigod (the hours of Zack making me read The Odyssey seem to be paying off) but there's something about the fact that he is immortal that seems to unnerve me. He has a sort of powerful, cold aura, and to carry on this list of things-that-impair-Luna's-speech, Odysseus has a history of being... well... fictional.

He cocks his head to one side, eyes calculating. "Do you not know?"

At last. Here's a question I can answer.

"No," I reply. "I don't know."

"Curious indeed..."

"This is all besides the point." Magnolius says, pointing a celery stick at Odysseus in an almost accusatory fashion. He takes a bite of it, then carries on. "Could one of you demigods please explain precisely why it is that you are here? It isn't that we don't love to entertain guests, but-"

"We need to get to San Francisco." Kai interrupts, and as I watch the satyr pale, I remember his apparent allergy to sons of Poseidon. "It's for a quest to bring back a Golden Apple."

"We're from Camp Halfblood on Long Island," Zack continues, his tone somewhat less offensive than Kai's. "And we would be very grateful for your assistance. We aren't supposed to be in London, or Britain at all, because the Three Sisters Taxi Company wasn't exactly as reliable as planned."