Gnossienne (Book 1)

Chapter 32

Cabin Three didn't feel as empty as before.

Percy was there. And we talked non-stop about our days at camp.

We had our friends to rain with during the day. Luke and I were stronger than ever, making time to spend with each other. And at night, I could hear the sea, knowing our father was out there.

As for our mother, she had a chance at a new life. Her letter arrived a week after we got back to camp. She had wrote that Gabe had mysteriously disappeared off the face of the planet. She'd reported him missing to the police, but had a feeling he had left for good.

On another completely unrelated subject, she'd sold her first life-size concrete sculpture, entitled The Poker Player, to a collector, through an art gallery in Soho. She'd got so much money for it, she was putting down a deposit on a new apartment and made a payment on her first term's tuition at NYU. The Soho gallery was clamouring for more of her work, which they called 'a huge step forward in super-ugly neorealism'.

But don't worry, mom wrote. I'm done with sculpture. I've disposed of the box of tools you left me. It's time for me to turn to writing.

At the bottom, she added, P.S. I've found a good private school here in the city. I've put down a deposit to hold you two a spot, in case you want to enrol. You could live at home. But if you want to go year-round at Camp Half-Blood, I'll understand.

Percy and I talked each night about what we wanted. We were enjoying our time at camp. If we stayed all year, we could always go home and visit. We could learn more of fighting and controlling water, like we had done during our quest. We had friends here who would be staying all year. Annabeth, Lucy and of course, Luke.

But I loved mom. She had finally got rid of Gabe. We could go home and not have to worry about every little thing. And if we did go home, I figured Chiron would be happy enough to let us visit.

Percy and I struggled to decide what to write back to mom.

- - - - -

On the Fourth of July, the whole camp gathered at the beach for a firework display by cabin nine. Being Hephaestus's kids, they weren't going to settle for a few few lame red-white-and-blue explosions. They'd anchored a barge offshore and loaded it with rockets the size of Patriot missiles. According to Luke, who'd seen the show before, the blasts would be sequenced to tightly they'd look like frames of animation across the sky. The finale was supposed to be a couple of thirty-metre-tall Spartan warriors who would crackle to life above the ocean, fight a battle, then explode into a million colours.

To say I was looking forward to it was an understatement.

As Luke and I were spreading a picnic blanket out on the sand, Grover showed up to say goodbye. He was dressed in usual jeans and T-shirt and trainers, but in the last few weeks something about him had changed. He started to look older, almost high-school age. His goatee had gotten thicker and his horns had grown a few centimetres, so he now had to wear his rasta cap all the time to pass as human. He looked nothing like the little boy Percy and I defended from bullies at Yancy Academy.