I rummaged in my bag and pulled out…a pair of barbecue tongs.
Travis snickered. “What are you going to do with those? You can’t even toast bread without burning it. Are those things Celestial bronze at least?”
“Dunno. But there’s an inscription: ‘For plucking the Tartarus napkin from the fire.’” I turned them over and read the other side. “‘One use only.’” I looked at Travis. “What the gods does that mean?”
“Well, Connor,” my brother said, “I believe it means that you only get to use them once.”
“Shut up.” I almost threw my new tongs at him, then thought better of it. For some reason, that “Tartarus napkin” thing made me edgy. I decided to keep the tongs on me at all times—at least until I got my one use out of them.
Good thing I did, too, because later that summer, a napkin from Tartarus did appear in the dining pavilion fire. It’s a long story, but if I hadn’t had those tongs…well, I’m not sure I’d be writing this right now.
As for Travis, he loved his whoopee cushion so much he slept with it at night. At least, he claimed those sounds I heard were coming from the whoopee cushion. I kind of feel sorry for his college roommate.
With its Greek marble columns and unencumbered views of the sky above, this inviting seaside facility screams classical elegance. The oversize tables, each reserved for members of a specific cabin, can easily accommodate up to twenty campers. The white tablecloths, edged with purple, add a dash of distinction. The menu boasts every food imaginable, and dishes are served and cleared by the loveliest dryads in the forest. Just don’t forget to start your meal with a burnt offering to the gods! Oh, and ignore that crack in the marble floor—it’s from a slight mishap when zombies were accidentally summoned from the Underworld. Nothing to worry about!
DINING PAVILION ANNOUNCEMENTS
REMINDER:
Hecate head counselor Lou Ellen Blackstone and Hermes head counselors Travis and Connor Stoll will conduct cabin inspections this morning. Veteran campers, please assist your new cabinmates. As always, cleanest cabin wins first-shower privileges; filthiest cabin will clean the pegasus stables.
That is all.
UPDATE:
It has come to my attention that in the course of today’s cabin inspections, several personal items went missing. Stoll brothers, please report to the Big House immediately.
That is all.
UPDATE:
You may recall that during today’s cabin inspections, several personal items appeared to have gone missing. I say appeared because in fact, Lou Ellen hid the items by manipulating the Mist. Please see her for further details concerning the eventual reappearance of your possessions. Hermes cabin, my apologies.
Hecate cabin, please report to the pegasus stables. Blackjack and Porkpie are waiting.
That is all.
Just a stone’s throw from the divine cabins, the Big House, and Half-Blood Hill, this gathering spot features rising tiers of stone bench seating that curve around the central stage. The benches are as comfortable as any mortal movie-theater chair, and there’s not a bad view in the house. So take a seat, bask in the glow of the campfire, and add your voice to the joyful sing-along with such favorite hits as “Grandma Was a Gorgon” and “This Is Not Kumbaya; This Is Sparta!”
Tragedy! You finally make it to camp alive—only to discover that you forgot your toothbrush! You could Iris-message your mortal parent for a new one. But do you really want to walk around with drakon breath until it arrives? Instead, hit the camp store! While you’re there, be sure to check out the latest line of wind chimes—available in Celestial bronze, silver, and seashell—perfect for interpreting the voices of prophecy-spouting trees! If hanging bling in branches isn’t your thing, how about the new Mythomagic expansion pack, Dual Deity Duel? The cards feature holographic images that change the gods’ aspects from Greek to Roman and back. He’s Ares! No, he’s Mars! No, he’s Ares again! Hours of dizzying head-to-head play! From tees to totes, whatever your needs, the camp store is your perfect one-stop shop.
OMG, I just about died when I saw Apollo’s orientation film. Those cute boys with their shorty-short swim trunks…um, yes, please!
As a daughter of Aphrodite, I’m always on the lookout for fresh “old-is-new” fashion ideas. Seeing those 1950s retro styles reminded me of a locked chest marked vintage clothing that I’d spotted in the back of the camp store a couple of days before. I’d been meaning to check out that chest, but Connor would never let me behind the counter to rummage through it. He was so annoying. He didn’t understand the concept of browsing, like, at all.
Inspired by the film, I decided to take matters into my own hands. (Despite the fact that I’d just had a manicure.) I thought I might find some ideas for a new clothing line inside that trunk, so off I went!
Once inside the shop, I smashed open the lock on the trunk (Connor wasn’t around). I was afraid I might just find musty retro T-shirts, knee-high tube socks (shudder!), skinny ties, and other stuff that dated back to the last century. But the clothing I found went way, way back; I’m talking, like, millennia back. Shows you what cedar lining and sachets of potpourri can do to keep clothes fresh, am I right?
The first thing that hit me about the vintage clothing was the colors. Red, yellow, green, blue, indigo: it was like Iris had thrown up on them—in, you know, a good way. I was stunned, because I’d always imagined the ancient Greeks dressed in white. I mean, that’s what the clothing on the marble statues looks like, right? Then I remembered something Chiron had told me one time: the statues used to be painted, and they’re white now only because the paint’s worn off. Looking at the clothes in the trunk, I realized the ancient Greeks actually had worn colorful clothes. It made me proud of my ancestors.
I recognized the styles right away. On top were chitons—tuniclike thingies that were dress-length for women, thigh length for men, and (giggle) super-short for male athletes. Underneath were some himations, or cloaks, and a few peploses. A peplos is a big rectangle of fabric that could be turned into just about anything—kind of like those cute beach cover-ups that convert from shoulder wrap to halter-top dress to sleeveless dress to wraparound skirt. (Perfect for the budget-conscious shopper, BTW.) There were so many garments, I was afraid I’d miss something, so I grabbed a bunch of clothes hangers and racked those bad boys up.
“Oh, yeah.” I ran my hand over the linen and wool. “It’s dress-up time.”
For the next hour, I tried on everything (except the strophion—it was too much like a tube top, which no girl should ever wear, in my opinion). I borrowed ancient Greek-style jewelry and footwear from the store’s many storage lockers to complete my outfits. I was just twisting up my hair in an elaborate braided ’do when I saw one last item in the bottom of the trunk—an item I was pretty sure hadn’t been there when I looked before.
“Holy Aphrodite’s girdle!” I yelped as I pulled out…Aphrodite’s girdle.
My hands trembled. I knew all about this particular article of clothing, though I’d never seen it in person before. Aphrodite was super-careful about when she wore it. Crafted for Mom by Hephaestus (when they were still on good speaking terms), the girdle was more like a fashionable belt—a finely wrought wide band of gold filigree (twenty karat, if I’m not mistaken)—infused with magic. Supposedly, anyone who saw Mom wearing it got whipped up in a frenzy of passion for her. Not that she needs any help in that department. I mean, everyone who sees her gets the hots for her.
As I held the magical belt, I couldn’t help wondering if its power would work for me. I thought about taking it for a test drive around camp. I’d saunter past a certain Brazilian boy’s cabin and pause long enough for him to take a gander….
Tempting, I thought. But no.
I tossed the girdle back in the trunk. Why? Because I’d heard tales of Hephaestus cursing the items he made. The girdle probably wasn’t cursed, but I wasn’t going to chance triggering some dormant spell. Besides, any magic item used by the gods could be too much for demigods to handle.
As far as I know, the girdle is still at the bottom of that trunk. I left everything the way I’d found it when I closed up the store. But it makes me wonder…what was Mom’s girdle doing there? Will there be a time when I need to use it for some emergency?
For now, though, I’ll have to rely on my own charms to make people fall in love with me. Fortunately, I take after my mom. I’m pretty good at whipping up passionate frenzies….
SCENE: A room decorated with ornate tapestries, candles, and carpets in hues of purple, red, and gold. In the center is a golden throne on a dais. Apollo, dressed in jeans, a brilliant white T-shirt, a leather jacket, and sunglasses, lounges on the throne. On the wall is a neon sign that reads: FORTUNATELY APOLLO’S HERE!
APOLLO: Next!
[A girl camper enters]
GIRL: O, Great Apollo, god of prophecy, tell me, will I ever find love?
APOLLO: Find love? [mugs for the camera] I didn’t know it was missing!
[Rim shot followed by canned laughter]
APOLLO: Next!
[A boy camper enters]
BOY: O, Great Apollo, god of prophecy, tell me, will I ever be rich?
APOLLO: What’s your name, child?
BOY: Albert, Great Apollo.
APOLLO: Well, Albert Greatapollo, I foresee only one way for you to be rich….
BOY: What is it?
APOLLO: [mugs for camera] Change your name to Richard.
[Rim shot followed by canned laughter]
APOLLO: Next!
[A different boy camper enters]
BOY #2: O, Great Apollo, god of prophecy, will I ever discover who my godly parent is?
APOLLO: Dear child, the answer is right in front of you.
BOY #2 [looking around]: Really? Where?
APOLLO: [stands up and spreads arms wide] Right in front of you.
BOY #2: I don’t get it. Am I missing a clue?
APOLLO: You’re missing a clue all right. [mugs for the camera] One might even call you clueless!
[Rim shot followed by canned laughter and prerecorded applause]
—From the comedy skit “Fortunately, Apollo’s Here!” written by and starring Apollo
Psst! Got wind chimes? Enjoy limericks? Want to know the future? Then hurry past Zephyros Creek and Zeus’s Fist to the forest that holds this most ancient of all Oracles. Come on. It’s not much farther….Just follow the whispers….
Yo, demigods! Are you craving a great new hangout? Word on the street is the Oracle’s crib on Half-Blood Hill totally rocks. It’s tricked out from top to bottom with purple curtains and massive sofas—with throw pillows for fresh pops of color, yo! Check out the graphic wall murals, graffiti quotes, and other funky artwork created by the one and only Delphic Oracle, Rachel Elizabeth Dare. You know what they say: if the torches are a-burnin’, the prophecies are a-churnin’!
Do I scare you? I hope not. Most new campers think I’m über-spooky because I live part-time in a cave, have horrifying dreams about the end of the world, and spout enigmatic prophecies riddled with cheerful words such as death. Why anyone would find that disturbing is beyond me.
I delivered my first prophecy less than a minute after I accepted the spirit of Delphi. (If you want to know about the events triggered by those words, just ask any camper who lived through it. If you want to ask a camper who died through it, Nico di Angelo might set up a meet.) I thought I was prepared for the experience. I mean, I’d been channeling visions and seeing weird things most of my life. How different could mind-melding with an ancient spirit be?
Answer: very. Luckily, the god Apollo was on hand to help me to the Big House.
“You’re experiencing PPSS,” he said as he led me up the stairs and to an empty hospital bed.
“PPSS? What’s that?” I asked right before I threw up into a nearby bin.
“Post-prophetic stress syndrome. Just lie still. It’ll pass.”
“You sure?”
He made a face. “Hello? God of prophecy, remember?”
“About that,” I said. “Why do you need an Oracle? Why don’t you dole out your own prophecies?”
He looked skyward and rendered his reply in haiku:
“I’m a free spirit
Adrift in sunshine and song.
Office hours bore me.”
I thought about questioning whether hours was one syllable or two. But I let it slide, figuring he knew, seeing as he’s the god of poetry.
Then I blurted out another question. “Why can’t the Oracle have a boyfriend?”
I’m not sure why I asked. I wasn’t interested in anyone. (Well, not anymore, anyway.) Guess I was just curious.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he broke off a leaf from a nearby laurel bough and crushed it between his finger and thumb. The air filled with its pungent aroma.
“Love can cloud the mind,” he said at last. “An Oracle with an obstructed view is of no use.” His voice was sorrowful, and I remembered that he had once been madly in love with a nymph named Daphne who turned into a laurel tree to escape his amorous attentions. I guess he knew about clouded minds.
I changed the subject. “Why do prophecies have to be so confusing? I mean, how come I can’t just say straight up what’s going to happen?”
He heaved a sigh, as if he’d answered the same question a million times before (which, given that he’s immortal, maybe he had). “That would be as much fun as a two-piece jigsaw puzzle. Mystery, intrigue, hints of danger, unusual rhymes—those are what makes a memorable prophecy! Take this one, for instance:
“Pinochle and Ping-Pong, ambrosia squares and nectar,
An attic with an Oracle, a disembodied leopard,
A centaur in a wheelchair, a wine dude, serving time,
This omphalus of Half-Blood will welcome offspring half-divine.”
Full disclosure: I had to look up omphalus. You hit the first syllable, by the way, like you would in emphasis. The word means navel, as in the center point of something, not your belly button, though I suppose you could use it that way to impress your friends. I might pierce my omphalus when I’m older. Or mock your enemies. You really don’t know where your omphalus is? Ha-ha!
But such navel contemplation came later. At that moment, Apollo was looking at me expectantly.
“Right,” I said. “The prophecy describes Chiron, Dionysus, and the Big House, obviously.”
“Obvious to you, sure,” Apollo agreed. “But what if I told you that little prophetic nugget was delivered more than a thousand years ago?”
I had a sudden vision of people back then hearing the words pinochle, Ping-Pong, and dude. Gods only knew what they thought they meant. Food? Weapons? Clothing? They wouldn’t have had a clue. And what did Chiron make of the bit about the centaur in a wheelchair?
The truth struck me like a cold, wet cloth to the face. Unless they were immortal, the people who heard that prophecy died without understanding what it meant. They may have gone crazy or even perished on quests attempting to decipher its meaning.
The thought made me really sad, then super-anxious about prophecies I might utter someday. “Apollo,” I whispered, “will my words send people on hopeless quests?”
“Oh, Rachel.” Apollo patted my hand comfortingly. “Yes.”
“Well, that’s just peachy.” I didn’t mean to sound bitter, but honestly, I was starting to have significant second thoughts about the whole Oracle gig.
Apollo stood up then. “You need sleep,” he said. “But before I go, I have something for you.” He pointed at the ceiling. A beam of golden light issued from his fingertip. A moment later, a present clumsily wrapped in gold foil paper thudded next to me. (I found out later that the beam of light almost gave the Stoll brothers heart attacks.) “Open it.”
Inside was a rickety-looking three-legged stool. “Um…thanks?” I said.
“It’s the original,” he told me. “From Delphi. Well, from the Big House attic, more recently, where it languished underneath the posterior of your predecessor for far too long.”
Understanding dawned on me. “This is the tripod of Delphi. The one the first Oracle sat on thousands of years ago. You’re giving it to me?”
“I could have let you try stealing it, I suppose,” Apollo said, scratching his head, “but that didn’t go so well for Heracles when he tried it. He was punished with a year of women’s work for his crime.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Women’s work?”
Apollo waved dismissively. “Housework, chores, whatever. All that mattered was that for a blowhard like Heracles, washing dishes and sweeping floors was a well-deserved punch in the ego.” He patted the stool lovingly. “The butts of many powerful women have rested here.”
“I’m honored to be adding my derriere to the list.” As the words came out of my mouth, I realized I meant it. For good or bad, I was the new Oracle of Delphi. I celebrated the momentous occasion by throwing up again.
Things have been a little quiet around my cave of late (unless you count my recent mural-eradicating, sofa-flipping, curtain-shredding tantrum, which I sincerely hope you won’t). For some reason, the pilot light of prophecy has gone out, and Apollo hasn’t been able to reignite it.
But don’t worry. I predict I’ll be spouting green smoke and confusion again by the time you’re ready for a quest. And that will be soon, I have a feeling….
Tired of living with mortals who smell of BO, cigars, and garlic? Then step through the border and leave the stench behind! Powered by the strongest Mist and guaranteed to repel even the most determined monsters* and nosiest mortals, this invisible barrier surrounds Camp Half-Blood with the best demigod protection magic can conjure. And that’s not all! As an added bonus, inside the borders of camp, you’ll be enveloped in delightful springtime weather all year round. So if you’re ready to say good-bye to stink, slush, and certain death, come through the border today!
Created by Zeus himself to embody the life essence of his dying daughter, Thalia Grace, this storied tree marks the easternmost boundary of Camp Half-Blood. The pine flourished for five years, strengthening the border with its magic. Then Luke Castellan, foul minion of Kronos, poisoned it with elder python venom. The valiant tree clung to life until the Golden Fleece, that ancient mystical blanket shorn from a flying ram, restored its vigor. The Fleece’s curative powers even released Thalia from her piney imprisonment—sap-free! Today the Golden Fleece and the Athena Parthenos energize the camp’s protective barriers, but the pine tree remains as a tribute to Thalia Grace’s bravery. It also smells really nice.