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We marched up the hill to the mess hall pavilion. Satyrs joined us from the meadow. Naiads emerged from the canoeing lake. A few other girls came out of the woods— and when I say out of the woods, I mean straight out of the woods. I saw one girl, about nine or ten years old, melt from the side of a maple tree and come skipping up the hill.
In all, there were maybe a hundred campers, a few dozen satyrs, and a dozen assorted wood nymphs and naiads.
At the pavilion, torches blazed around the marble columns. A central fire burned in a bronze brazier the size of a bathtub. Each cabin had its own table, covered in white cloth trimmed in purple. Four of the tables were empty, but cabin eleven’s was way overcrowded. I had to squeeze on to the edge of a bench with half my butt hanging off.
I saw Grover sitting at table twelve with Mr. D, a few satyrs, and a couple of plump blond boys who looked just like Mr. D. Chiron stood to one side, the picnic table being way too small for a centaur.
Annabeth sat at table six with a bunch of serious-looking athletic kids, all with her gray eyes and honey-blond hair.
Clarisse sat behind me at Ares’s table. She’d apparently gotten over being hosed down, because she was laughing and belching right alongside her friends.
Finally, Chiron pounded his hoof against the marble floor of the pavilion, and everybody fell silent. He raised a glass. “To the gods!”
Everybody else raised their glasses. “To the gods!”
Wood nymphs came forward with platters of food: grapes, apples, strawberries, cheese, fresh bread, and yes, barbecue! My glass was empty, but Luke said, “Speak to it. Whatever you want—nonalcoholic, of course.”
I said, “Cherry Coke.”
The glass filled with sparkling caramel liquid.
Then I had an idea. “Blue Cherry Coke.”
The soda turned a violent shade of cobalt.
I took a cautious sip. Perfect.
I drank a toast to my mother.
She’s not gone, I told myself. Not permanently, anyway. She’s in the Underworld. And if that’s a real place, then someday . . .
“Here you go, Percy,” Luke said, handing me a platter of smoked brisket.
I loaded my plate and was about to take a big bite when I noticed everybody getting up, carrying their plates toward the fire in the center of the pavilion. I wondered if they were going for dessert or something.
“Come on,” Luke told me.
As I got closer, I saw that everyone was taking a portion of their meal and dropping it into the fire, the ripest strawberry, the juiciest slice of beef, the warmest, most buttery roll.
Luke murmured in my ear, “Burnt offerings for the gods. They like the smell.”
“You’re kidding.”
His look warned me not to take this lightly, but I couldn’t help wondering why an immortal, all-powerful being would like the smell of burning food.
Luke approached the fire, bowed his head, and tossed in a cluster of fat red grapes. “Hermes.”
I was next.
I wished I knew what god’s name to say.
Just as I was about to scrape a big slice of brisket into the flames, however, an idea struck me. I was hit with the need to ask Luke a question.
I thought about Chiron’s lectures from when he was still just Mr. Brunner. The little morsels of information I’d gotten or could assume since arriving to camp.
If I was to listen to my school counselor, this was also a part of ADHD, my brain connecting things faster than I could actually think, coming to conclusions before I could register them.
Which, I suppose, was also the reason that what slipped out of my mouth wasn’t exactly the smartest way to phrase what I wanted to ask.
“Am I adopted?”
Luke blinked once.
Twice.
His eyebrows rose as the question registered.
There was a beat of silence, then two, and I could feel heat trickling into my cheeks as I realized just how ridiculous that sounded.
“I’m going to need you to elaborate on that one, Percy.”
The background noise faded as I focused on putting into words what I had been thinking. Luckily, Luke had led us to the fire last, so there wasn’t anyone waiting on me as I stared into my brisket as if it had all the answers.
“So, Hermes,” I started. “He’s the god of travelers, right? That’s why the unclaimed are in cabin eleven?”
Luke, eyebrows still raised, likely wondering what this had to do with anything, nodded.
“Okay, so that makes no sense. We’re not travelers anymore. We made it to camp, and sure, he’s not really picky with who he sponsors, but that’s not the same as letting them into what essentially counts as a shrine or temple or, well, home, considering all his kids live there. If anything, all the unclaimed should be in cabin one because of, uh, the whole hospitality thing. Like, he’s king of the skies and all that, but he’s also supposed to be protector of hospitality, so theoretically, we should be staying in cabin one, but we’re not.
“That’s point one. Point two. I’m a part of Hermes’ cabin, right?”
“Of course—”
I cut him off. “No, like, a full part of Hermes’ cabin. Like, I’ll get chores and participate in activities and classes and be called a Hermes camper. Am I part of Hermes’ cabin?” I maintained eye contact as Luke thought over my words and nodded.
“Okay, so that’s point two, are you still following?”
Luke’s eyes flicked to the side for a moment, but quickly returned back to me. “I’m following.”
“Okay, point three.” I took a deep breath. “So, marriage in Ancient Greece for those who were well off had a contract, and a ceremony, and I think a dowry exchange that happened, and a feast or meal of some sort, right?”
“Yes?” Luke, who had been the picture of an attentive, if confused, listener, replied positively, but it had sounded more like a question.
I moved on.
“Okay, so even with all that fancy stuff going on, the couple wasn’t actually considered married until they moved in together. Even if all that stuff happened weeks before, they weren’t married until they moved. Being married had more to do with what other people saw than anything else, and in rural villages or with poorer people, there wouldn’t even be any of the fancy stuff, they just moved in together and said they were married, and it counted because they’d moved out of their parents’ house. From what I understand, a lot of the legality of things, for the commonfolk at least, had to do with fulfilling obligations expected of that role.
“The point being, since I’m staying in what is essentially a house of Hermes, specifically not as a guest, but as an accepted part of his household—
“Have I been adopted?”
Luke opened his mouth, but nothing came out, he glanced over my shoulder again. I followed his line of sight to see Chiron, and I realized my mistake.
The background noise had not, in fact, faded earlier because I had been focusing. I looked around to see over a hundred faces staring at me in dead silence.
Grover had his head in his hands, as if not looking would mean it wasn’t happening. Mr. D was holding his diet coke as if he had been about to take a drink when something stopped him. Chiron—
Chiron had his head tilted, as if this was something he’d never considered before. The Athena table broke out into a heated debate, but none of them shot down my question.
I looked back to Luke, my face flooding with heat at so many people having listened to me ramble. He was staring off to the side, brows furrowed, failing to find a counterpoint to my argument.
Or rather, failing to find a counterpoint fast enough.
I had enough of being stared at by the entire camp earlier in the day, and this was the entire camp all at once. I decided, what the heck? Might as well take that as agreement. I turned to the bronze brazier and scraped a big slice of brisket into the flames. “Hermes.”
I made a silent prayer as well. Thank you for taking me in.
When I caught a whiff of the smoke, I didn’t gag. It didn’t smell like the acrid, burning food I’d expected. It smelled of strawberries and citrus and liquorice and reminded me of the free samples my mom would bring home from the candy shop.
I rushed back to the Hermes table, filled with thoughts of my mother and our family of two.
Though, if I was adopted, I thought, as I was set upon by a dozen kids with the Hermes resemblance, my family was now much bigger than two.