The House of Hades (Heroes of Olympus Book 4)

thought of her dream about Luke and Thalia. She recalled the stories Luke had told her about his father, Hermes – god of travellers, guide to the spirits of the dead, god of communication.
    She stared at the black altar.
    ‘Annabeth?’ Percy sounded concerned.
    She walked to the pile of trash and picked out a reasonably clean paper napkin.
    She remembered her vision of Reyna, standing in thesmoking crevice beneath the ruins of Thalia’s pine tree, speaking with the voice of Athena:
    I must stand here. The Roman must bring me.
    Hurry. The message must be sent.
    ‘Bob,’ she said, ‘offerings burned in the mortal world appear on this altar, right?’
    Bob frowned uncomfortably, like he wasn’t ready for a pop quiz. ‘Yes?’
    ‘So what happens if I burn something on the altar here?’
    ‘Uh …’
    ‘That’s all right,’ Annabeth said. ‘You don’t know. Nobody knows, because it’s never been done.’
    There was a chance, she thought, just the slimmest chance that an offering burned on this altar might appear at Camp Half-Blood.
    Doubtful, but if it
did
work …
    ‘Annabeth?’ Percy said again. ‘You’re planning something. You’ve got that
I’m planning something
look.’
    ‘I don’t have an
I’m planning something
look.’
    ‘Yeah, you totally do. Your eyebrows knit and your lips press together and –’
    ‘Do you have a pen?’ she asked him.
    ‘You’re kidding, right?’ He brought out Riptide .
    ‘Yes, but can you actually write with it?’
    ‘I – I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘Never tried.’
    He uncapped the pen. As usual, it sprang into a full-sized sword. Annabeth had watched him do this hundreds of times. Normally when he fought, Percy simply discarded the cap. It always appeared in his pocket later, as needed. When hetouched the cap to the point of the sword, it would turn back into a ballpoint pen.
    ‘What if you touch the cap to the other end of the sword?’ Annabeth said. ‘Like where you’d put the cap if you were actually going to write with the pen.’
    ‘Uh …’ Percy looked doubtful, but he touched the cap to the hilt of the sword. Riptide shrank back into a ballpoint pen, but now the writing point was exposed.
    ‘May I?’ Annabeth plucked it from his hand. She flattened the napkin against the altar and began to write. Riptide’s ink glowed Celestial bronze.
    ‘What are you doing?’ Percy asked.
    ‘Sending a message,’ Annabeth said. ‘I just hope Rachel gets it.’
    ‘Rachel?’ Percy asked. ‘You mean
our
Rachel? Oracle of Delphi Rachel?’
    ‘That’s the one.’ Annabeth suppressed a smile.
    Whenever she brought up Rachel’s name, Percy got nervous. At one point, Rachel had been interested in dating Percy. That was ancient history. Rachel and Annabeth were good friends now. But Annabeth didn’t mind making Percy a little uneasy. You had to keep your boyfriend on his toes.
    Annabeth finished her note and folded the napkin. On the outside, she wrote:
     
Connor,
Give this to Rachel. Not a prank. Don’t be a moron.
     
    Love,

Annabeth
     
     
    She took a deep breath. She was asking Rachel Dare to do something ridiculously dangerous, but it was the only way she could think of to communicate with the Romans – the only way that might avoid bloodshed.
    ‘Now I just need to burn it,’ she said. ‘Anybody got a match?’
    The point of Bob’s spear shot from his broom handle. It sparked against the altar and erupted in silvery fire.
    ‘Uh, thanks.’ Annabeth lit the napkin and set it on the altar. She watched it crumble to ash and wondered if she was crazy. Could the smoke really make it out of Tartarus?
    ‘We should go now,’ Bob advised. ‘Really, really go. Before we are killed.’
    Annabeth stared at the wall of blackness in front of them. Somewhere in there was a lady who dispensed a Death Mist that
might
hide them from monsters – a plan recommended by a Titan, one of their bitterest enemies. Another dose of weirdness to explode her brain.
    ‘Right,’ she said. ‘I’m ready.’

XXIII
     

ANNABETH
     
    A NNABETH LITERALLY STUMBLED over the second Titan.
    After entering the storm front, they plodded on for what seemed like hours, relying on the light of Percy’s Celestial bronze blade, and on Bob, who glowed faintly in the dark like some sort of crazy janitor angel.
    Annabeth could only see about five feet in front of her. In a strange way, the Dark Lands reminded her of San Francisco, where her dad lived – on those