From Percy Jackson: Camp Half-Blood Confidential: Your Real Guide to the Demigod Training Camp

by Rick Riordan

  “Ah, but it’s not!” Chiron said. “It’s private. Each module is for a maximum of four people. How many do you have to live with right now in the Hermes cabin?”

  “Like a thousand,” Holly grumbled. “All losers, too.”

  I didn’t think the Hermes kids would appreciate that, but I understood what Chiron was trying to do. I chimed in. “These modules are brand-new. The bathrooms are state-of-the-art.”

  Laurel’s eyes lit up. “Bathrooms in the cabin?”

  “Yep,” I said. “The furniture is programmable. The exterior colors, the interior design—it can be changed to whatever you want.” I touched the nearest cabin, willing it to turn from dull red to bright silver.

  “Whoa,” said Holly.

  “But we can’t give brand-new cabins like this to just anyone,” I said. “Whoever gets these, everyone else in camp will be totally jealous. We need to find the absolute best campers—”

  “Us,” Holly said. “Obviously.”

  “Me,” Laurel corrected her sister. “With you a distant second.”

  “So who wants to claim a bunk first?”

  “Me!” the sisters yelled simultaneously. They charged to the same front door, growling as they tried to push each other out of the way. Then they split apart and made for different entrances.

  Shouts rang out from inside the cabins.

  “I’ll get to my loft before you!” one sister cried.

  “Ha! No chance, loser! I’m already halfway up!”

  Chiron turned toward me and smiled. “There we are. Modular units that can be rearranged and moved as desired! Each cluster can be as big or small as we need it to be. More campers can be fit into the same amount of space as a regular cabin, but with more privacy and better accommodations. Annabeth Chase, you are a genius!”

  I listened to the sounds of pounding footsteps and triumphant crowing from the Victor sisters as they argued about whose module was the coolest.

  “Thanks,” I told Chiron. “Genius was exactly what I was going for.”

  My tiny-house mash-up brought the cabin count to seventeen. Three more units—Hebe, Tyche, and Hecate—were added afterward, and construction crews are ready to build more. Space might still be an issue someday, depending on how many gods we end up needing to represent, but you know what? Not one person has complained about my tiny houses being too tiny. In fact, when I get out of college, I may go into business designing portable microhousing for demigods. It beats building rapid-response outhouses, at least.

  This four-story sky-blue Victorian is a bona fide gem. The vast wraparound porch offers ample space for pinochle players and convalescents alike. The basement is currently set up for strawberry-jam storage, but can also be used to hide the occasional demigod driven insane by the Labyrinth. The first-floor living quarters, camp infirmary, and combination rec room / meeting room are wheelchair accessible, as is a specially designed bronze-lined office. The rooms of the top floors stand ready to welcome overnight guests, while the attic, now free of its resident desiccated mummy, provides the perfect catchall for camper discards and memorabilia.

  People think I’m a thief, a sneak, a pickpocket, and a lock picker. They’re right, of course, but c’mon—how else am I supposed to spend my time while waiting for a quest?

  When my brother, Travis, was here (he’s in college now), we explored every inch of camp except one area: the Big House attic. No way either of us was setting foot in there while that ol’ leather-skinned hippie Oracle was propped in the corner.

  But then Spooky gave up the spirit and crumbled to dust on the Big House front porch. We saw our chance and took it. While everyone else was waiting to see if Rachel, the new Oracle, would survive the spirit invasion (spoiler: she did), we made our move around to the back door of the Big House.

  It was locked. (Ha!) One pick, three clicks, and BOOM!—we were inside. Thanks to past reconnaissance missions, we knew the way up to the attic. We pulled down the stairs and stuck our heads through the trapdoor and into a thieves’ paradise.

  We ignored the junk, like that old three-legged stool the mummy used to sit on. But other pieces seemed to scream Pick me! Pick me! as if itching to be freed from their dusty attic prison. That glittery crown on the mannequin in the far corner. That emerald-pommeled sword hanging on the wall. That sweet Elvis-style rhinestone cape, which for some reason was draped across the shoulders of a stuffed taxidermic grizzly bear.

  Travis and I had planned to take our time and really search through the stuff. But then, for no apparent reason, this beam of golden light shot upward through the floor and engulfed the Oracle’s old three-legged stool. The light shut off as quickly as it had appeared, and the stool was gone. I didn’t know what had just happened. Maybe Apollo was teleporting the stool to its new owner. Maybe somebody was randomly blasting disintegrator rays in our direction. Hey, you never know what those Hephaestus kids will do. Anyway, it kind of freaked us out. We decided not to stick around, just in case that weird beam came back and zapped us away too. We grabbed the nearest things we could reach—a canvas sack for me, a small wooden box for Travis—and got out of that attic faster than you can say Hermes Express.

  Back at our cabin, we chased the other demigods outside and told them to go play in the woods or something (being co–head counselors does have its privileges). Then we sat down to examine our take.

  Travis opened the lid of his box. His eyes grew wide. “Whoa. It’s a mystical bag of winds.”

  My pulse started to race. “Like the thermos Dad gave Percy that time? I’ve always wanted one of those! Let me see!”

  All slow and dramatic, he pulled out a flat pink rubber sack with a thin nozzle at one end. “Behold!”

  I smacked him on the arm. “That’s a whoopee cushion, you idiot.”

  He burst out laughing. “Yeah, but I had you there for a second. Okay, your turn.”

  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 c
lean 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 appl
ause]

  —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.