by Rick Riordan
Jason tried to respond, but it was a little hard to think straight, because he’d realized the woman was see-through. Her shape faded in and out like she was made of fog.
“Are you a ghost?” he asked.
Right away he knew he’d insulted her. The smile turned into a pout. “I’m an aura, sir. A wind nymph, as you might expect, working for the lord of the winds. My name is Mellie. We don’t have ghosts.”
Piper came to the rescue. “No, of course you don’t! My friend simply mistook you for Helen of Troy, the most beautiful mortal of all time. It’s an easy mistake.”
Wow, she was good. The compliment seemed a little over the top, but Mellie the aura blushed. “Oh … well, then. So you are from Zeus?”
“Er,” Jason said, “I’m the son of Zeus, yeah.”
“Excellent! Please, right this way.” She led them through some security doors into another lobby, consulting her tablet as she floated. She didn’t look where she was going, but apparently it didn’t matter as she drifted straight through a marble column with no problem. “We’re out of prime time now, so that’s good,” she mused. “I can fit you in right before his 11:12 spot.”
“Um, okay,” Jason said.
The lobby was a pretty distracting place. Winds blasted around them, so Jason felt like he was pushing through an invisible crowd. Doors blew open and slammed by themselves.
The things Jason could see were just as bizarre. Paper airplanes of all different sizes and shapes sped around, and other wind nymphs, aurai, would occasionally pluck them out of the air, unfold and read them, then toss them back into the air, where the planes would refold themselves and keep flying.
An ugly creature fluttered past. She looked like a mix between an old lady and a chicken on steroids. She had a wrinkled face with black hair tied in a hairnet, arms like a human plus wings like a chicken, and a fat, feathered body with talons for feet. It was amazing she could fly at all. She kept drifting around and bumping into things like a parade balloon.
“Not an aura?” Jason asked Mellie as the creature wobbled by.
Mellie laughed. “That’s a harpy, of course. Our, ah, ugly stepsisters, I suppose you would say. Don’t you have harpies on Olympus? They’re spirits of violent gusts, unlike us aurai. We’re all gentle breezes.”
She batted her eyes at Jason.
“’Course you are,” he said.
“So,” Piper prompted, “you were taking us to see Aeolus?”
Mellie led them through a set of doors like an airlock. Above the interior door, a green light blinked.
“We have a few minutes before he starts,” Mellie said cheerfully. “He probably won’t kill you if we go in now. Come along!”
XXXVIII
JASON
JASON’S JAW DROPPED. THE CENTRAL SECTION of Aeolus’s fortress was as big as a cathedral, with a soaring domed roof covered in silver. Television equipment floated randomly through the air—cameras, spotlights, set pieces, potted plants. And there was no floor. Leo almost fell into the chasm before Jason pulled him back.
“Holy—!” Leo gulped. “Hey, Mellie. A little warning next time!”
An enormous circular pit plunged into the heart of the mountain. It was probably half a mile deep, honeycombed with caves. Some of the tunnels probably led straight outside. Jason remembered seeing winds blast out of them when they’d been on Pikes Peak. Other caves were sealed with some glistening material like glass or wax. The whole cavern bustled with harpies, aurai, and paper airplanes, but for someone who couldn’t fly, it would be a very long, very fatal fall.
“Oh, my,” Mellie gasped. “I’m so sorry.” She unclipped a walkie-talkie from somewhere inside her robes and spoke into it: “Hello, sets? Is that Nuggets? Hi, Nuggets. Could we get a floor in the main studio, please? Yes, a solid one. Thanks.”
A few seconds later, an army of harpies rose from the pit—three dozen or so demon chicken ladies, all carrying squares of various building material. They went to work hammering and gluing—and using large quantities of duct tape, which didn’t reassure Jason. In no time there was a makeshift floor snaking out over the chasm. It was made of plywood, marble blocks, carpet squares, wedges of grass sod—just about anything.
“That can’t be safe,” Jason said.
“Oh, it is!” Mellie assured him. “The harpies are very good.”
Easy for her to say. She just drifted across without touching the floor, but Jason decided he had the best chance at surviving, since he could fly, so he stepped out first. Amazingly, the floor held.
Piper gripped his hand and followed him. “If I fall, you’re catching me.”
“Uh, sure.” Jason hoped he wasn’t blushing.
Leo stepped out next. “You’re catching me, too, Superman. But I ain’t holding your hand.”
Mellie led them toward the middle of the chamber, where a loose sphere of flat-panel video screens floated around a kind of control center. A man hovered inside, checking monitors and reading paper airplane messages.
The man paid them no attention as Mellie brought them forward. She pushed a forty-two-inch Sony out of their way and led them into the control area.
Leo whistled. “I got to get a room like this.”
The floating screens showed all sorts of television programs. Some Jason recognized—news broadcasts, mostly—but some programs looked a little strange: gladiators fighting, demigods battling monsters. Maybe they were movies, but they looked more like reality shows.
At the far end of the sphere was a silky blue backdrop like a cinema screen, with cameras and studio lights floating around it.
The man in the center was talking into an earpiece phone. He had a remote control in each hand and was pointing them at various screens, seemingly at random.
He wore a business suit that looked like the sky—blue mostly, but dappled with clouds that changed and darkened and moved across the fabric. He looked like he was in his sixties, with a shock of white hair, but he had a ton of stage makeup on, and that smooth plastic-surgery look to his face, so he appeared not really young, not really old, just wrong—like a Ken doll someone had halfway melted in a microwave. His eyes darted back and forth from screen to screen, like he was trying to absorb everything at once. He muttered things into his phone, and his mouth kept twitching. He was either amused, or crazy, or both.
Mellie floated toward him. “Ah, sir, Mr. Aeolus, these demigods—”
“Hold it!” He held up a hand to silence her, then pointed at one of the screens. “Watch!”
It was one of those storm-chaser programs, where insane thrill-seekers drive after tornados. As Jason watched, a Jeep plowed straight into a funnel cloud and got tossed into the sky.
Aeolus shrieked with delight. “The Disaster Channel. People do that on purpose!” He turned toward Jason with a mad grin. “Isn’t that amazing? Let’s watch it again.”
“Um, sir,” Mellie said, “this is Jason, son of—”
“Yes, yes, I remember,” Aeolus said. “You’re back. How did it go?”
Jason hesitated. “Sorry? I think you’ve mistaken me—”
“No, no, Jason Grace, aren’t you? It was—what—last year? You were on your way to fight a sea monster, I believe.”
“I—I don’t remember.”
Aelous laughed. “Must not have been a very good sea monster! No, I remember every hero who’s ever come to me for aid. Odysseus—gods, he docked at my island for a month! At least you only stayed a few days. Now, watch this video. These ducks get sucked straight into—”
“Sir,” Mellie interrupted. “Two minutes to air.”
“Air!” Aeolus exclaimed. “I love air. How do I look? Makeup!”
Immediately a small tornado of brushes, blotters, and cotton balls descended on Aeolus. They blurred across his face in a cloud of flesh-tone smoke until his coloration was even more gruesome than before. Wind swirled through his hair and left it sticking up like a frosted Christmas tree.
“Mr. Aeolus.” Jason s
lipped off the golden backpack. “We brought you these rogue storm spirits.”
“Did you!” Aeolus looked at the bag like it was a gift from a fan—something he really didn’t want. “Well, how nice.”
Leo nudged him, and Jason offered the bag. “Boreas sent us to capture them for you. We hope you’ll accept them and stop—you know—ordering demigods to be killed.”
Aeolus laughed, and looked incredulously at Mellie. “Demigods be killed—did I order that?”
Mellie checked her computer tablet. “Yes, sir, fifteenth of September. ‘Storm spirits released by the death of Typhon, demigods to be held responsible,’ etc… yes, a general order for them all to be killed.”
“Oh, pish,” Aeolus said. “I was just grumpy. Rescind that order, Mellie, and um, who’s on guard duty—Teriyaki?—Teri, take these storm spirits down to cell block Fourteen E, will you?”
A harpy swooped out of nowhere, snatched the golden bag, and spiraled into the abyss.
Aeolus grinned at Jason. “Now, sorry about that kill-on-sight business. But gods, I really was mad, wasn’t I?” His face suddenly darkened, and his suit did the same, the lapels flashing with lightning. “You know … I remember now. Almost seemed like a voice was telling me to give that order. A little cold tingle on the back of my neck.”
Jason tensed. A cold tingle on the back of his neck … Why did that sound so familiar? “A … um, voice in your head, sir?”
“Yes. How odd. Mellie, should we kill them?”
“No, sir,” she said patiently. “They just brought us the storm spirits, which makes everything all right.”
“Of course.” Aeolus laughed. “Sorry. Mellie, let’s send the demigods something nice. A box of chocolates, perhaps.”
“A box of chocolates to every demigod in the world, sir?”
“No, too expensive. Never mind. Wait, it’s time! I’m on!”
Aeolus flew off toward the blue screen as newscast music started to play.
Jason looked at Piper and Leo, who seemed just as confused as he was.
“Mellie,” he said, “is he … always like that?”
She smiled sheepishly. “Well, you know what they say. If you don’t like his mood, wait five minutes. That expression ‘whichever way the wind blows’—that was based on him.”
“And that thing about the sea monster,” Jason said. “Was I here before?”
Mellie blushed. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I’m Mr. Aeolus’s new assistant. I’ve been with him longer than most, but still—not that long.”
“How long do his assistants usually last?” Piper asked. “
Oh …” Mellie thought for a moment. “I’ve been doing this for … twelve hours?”
A voice blared from floating speakers: “And now, weather every twelve minutes! Here’s your forecaster for Olympian Weather—the OW! channel—Aeolus!”
Lights blazed on Aeolus, who was now standing in front of the blue screen. His smile was unnaturally white, and he looked like he’d had so much caffeine his face was about to explode.
“Hello, Olympus! Aeolus, master of the winds here, with weather every twelve! We’ll have a low-pressure system moving over Florida today, so expect milder temperatures since Demeter wishes to spare the citrus farmers!” He gestured at the blue screen, but when Jason checked the monitors, he saw that a digital image was being projected behind Aeolus, so it looked like he was standing in front of a U.S. map with animated smiley suns and frowny storm clouds. “Along the eastern seaboard—oh, hold on.” He tapped his earpiece. “Sorry, folks! Poseidon is angry with Miami today, so it looks like that Florida freeze is back on! Sorry, Demeter. Over in the Midwest, I’m not sure what St. Louis did to offend Zeus, but you can expect winter storms! Boreas himself is being called down to punish the area with ice. Bad news, Missouri! No, wait. Hephaestus feels sorry for central Missouri, so you all will have much more moderate temperatures and sunny skies.”
Aeolus kept going like that—forecasting each area of the country and changing his prediction two or three times as he got messages over his earpiece—the gods apparently putting in orders for various winds and weather.
“This can’t be right,” Jason whispered. “Weather isn’t this random.”
Mellie smirked. “And how often are the mortal weathermen right? They talk about fronts and air pressure and moisture, but the weather surprises them all the time. At least Aeolus tells us why it’s so unpredictable. Very hard job, trying to appease all the gods at once. It’s enough to drive anyone …”
She trailed off, but Jason knew what she meant. Mad. Aeolus was completely mad.
“And that’s the weather,” Aeolus concluded. “See you in twelve minutes, because I’m sure it’ll change!”
The lights shut off, the video monitors went back to random coverage, and just for a moment, Aeolus’s face sagged with weariness. Then he seemed to remember he had guests, and he put a smile back on.
“So, you brought me some rogue storm spirits,” Aeolus said. “I suppose … thanks! And did you want something else? I assume so. Demigods always do.”
Mellie said, “Um, sir, this is Zeus’s son.”
“Yes, yes. I know that. I said I remembered him from before.”
“But, sir, they’re here from Olympus.”
Aeolus looked stunned. Then he laughed so abruptly, Jason almost jumped into the chasm. “You mean you’re here on behalf of your father this time? Finally! I knew they would send someone to renegotiate my contract!”
“Um, what?” Jason asked.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Aeolus sighed with relief. “It’s been what, three thousand years since Zeus made me master of the winds. Not that I’m ungrateful, of course! But really, my contract is so vague. Obviously I’m immortal, but ‘master of the winds.’ What does that mean? Am I a nature spirit? A demigod? A god? I want to be god of the winds, because the benefits are so much better. Can we start with that?”
Jason looked at his friends, mystified.
“Dude,” Leo said, “you think we’re here to promote you?”
“You are, then?” Aeolus grinned. His business suit turned completely blue—not a cloud in the fabric. “Marvelous! I mean, I think I’ve shown quite a bit of initiative with the weather channel, eh? And of course I’m in the press all the time. So many books have been written about me: Into Thin Air, Up in the Air, Gone with the Wind—”
“Er, I don’t think those are about you,” Jason said, before he noticed Mellie shaking her head.
“Nonsense,” Aeolus said. “Mellie, they’re biographies of me, aren’t they?”
“Absolutely, sir,” she squeaked.
“There, you see? I don’t read. Who has time? But obviously the mortals love me. So, we’ll change my official title to god of the winds. Then, about salary and staff—”
“Sir,” Jason said, “we’re not from Olympus.”
Aeolus blinked. “But—”
“I’m the son of Zeus, yes,” Jason said, “but we’re not here to negotiate your contract. We’re on a quest and we need your help.”
Aeolus’s expression hardened. “Like last time? Like every hero who comes here? Demigods! It’s always about you, isn’t it?”
“Sir, please, I don’t remember last time, but if you helped me once before—”
“I’m always helping! Well, sometimes I’m destroying, but mostly I’m helping, and sometimes I’m asked to do both at the same time! Why, Aeneas, the first of your kind—”
“My kind?” Jason asked. “You mean, demigods?”
“Oh, please!” Aeolus said. “I mean your line of demigods. You know, Aeneas, son of Venus—the only surviving hero of Troy. When the Greeks burned down his city, he escaped to Italy, where he founded the kingdom that would eventually become Rome, blah, blah, blah. That’s what I meant.”
“I don’t get it,” Jason admitted.
Aeolus rolled his eyes. “The point being, I was thrown in the middle of that conflict, too! Juno calls up: ‘Oh,
Aeolus, destroy Aeneas’s ships for me. I don’t like him.’ Then Neptune says, ‘No, you don’t! That’s my territory. Calm the winds.’ Then Juno is like, ‘No, wreck his ships, or I’ll tell Jupiter you’re uncooperative!’ Do you think it’s easy juggling requests like that?”
“No,” Jason said. “I guess not.”
“And don’t get me started on Amelia Earhart! I’m still getting angry calls from Olympus about knocking her out of the sky!”
“We just want information,” Piper said in her most calming voice. “We hear you know everything.”
Aeolus straightened his lapels and looked slightly mollified. “Well … that’s true, of course. For instance, I know that this business here”—he waggled his fingers at the three of them—“this harebrained scheme of Juno’s to bring you all together is likely to end in bloodshed. As for you, Piper McLean, I know your father is in serious trouble.” He held out his hand, and a scrap of paper fluttered into his grasp. It was a photo of Piper with a guy who must’ve been her dad. His face did look familiar. Jason was pretty sure he’d seen him in some movies.
Piper took the photo. Her hands were shaking. “This—this is from his wallet.”
“Yes,” Aeolus said. “All things lost in the wind eventually come to me. The photo blew away when the Earthborn captured him.”
“The what?” Piper asked.
Aeolus waved aside the question and narrowed his eyes at Leo. “Now, you, son of Hephaestus … yes, I see your future.” Another paper fell into the wind god’s hands—an old tattered drawing done in crayons.
Leo took it as if it might be coated in poison. He staggered backward.
“Leo?” Jason said. “What is it?”
“Something I—I drew when I was a kid.” He folded it quickly and put it in his coat. “It’s … yeah, it’s nothing.”
Aeolus laughed. “Really? Just the key to your success! Now, where were we? Ah, yes, you wanted information. Are you sure about that? Sometimes information can be dangerous.”
He smiled at Jason like he was issuing a challenge. Behind him, Mellie shook her head in warning.