Rick Riordan: The Lost Hero

She put the shotgun back and started poking through a rack of crossbows when something in the corner of the shed caught Piper’s eye.

“What is that?” she said. “A knife?”

Annabeth dug it out and blew the dust off the scabbard. It looked like it hadn’t seen the light of day in centuries.

“I don’t know, Piper.” Annabeth sounded uneasy. “I don’t think you want this one. Swords are usually better.”

“You use a knife.” Piper pointed to the one strapped to Annabeth’s belt.

“Yeah, but …” Annabeth shrugged. “Well, take a look if you want.”

The sheath was worn black leather, bound in bronze. Nothing fancy, nothing flashy. The polished wood handle fit beautifully in Piper’s hand. When she unsheathed it, she found a triangular blade eighteen inches long—bronze gleaming like it had been polished yesterday. The edges were deadly sharp. Her reflection in the blade caught her by surprise. She looked older, more serious, not as scared as she felt.

“It suits you,” Annabeth admitted. “That kind of blade is called a parazonium. It was mostly ceremonial, carried by high-ranking officers in the Greek armies. It showed you were a person of power and wealth, but in a fight, it could protect you just fine.”

“I like it,” Piper said. “Why didn’t you think it was right?”

Annabeth exhaled. “That blade has a long story. Most people would be afraid to claim it. Its first owner … well, things didn’t turn out too well for her. Her name was Helen.”

Piper let that sink in. “Wait, you mean the Helen? Helen of Troy?”

Annabeth nodded.

Suddenly Piper felt like she should be handling the dagger with surgical gloves. “And it’s just sitting in your toolshed?”

“We’re surrounded by Ancient Greek stuff,” Annabeth said. “This isn’t a museum. Weapons like that—they’re meant to be used. They’re our heritage as demigods. That was a wedding present from Menelaus, Helen’s first husband. She named the dagger Katoptris.”

“Meaning?”

“Mirror,” Annabeth said. “Looking glass. Probably because that’s the only thing Helen used it for. I don’t think it’s ever seen battle.”

Piper looked at the blade again. For a moment, her own image stared up at her, but then the reflection changed. She saw flames, and a grotesque face like something carved from bedrock. She heard the same laughter as in her dream. She saw her dad in chains, tied to a post in front of a roaring bonfire.

She dropped the blade.

“Piper?” Annabeth shouted to the Apollo kids on the court, “Medic! I need some help over here!”

“No, it’s—it’s okay,” Piper managed.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I just …” She had to control herself. With trembling fingers, she picked up the dagger. “I just got overwhelmed. So much happening today. But … I want to keep the dagger, if that’s okay.”

Annabeth hesitated. Then she waved off the Apollo kids. “Okay, if you’re sure. You turned really pale, there. I thought you were having a seizure or something.”

“I’m fine,” Piper promised, though her heart was still racing. “Is there … um, a phone at camp? Can I call my dad?”

Annabeth’s gray eyes were almost as unnerving as the dagger blade. She seemed to be calculating a million possibilities, trying to read Piper’s thoughts.

“We aren’t allowed phones,” she said. “Most demigods, if they use a cell phone, it’s like sending up a signal, letting monsters know where you are. But … I’ve got one.” She slipped it out of her pocket. “Kind of against the rules, but if it can be our secret …”

Piper took it gratefully, trying not to let her hands shake. She stepped away from Annabeth and turned to face the commons area.

She called her dad’s private line, even though she knew what would happen. Voice mail. She’d been trying for three days, ever since the dream. Wilderness School only allowed phone privileges once a day, but she’d called every evening, and gotten nowhere.

Reluctantly she dialed the other number. Her dad’s personal assistant answered immediately. “Mr. McLean’s office.”

“Jane,” Piper said, gritting her teeth. “Where’s my dad?”

Jane was silent for a moment, probably wondering if she could get away with hanging up. “Piper, I thought you weren’t supposed to call from school.”

“Maybe I’m not at school,” Piper said. “Maybe I ran away to live among the woodland creatures.”

“Mmm.” Jane didn’t sound concerned. “Well, I’ll tell him you called.”

“Where is he?”

“Out.”

“You don’t know, do you?” Piper lowered her voice, hoping Annabeth was too nice to eavesdrop. “When are you going to call the police, Jane? He could be in trouble.”

“Piper, we are not going to turn this into a media circus. I’m sure he’s fine. He does take off occasionally. He always comes back.”

“So it’s true. You don’t know—”

“I have to go, Piper,” Jane snapped. “Enjoy school.”

The line went dead. Piper cursed. She walked back to Annabeth and handed her the phone.

“No luck?” Annabeth asked.

Piper didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself not to start crying again.

Annabeth glanced at the phone display and hesitated. “Your last name is McLean? Sorry, it’s not my business. But that sounds really familiar.”

“Common name.”

“Yeah, I guess. What does your dad do?”

“He’s got a degree in the arts,” Piper said automatically. “He’s a Cherokee artist.”

Her standard response. Not a lie, just not the whole truth. Most people, when they heard that, figured her dad sold Indian souvenirs at a roadside stand on a reservation. Sitting Bull bobble-heads, wampum necklaces, Big Chief tablets—that kind of thing.

“Oh.” Annabeth didn’t look convinced, but she put the phone away. “You feeling okay? Want to keep going?”

Piper fastened her new dagger to her belt and promised herself that later, when she was alone, she’d figure out how it worked. “Sure,” she said. “I want to see everything.”

All the cabins were cool, but none of them struck Piper as hers . No burning signs—wombats or otherwise—appeared over her head.

Cabin Eight was entirely silver and glowed like moonlight.

“Artemis?” Piper guessed.

“You know Greek mythology,” Annabeth said.

“I did some reading when my dad was working on a project last year.”

“I thought he did Cherokee art.”

Piper bit back a curse. “Oh, right. But—you know, he does other stuff too.”

Piper thought she’d blown it: McLean, Greek mythology. Thankfully, Annabeth didn’t seem to make the connection.

“Anyway,” Annabeth continued, “Artemis is goddess of the moon, goddess of hunting. But no campers. Artemis was an eternal maiden, so she doesn’t have any kids.”

“Oh.” That kind of bummed Piper out. She’d always liked the stories of Artemis, and figured she would make a cool mom.

“Well, there are the Hunters of Artemis,” Annabeth amended. “They visit sometimes. They’re not the children of Artemis, but they’re her handmaidens—this band of immortal teenage girls who adventure together and hunt monsters and stuff.”

Piper perked up. “That sounds cool. They get to be immortal?”

“Unless they die in combat, or break their vows. Did I mention they have to swear off boys? No dating—ever. For eternity.”

“Oh,” Piper said. “Never mind.”

Annabeth laughed. For a moment she looked almost happy, and Piper thought she’d be a cool friend to hang out with in better times.

Forget it, Piper reminded herself. You’re not going to make any friends here. Not once they find out.