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Chapter Text

~ DIONYSUS ~

They say a god can never truly understand what it means to be mortal. Some attribute it to our immortality. Others cite our near-complete invincibility. Most believe it is because our powers belittle mortals so greatly that we cannot even comprehend how vulnerable, insignificant, and dim-witted they are. (Their words, not mine.) However, I have a different idea.

As the creators, the paragons, and the rulers of our godly domains, I hate to admit it, but there are just some phenomena that gods can never truly experience. Apollo cannot feel the sting of a sunburn because he is the warmth. Aphrodite cannot experience falling in love because she herself does the pushing. Hera can’t understand marital harmony because she’s married to Zeus. The list goes on. However, I believe I have the worst luck.

I will never know what it feels like to be Drunk.

Being the god of wine, which no other beverage compares, I am not influenced by it in the same way as a human. Relaxed, yes, free of worries or cares, sure, but I am never hindered by it. Humans take the risk of becoming disoriented, unstable, or even dead. But when I drink my wine, I am at my most powerful. It is my ichor, my ambrosia, my life. You see, I am hindered without it.

Unfortunately, my father is a complete and utter buzzkill, and a crybaby at that. Now, I am banned from drinking my wine for an entire century. If I had a heart that could beat, I’m sure it would yearn.

My father loves making others feel small so he can feel bigger. Banning me from drinking wine is like banning Hestia from her hearth. I am incomplete, lost without the tether that connects me to my godly core. I cannot return to my full power unless I am with my wine.

That said, I do wonder if returning to my full, liberated state could help me understand humans when they tell me how freeing alcohol makes them feel. Now that I’ve been away from it for so long, maybe it’ll feel even better. What will my first drink be? Perhaps a Chardonnay or a Sauvignon Blanc? Oh, how I wish to simply loosen my mind and finally become one with myself again.

Still, I will never know what it feels like to be truly Drunk, and I am glad. I will never know the disorientation. The mistakes. The hangover. The regret. But if I could put my money on it, it might feel something like this:

“Peter Johnson is here!”

The boy, Percy, gives me a look. Oh Styx, does he have an attitude? I hate when they have attitudes. “‘Kay. That isn’t…really my name,” he says. “I guess I’m looking for the office? Or whoever’s in charge, so…”

I peer through my sunglasses knowingly. Grover told me this child was powerful, but he doesn’t look the part.

Speak of the devil, and he shall stumble forth like his little goat butt is on fire. The satyr runs in and introduces me.

I wave him off. “Yeah, Grover. I heard him the first time.”

Percy says, “Yeah. But did you?” Oh, good grief. He does have an attitude. It reminds me of my teen years when I invented the dramedy.

The two have their little tiff off to the side as I take a swig from my Diet Coke. “He’s starting with me,” I hear, and I smirk. This kid needs to learn some manners.

At the sound of Grover speaking my name, I feel a small flicker in my chest as I always do when a follower of mine shows their respect. Grover is a bit testy on occasion, but I sense his worship, and I appreciate it by not cooking him when he talks back.

The small side conversation ends, and Percy looks back at me. This time with fear and determination. Oooh, what a bold combination. I should write that one down for our next theatre night.

Percy speaks. “Excuse me, Your Highness?” I roll my eyes. Ugh, that is so much worse. I let out a groan, but the kid continues. “I think my dad may be around here somewhere,” he starts. “I don’t know how to ask for him. I don’t— I don’t even know his name. But I think I should see him.” Naive little tears well in his eyes. “I just…I think I really need that right now. Can you help me?”

Awww, his itty bitty lip is wobbling. Typical. Does that rude little boy think I’m going to care after he showed such impertinence? They’re funny little playthings, humans, letting their emotions get the best of them when their lives hold little to no significance in the first place.

I consider Percy once more, this malleable young demigod. For a moment, I am reminded of my own sons, Castor and Pollux. The little rascals make me visibly age every time I see them. I love them to bits, but I hate being outnumbered by them. If any of my fellow Olympians knew what actual parenting was like, they’d stop spawning their vermin left and right.

But they have some use, don’t they? Especially demigods. Their freedom rivals the gods. Oh, how I wish I could get away with the same amount of trouble they cause on a daily basis in this daycare they call a camp…

And like a cackle in the darkness, I am struck with an incredible plot.

“Actually,” I put down the Diet Coke and lean forward in my chair. Time for the performance of a millennia. “I think I can.” I smile. “Son.”

The young demigod tilts his head curiously. “Dad?” Yes!

“Yes, Peter.”

“It’s Percy,” he mumbles, awed.

“Exactly. Percy.”

In that moment, I feel a light tug in my gut, the same feeling I get when I am called upon. Someone’s probably begging for their off-broadway show to take off or for their sanity back. Clearly not as important. I need my wine.

“Now, before we get to know each other,” I lick my lips, “there’s something very important I want you to do for me, okay?”

Percy nods like a puppet. Beautiful. He’s playing his part perfectly.

I gesture to my right. “In the galley, there is a bottle of 1985 Château Haut-Brion. Will you go fetch that for me?”

His face falls. Oh no, and he was doing so well. “Is that really all you have to say to me?”

Grover pipes up. “Hey, um, Mr. D, even if Percy was-“

I raise my hand. “Uh, uh, uh, bup! Grover, quiet, please. This is a nice moment! Don’t ruin it.” I point again. “The galley is right down that path. Grab that bottle, and I’ll talk to you about whatever you want.” The wine, the wine, the wine. “You know, uh…you, uh…me, who cares?”

Percy rolls his eyes—the nerve of this boy—and walks off to the galley. Gods, not his attitude again. I almost get revenge, but my wine is too important.

He just doesn’t understand my godly needs. Mortals never could. Grover opens his mouth for a second but promptly closes it when I level him with a glare that could madden an imperial fleet.

Thankfully, Percy doesn’t take long. He returns with a bottle of Merlot, and I clap with joy. “Thank you so much,” I say. “Hand it over?”

Percy holds it out by the neck. The liquid calls out to me through the glass, crying out to be reunited with its composer, and I grab it. I allow a crystalline glass to appear in my other hand, and I pour my precious wine with delight. If I were alone, I would cry.

Somewhere in front of me, the little demigod sighs. “Now, can we talk about the—“

I raise my hand once more, eyes never leaving the glass. Its beauty still astounds me to this day. I will always take pride in my creation. “Sit down first while I take a sip, m’kay? Then we’ll talk.”

I distantly hear the scrape of a chair and the gasp from a certain satyr, but I don’t care. Instead, I tip back the glass, take a large swig, and I finally feel that gorgeous, aromatic, powerful bliss once more.

Oh, sweet wine. How I’ve missed you, my love. The sensation travels all throughout my body, intensifying every sense. My godly ears pick up the applause of thousands of spectators as an actor takes their bow. My godly sight shows me a balcony of party-goers dancing so freely they may as well begin flying. My godly touch feels the gentle sensation of grape leaves brushing against my arms in the heart of Tuscany. And finally, my godly taste identifies this wine as a beautiful French red, aged perfectly from just outside of Bordeaux.

Grover stares in horror as I drink. I gleefully ignore him. If he snitches, I will simply break his little goat legs. I need another sip. Surely, Percy can wait a moment.

As I drain my glass, I file through my godly mental answering machine. My mind hasn’t been this clear in ages. Prayer. Prayer. Prayer. Invitation. Prayer. I won my bet on Draft Kings. Prayer. Prayer. A message from Hestia. Oh, maybe I should answer that one.

In this very moment, I am consciously in two places at once: camp and Olympus.

Hestia appears before her hearth with a warm smile as always. “Congratulations on claiming your son,” she says. Ah yes, the goddess of the home. She congratulates everyone who just claimed a demigod. Standard junk mail. I take another sip of my wine…wait what?

I blink up and see that something from outside has caught Percy and Grover’s attention.

The message from Hestia continues. “I’m sure he will be a welcome addition to your cabin.”

I frown. That can’t be right. I don’t have another son. I must be out of it, drunk with my new power. Wink, wink. I take another sip of my wine.

“Percy seems like a lovely boy. Be sure to take care of him.”

I spit out my wine. “What?!”

Percy, Grover, and Chiron stare back at me. (When did Chiron get here?) I purse my lips and close out the message.

“Mr D,” Chiron says coolly. “Percy just told me you were…having a drink.”

His tone is plagued by a dangerous, mirthful undercurrent, and I do not care for it. I look to Percy for only a moment before nodding. Oh, sweet Styx. Did I just…did I just claim a child that isn’t mine? “Yes, I am,” I say. “Why do you ask?”

The centaur raises a brow, unimpressed. “No reason.”

The consequences of my actions sink in. I play out the conversation in my head, and I kick myself. I used his name! Of course, Hestia thinks Percy is my son. I Claimed him, didn’t I? Claimed! With a capital K! Do the gods accept take-backs? I don’t want this snotty little imbecile as my child!

But how do I explain this to them? To Zeus? Surely, someone will ask why I claimed Percy as my son, and how can I tell them I drank wine when I was strictly banned from doing so? This is the prohibition all over again. Where’s organized crime when you need it?

“He asked Percy to grab it for him,” Grover offers. The snitch. “I tried to stop him.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Percy asks. “My father wouldn’t talk to me unless I got him a drink.”

Chiron’s eyes widen. “Oh no, no, no. Mr D is not your father.”

No! I need to keep this secret under lock and key quickly! Right now!

“I could be,” I splutter. “I am! He’s my son, Chiron. How could you question me when he’s…” I gesture wildly to the little demigod. What was he twittering on about a moment ago? His mother. “…grieving?! He’s grieving, my friend.”

Chiron stares so deeply into my eyes, I am reminded quite simply that my friend is also the son of a powerful being. An all-knowing titan to be exact.

“How exciting,” he mumbles. A metaphoric balloon pops and deflates in my chest. Then he turns to Percy. “My apologies, Percy. Usually, the gods don’t claim their children so quickly.”

He glances back at me and the wine, which I hug to my chest. A sense of foreboding sinks in, and I quickly drown beneath another smooth sip.

“What do you mean claimed?” Percy asks.

Grover smiles uneasily. “Mr. D. is the only god residing at the camp. Most of them don’t stay here like he does so they Claim you by making your hair glow or maybe their crest appears above you.”

Chiron steps in. “Grover, why don’t you two head outside for a moment, and you can explain to Percy how things are usually run here? I must speak with Mr. D in private.”

Grover nods frantically and shoves Percy out the door. Once they’re out of hearing range, Chiron delivers a scowl. “You are not his father.”

“I could be.”

“Yes, but are you?” I shrug, glass tipped against my lips. Chiron sighs. “You and I both know your children are not as powerful as young Percy.”

“How dare you? My children are incredibly powerful.”

“You told me you had no other children,” he presses.

“Slipped my mind.”

“You claimed Percy so he would hand you the wine.”

I hold the glass firmly in both hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did you really Claim him?” he asks.

I remember that tug in my gut. “Yes,” I hiss, “but that wasn’t my intention.”

Chiron stomps his hoof into the floorboards. “That doesn’t matter, and you know it. Do the gods know?”

I stare deep into my wine and nod. The euphoria of the drink tapers off.

The centaur rubs his brow with clear frustration and glances outside. “You’d better fix this, old friend,” he warns. “If his father is as powerful as we suspect, he won’t take kindly to you claiming his son as your own.”

The ghostly crack of a whip is felt right between my eyes as if Percy’s real father would like to confirm it for me right now. I grimace at the sudden headache.

“Whatever,” I groan.

Chiron walks out, and Grover trots in moments later. For a moment, he gazes at the wine, then at me, then in the direction of Chiron and his friend.

“This doesn’t feel right,” says Grover.

I try to make myself sound nonchalant and relaxed as always, but there’s a hollowness to my voice when I say, “What, success?” Ouch. I admire the crystal glass which is nearly empty now. “You got the boy to camp alive. Don’t overthink it.”

“Yeah, but it’s…” I fix the satyr with a hard stare, but he doesn’t budge. “You’re not really-“

“If you’re about to say what I think you’re about to say, don’t say it.” Grover gulps and looks out into the campgrounds.

I take in the last beautiful drops of the wine then reach for the bottle. It scoots away at the last second, making an awful scraping sound. I cringe. Grover turns back and gives me a look. “Oh, shut up,” I cry.

What have I done?

—

~ PERCY ~

After walking me through a bit of the camp, Chiron stops at a lively clearing surrounded by twelve uniquely decorated cabins.

“Each cabin is home to the children that god has claimed,” he explains.

I nod, still trying to absorb this new world. Mr. Brunner is a great teacher, but Chiron is not a great tour guide. Maybe it’s his extra legs, but everything is just happening too fast. “Great, which one am I?”

“Cabin 12,” he sighs. “Dionysus.”

Before us stands a grand cabin shrouded in purple curtains with gold leaf. Its brown-stained columns resemble strong oak trees. Carvings of pinecones and ivy litter the outer walls. I swallow. This doesn’t feel like home. I shake my head and try to hype myself up. Even if my dad blew me off earlier, I need to at least try. For mom.

“So my dad stays with me in the cabin or something?”

Chiron frowns. “Your father will not be staying with you, Percy.”

“Then who am I staying with?” I ask.

“Well, you have two brothers,” he offers. “They’re a bit older than you, but I’m sure you’ll get along. Most gods don’t exactly live with their children. It’s not…their design.”

Once Chiron loses steam, I scowl. Their design? What’s that supposed to mean? He’s right across the tree line. Aren’t we family now?

“Even now, he still wants nothing to do with me,” I bite. Chiron gives me a sad expression but doesn’t offer an answer. I kick the dirt. “What am I even doing here?”

“I know you feel powerless,” he finally says, “but you’re not. All will reveal itself in time.”

He walks me to the door. The smell of fresh fruits and crushed velvet reaches my nose.

“Your brothers are busy tending to the fields,” says Chiron, “but they will see you at dinner. Meanwhile, I need a word with your father. I’ll have one of our most experienced campers give you a tour.”

“Who?” I ask.

“Mr. Castellan. He’ll be waiting for you in Cabin 11, home to both Hermes’ children and the unclaimed.” He points to a simple-looking cabin but by far the largest. And with that, he trots off back to my father, leaving me alone. Typical.

As I enter the Dionysus cabin, I am engulfed by a warmth I haven’t felt since coming here that trickles into my veins, a feeling of acceptance. Two separate curtains line the windows, a thin purple one and a thick red one. A shelf and desk sit in the corner full of heavily annotated stage plays, all in Ancient Greek. One looks so old it might be the original. Several fruits and ivy hang from the walls and ceiling, and a small water fixture bubbles in the corner. Every door knob and window fixture glitters like real gold, and gentle music plays in the distance, almost as if it’s coming from the walls.

There are exactly three beds. Two of them look perfectly lived-in with rumpled sheets and hastily folded blankets. I spot my backpack sitting on the third bed atop a gaudy leopard print pillowcase. A speck of blue peeks out from under the flap, and my heart stops with the music.

I open the backpack and find the bag of candy my mom bought me. The bag crinkles in my hand, and I feel tears spill down my cheeks. When had I started crying? Suddenly, that warmth fades into the background. The cool blue stands out among the red and purple interior, reminding me that this isn’t really home.

Home is blue. Home is my mom. How can I feel happy when she’s gone? The water in the corner stops gurgling with a sad croak. I wipe my eyes and leave the cabin.

—

Just outside of cabin 11, a group of older boys linger off the side. One of the boys, tall with black hair and a scar down his right cheek, watches me as I approach. It doesn’t take long for the others to see me.

“That’s the kid,” someone whispers. “I think he’s the one who killed the Minotaur.”

My heart stops. People know about that? That I couldn’t save her? I almost run back to my cabin. I could cry into my ugly new pillow for the rest of the night, maybe tell Chiron I was still feeling under the weather, but I’ve already made it this far. I sigh and wave. “Uh hi, I’m looking for someone named Castellan? He’s giving me a tour.”

The tall boy looks me up and down then steps forward. “Heard what happened to you in the hill,” he says. I brace myself. “And I just…wanted to say I’m really sorry.”

I blink. His eyes show a sincerity I haven’t seen today.

The boy smiles sadly. “I know what you’re going through. Believe me. I’m Luke.”

He holds out his hand, and I take it. “Percy.”

—

For the rest of the day, Luke shows me around the camp with his brother Chris. They describe the different children of the gods, what they’re usually good at, what I might be good at, and something called Kleos or glory. At one point, we run into a daughter of Ares named Clarisse, and that’s when Luke gives a bit of his own background.

He explains the concept of unclaimed demigods. “A lot of kids here haven’t been claimed yet. We’re up to the rafters in the Hermes cabin.”

“Chiron mentioned that,” I say. “So are you also…Do you not know who your—“

“Am I unclaimed?” Luke finishes. “No, Hermes is my father.” For a moment, he loses his gentle edge, but it quickly returns. “That doesn’t matter. We’re all on the same team here.”

But it does matter, I think, imagining that massive cabin overflowing with kids whose parents haven’t bothered to greet them. My dad is clearly just some deadbeat, and even he claimed me. Maybe it was for some wine, but it was the least he could do.

“Why is that okay?” I ask. “Why do they get to bring us here to just ignore some of us?”

“Spend too much time trying to figure out why the gods do whatever it is they do, you’ll drive yourself crazy,” he says. “Sooner you stop worrying about that, the sooner you can enjoy what this place actually does offer.”

“Glory?”

Luke nods. “Glory.”

We keep walking, past the archery range then through the training grounds where I learn that Luke is the strongest swordsman at camp. Finally, I think back to what Luke said earlier about Kleos. It attaches itself to your name. Makes it bigger, scarier, more important…People listen closer when you talk.

“So if I get glory,” I say, “…my dad’s got no choice but to speak to me.”

Luke’s expression goes sour. “You can’t force the gods to do anything.”

“Well yeah, but…it would make it harder for him to pretend I don’t exist, right?”

“Maybe,” he says.

“Well, great,” I smile. “How do I do that?”

—

Dinner begins just after I return to my cabin. I still haven’t seen my brothers, but Luke promised they’d sit with me at dinner.

As I enter the dining pavilion, I spot a large fire burning in a wide bowl. A brazier? No, that’s a kind of bra, right? For a second, I wonder what it’s for until one kid walks over and proceeds to scrape some chicken nuggets directly into it.

I watch as the nuggets sizzle and burn for a moment. Then my chest aches as I’m reminded of the marshmallows I burned whenever my mom and I made s’mores. Is that new brand she bought still sitting in the kitchen in Montauk? Did the next family find them? Did the cabin’s owner toss them out?

“Stuck in that head of yours again?” Luke and Chris appear at my side.

I swallow. “A bit. What are you guys doing over here? I thought you said we had different tables.”

Chris points to the large bowl. “It’s our turn.”

“Your turn for what?”

“Burnt offerings,” Luke explains. “The gods like the smell so it gets their attention before you say a prayer.”

“They like the smell of burnt mac and cheese?”

Chris smirks. “They like the smell of begging.”

Luke smacks him but doesn’t argue. “You burn what you’ll miss the most. Then they know you really mean what you’re about to say, so they listen. Most people just say hi to their mom or dad.”

“But he’s right there.” I point to my father who is playing cards with Chiron at a larger table and, once again, completely ignoring me.

Luke shrugs. “You did mention not getting to talk much yet. Why don’t you try this out?”

I roll my eyes, not wanting to waste my food on the same guy who’s been playing pinnacle instead of oh I don’t know, greeting his kid before dinner time? But a small part of me still wants to get his attention. I approach the bowl, scrape some food in, close my eyes, and imagine the man my mother always told me about.

Hey, dad.

A salty breeze travels under my nose, and I open my eyes. What was that? I turn to my dad, wondering if he has something to do with it, but Mr. D continues to play cards like nothing happened. My shoulders slump. This is useless, isn’t it? The water in my cup sloshes a bit as I close my eyes again.

Just wanted to say hi, I guess? I don’t know if you’re listening because you seem to be…busy right now, but maybe you’ll get back to me with some kind of prayer answering machine. I open one eye and sneak a glance at my dad. Still playing cards. Oh, come on! Are you even listening?!

“Hey, are you Percy?”

I spin around and find two older guys watching me, not as old as Luke but probably fourteen or fifteen. Their violet eyes catch my attention first then their curly blond hair like mine. These guys are much more Greek than I am, though. And bigger. Probably super strong. Aside from their clothes, they’re almost identical. These must be my brothers.

I take a deep breath and nod. “Yeah, what are your names?”

“I’m Castor,” says the stockier one, “and this is Pollux.”

“Nice to meet you.” How are you supposed to greet your long-lost twin stepbrothers? Luke didn’t cover that. I hold out my hand then realize theirs are already full. Good going, genius.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Pollux smiles, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. He points to the bowl thing. “Are you done giving your offering?”

“Oh!” I step out of the way. “Yeah, I’m done. Thanks.”

Castor and Pollux offer a few vegetables then sit down without much fanservice. I follow.

“So…how are you guys?” I ask.

“We’re fine,” Castor says, eyeing me curiously. “How are you? You were out for days, right?”

Oh man, this is horrible. They already hate me, don’t they? “I’m fine. Just…taking a lot in right now, you know?”

Pollux nods. “Us too.”

“Dude!” Castor whispers. “Shut up.”

Pollux goes red and glances my way then tries to hide it. A small pit forms in my stomach. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

Castor and Pollux give each other a look. Are they doing that twin thing I always see in movies? Telepathy or whatever? Is that a demigod thing? After what seems like a tense silent discussion, Castor rolls his eyes and waves for Pollux to speak.

“Dad never mentioned you,” Pollux says.

I frown. “Isn’t that normal? Luke said no one ever knows when they’ll get another sibling.”

“Not our dad,” Castor explains. “You’d think he has a bunch of kids since he’s the party god, but it’s actually pretty rare. He usually keeps track of this stuff.”

“He used to live with us before our mom died,” Pollux adds.

A cold feeling travels down my spine. So he does care…but only about my brothers. “Oh. Really?”

“Yeah, he said we were the only ones.” Pollux is cut off by a jab to his ribs from his brother.

“Maybe he didn’t even realize,” Castor tries. “You know. He wasn’t the one pregnant, after all. How was he supposed to know?”

“But he’s a god,” I argue.

Castor’s smile fades. “Yeah, I guess.”

I stare at the table like it’ll burst into flames. Is that a demigod power I have? I did blow up that school bus once, but that was the cannon’s fault. Committing arson could get my dad to look at me.

How could I have been so stupid to think he’d care? Of course, he knew this whole time. Of course, he cared about my brothers more than me. Of course, he’s only acknowledging me now because I killed the Minotaur then fainted on their lawn.

We sit in silence for a few moments while I stew. Then someone clears his throat. I look up and find my brothers watching me.

“You know, Percy, I’ve always wanted another brother,” he says. “Castor can be really annoying sometimes. He’s way too messy and snores in his sleep.”

Castor nods frantically. “I’ve always wanted another brother too! Pollux talks too much. And he can’t sing for shit.”

“Castor’s the worst at playing volleyball.”

“Pollux almost killed me with a mace once.”

“Hey! You swore you’d never bring that up again.”

They’re caught off by a snicker. I realize a second later that it’s my own. Pollux grins. “Do you want to help us with the strawberry fields tomorrow? That’s one of the things we’re super good at, you know. Do you like fruits and stuff?”

I blink in surprise. “My mom started a garden in our apartment. I help her with that sometimes.”

“That must be one of the reasons she and dad got to know each other!” Pollux claps. “He’s the god of orchards and fruits.”

I tilt my head. “I thought it was just wine and theatre.”

“Trust us,” says Castor. “There’s a lot more.”

—

After dark, I make another fire in the woods. Castor and Pollux are pretty heavy sleepers so I slip out into the night with my bag of blue candy.

I watch the flames consume the days-old jelly beans. Blue raspberry. Our favorite. I clear my throat. “Hi, mom. I don’t know if I’m doing this right. I hope you can hear me.

“I think you used to hate this,” I say, “when the phone would ring the night after you left me at a new school. I’d tell you that the people are awful. That I wanted to come home.” The jelly beans melt into a puddle of sugary goop. I blink away some stray tears and smile. “Well, the good news is…this isn’t that call.

“I hope you’re sitting down but…I think…I’ve made some friends here. Like, real friends.” I pick at my shoes as I remember Luke and Chris walking me through the campgrounds. “I also have two brothers. They act kinda funny, but I think they might really like me. Imagine that.”

Then my mind drifts to Mr. D. Dionysus. Dad. My candy begins to look less appetizing. “I met dad,” I admit. “I don’t really know what you see in him yet. Then again, I’ve never understood your taste in men.”

Smelly Gabe comes to mind. At least I don’t have to see him ever again. Not that my real dad is any better.

“He’s just…you said he loves you, but he hasn’t shown up at all,” I complain. “I mean, ignoring me is one thing, but he doesn’t get to ignore you.”

I remember how he promised to talk but just waved me off instead. Like I wasn’t even worth his time. Even after I told him what happened. How could he be so special? Then I remember the warmth from inside my new cabin, pulling me in and allowing me to cry freely. Castor and Pollux swearing up and down that dad was actually a good parent when he tried. What Chiron said to me outside my cabin. All will reveal itself in time.

“I’m gonna make him see me,” I decide. “I’m gonna make him see us both.” There is something special there. And I trust my mom. I just need to make Dionysus prove it.

I put out the fire and head back to my cabin.

Chapter Text

~ DIONYSUS ~

The silence of a sleeping Camp Half-Blood is always music to my ears. This night, however, I am not given the luxury of silence.

‘Atrocious!’ ‘I’ve never seen such foolishness from you.’ ‘How could you claim Percy like that knowing full well he is a powerful demigod?’ ‘His godly parent is not going to be happy with you.’ ‘Do you know how much trouble you will be in with Zeus?’ ‘Don’t think you can keep this a secret.’

Every time I so much as move wrong, Chiron finds more reasons to berate me for my mistake. A mistake that I DID NOT INTEND TO MAKE but he clearly forgot that part. No. Instead of treating me like a poor victim of circumstance, which I obviously am in this case, he’s framing it like I’m some juvenile delinquent! It’s like I’m one of the campers!

Yes, I accidentally claimed Percy. Yes, it probably pissed off whoever his real godly parent is. Yes, I broke the punishment inflicted on me by Zeus. And yes, I now run the risk of gaining an even worse punishment if I am found out. But rest assured because I have an ingenious plan.

My current plan of action is to play dumb. It’s worked for us gods so far. Once Percy’s father realizes I took his kid, I will simply blame it on my terrible memory. (I always forget birthdays.) I’ll give them a “But are you sure? I swear he’s mine!” to throw them off my scent, then I’ll accept defeat and bid the kid farewell.

Sure, his father might be suspicious, but they can’t prove me wrong. And the alternative would be even more suspicious. If I move too quickly and take away my claim, someone might begin to wonder why I claimed him so confidently in the first place.

But who knows? Maybe they won’t even want to claim him. Some campers spend years hoping to be claimed before they give up. Then again, most campers don’t kill a Minotaur on their first night here. That should earn a camper at least a pat on the back, yet Percy hasn’t received any attention from his godly parent. That part has been bothering me ever since this morning.

It’s like the answer is staring me in the face, dangling itself right beneath my nose but I can’t identify it. There has to be a reason Percy’s parent hasn’t already waltzed down here to filet me for stealing their child. Percy attracted a monster so great, it shook the earth as it ran. He sparked an entire rumor mill the moment he arrived. He killed the Minotaur using its own horn all alone at the age of twelve. If Percy were my son, I would be shouting it from the clouds of Olympus (and terribly worried for his safety, but that’s not my point.)

The longer I wait for Percy’s godly parent to arrive, the more I begin to doubt my plan. But I push away the thought. Maybe I’m just overthinking it. Maybe Percy isn’t as special as Chiron and Grover claim. Maybe his parent is just too busy to claim him. Maybe I’ll be stuck with a kid who isn’t really mine for years. (I really didn’t think this through, did I?)

After what seems to be the seventh spontaneous lecture of the night, we finally begin our nightly game of pinnacle.

Chiron and I exchange the usual gossip. Apollo crashed his sun chariot. Aphrodite thinks some new couple is the next Romeo and Juliet. Zeus lost his bolt again. The usual. Halfway through, Chiron realizes he’s losing and tries to bluff his way out of it instead of playing his turn.

I roll my eyes. “Sooner or later, you’re gonna have to choose.”

Chiron nods but doesn’t go any faster. And with just enough commotion to irritate me, Grover runs in. “Sorry to interrupt. Is now an okay time to talk?”

“No!” I shout.

But Chiron beats me. “Yes, go ahead.” The cheat.

The satyr bows his head and digs his hooves into the floorboards. “It’s Sally Jackson,” he says. “I think I know what really happened to her.”

Oh please, not this. I turn to Chiron, ignoring the disgusting description Grover gives on our behalf. The both of us immediately track his line of thought. Sally Jackson is alive. I sigh. Why must these children be so nosey all the time?

Once Grover makes it to his point, Chiron finally butts in. “Yes, we know,” he admits.

The satyr pauses. “But you haven’t told Percy anything yet?”

“No,” I say. “No one is going to tell him anything.”

Chiron and I had decided this only an hour ago. The centaur is still convinced this child holds some importance, and I want to save my own ass. The more Percy knows, the more uncontrollable he will become. If he realizes his mother is alive, he might try to leave camp, putting him in danger and making it much harder to protect my secret from afar. He needs to stay in the camp and stay in my cabin.

“I’m…but doesn’t he deserve to know the truth?” asks Grover.

“Grover, the truth can be very dangerous if it isn’t handled carefully,” Chiron warns.

“I don’t want to lie to him anymore.”

“Come on,” I say. I slap my cards down on the table. “There are powerful forces at work here, boy. Forces that have laid waste to the Earth before, and are close to doing it again. So you don’t wanna lie to your little friend?” I scoff. “Too bad. I suggest you steer clear of him, then. Because you will say nothing to him about this. Do you understand?”

Grover frowns, but he knows not to argue with me. Instead, he mutters, “You’re lying to him, and I know it.” Then the conversation ends.

I sleep peacefully until tomorrow.

—

I am awoken by the most obnoxious banging known to the gods. It continues for exactly five minutes and twelve seconds before I finally open the door to kill whichever creature is responsible.

Percy Jackson stands on the other side of the door with the same mixture of fear and determination I saw yesterday but this time with much more determination. I hate it.

“Who do you think you are?”

“Your son,” he replies. He thinks he’s so cute, doesn’t he? Then he smiles. “Good morning.”

There is nothing good about this. The sun blinds me as I try to wipe the crust from my eyes. I wish I could shoot Apollo with one of his own plague arrows right about now. “What do you want?”

Percy crosses his arms. “You promised to tell me stuff.”

I groan. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s past breakfast.”

“Okay? And I’m tired.”

“Aren’t you supposed to direct the camp or something?” Percy asks.

“Or something.” You can’t kill the kid. You can’t kill the kid. You can’t kill the kid. You don’t want to piss off his dad any more than you probably did already—

“So what are you doing asleep?”

“Sleeping!”

The boy raises a brow. “Everyone else is awake.”

“That’s great. Go get me another bottle of red.” The least he can do is help me drink.

Percy rolls his eyes with a petulant “fine” and walks off.

A few minutes later, we’re back in the sunroom like yesterday. I cradle my glass of Pinot Noir like it might disappear at any moment, which it honestly might.

Percy watches with a calculated gaze. “Why do the gods sleep?” he asks.

“Because we want to.”

“What do you do here?”

“I direct the camp like you oh so generously stated.”

“But what does that mean?”

Maybe the reason Percy’s dad hasn’t claimed him is because he’s so annoying. A sharp pain hits my temple. I grimace. “It means I direct you kids away from doing stupid stuff.”

Percy nods. “Why are you the camp director? There aren’t any other gods around.”

I mumble something not suitable for child audiences into my wine. “Look, I didn’t want to be a camp director. I was only given the job because my father, Zeus, didn’t like me flirting with the same nymph.” I look overhead for a moment then lean forward. “Though, between you and me, she always liked me better anyway.” Percy snorts. I scowl. “What’s so funny?”

The boy gives me a shit-eating grin. “You’re here because you stole Zeus’ thunder?”

Oh, this kid is definitely going to get himself killed. “Stop saying names so freely.”

Percy nods with a stoic expression but doesn’t seem the least bit remorseful. I take another sip, allowing it to wake me up. “Isn’t it a little early to drink wine?” he asks.

I guffaw. “I’m the god of drinking wine. It’s never too early, Pierre.”

The boy’s face drops. “It’s Percy.”

“Fine, okay.”

He continues to glare at me. What ever shall I do? “So what? You just like drinking?”

“My boy, there is a lot to being a god that you will never understand.”

“Like what?” he challenges.

My blood begins to boil. “Like how I could blow you to smithereens right now for testing my patience,” I growl.

“And are you?” he asks.

I bite my tongue. Don’t take the bait. Don’t take the bait. We engage in a staring contest for a few moments, one which I definitely don’t forfeit. Instead, I heroically turn away so I can stare at my wine again. So perfect, so powerful, so quiet. Never talks back. Never makes me want to scream into the void like this tiny mortal across from me does. Was this wine really worth all the trouble?

After another second, I decide that it is. Because it really does complete me, doesn’t it?

“Wine is…” I pause for a moment and consider my next words carefully. The glass in my hand begins to feel weightier. It’s never easy translating my woes into something simple enough for a demigod to understand. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the lake gently touch the shore. “It is to me like water is to a human.”

The boy blinks and tilts his head. “Oh…I hadn’t thought of that,” he says.

I wave him off. “Yeah, don’t mortals feel bad without water? They need it, right?” Percy nods. “Good. So imagine that my wine is your water,” I explain, “and someone takes it away from me. After a bit—maybe a few days or so—I start to feel parched. Then lethargic. Then…what do you call it, dizzy? Aggravated. Faint. It’s like I’m running on empty. I’m drying up. I’m incomplete. It’s like…” I groan as the proper words slip my mind. “It’s like…”

“Like you’re missing a part of you,” he says. His eyes drift longingly towards the lake. “You could survive without it because you’re immortal…but you couldn’t at the same time?”

I hum, intrigued by his words. “Exactly, Pedro.”

Percy rolls his eyes. Then under his breath, he whispers, “I just thought you were being selfish the first time.”

I pretend I didn’t hear that.

“So it’s like withdrawal,” Percy continues. “My stepdad tried to quit drinking once but gave up because of his ‘symptoms.’”

Withdrawal. The word strikes me. Maybe I’ve heard it before from some of my most devoted followers. I spin my newly emptied glass between my fingers. “Sure, why not? Hand me the bottle?”

Percy doesn’t hesitate this time. We sit in a, dare I say, comfortable silence until Percy once again disrupts it.

“Why don’t you get my name right?” he asks.

I sniff. “Names are powerful things. You can’t just go throwing them around, young man.”

“What could possibly happen?” Percy snarks.

I roll my eyes. Something like yesterday. “Didn’t you play that card game with Grover? I’m not your teacher. Go ask someone else.”

“But you’re my dad. Doesn’t that make up for something?”

Suddenly, I am reminded of the evenings I spent recounting my heroic feats to Castor and Pollux when they were toddlers. It’s been too long. “A bit,” I manage, “but don’t push your luck.”

My precious boys. I try not to be overbearing on my sons, especially over the summer when there are more kids, but they’re still my boys. I watched them grow up. I helped them with their homework. We picked strawberries together. Of course, I’m going to favor them, but last year, they demanded that I stop doting on them in front of their friends. Apparently, it was “embarrassing” and “uncool” and they were teenagers now.

My sons are the best. They know manners. Percy is a menace.

The boy picks at his nails absentmindedly. Before I can stop myself, I say, “Quit doing that.”

Percy whips his head up. “Doing what?”

I grab his hand and put it on the table. “No picking.” I take another sip and then notice Percy staring at me, bewildered. Curious. Calculating. Ah Styx, was that not what dads do? What do dads do again? What did I do with my boys? Talk about their day or something? That’s a pretty safe bet. I clear my throat. “How…have you been liking camp so far?”

For the first time today, I see a genuine smile on the kid’s face. (Okay, maybe he can be cute when he isn’t a thorn in my side.)

Percy jumps into a summary of what he did yesterday. He recounts touring the camp with Luke and Chris, learning how to climb the rock wall, something about a girl following him everywhere—probably Annabeth—and then meeting Castor and Pollux at dinner. He also mentions how the camp reminds him of a place called Montauk. (Why do I recognize that name?) I’m pretty certain half of the details were unimportant, but it keeps him busy. I’m on my third glass when Percy asks his next question.

“How does the prayer thing work?”

I swirl the wine to give it some air. “What prayer thing?”

“The burnt offerings. I tried to pray to my dad— well, you,” he says, “but did you, like, hear it when I was saying it or is there a lag?”

A pit forms in my stomach, and I scrub through my archive of prayers. It’s not there. “Did you say…did you say Dad or Dionysus?”

He frowns. “I think I said Dad.”

His father is going to hang me by my toes, isn’t he? “Oh!” I laugh, barely containing my worry. “That must have gone into my junk mail then. Next time, make sure to use my name. Then I’ll answer.”

“You said I shouldn’t throw names around,” he says.

Is he trying to be difficult? “Well, it doesn’t apply to prayers.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It does. You’re just being a brat.”

“No, I’m not,” he whines. “It’s not my fault none of this name stuff makes sense.”

“It makes complete sense.”

“No it does not!”

I throw my hands up. “Fine! Nothing makes sense, Percy. It’s just how it works.”

Percy gasps. “You said it!”

“What— oh Styx.” I facepalm so violently that I almost give myself another headache. “That was an accident.”

“You know my name!” he shouts. “You just won’t say it because of weird godly laws.”

“Yes, now stop it.”

“Now who’s being a brat?”

Still you. I rub a hand across my face and notice there’s still a bit of wine left in my glass. “Let’s change the subject,” I offer. “What are you doing today?”

Percy keeps his smile. “We’re going to the strawberry fields. Castor and Pollux are helping me learn how to control my powers.”

I choke on my drink. “Oh?”

The boy frowns. “Are you okay?”

Gods, this kid needs to cool it with the doe eyes. I clear my throat. “Peachy. That’s a great idea, kid.” It is a horrible idea. Do my children want to kill me? “Why don’t I come watch?”

“I thought you said you were busy,” he squints. Why did I have to claim the biggest pain in the ass?

“I wouldn’t want to miss my son’s first…strawberry…growing.” Percy raises a brow. “It’s a milestone for all my children.”

He nods slowly. “We’re going after lunch. Is that okay?”

“Great, I’ll be front row.” Percy smiles even wider then realizes what time it is. Apparently, he promised to meet his new friends for some more exploring. Percy says goodbye then runs off. I slump down in my seat, eyeing my glass once again. Empty.

Think, Dionysus! Think, think, think. How do I make him grow plants?

“I could help him.” I jump to my feet in alarm. Grover cowers before me, little goat legs shaking.

“Grover!” I cry. “What made you think sneaking up on me was a good idea?”

He looks at me like a deer in headlights. “I didn’t mean to?”

“Gah! This is useless,” I bang my hand on the table. “He’s going to know, isn’t he? I need another drink.”

“Percy isn’t here to hand it to you this time,” he says.

I glare back at him before summoning another Diet Coke. “That kid’s snark is rubbing off on you. I don’t like it.”

Grover frowns. “Do you want my help? I could use my pipes to encourage the plants.”

“No, that would be suspicious, especially with my twins present,” I complain. “I need to figure out something else.”

“You could tell him the truth.”

I grind my teeth but avoid turning him into a small fish for my own amusement. “You don’t understand, Grover. I can’t go back to…to being just one part of myself.”

The smell of wine tickles my nose once more. Since I cannot pick it up, I also can’t put the bottle back in the galley. It taunts me from the tabletop. After my conversation with Percy, I am doubly certain that I cannot lose it again.

I collapse back into my chair. “I’m finally whole, kid. How can I be myself when I don’t have my wine? Do you understand that loss?”

Grover crosses his arms. “No,” he admits, “but Percy might.”

—

Just after lunch, I find myself in the strawberry fields, shades firmly on my nose and criminally on time for the strawberry-growing catastrophe. Usually, I like to be fashionably late to things—for the drama, of course—but this cannot be one of those things.

Percy is joking around with Castor and Pollux who seem to have taken their new older brother roles like ducks to water. I clap to gain their attention. “Alright, kiddos! It’s Percy’s first time growing strawberries so let’s take it nice and slow. Castor, Pollux, my boys, why don’t you…show Percy the ropes first? Percy, stand by me.” They all nod and follow my instructions.

I probably should have devised a plan to make Percy somehow grow strawberries…but to tell you the truth, I can’t. I’ve been thinking all day, and I haven’t come up with anything, It’s pathetic. How can a god like me feel so stuck and useless? At one point, I considered asking Chiron for help, but I’m about 56% positive he would have laughed in my face. Now, I’ll have to improvise.

Percy stands beside me and watches as Castor and Pollux explain their process. They imagine the plant and all of its parts, its essence, its sweetness, and especially its roots. “The roots are the most important,” Castor emphasizes. I put a hand to my chest. I said the same thing when they were younger. They grow up so fast.

The two continue their explanation, and Pollux finishes by saying, “Then there’s a tug in your gut, you tell it to bloom, and you watch it grow.” In seconds, a bright red strawberry bursts from the leaves into Pollux’s awaiting hand. He cradles it and shows Percy. “Like that!”

Percy takes a shaky breath. “It doesn’t look easy.”

“It should be a piece of cake,” says Castor. He turns to me for help. “Right, dad?”

If I wasn’t so worried for myself, I would have given up right then. Nevertheless, I nod grimly. “Well, maybe it takes a bit more than that. Sometimes, it takes…longer.” I wish I knew where I was going with this. My acting skills are being put through the wringer, huh? “Sometimes…well, maybe Percy has other talents instead of orchard growing. We don’t know until he tries, okay? So let’s keep our expectations low.”

Percy frowns. “You said it’s a milestone for all your kids.”

I did say that, didn’t I? “I may have been exaggerating. It’s not that important. Pollux took months before he could grow his first strawberry.”

“No, I didn’t,” Pollux replies petulantly.

“Kid, you were young. You probably don’t even remember, but it’s hard work." I sling an arm around Percy. "Let’s just not get our hopes too high—“

“I can do it,” Percy huffs, metaphorical feathers thoroughly ruffled.

If I wasn’t the god of fruits already, I would pray to myself. (Is there a god of fatherhood and not punting children named Percy into the cosmos?) I take the loss and pat Percy on the head. “You’re absolutely right. Good luck.”

Now, I’m not an expert in tragedies—oh wait, I am. Nonetheless—the following thirty minutes could rival the fates of Icarus and Oedipus Rex. Percy sits cross-legged between my sons as he tries to “feel the roots.” When that doesn’t work, he tries to find the “tug in his gut.” When that doesn’t work, I start sweating. Honestly, I was hoping he somehow had a relation to some minor god like Hegemone. (Why couldn’t it have been Hegemone?)

At one point, I try to “help” by giving the plant a boost, but my two sons scowl at me. They must have recognized my godly presence in the plant life. I give them a shaky smile and continue watching in horror.

No matter how hard he tries, Percy cannot muster any divine plant intervention. Even he starts sweating, but it’s no use. One last time, Percy closes his eyes and simply wills the plant to grow. Nearby, the water well gurgles pathetically. Nothing happens. Percy stares at the plant like he wants to strangle it.

Just great, I think. Who’s going to believe he’s my kid now?

“You know, I think my dad’s right,” Pollux says. He glances warily in my direction. “It probably took me a lot longer than I remember to learn how to do this.”

Castor pats Percy’s shoulder. “Yeah, we probably just forgot.”

Percy’s face twists with desperation. “Do you think if I dig my hands in the soil, it’ll help?” he asks. Castor and Pollux give him a weird look. “Maybe it’ll help me…feel the roots.” He tries to muster a smile, but the joke falls completely flat.

I try not to show my disappointment. “Like I said, kid, it takes time.” But his face continues to fall. The twins give me matching glares. I really can’t win today. “Um…look, what if we try something else? Maybe you’re…great at acting? Or fermenting grapes?” I ramble. “One of my sons a long time ago could turn water to wine. Maybe you…” but Percy isn’t listening. He only sits there looking numb.

Great. Percy is on the verge of tears, my twins are giving me the stink eye, and I can’t think of any way to give Percy a fake talent for growing plants. The problem infuriates me. What can I do now? I’m a god! Something this simple shouldn’t stump me. There has to be some way to just give him a little push.

A terrible idea tugs at the back of my mind.

Godly blessings are not to be taken lightly. If you give them to the wrong person, they could decimate landscapes and bring terror to an entire civilization. But if you give a blessing to the right person, it could bring a new era of peace and prosperity.

And I mean, I really shouldn’t…shouldn’t I?

I’ve only given my blessing to a few hundred individuals in my time. There were some religious leaders, a farmer or ten, a few directionless outcasts, that one theatre troupe, and even a couple of psychiatrists, but I’ve never given one to a child.

Well! There’s no time like the present.

I gaze upon Percy and my sons sitting mournfully in the middle of our beautiful strawberry fields, and I decide I must. A little help won’t hurt, right?

They’re usually small, blessings, but for this to be convincing enough, I need to grant Percy some serious juice. (It’s not like he has some crazy power set already. Otherwise, I probably would have noticed.) Let’s see, what should I include? Plant-growing, obviously. Wine-making, that’s a must. Castor and Pollux never really mastered insanity-curing, but they can sense ritual madness, so let’s include some of that as well. A couple more bits and bobs, and he’s golden!

I take a steady breath and bestow my blessing. Beneath me, the field responds to my powers, even if it isn't visible to the naked eyes of a demigod. My godly pores open up, exposing the world to my might. The leaves around us tremble for a moment then settle. Percy’s head snaps up.

“Wait,” he whispers. “I feel it.”

“Really?” I lie. “What?”

“The roots.” He stares at the strawberry like it holds all the answers to the universe. “They’re, like, talking to me.”

Well, that was quick. How strong was my blessing?

Percy’s eyes focus in on a white flower where an immature green strawberry sits. He reaches out and touches it. Suddenly, the small strawberry begins to swell. The white flower petals around its stem shrink away as the seeds invert and tuck themselves into the berry. The tip of the strawberry changes color, the seeds begin to yellow, the thin leaves turn up, and the strawberry fully matures into a deep red.

The boys shout in disbelief. “I did it!” Percy cries.

“He did it!” says Castor. The twins grab him and pull him to his feet for a hug. All three of them wear massive smiles as they celebrate. A warm feeling blooms in my chest. (It must be the blessing.)

After another few moments of cheering, some of which attract the attention of passing campers, they separate.

“So what other stuff can I do?” Percy asks.

I hold up my hand. “Hold your horses, Pablo. You’re probably tired from all that practice.”

“I’m not tired,” he says. “I feel amazing!”

“Let’s keep it that way then. We don’t want to exhaust you.”

Percy crouches down and grows another strawberry, giggling madly. Okay, now he’s just showing off. “So cool,” he whispers. “How have I never done this before?”

“You didn’t know you could,” says Castor.

The boy doesn’t argue. “You didn’t answer my other question. What else can I do?”

Pollux hums. “Castor and I can control crowds on occasion.”

Percy scrunches his nose. “What? Why?”

“Religious ecstasy, my boy,” I chime in. The high of my godly feat tingles at my nerves. I haven’t given such a performance in ages. “The power of dance, music, theatre, and a sense of togetherness where individuals become united by their freedom from both cares and troubles. That is my greatest power.”

“And madness,” Castor adds.

“That too,” I smile. “Ritual madness and religious ecstasy are only so different. Be careful, Ponyboy-“

“Percy,” Percy corrects.

“—because you could one day succumb to the madness yourself.”

The boy frowns. “That’s…ominous.”

“He always is,” Pollux says.

I wave him off. “One of my charms.” The blessing almost has me lightheaded. It's like I can run a marathon. With such a strong bond between myself and my surroundings, I almost forget about the wine. But I don’t need any right now. The blessing has reinvigorated me. “That has me wondering, actually.” I turn to Percy. “Have you seen our amphitheater?”

—

We spend the rest of the day together, something I sorely miss now that my sons "hate" being seen with me. Percy makes a great addition too, and for some reason that is completely beyond me, I don’t even mind.

As always, he has an obscene amount of questions. “Who invented that?” I did. “Why do they do it like that?” Because I said so. “What’s the deal with this?” The deal is I made it that way. We explore the amphitheater like a weird pseudo-family field trip, and Castor and Pollux tell him about our theatre nights. (I started the tradition, of course. None of these demigods have culture.)

Pollux sells it. “You’ll love it, Percy. Our next one is in two weeks. Castor and I are going to reenact a scene from Othello.”

“Does dad join?” Percy asks.

“Nah, he judges the whole thing. Usually, it’s between us and the Apollo kids.”

“Except that one time the Aphrodite cabin got it,” Castor adds. “I think it was rigged.”

I roll my eyes. “I always have to be fair, boys. I can’t show favoritism. Their performance was the simply best.”

Percy asks, “What did they do?”

“They performed as me, of course. The Bacchae by Euripides.”

“Rigged,” Castor mumbles.

“It was a unique yet faithful interpretation.”

Next, we happen across the big house where we run into Chiron and Grover. Percy says hello, and excitedly details how he grew his first strawberry. Chiron proceeds to give me the most bone-chilling side-eye I’ve witnessed in ages. But I ignore him. I know what I’m doing.

Grover keeps his mouth shut as well, and I gracefully ignore his scathing, “Wow, Percy! I had no idea you could do that.” Percy doesn’t even notice. Thank Olympus. Hopefully, Castor and Pollux don’t sense anything amiss either.

Finally, we finish the day at the dining pavilion. As usual, I keep my distance when there are other campers around. (The last time I tried to hug Pollux in front of his friends, he refused to talk to me for weeks. I know I invented the silent treatment, but that was unnecessary.)

This time, Percy’s prayer makes it straight to me. He thanks me for the help today, making sure to use my full godly name as he does so. I smile to myself before remembering that he isn’t actually my kid. I can’t get too attached.

It makes me wonder, however, why Percy’s real father hasn’t come to claim him yet. An inkling of doubt reaches my mind, and I consider the possibility that Percy will never be reclaimed. Maybe the Minotaur incident wasn’t as fantastic as I thought. Maybe his real father couldn’t care less. After all, Percy’s father has never tried contacting him before.

They must have felt my blessing being bestowed upon their son, and those aren’t something to be pushed aside. This is a matter of pride. If Percy still hasn’t been claimed, his chances now are slim to none. Not that he knows. No, at this point, I need to consider the possibility that Percy’s father has taken the chance and bolted.

I fume quietly as I pretend to listen to Chiron’s updates on tomorrow’s game of Capture the Flag. I’ve always hated gods who don’t take care of their children, but this is disgusting. Even if Percy is as bothersome as they come, he’s a good kid. I shake my head. I shouldn’t have doubted how unfaithful the gods are. I sip quietly at my Diet Coke and accept my fate.

—

My day ends with the same petulant knocking on my door. This time, I know exactly which creature it is.

Percy stands in front of me, slightly damp and way past his bedtime. “You know I don’t show favoritism, kid. What are you doing up?”

“Do you control water?” he asks.

I stop. “What? Why on earth would I do that?”

Percy launches into a story about Clarisse and her little posse trying to dunk Percy’s head in the toilet. When he recounts their fates, I pale. “I don’t know how I did it," Percy rambles, "but the water just splashed them and then they ran off.” He shakes his head. “It was kind of freaky. Then Annabeth saw, and she told me she was waiting for something like that to happen. Was that supposed to happen?”

Oh great Styx, that little tattletale saw? In seconds, I’m shuffling through my godly database of every single water-adjacent deity I know. There’s Achelous, but he’s kind of a hermit. Cymopoleia, but she sticks to the deep sea. Nereus, but he’s more of a fish god, and he really only has daughters. Amphitrite, but she’s married to Poseidon, and their kids would be minor gods like Triton. And Percy’s looking for a dad anyway so—

Oh. Oh, this is not good.

Of all the gods’ children, I had to claim this one.

Percy looks at me expectantly. I take a deep breath. “Do you remember that guy I mentioned that turned water to wine?”

Percy’s eyes widen. “You mean Jesus?”

“Names,” I warn. Can he see me shaking? I feel like I'm shaking. “Yeah, that one. He was born a long time ago, but he was pretty good with water just like you, it seems.” How could I be so stupid as to claim one of the Big Three’s children? “Which is kind of surprising actually. Not many of my children possess that kind of talent, especially at a young age, but it seems like you’ve got the gift.” Why, Fates?! Why burden me with such scandal?!

“I knew it,” Percy mumbles.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing,” he snaps. “I was just thinking out loud. Where do the water powers come from?”

Fuck me. I don't know. “I’ll tell you tomorrow, Paco. Right now, you need to be asleep.” And I need to have a word with your father. I begin to walk back inside, terribly distraught, when a thought occurs to me. “What were you doing out at night, anyway?” I ask.

Percy’s eyes widen. “I was just…talking to someone.”

I give him a glare. “Get back to your brothers. Go to bed.” He nods and leaves. The moment he's out of sight, I sprint.

—

There are a few options to choose from when contacting another god, but most are useless when you’re trying to exchange sensitive information. I can’t go to Olympus because it’s too crowded. I can’t enter Poseidon’s palace domain without his permission. I can’t Iris message him because the goddess monitors every conversation, but I can meet him on earth.

Poseidon is known to frequent a beach not too far from here in Montauk. (Are you kidding me?! That’s where I remember the name? It was so obvious!) If I’m lucky—and I better be—then Poseidon might already be there. After all, I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s been watching my every move the past few days.

I send out a godly projection of myself to the same beach. There, I spot what looks like a normal fisherman wandering down the shoreline. But I know better. His godly aura is so familiar, too familiar. It’s just like the power that radiates off of Percy.

“Poseidon!” I holler. The god turns around at the strong invocation of his name. I storm closer. “You better tell me why I have a camper who knows how to control water. Could you not keep it in your pants until my camp director days are over?”

The god scowls. “You’re one to talk, claiming my son just so you could get drunk.”

“So he is yours,” I spit. “Oh, this is fantastic, isn’t it? Just my luck!”

“Luck?” he cries. “You’ve been treating my son like garbage until your stunt today with the berries.”

“I’m trying, you crusty old barnacle, unlike you. According to your own son, you’re a deadbeat.”

Poseidon locks his jaw, eyes swimming with rage. “I’ve been watching him,” he admits. He jabs a finger into my chest, “but you know why I can’t intervene.”

“I do,” I say, “and that’s exactly why I think we should discuss this at the camp." I cross my arms and look him up and down. This man has no idea how to be a father, does he? None of them do. "Now follow me. We should probably bring Chiron up to speed as well.”