The House of Hades (The Heros of Olympus, Book 4)

FRANK WOKE UP AS A PYTHON, which puzzled him.

Changing into an animal wasn’t confusing. He did that all the time. But he had never changed from one animal to another in his sleep before. He was pretty sure he hadn’t dozed off as a snake. Usually, he slept like a dog.

He’d discovered that he got through the night much better if he curled up on his bunk in the shape of a bulldog. For whatever reason, his nightmares didn’t bother him as much. The constant screaming in his head almost disappeared.

He had no idea why he’d become a reticulated python, but it did explain his dream about slowly swallowing a cow. His jaw was still sore.

He braced himself and changed back to human form. Immediately, his splitting headache returned, along with the voices.

Fight them! yelled Mars. Take this ship! Defend Rome!

The voice of Ares shouted back: Kill the Romans! Blood and death! Large guns!

His father’s Roman and Greek personalities screamed back and forth in Frank’s mind with the usual soundtrack of battle noises—explosions, assault rifles, roaring jet engines—all throbbing like a subwoofer behind Frank’s eyes.

He sat up on his berth, dizzy with pain. As he did every morning, he took a deep breath and stared at the lamp on his desk—a tiny flame that burned night and day, fueled by magic olive oil from the supply room.

Fire…Frank’s biggest fear. Keeping an open flame in his room terrified him, but it also helped him focus. The noise in his head faded to the background, allowing him to think.

He’d gotten better at this, but for days he’d been almost worthless. As soon as the fighting broke out at Camp Jupiter, the war god’s two voices had started screaming nonstop. Ever since, Frank had been stumbling around in a daze, barely able to function. He’d acted like a fool, and he was sure his friends thought he’d lost his marbles.

He couldn’t tell them what was wrong. There was nothing they could do, and from listening to them talk, Frank was pretty sure they didn’t have the same problem with their godly parents yelling in their ears.

Just Frank’s luck, but he had to pull it together. His friends needed him—especially now, with Annabeth gone.

Annabeth had been kind to him. Even when he was so distracted he’d acted like a buffoon, Annabeth had been patient and helpful. While Ares screamed that Athena’s children couldn’t be trusted, and Mars bellowed at him to kill all the Greeks, Frank had grown to respect Annabeth.

Now that they were without her, Frank was the next best thing the group had to a military strategist. They would need him for the trip ahead.

He rose and got dressed. Fortunately he’d managed to buy some new clothes in Siena a couple of days ago, replacing the laundry that Leo had sent flying away on Buford the table. (Long story.) He tugged on some Levi’s and an army-green T-shirt, then reached for his favorite pullover before remembering he didn’t need it. The weather was too warm. More important, he didn’t need the pockets anymore to protect the magical piece of firewood that controlled his life span. Hazel was keeping it safe for him.

Maybe that should have made him nervous. If the firewood burned, Frank died: end of story. But he trusted Hazel more than he trusted himself. Knowing she was safeguarding his big weakness made him feel better—like he’d fastened his seat belt for a high-speed chase.

He slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder. Immediately they morphed into a regular backpack. Frank loved that. He never would’ve known about the quiver’s camouflage power if Leo hadn’t figured it out for him.

Leo! Mars raged. He must die!

Throttle him! Ares cried. Throttle everyone! Who are we talking about again?

The two began shouting at each other again, over the sound of bombs exploding in Frank’s skull.

He steadied himself against the wall. For days, Frank had listened to those voices demanding Leo Valdez’s death.

After all, Leo had started the war with Camp Jupiter by firing a ballista into the Forum. Sure, he’d been possessed at the time; but still Mars demanded vengeance. Leo made things harder by constantly teasing Frank, and Ares demanded that Frank retaliate for every insult.

Frank kept the voices at bay, but it wasn’t easy.

On their trip across the Atlantic, Leo had said something that still stuck in Frank’s mind. When they’d learned that Gaea the evil earth goddess had put a bounty on their heads, Leo had wanted to know for how much.

I can understand not being as pricey as Jason or Percy, he’d said, but am I worth, like, two or three Franks?

Just another one of Leo’s stupid jokes, but the comment hit a little too close to home. On the Argo II, Frank definitely felt like the LVP—Least Valuable Player. Sure, he could turn into animals. So what? His biggest claim to helpfulness so far had been changing into a weasel to escape from an underground workshop, and even that had been Leo’s idea. Frank was better known for the Giant Goldfish Fiasco in Atlanta, and, just yesterday, for turning into a two-hundred-kilo gorilla only to get knocked senseless by a flash-bang grenade.

Leo hadn’t made any gorilla jokes at his expense yet. But it was only a matter of time.

Kill him!

Torture him! Then kill him!

The two sides of the war god seemed to be kicking and punching each other inside Frank’s head, using his sinuses as a wrestling mat.

Blood! Guns!

Rome! War!

Quiet down, Frank ordered.

Amazingly, the voices obeyed.

Okay, then, Frank thought.

Maybe he could finally get those annoying screaming mini-gods under control. Maybe today would be a good day.

That hope was shattered as soon as he climbed above deck.

“What are they?” Hazel asked.

The Argo II was docked at a busy wharf. On one side stretched a shipping channel about half a kilometer wide. On the other spread the city of Venice—red-tiled roofs, metal church domes, steepled towers, and sun-bleached buildings in all the colors of Valentine candy hearts—red, white, ochre, pink, and orange.

Everywhere there were statues of lions—on top of pedestals, over doorways, on the porticoes of the largest buildings. There were so many, Frank figured the lion must be the city’s mascot.

Where streets should have been, green canals etched their way through the neighborhoods, each one jammed with motorboats. Along the docks, the sidewalks were mobbed with tourists shopping at the T-shirt kiosks, overflowing from stores, and lounging across acres of outdoor café tables, like pods of sea lions. Frank had thought Rome was full of tourists. This place was insane.

Hazel and the rest of his friends weren’t paying attention to any of that, though. They had gathered at the starboard rail to stare at the dozens of weird shaggy monsters milling through the crowds.

Each monster was about the size of a cow, with a bowed back like a broken-down horse, matted gray fur, skinny legs, and black cloven hooves. The creatures’ heads seemed much too heavy for their necks. Their long, anteater-like snouts drooped to the ground. Their overgrown gray manes completely covered their eyes.

Frank watched as one of the creatures lumbered across the promenade, snuffling and licking the pavement with its long tongue. The tourists parted around it, unconcerned. A few even petted it. Frank wondered how the mortals could be so calm. Then the monster’s appearance flickered. For a moment it turned into an old, fat beagle.

Jason grunted. “The mortals think they’re stray dogs.”

“Or pets roaming around,” Piper said. “My dad shot a film in Venice once. I remember him telling me there were dogs everywhere. Venetians love dogs.”

Frank frowned. He kept forgetting that Piper’s dad was Tristan McLean, A-list movie star. She didn’t talk about him much. She seemed pretty down-to-earth for a kid raised in Hollywood. That was fine with Frank. The last thing they needed on this quest was paparazzi taking pictures of all Frank’s epic fails.

“But what are they?” he asked, repeating Hazel’s question. “They look like…starving, shaggy cows with sheepdog hair.”

He waited for someone to enlighten him. Nobody volunteered any information.

“Maybe they’re harmless,” Leo suggested. “They’re ignoring the mortals.”

“Harmless!” Gleeson Hedge laughed. The satyr wore his usual gym shorts, sports shirt, and coach’s whistle. His expression was as gruff as ever, but he still had one pink rubber band stuck in his hair from the prankster dwarfs in Bologna. Frank was kind of scared to mention it to him. “Valdez, how many harmless monsters have we met? We should just aim the ballistae and see what happens!”

“Uh, no,” Leo said.

For once, Frank agreed with Leo. There were too many monsters. It would be impossible to target one without causing collateral damage in the crowds of tourists. Besides, if those creatures panicked and stampeded…

“We’ll have to walk through them and hope they’re peaceful,” Frank said, hating the idea already. “It’s the only way we’re going to track down the owner of that book.”

Leo pulled the leather-bound manual from underneath his arm. He’d slapped a sticky note on the cover with the address the dwarfs in Bologna had given him.

“La Casa Nera,” he read. “Calle Frezzeria.”

“The Black House,” Nico di Angelo translated. “Calle Frezzeria is the street.”

Frank tried not to flinch when he realized Nico was at his shoulder. The guy was so quiet and brooding, he almost seemed to dematerialize when he wasn’t speaking. Hazel might have been the one who came back from the dead, but Nico was way more ghostlike.

“You speak Italian?” Frank asked.

Nico shot him a warning look, like: Watch the questions. He spoke calmly, though. “Frank is right. We have to find that address. The only way to do it is to walk the city. Venice is a maze. We’ll have to risk the crowds and those…whatever they are.”

Thunder rumbled in the clear summer sky. They’d passed through some storms the night before. Frank had thought they were over, but now he wasn’t sure. The air felt as thick and warm as sauna steam.

Jason frowned at the horizon. “Maybe I should stay on board. Lots of venti in that storm last night. If they decide to attack the ship again…”

He didn’t need to finish. They’d all had experiences with angry wind spirits. Jason was the only one who had much luck fighting them.

Coach Hedge grunted. “Well, I’m out, too. If you softhearted cupcakes are going to stroll through Venice without even whacking those furry animals on the head, forget it. I don’t like boring expeditions.”

“It’s okay, Coach.” Leo grinned. “We still have to repair the foremast. Then I need your help in the engine room. I’ve got an idea for a new installation.”

Frank didn’t like the gleam in Leo’s eye. Since Leo had found that Archimedes sphere, he’d been trying out a lot of “new installations.” Usually, they exploded or sent smoke billowing upstairs into Frank’s cabin.

“Well…” Piper shifted her feet. “Whoever goes should be good with animals. I, uh…I’ll admit I’m not great with cows.”

Frank figured there was a story behind that comment, but he decided not to ask.

“I’ll go,” he said.

He wasn’t sure why he volunteered—maybe because he was anxious to be useful for a change. Or maybe he didn’t want anyone beating him to the punch. Animals? Frank can turn into animals! Send him!

Leo patted him on shoulder and handed him the leather-bound book. “Awesome. If you pass a hardware store, could you get me some two-by-fours and a gallon of tar?”

“Leo,” Hazel chided, “it’s not a shopping trip.”

“I’ll go with Frank,” Nico offered.

Frank’s eye started twitching. The war gods’ voices rose to a crescendo in his head: Kill him! Graecus scum!

No! I love Graecus scum!

“Uh…you’re good with animals?” he asked.

Nico smiled without humor. “Actually, most animals hate me. They can sense death. But there’s something about this city.…” His expression turned grim. “Lots of death. Restless spirits. If I go, I may be able to keep them at bay. Besides, as you noticed, I speak Italian.”

Leo scratched his head. “Lots of death, huh? Personally, I’m trying to avoid lots of death, but you guys have fun!”

Frank wasn’t sure what scared him more: shaggy-cow monsters, hordes of restless ghosts, or going somewhere alone with Nico di Angelo.

“I’ll go too.” Hazel slipped her arm through Frank’s. “Three is the best number for a demigod quest, right?”

Frank tried not to look too relieved. He didn’t want to offend Nico. But he glanced at Hazel and told her with his eyes: Thank you thank you thank you.

Nico stared at the canals, as if wondering what new and interesting forms of evil spirits might be lurking there. “All right, then. Let’s go find the owner of that book.”