The Mark of Athena

Tempest turned so quickly, Piper almost fell off.

The wheat parted, and the man from her vision stepped into view. He wore a wide-brimmed hat wreathed in grapevines, a purple short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, and Birkenstocks with white socks. He looked maybe thirty, with a slight potbelly, like a frat boy who hadn’t yet realized college was over.

“Did someone just call me the wine dude?” he asked in a lazy drawl. “It’s Bacchus, please. Or Mr. Bacchus. Or Lord Bacchus. Or, sometimes, Oh-My-Gods-Please-Don’t-Kill-Me, Lord Bacchus.”

Percy urged Blackjack forward, though the pegasus didn’t seem happy about it.

“You look different,” Percy told the god. “Skinnier. Your hair is longer. And your shirt isn’t so loud.”

The wine god squinted up at him. “What in blazes are you talking about? Who are you, and where is Ceres?”

“Uh…what series?”

“I think he means Ceres,” Jason said. “The goddess of agriculture. You’d call her Demeter.” He nodded respectfully to the god. “Lord Bacchus, do you remember me? I helped you with that missing leopard in Sonoma.”

Bacchus scratched his stubbly chin. “Ah…yes. John Green.”

“Jason Grace.”

“Whatever,” the god said. “Did Ceres send you, then?”

“No, Lord Bacchus,” Jason said. “Were you expecting to meet her here?”

The god snorted. “Well, I didn’t come to Kansas to party, my boy. Ceres asked me here for a council of war. What with Gaea rising, the crops are withering. Droughts are spreading. The karpoi are in revolt. Even my grapes aren’t safe. Ceres wanted a united front in the plant war.”

“The plant war,” Percy said. “You’re going to arm all the little grapes with tiny assault rifles?”

The god narrowed his eyes. “Have we met?”

“At Camp Half-Blood,” Percy said, “I know you as Mr. D—Dionysus.”

“Agh!” Bacchus winced and pressed his hands to his temples. For a moment, his image flickered. Piper saw a different person—fatter, dumpier, in a much louder, leopard-patterned shirt. Then Bacchus returned to being Bacchus. “Stop that!” he demanded. “Stop thinking about me in Greek!”

Percy blinked. “Uh, but—”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to stay focused? Splitting headaches all the time! I never know what I’m doing or where I’m going! Constantly grumpy!”

“That sounds pretty normal for you,” Percy said.

The god’s nostrils flared. One of the grape leaves on his hat burst into flame. “If we know each other from that other camp, it’s a wonder I haven’t already turned you into a dolphin.”

“It was discussed,” Percy assured him. “I think you were just too lazy to do it.”

Piper had been watching with horrified fascination, the way she might watch a car wreck in progress. Now she realized Percy was not making things better, and Annabeth wasn’t around to rein him in. Piper figured her friend would never forgive her if she brought Percy back transformed into a sea mammal.

“Lord Bacchus!” she interrupted, slipping off Tempest’s back.

“Piper, careful,” Jason said.

She shot him a warning glance: I’ve got this.

“Sorry to trouble you, my lord,” she told the god, “but actually we came here to get your advice. Please, we need your wisdom.”

She used her most agreeable tone, pouring respect into her charmspeak.

The god frowned, but the purple glow faded in his eyes. “You’re well-spoken, girl. Advice, eh? Very well. I would avoid karaoke. Really, theme parties in general are out. In these austere times, people are looking for a simple, low-key affair, with locally produced organic snacks and—”

“Not about parties,” Piper interrupted. “Although that’s incredibly useful advice, Lord Bacchus. We were hoping you’d help us on our quest.”

She explained about the Argo II and their voyage to stop the giants from awakening Gaea. She told him what Nemesis had said: that in six days, Rome would be destroyed. She described the vision reflected in her knife, where Bacchus offered her a silver goblet.

“Silver goblet?” The god didn’t sound very excited. He grabbed a Diet Pepsi from nowhere and popped the top of the can.

“You drink Diet Coke,” Percy said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bacchus snapped. “As to this vision of the goblet, young lady, I have nothing for you to drink unless you want a Pepsi. Jupiter has put me under strict orders to avoid giving wine to minors. Bothersome, but there you have it. As for the giants, I know them well. I fought in the first Giant War, you know.”

“You can fight?” Percy asked.

Piper wished he hadn’t sounded so incredulous.

Dionysus snarled. His Diet Pepsi transformed into a five-foot staff wreathed in ivy, topped with a