Chapter 15 I Have a Staring Contest with Argus’s Chin
I Have a Staring Contest with Argus’s Chin
I woke with a start to “Rise and Shine, Losers!” blasting over the cabin’s sound system. I wanted to fling my entire bunk at whoever had turned on the music, but I was still half rooted in my dream.
I wasn’t surprised that Silas and Grant had made an appearance in my subconscious.
I was surprised at how vivid the whole experience still felt, even though I’d tried my best to tamp it down—to bury it in the darkest corner of my mind.
Sadly, that dream had been based on reality.
Mom and Olivia had really been kidnapped, and I was desperately awaiting the chance to save them.
We’ll figure out what comes next, Grant had promised me. Together.
Now Silas and Grant were missing, too.
I glanced at Grant’s bunk. His Camp Half-Blood T-shirt sat neatly folded on top of his overnight bag, waiting for his return.
If we’d been in the Hermes cabin, I imagined that bag would have already been emptied, its contents auctioned off to the highest bidder, but here in Cabin Five, there was some measure of respect for our missing sibling.
I didn’t love everything about this group, but I had to give them credit for that. The rage-metal music, however…
It made me long for the tunes Silas would play for Grant and me on our journey to camp.
The songs had a magic to them. When Silas blew through the high end of his panpipes, berry bushes would suddenly be bursting with fruit.
When Silas blew through the low end, trees bent low, shielding us from the rain or sun.
Now those panpipes were with Argus while Silas was who-knew-where.
Enough was enough.
While my cabinmates were goofing around and smacking one another with pillows, I rolled to my feet and strode out the front door of the cabin.
“You’re still in your pajamas!” someone shouted after me.
“I’m aware,” I muttered, hurrying out the door.
I received plenty more stares as I walked to the Big House, and yes, I did regret my choice of attire about five minutes in. But I needed answers, and there was only one place I could get them.
I marched up the steps of the Big House, preparing myself to confront Argus, but someone else greeted me on the front porch.
“Nice pajamas,” said a girl in a unicorn hoodie. She sat in a folding chair, her head bowed over a card table where she’d spread out the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. As she worked on the puzzle, her unicorn horn bobbed along with the effort. “Care to chat?”
I frowned. Why did this kid seem familiar?
“I’m kind of in a hurry,” I said.
The girl grunted in amusement. “Aren’t you all.”
I paused on the landing. I was sure the card table hadn’t been there yesterday, but dew-kissed spiderwebs stretched from the table legs to the porch railing. The puzzle, too, which had to be a thousand pieces, was halfway done, like someone had been working on it for days.
The girl held a puzzle piece that belonged somewhere in the interior and was testing it against every unfinished portion.
“You should do the edges first,” I said. “And sort the pieces by color. It’s easier that way.”
The girl didn’t look up. “I like a challenge.” She abandoned the piece she was holding and picked up a different one, beginning her process anew.
I moved closer to the table. On the floor lay the discarded puzzle box, with a photo of a colorful row of Victorian-style houses on the lid. The title read Painted Ladies, San Francisco.
“You could also look at the picture of the finished puzzle,” I suggested, “if you’re not sure where the pieces go.”
The girl lowered her puzzle piece and drew back her unicorn hood. Based on her looks, she could’ve been my little sister—the same dark wavy hair and wide-set dark eyes. I’d never seen her before at camp, and yet…I felt like I had.
“May I please do it myself?” she asked.
She said it in the gentlest possible way, but the comment still hit me hard. I remembered saying the same thing to Olivia many times when we were younger, whenever she tried to “help me” with a game or a puzzle and ended up doing it all herself.
I held up my hands. “Of course. Sorry.”
She smiled tightly. “Thank you, Caddy.”
I started to leave, but then I hesitated. “It’s Katie, actually.”
The girl was focused on her puzzle again. “I apologize. Your necklace says Caddy, so I just assumed.”
“This?” I lifted my pendant. “No, it’s my name in hangul characters. See? Kay-tee,” I said, sounding it out.
The girl lowered her puzzle piece. Then she pointed at the characters on my pendant. “Cah-dee. I know every language spoken in every household.” She arched her eyebrow at me, and then she lifted her fist and flicked her index finger toward the ceiling.
I didn’t understand what she was pointing at, but I glanced up.
She sighed. “Never mind.”
I frowned, feeling weirdly like I’d disappointed her somehow. “Trust me, this is my name on the pendant. My mom bought it, and she’s Korean.”
The girl pushed a puzzle piece into place. “Did she design the pendant, or did you?”
“I designed it,” I admitted, “but she ordered it. And I know she wouldn’t have let me put the wrong thing, because she always corrected the birthday cards I made her when I was little.”
“Harsh.” The girl picked up another piece. “That never bothered you?”
I watched her work, doing my best to resist the urge to sort her pieces into colors. “I mean, yeah. One time I cried my eyes out afterward, but then my mom made spaghetti and meatballs. That made me feel better.”
“A pasta-pology,” said the girl.
“I guess so,” I said with a weak smile. “My mom never apologizes out loud for anything, so that’s probably as close as I could’ve gotten.” My stomach twisted as I realized there was a chance that might be as close as I’d get ever again.
The girl studied my necklace, like it was another puzzle piece she couldn’t quite place. “Do you think she let you get away with Caddy to spare you more tears, or because she ran out of spaghetti ingredients?”
I wasn’t sure if she meant the comment to be funny, but it made me think. “I don’t know. My mom wanted my sister to teach me Korean, but she herself hasn’t tried to teach me for years. Maybe she just stopped caring.”
“If that’s true, then why do you still care?”
It was such a jarring question that all I could do was stare at the girl.
She stared right back. “Why do you care whether people think you’re Korean enough, Katie?”
My skin prickled. “I…I don’t care.”
The girl returned to her puzzle. “When you were in the shower, I heard you singing that horrible rock music your cabinmates like.”
That was a little strange. I was pretty sure the naiad and I had been the only ones in the bathhouse, but I shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose ‘Stomp my Bleeding Heart’ is catchy.”
“But you told Zuri that all you listen to is K-pop because you ‘gotta represent.’ ” The girl made air quotes. “And the other morning at breakfast, you were going to order Sunkist but changed your mind and chose hyeonmi-cha instead, which you promptly dumped out.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you, like, stalking me or—”
“You grew defensive when I pointed out your name was spelled wrong in hangul. A simple mistake most would laugh at. And then there are your visions.” The girl leaned close and whispered, “You react more loudly than you think.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
Something was definitely odd about this girl—I mean aside from the unicorn hoodie and the questionable puzzle-solving methods.
The light seemed to bend around her, making it hard to focus on the details of her face.
A moment before, she had looked like she could be my little sister.
Now her hair seemed honey-blond, her eyes more like amber.
I knew I’d seen her before, but my brain felt fuzzy in her presence.
“Since you know so much about me,” I said, trying to sound defiant, “why don’t you tell me why I care?”
“Oh, no.” The girl shook her head. “It’s never wise to assume other people’s motives.”
From inside the Big House, I heard the creaking of floorboards and multiple voices coming nearer. One of them was Argus’s.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” I told the girl. “Good-bye.”
I pivoted on my heel and headed for the front door.
“Know yourself and be true to yourself, Katie Kim,” the girl called after me. “That is where the greatest happiness lies.”
I rolled my eyes and spoke over my shoulder. “Don’t—”
But the girl was gone. So was the table with the puzzle. A hint of woodsmoke lingered in the air, reminding me of the fire pit between the cabins.
What had the girl said? She knew every language spoken in every household? And she’d been putting together a jigsaw of six houses in a row—identical facades, but each in a different color, probably with very different families inside.
Had I just been talking to Hestia, goddess of the hearth?
As I was trying to process that, and wondering why a goddess would wear a unicorn hoodie, Argus emerged from the Big House, followed by a cadre of dryads and satyrs.
“…searched all night,” one of the dryads was saying.
“Except the Wild Zone,” a satyr retorted. “Which was the place he warned us about!”
“Silas wouldn’t dare go beyond the border,” the dryad argued back. “Even we do not dwell in those trees!”
As soon as Argus saw me, he held up his hand and the nature spirits fell silent.
“Katie Kim.” Only one of Argus’s many eyes focused on me—the one on his chin, and it didn’t seem to like me much.
“I need to talk to you,” I said. “About Silas.”
Argus gestured at his companions. “Can’t you see I’m busy working on just that? You should go get dressed for break—”
“I know you found his panpipes,” I said.
Everyone on the porch now focused on me. The satyrs looked nervous. The dryads scowled like they were silently judging my pajamas.
Argus turned to the nature spirits. “We’ll speak more later. Thank you.”
They dispersed, heading toward the woods or off to their chores.