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I suppressed a groan. I wondered what magic item she wanted cleaned now, or what special crystals she needed us to collect from the depths of the Underworld.

“How much?” Annabeth asked.

Iris gave us her best hard-bargaining stare. “Five dollars.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

Annabeth elbowed me.

“I mean...five dollars?” I tried to sound outraged. “Cash?”

“I also take Venmo,” the goddess offered.

I dug around in my pockets. I came up with my pen-sword Riptide, a paper clip, and a receipt from Himbo Juice. Annabeth took out her purse and produced a five-dollar bill. Because of course, along with every other strange and archaic ancient tool that she might need, she carried cash.

“Deal,” she said.

The exchange was made. Annabeth slipped the golden vial into her purse.

“Anything else we should know?” I asked. “Like who Gary is?”

“No,” Iris said. “It’s better you do not know. Otherwise...” She shook her head, then slipped the five-dollar bill into her embroidered fanny pack.

I got the feeling she wanted to say something else.Nice seeing you. Good luck.Something like that. Instead, she just gave us a pained smile and turned to arrange her collection of tie-dyed shawls.

I supposeotherwisewas the only thing you really needed to say when sending demigods out on a dangerous mission. That way, all your bases were covered.Succeed. Otherwise...

Well, you can fill in the blank.

Never give a satyr a photo op.

The next afternoon, Grover showed up to my second swim meet wearing a black beret, sunglasses, and a white smock thing. He looked like he was ready to paint watercolors on the street in Paris or something. He cheered for me as I did my first race (I came in second, because I didn’t need the attention of winning), then chatted with me in the bleachers while we watched my teammates compete.

Every time there was a break in the conversation, Grover opened his portfolio (since when did he carry a portfolio?) and perused the contact sheets from his photo shoot with Blanche.

“Did I show you this one?” he asked.

“I’m pretty sure you showed me all of them.” I tried to be nice about it, but I could only look at so many shots of Grover pretending to be dead, draped over a burnt log.

“See, my hand is slightly higher in this one,” he said. “Blanche thought it made a nice shadow across my forehead.”

“Uh-huh. It’s great.” I clapped for my teammate, who was just starting his second lap. “Yeah! Go, Lee!”

“It’s Lou,” said another teammate on the bench, whose name I thought was Chris but with my luck was probably Craig. Hey, I’d just started at AHS. Most days I couldn’t even remember my own name.

“So anyway,” Grover continued, “I asked Juniper whether she preferred C-twenty-five or maybe A-six for the final print. They both have advantages.”

I didn’t want to ask, but I did. “And which one did Juniper prefer? Or have you told her about it yet?”

Grover scowled. “I did. It was weird. She seemed... angry.”

Oh, boy, I thought. “Why do you think that was?”

Grover scratched his goatee. I could tell he was thinking about his answer, because he momentarily forgot about his contact sheets.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I told her Blanche liked the prone pose more, but Blanche liked the light in the side pose, so—”

“How many times did you mention Blanche when you were talking to Juniper?” I asked.