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I sat up. “You went to camp this weekend?”

“Just sent an Iris-message.” Annabeth sat on the edge of my bed. “Turns out the Dryadic Coven keeps concentrated nectar in their root cellar for special emergencies.”

“The Dryadic Coven? That’s a thing?”

I imagined a bunch of ladies in billowy green-and-brown dresses dancing around a tree hung with healing crystals, like a Stevie Nicks cosplay convention.

Annabeth put a finger to her lips. “You didn’t hear about it from me. Apparently, concentrated nectar can heal a nature spirit on the verge of death, but it’s risky. One time, this badly burnt oak dryad got revived as a chunk of granite.”

I rubbed my eyes. I wondered if I was still asleep, because it seemed like Annabeth was sitting on my bed talking about trees and rocks. “Okay.”

“Also, the wordnectarmeansovercoming death. Did you know that?”

“I’m going back to sleep.”

“Wait, this is the important part. Juniper said this stuff is so fragrant that one whiff can put a demigod into a coma.”

That got my attention. “Why didn’t Iris mention that?”

“She probably didn’t even consider it,” Annabeth said. “But since we don’t have time to go comatose this morning...” She dug around in her backpack and brought out a packet of tissues and a jar of menthol rub. “We plug our noses before we uncork this stuff.”

“Smart,” I said, though I was thinking how great we’d look walking around Greenwich Village with Kleenex tusks sticking out of our nostrils.

“Yeah,” Annabeth agreed. “Crisis averted. Anyway, I owe Juniper a favor now.”

She looked like she was thinking about how to repay her... and whether dryads liked cupcakes.

“How’s she doing?” I asked.

Annabeth patted my knee. “You must have given Grover good advice. He apologized to her, spent some quality time with her planting seedlings in the forest. Sounds like they are back on good terms.”

“Hey, when it comes to advice on being the perfect boyfriend—”

She laughed, then glanced at the wall self-consciously. “Too loud? I don’t want to wake Sally and Paul.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her.

The walls in the apartment were surprisingly thick. And if my mom heard Annabeth in my room, the worst consequence would be that she’d offer my girlfriend a cup of tea.

It’s weird what happens when your parents just accept you and support you and assume you will do the right thing. You end upwantingto do the right thing. At least that’s been my experience, and this ismewe’re talking about. My mom has more reason to worry than most parents. After years of boarding schools, summers at camp, and months fighting monsters on the road, I still wasn’t used to being at home full-time, but I had to admit that living with my mom and Paul was a pretty sweet gig.

“Second thoughts?” Annabeth asked me.

I realized she’d been reading my expression. “About what?”

“Leaving New York, with the baby coming and all.”

“No.... I mean, no. I was just thinking how nice it’s been to live at home for a while. And they looked so happy at dinner. I wonder what it’ll be like for my mom to have a regular kid.”

“I don’t think Sally could ever have a regular kid,” Annabeth said. “Because she’s not regular. Neither is Paul.”

“True. The baby’s probably going to be born like Batman—no superpowers but still a complete beast with six PhDs.”

“Now I’m picturing the kid in a onesie with pointy ears.”

“Grover would be pleased.”

She snorted. “All I’m saying... it’s okay if you’re feeling conflicted about leaving—”