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Gasping, I rolled out from under the pastry cart. I realized I’d been holding my breath for way too long.

“Oh, baby!” said Ganymede. “Come to Papa, you beautiful thing!”

Thankfully, he was not talking to me. He made gimme-gimme hands at the chalice. I wondered why he just didn’t grab it. Then it occurred to me I had to hand it over. I had to complete the quest and place the cup into his possession.

“Chalice for you, sir,” I said, and managed to lift the cup.

Ganymede hugged it, kissed its rim, examined it for dents and dings. “Oh, Percy Jackson! You did it! I don’t know how to thank you!”

“How about a recommendation letter?”

Ganymede blinked. “Right! Of course!” A piece of paper floated down from nowhere, straight onto my chest.

I looked at both sides. “It’s blank.”

“Just dictate whatever you want me to say. The words will write themselves. When you’re done, as long as you haven’t gone overboard with the praise, my signature will appear at the bottom. It’s all completely legitimate and legal.”

All this... for a blank piece of paper.

I could have laughed or sobbed, but that wouldn’t have done any good. And it would have attracted the attention of the other gods.

“Thanks,” I said, getting to my feet. “So... we’re done?”

“Now I have to fill this chalice,” Ganymede said. “And clotted cream! I need some clotted cream! But yes. We’re done. I won’t forget this, Percy Jackson. Good luck in college!”

As Ganymede rushed around the kitchen, Zeus called out, “Ganymede, where are you? I’m getting to the good part!”

“Coming, Lord Zeus!” Ganymede called. “Just... filling my chalice, which has been in my possession this entire time!”

He winced, then returned to work. Clotted cream obtained and chalice filled, he rushed the cart back into the dining hall.

I glanced at Barbara the dryad. “Thanks for your help. I’ll arrange that meet and greet with Annabeth.”

“Awesome! It must be such a thrill to work for her.”

“Um, yep.”

I turned and nearly jumped out of my jeans. Chef Naomi was standing one inch away, glaring at me.

“Bit of a letdown, doing quests for the gods?” she asked. “Kind of the way I feel every time I make a meal and none of them even says thank you.”

“You know,” I said, “it’s a living.”

She patted me on the shoulder. “Would you like a demi bag for the road? Then you can get out of my kitchen.”

The worst part of it all?

Demi bags—as in bags of leftovers for demigods—were a real thing.

Naomi gave me an insulated white sack withDEMI BAG! written in red letters above a sketch of smiling children with their tongues hanging out, waiting for tasty treats.

I’m not sure what I found more insulting—the fact that the gods treated their kids like pets, or the fact that Poseidon had never once brought me any leftovers. Naomi loaded me up with primo pastries, though she didn’t include any clotted cream.

Somehow, I made it back across the Olympian bridge without being accosted by minor gods or rabid dryad fans demanding Annabeth’s autograph.

As I took the elevator down to the mortal world, “I Got You, Babe” was still playing. Gods almighty, how long was that song? Or maybe the Olympians just had it on a loop to torture their visitors.

I realized I was shaking from delayed fear. All the adrenaline rushed out of my body. I could still see Athena’s eyes boring into me, so much worse than the gaze of a lion. Unlike Lucius, the goddess of wisdom couldn’t be pacified by a scratch behind the ear—or at least, I wasn’t going to be the one to try.