Are you joking?
Over the last few months, I had drastically scaled back my expectations. At this point, okay meant still able to walk and breathe.
“I should have realized earlier,” Hazel said. “Your death aura is getting stronger by the hour—”
“Can we not talk about my death aura?”
“Sorry, it’s just…I wish Nico were here. He might know how to fix you.”
I wouldn’t have minded seeing Hazel’s half brother. Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, had been quite valuable when we fought Nero at Camp Half-Blood. And of course his boyfriend, my son Will Solace, was an excellent healer. Yet I suspected they wouldn’t be able to help me any more than Pranjal had. If Will and Nico were here, they would just be two more people for me to worry about—two more loved ones watching me with concern, wondering how long until I went full-on zombie.
“I appreciate the sentiment,” I said, “but…What is Lavinia doing?”
About a hundred yards away, Lavinia and Don the faun stood on a bridge across the Little Tiber—which was very much not on the way to the Field of Mars—having what looked like a serious argument. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought this to Hazel’s attention. Then again, if Lavinia wanted to go unnoticed, she should have chosen a different hair color—like camouflage, for instance—and not waved her arms around so much.
“I don’t know.” Hazel’s expression reminded me of a tired mother who had found her toddler trying to climb into the monkey exhibit for the dozenth time. “Lavinia!”
Lavinia looked over. She patted the air as if to say, Just give me a minute, then went back to arguing with Don.
“Am I too young to get ulcers?” Hazel wondered aloud.
I had little occasion for humor, given all that was happening, but that comment made me laugh.
As we got closer to the Field of Mars, I saw legionnaires breaking into cohorts, moving to different activities spread across the wasteland. One group was digging defensive trenches. Another had gathered on the shore of an artificial lake that hadn’t been there yesterday, waiting to board two makeshift boats that looked nothing like Caligula’s yachts. A third group sledded down a dirt hill on their shields.
Hazel sighed. “That would be my group of delinquents. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off to teach them how to slay ghouls.”
She jogged away, leaving me alone with my cartwheeling sidekick.
“So where do we go?” I asked Meg. “Frank said we had, er, special jobs?”
“Yep.” Meg pointed to the far end of the field, where the Fifth Cohort was waiting at a target range. “You’re teaching archery.”
I stared at her. “I’m doing what now?”
“Frank taught the morning class, since you slept forever. Now it’s your turn.”
“But—I can’t teach as Lester, especially in my condition! Besides, Romans never rely on archery in combat. They think projectile weapons are beneath them!”
“Gotta think in new ways if you want to beat the emperors,” Meg said. “Like me. I’m weaponizing the unicorns.”
“You’re—Wait, what?”
“Later.” Meg skipped across the field toward a large riding ring, where the First Cohort and a herd of unicorns were staring suspiciously at one another. I couldn’t imagine how Meg planned to weaponize the nonviolent creatures, or who had given her permission to try, but I had a sudden horrible image of Romans and unicorns assaulting one another with large cheese graters. I decided to mind my own business.
With a sigh, I turned toward the firing range and went to meet my new pupils.
The only thing scarier than being bad at archery was discovering that I was suddenly good at it again. That may not sound like a problem, but since becoming mortal, I’d experienced a few random bursts of godly skill. Each time, my powers had quickly evaporated again, leaving me more bitter and disillusioned than ever.
Sure, I may have fired a quiverful of amazing shots in Tarquin’s tomb. That didn’t mean I could do it again. If I tried to demonstrate proper shooting techniques in front of a whole cohort and ended up hitting one of Meg’s unicorns in the butt, I would die of embarrassment long before the zombie poison got me.
“Okay, everyone,” I said. “I suppose we can start.”
Dakota was rummaging through his water-stained quiver, trying to find an arrow that wasn’t warped. Apparently, he thought it was a great idea to store his archery supplies in the sauna. Thomas and another legionnaire (Marcus?) were sword-fighting with their bows. The legion’s standard-bearer, Jacob, was drawing his bow with the butt of the arrow directly