Inspired by the film, I decided to take matters into my own hands. (Despite the fact that I’d just had a manicure.) I thought I might find some ideas for a new clothing line inside that trunk, so off I went!
Once inside the shop, I smashed open the lock on the trunk (Connor wasn’t around). I was afraid I might just find musty retro T-shirts, knee-high tube socks (shudder!), skinny ties, and other stuff that dated back to the last century. But the clothing I found went way, way back; I’m talking, like, millennia back. Shows you what cedar lining and sachets of potpourri can do to keep clothes fresh, am I right?
The first thing that hit me about the vintage clothing was the colors. Red, yellow, green, blue, indigo: it was like Iris had thrown up on them—in, you know, a good way. I was stunned, because I’d always imagined the ancient Greeks dressed in white. I mean, that’s what the clothing on the marble statues looks like, right? Then I remembered something Chiron had told me one time: the statues used to be painted, and they’re white now only because the paint’s worn off. Looking at the clothes in the trunk, I realized the ancient Greeks actually had worn colorful clothes. It made me proud of my ancestors.
I recognized the styles right away. On top were chitons—tuniclike thingies that were dress-length for women, thigh length for men, and (giggle) super-short for male athletes. Underneath were some himations, or cloaks, and a few peploses. A peplos is a big rectangle of fabric that could be turned into just about anything—kind of like those cute beach cover-ups that convert from shoulder wrap to halter-top dress to sleeveless dress to wraparound skirt. (Perfect for the budget-conscious shopper, BTW.) There were so many garments, I was afraid I’d miss something, so I grabbed a bunch of clothes hangers and racked those bad boys up.
“Oh, yeah.” I ran my hand over the linen and wool. “It’s dress-up time.”
For the next hour, I tried on everything (except the strophion—it was too much like a tube top, which no girl should ever wear, in my opinion). I borrowed ancient Greek-style jewelry and footwear from the store’s many storage lockers to complete my outfits. I was just twisting up my hair in an elaborate braided ’do when I saw one last item in the bottom of the trunk—an item I was pretty sure hadn’t been there when I looked before.
“Holy Aphrodite’s girdle!” I yelped as I pulled out…Aphrodite’s girdle.
My hands trembled. I knew all about this particular article of clothing, though I’d never seen it in person before. Aphrodite was super-careful about when she wore it. Crafted for Mom by Hephaestus (when they were still on good speaking terms), the girdle was more like a fashionable belt—a finely wrought wide band of gold filigree (twenty karat, if I’m not mistaken)—infused with magic. Supposedly, anyone who saw Mom wearing it got whipped up in a frenzy of passion for her. Not that she needs any help in that department. I mean, everyone who sees her gets the hots for her.
As I held the magical belt, I couldn’t help wondering if its power would work for me. I thought about taking it for a test drive around camp. I’d saunter past a certain Brazilian boy’s cabin and pause long enough for him to take a gander….
Tempting, I thought. But no.
I tossed the girdle back in the trunk. Why? Because I’d heard tales of Hephaestus cursing the items he made. The girdle probably wasn’t cursed, but I wasn’t going to chance triggering some dormant spell. Besides, any magic item used by the gods could be too much for demigods to handle.
As far as I know, the girdle is still at the bottom of that trunk. I left everything the way I’d found it when I closed up the store. But it makes me wonder…what was Mom’s girdle doing there? Will there be a time when I need to use it for some emergency?
For now, though, I’ll have to rely on my own charms to make people fall in love with me. Fortunately, I take after my mom. I’m pretty good at whipping up passionate frenzies….
SCENE: A room decorated with ornate tapestries, candles, and carpets in hues of purple, red, and gold. In the center is a golden throne on a dais. Apollo, dressed in jeans, a brilliant white T-shirt, a leather jacket, and sunglasses, lounges on the throne. On the wall is a neon sign that reads: FORTUNATELY APOLLO’S HERE!
APOLLO: Next!
[A girl camper enters]
GIRL: O, Great Apollo, god of prophecy, tell me, will I ever find love?
APOLLO: Find love? [mugs for the camera] I didn’t know it was missing!
[Rim shot followed by canned laughter]
APOLLO: Next!
[A boy camper enters]
BOY: O, Great Apollo, god of prophecy, tell me, will I ever be rich?
APOLLO: What’s your name, child?
BOY: Albert, Great Apollo.
APOLLO: Well, Albert Greatapollo, I foresee only one way for you to be rich….
BOY: What is it?
APOLLO: [mugs for camera] Change your name to Richard.
[Rim shot followed by canned laughter]
APOLLO: Next!
[A different boy camper enters]
BOY #2: O, Great Apollo, god of prophecy, will I ever discover who my godly parent is?
APOLLO: Dear child, the answer is right in front of you.
BOY #2 [looking around]: Really? Where?
APOLLO: [stands up and spreads arms wide] Right in front of you.
BOY #2: I don’t get it. Am I missing a clue?
APOLLO: You’re missing a clue all right. [mugs for the camera] One might even call you clueless!
[Rim shot followed by canned laughter and prerecorded applause]
—From the comedy skit “Fortunately, Apollo’s Here!” written by and starring Apollo
Psst! Got wind chimes? Enjoy limericks? Want to know the future? Then hurry past Zephyros Creek and Zeus’s Fist to the forest that holds this most ancient of all Oracles. Come on. It’s not much farther….Just follow the whispers….
Yo, demigods! Are you craving a great new hangout? Word on the street is the Oracle’s crib on Half-Blood Hill totally rocks. It’s tricked out from top to bottom with purple curtains and massive sofas—with throw pillows for fresh pops of color, yo! Check out the graphic wall murals, graffiti quotes, and other funky artwork created by the one and only Delphic Oracle, Rachel Elizabeth Dare. You know what they say: if the torches are a-burnin’, the prophecies are a-churnin’!
Do I scare you? I hope not. Most new campers think I’m über-spooky because I live part-time in a cave, have horrifying dreams about the end of the world, and spout enigmatic prophecies riddled with cheerful words such as death. Why anyone would find that disturbing is beyond me.
I delivered my first prophecy less than a minute after I accepted the spirit of Delphi. (If you want to know about the events triggered by those words, just ask any camper who lived through it. If you want to ask a camper who died through it, Nico di Angelo might set up a meet.) I thought I was prepared for the experience. I mean, I’d been channeling visions and seeing weird things most of my life. How different could mind-melding with an ancient spirit be?
Answer: very. Luckily, the god Apollo was on hand to help me to the Big House.
“You’re experiencing PPSS,” he said as he led me up the stairs and to an empty hospital bed.
“PPSS? What’s that?” I asked right before I threw up into a nearby bin.