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The Cake
Will was curious, and a curious Will was a dangerous Will. He had to know everything about everything, and would never give up, not ever, until his curiosity was satisfied. Or until Nico killed him - whichever came first.
“Let me see if I have this right.”
“Okay.”
“Italians eat rum-soaked cake on their birthdays?”
“Yep.”
“But only the adults, right? I mean, the kids probably have Hoodsie Cups or something.”
Nico’s head tilted left, then right, then down at his own black hooded sweatshirt, trying to decide if Will was having a stroke. “What the hell is a Hoodie Cup?”
“Hood-sie Cup. Like, a little paper cup of ice cream. With a tiny wooden spoon.”
“Why would you eat ice cream with tiny wood?”
Will snickered. “It’s biodegra- doesn’t matter. Point is, Italians don’t actually let kids eat booze cake on their birthdays, right?”
Nico took a breath, wondering if Apollo was keeping a tally of all the times Nico called his son a lunatic, so he could justify smiting him. “Everyone eats torta al rum on their birthdays. Adults and kids.”
Will’s mouth and eyebrows scrunched toward his nose, giving his luminous face a distinct sour-lemon flavor. “But…rum is alcohol. Kids can’t have it - it’s illegal.”
“Not in Europe.” Nico lifted his chin in the general direction of Cabin 11. “And anyway, didn’t you and Cecil launder a case of Smirnoff Ice through the infirmary just last month?”
“That was for…medicinal purposes. In case the New Year’s Eve fireworks got out of hand.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It was! Grain alcohol is an excellent disinfectant. You can look it up in the camp field guide.”
“Interesting. Because Mitchell was drinking something that didn’t smell like water at dinner that night, and he got awfully handsy with me at the campfire while you were finishing your shift. And that was before the fireworks.”
Will’s head shot up like a Roman candle, a furious green spark slicing through his blue eyes. “Mitchell put his hands on you?!”
“Relax, Achilles. I threatened to cut his heart out piece by piece with my clavicle dagger, Princess-Bride-style, and he ran and hid behind Drew for the rest of the sing-along.”
The green flame in Will’s eyes retreated, replaced by triumphant delight. “I knew you’d love that movie!”
Nico smiled, and they sat in silence for a blessed seventeen seconds.
Until…“So do kids get drunk when they eat the cake, or what?”
Nico’s smile drooped, along with his head. “No, Will, it’s not enough rum to get a kid drunk. You could probably eat the whole damn thing and not even feel buzzed.” He leaned over and started putting picnic leftovers back in the basket. January was no excuse to interrupt their standing date in the strawberry fields. “Well, you might feel it, considering what a cheap date you are.”
“I am not! I’m a very expensive date. Remember when we went to that Brazilian steakhouse in the city for my birthday?”
“I do. I hear they had to steal some of your father’s cattle to restock once you left.”
“I wouldn’t blame them.” Will took Nico’s proffered hand and heaved himself up, standing close enough that the toes of their shoes touched. Will lifted his hands to lovingly cradle Nico’s face.
Nico instantly distrusted the gleam in his eyes.
“I’m making you a booze cake for your birthday.”
“It’s a rum cake, William. Torta. Al. Rum. And you will do no such thing.” He stabbed a hand in the direction of the Big House. “You’ll probably burn the kitchen down, and then Chiron will miss out on his midnight snacks.”
“How do you know he snacks in the middle of the night?”
“Because I’m awake in the middle of the night, and I can see the Big House kitchen lights from my cabin, and I’ve also seen you nearly cut your own thumb off trying to make a ham sandwich, idiota.”
“That was one time. And now Austin insists on making sandwiches for me, so who’s the idiot?”
Nico clutched his unruly black hair in both hands, then waved in the general direction of the rest of the world. “You’re a menace in the kitchen, Will. For everyone’s mental and physical health, do not try to bake me a cake.”
“You’re so cute when you flail your arms around like that.”
“Screw you.”
“That’s not a nice thing to say to someone who’s procuring alcoholic pastry to celebrate the day of your birth.”
“For the love of the gods, I’d be better off soaking myself in rum and then lighting myself on fire. It’d be less painful than watching you try to work an oven.”
Nico didn’t stay to watch the brain cells in Will’s lovely skull collide as he considered that dilemma. He snatched his sword off the ground, carefully brushed off a few ice crystals, and marched off to beat Clarisse’s ass in the arena. Someone was going to pay for Will’s audacity, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be Will.
The Quest
Will had never been on an official quest, unless you count the charming stroll through Tartarus with his boyfriend, or the romantic San Francisco monster-wrangling with his boyfriend, or the time last week when Chiara’s enchanted dice went missing and she (correctly) blamed Nico, and Will had to hide his boyfriend in the supply closet, while Tyche’s daughter stood on the intake desk and cussed out both of them in an Italian tirade that would have made Sonny Corleone blush.
Anyway, Will had always preferred the longer hero’s journey myths to the quick-and-dirty ones. A quest should be an experience, not a “here’s your gold wool blankie that I grabbed from a fence post.”
Will would never presume to question the heroics of a fellow demigod, but in his expert opinion, a real quest required meticulous planning and involved multiple steps that must be completed sequentially in order to succeed. Take Odysseus - now he knew what was up. He wasn’t even a demigod - more of a legacy, really, although Will would have to consult Hazel to confirm - but in any case, the king of Ithaka had Big Quest Energy for sure.
So Will decided to begin his own personal quest with the patron of the legendary hero, and made his way to the Athena Cabin.
Cabin Six
Annabeth greeted him at the door, confidently proclaiming that the cabin was in perfect order.
“Oh, I’m not on inspection duty,” Will reassured her. “I need to find a cake recipe.”
Her gray eyes blinked rapidly at him, perhaps wondering if their Head Medic had discovered a medical use for red velvet. “We have a cookbook section in the library. Come take a look.”
Will frowned at the half dozen slim, dusty books shoved haphazardly on the bottom shelf. “I don’t think those will have the recipe I’m looking for.”
“It’s for Nico’s birthday, right?” Annabeth collected the cookbooks and piled them on one of the cabin’s drafting tables.
“How’d you know that?”
She opened the books one at a time, scanning each one’s table of contents before setting it aside. “His birthday’s the end of the month, and I can’t think of another reason why you’d need a recipe. The nymphs could make whatever you want, so I figured it must be for something special, and I know you and Nico are always sneaking around doing low-key romantic stuff for each other.”
Damn Athena and her genius, perceptive offspring.
Will’s cheeks flared while he picked up a book and carefully wiped dust off the cover. “I just think people deserve to be celebrated on their birthday,” he stated defensively.
Annabeth smiled. “It’s cool, Will. I’m glad you and Nico are so close; gods know he deserves someone to make him feel special.” She held one of the books open to a 2-page spread featuring a brightly colored sheet cake, with red scalloped frosting along the edges and ‘Happy Birthday’ in looping script. “How about this one?”
“Actually,” Will fidgeted with the black and yellow beaded bracelet he had made in arts and crafts (Kayla said it looked like a bumblebee), “I wanted to make a cake with, um, rum in it. Nico said it’s a birthday tradition in Italy.”
“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?” Annabeth’s eyes lit up, and she handed Will the last book in the stack. “I’ll bet this one has what you’re looking for.”
According to the glossy book cover, the author was someone named Lidia, with an Italian last name that Will didn’t even try to pronounce. He studied the cover photo, where a smiling blond woman in a pink collared shirt held two bright yellow lemons in one hand, and a plate of something delicious-looking in the other. He flipped to the table of contents, and there it was: Torta al rum - Italian Rum Cake.
He turned excitedly to the recipe, scanning the list of ingredients. “This looks fairly basic, actually. All these ingredients are easy to get; in fact, pretty much every cabin could help me find each one.”
Annabeth peered over his shoulder at the page. “I don’t know, Will. The ingredients might be simple, but the process looks complicated. There are a lot of steps.” She eyed him critically, as if assessing his battle skills. “Have you ever made a cake before?”
“I’ve made brownies. From a box.” He frowned down at the book in his hands. “Kayla said they tasted like chocolate hockey pucks.”
“Why don’t you just buy him a cake? There’re a million Italian bakeries in the city, and I’m sure Chiron would give you a pass to go.”
Will’s conviction wavered. It would be a lot easier, and probably tastier, to get a professionally-made cake. If he tried to make one from scratch and it was a flop, Nico’s birthday would be irreparably ruined and he’d never acknowledge Will or birthdays ever again, and Will would be forced to exile himself to the banks of the Styx and beg forgiveness from Lord Hades for his failed-pastry sins.
On the other hand, Will had many fond memories of his own birthdays at home, complete with homemade cakes vaguely resembling whatever toy or cartoon character he was obsessed with at the time. Naomi’s cakes were delicious, but her decorating skills were not on par with, say, Sally Jackson’s. Will’s mind conjured up the image of his 5th birthday cake, which was supposed to be Mike Wazowski from Monsters, Inc., and instead looked like a blobby green donut topped with a cyclops eyeball. It had been silly and sloppy and delicious, and Will’s mouth had been green for a week from all the frosting.
Homemade cakes were the best, and Nico deserved the best.
Will tucked the book under his arm. “I’m going to give it a try. Mind if I borrow this?”
Annabeth gave him a knowing smile. “Of course not; keep it as long as you like.” She walked him to the door, giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and Will? That book has over 200 authentic Italian recipes in it - you could become an expert at Italian cooking, if you ever wanted to impress someone.”
She gave him a wink, and Will beat a hasty retreat before she could comment on the blush creeping up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears.
Cabin 7
The first ingredient on the list was eggs, and Will didn’t have to go far to find them. All of the eggs used in the dining pavilion, from omelets to fried onion ring batter to the lovely lemon souffles the nymphs whipped up for dessert, came from the camp-famous Apollonian chickens.
It started as a prank by the Stolls, who found out roosters were sacred to Apollo while searching through the Hecate cabin’s library. The brothers had gone in search of a spell to undo the donkey ears sprouting from Travis’ head after Mr. D. caught them raiding his private honey stash (they were trying to brew mead, but ended up with a foul-smelling sludge that tasted like yeast gone bad). In search of a cure for Travis’ ear situation, they stumbled on an ancient tome detailing the favored wildlife of the Olympians. The first page of chapter 7 showcased a full-color Late Renaissance painting of the sun god in all his fully disrobed glory, holding a rooster placed just strategically enough to preserve his divine modesty.
The Stolls abandoned their quest for a cure in favor of importing a bevy of real, honest-to-Zeus roosters, and placing them strategically around Cabin 7, the archery range, and the infirmary in order to deliver the maximum amount of shock and awe.
After discovering his father’s beloved poultry demolishing the poppy seeds inside the herb cabinet for the fifth time in one shift, Will had had enough. He marched to the arena where the Stolls were taunting a couple of Ares kids, grabbed a sword from Ellis’ hands, pointed it straight at Connor’s throat, and demanded that they find and remove every last crowing, strutting bird.
The Stolls complied, in the most Hermes way possible. They did indeed gather up the roosters, only to deposit them on Cabin 7’s porch. Will and Kayla, who had both worked overnight shifts and were in no mood for Stoll bullshit (or birdshit, as the case may be), voted in favor of dismemberment (the Stolls, not the birds). Austin, ever the voice of reason, convinced them to instead move the roosters to the southern fields, where they could live in peace and harmony with whatever creatures decided to wander out of the nearby forest.
And that would have been the end of it, except that the birds had become devotedly attached to Cabin 7. They kept reappearing on the Apollo cabin’s porch, crowing mournfully at all hours of the day, and compelling the rest of camp to start a petition to expel Apollo’s children and their damned roosters from Long Island entirely.
Finally, Annabeth proposed a solution. “Roosters need a flock to protect, otherwise they don’t have anything to occupy their time. Why don’t we get some hens to keep them company? Plus, then we wouldn’t have to import eggs for the dining pavilion.”
Mr. D. heartily agreed, especially since Chiron had vetoed his solution of frying up some chicken nuggets and being done with it. To Athena’s great honor, the plan worked like a charm, and Camp Half-Blood was now home to a lovely, productive flock of hens and their devoted Apollonian roosters.
In addition to their infirmary duties, Apollo’s children were now responsible for daily egg collection, a task they usually assigned to the youngest siblings. Will smiled watching Yan and Gracie walking back to Cabin 7, a full basket of eggs in each hand.
“We got ‘em, Will! You can make Nico’s cake now!” Yan’s voice carried halfway across the green, earning them a kick to the ankle from their sister.
“Shush, idiot! D’you want Nico to hear you?” Gracie reached the porch first, holding out her bounty to her big brother.
“No name-calling, Gracie.” Will took her and Yan’s baskets and placed them carefully on the porch to be delivered to the nymphs later (usually Jerry’s job, but he was home for the winter). He selected eleven eggs from the bunch, setting them aside in a smaller basket shaped like a baby chick.
“Are you going to use all those eggs for the cake, Will? It seems like a lot.” Yan’s button nose wrinkled in confusion. “Back home, I used to help my auntie bake, and she never used that many eggs.”
“Some are for the cake, and the rest are for the pastry cream. See?” He pulled the cookbook from his satchel and opened it to the marked page.
Both young Apollo children gazed intently at the glossy photo of the gorgeous, almond-covered cake.
Gracie took the book from Will’s hands and began flipping through it. “Oooh, stuffed mushrooms! Are you going to make those for Nico, too?”
Yan turned the page and grinned when he found the pasta section. “Homemade ravioli! You should definitely make that for Nico!”
Now it was Gracie’s turn. “And risotto!”
“And lasagna!”
“And pork chops!”
“And…octopus?” Yan looked up at their big brother. “Are you going to make an octopus for Nico’s birthday?”
Will sighed, gently prying the recipe book from Gracie’s hands. “Not this time. Maybe if the cake comes out alright I’ll try some of the other dishes.”
Gracie nudged Yan’s shoulder. “You should let us taste-test the cake before you give it to Nico.”
“Yeah, and the octopus.” Yan turned to go inside the cabin, only to be blocked by an errant rooster. They turned to Will with wide, pleading eyes. “Can you take care of him, Will?”
“No way, buddy. You know birds aren’t my thing. Besides, I’ve got a whole list of ingredients to collect.” He gave Gracie his most coaxing smile. “Want to help Yan out?”
She heaved a sigh worthy of their illustrious father, and gathered the rooster into her arms. “Come on, little guy, I’ll take you back to the field. My brother’s busy making a cake for his boyfriend.” Her lips puckered, making kissy noises at the oblivious bird.
Will glared at her back, then at Yan’s snicker. “I should have been an only child.” And he headed off to beg Hermes’ brood for some fresh cream.
Cabin 11
Cabin 11 was quieter than usual during the winter, but it was still the busiest compared to the other cabins. Since the war ended, new campers arrived all year round, and although most were claimed more quickly than in the past, the God of Travelers had been rather fruitful lately, and the cabin was buzzing with new visitors and siblings alike.
Will knew Cecil was on armory duty (why Chiron saw fit to put him in charge of a mob of armed children, Will would never know), but he hoped he would at least be greeted by one of the less criminally insane members of Hermes’ brood. Alas, two seconds after knocking, he found himself face to face with Travis Stoll.
“What’s up, doc?” Travis chuckled at his own weak joke.
“Hey Travis. Seems awfully quiet in there.” Will peeked around to view the shockingly empty cabin.
“Yeah, it’s pretty bare this time of year. Just me and Connor, plus Cecil, Chris, Dana, Lottie and Cesar. Oh, and Magda, and Alexei and Zuri; they joined the family just before Christmas. Cecil’s at the armory, the rest are doing the lava wall. Plus, now we have the twins who got here last week. Odds are on them being Tyche’s; we’re taking bets up until they get claimed. You want in?”
“Uh, no. Thanks.” Will generally frowned on gambling, but he tended to ignore it because it was the least chaotic pastime for Cabin 11. He suspected Chiron felt the same.
“Want to know who Nico bet on? It wasn’t Tyche.” Travis’ sharp eyes glinted in that particular Hermes way that meant grand secrets were about to be revealed.
Will hastily changed the subject. “Nope, I’m good. Actually, I was wondering if you guys had any milk or cream I could use? Cream would be best.”
“You know our dad stocks milk and cream for travelers, but I thought you drank your coffee black.” Travis headed inside, motioning for Will to follow. “Cecil said you’re up to seven cups a day. He’s concerned.”
“Cecil exaggerates.” Not about the coffee, but Will didn’t need to mention that. He was not about to have his caffeine habit criticized by the likes of Travis Stoll, who ate chocolate covered coffee beans marinated in Red Bull to stay awake during poker marathons. “I just need the cream for…something.”
Travis stopped on his way to the mini-fridge next to the closet and turned to face Will. His eyebrow lifted, instantly suspicious. “Something? What kind of something?”
No point in drawing out the torture; Will knew Travis wouldn’t stop prying until he confessed. “I’m making a birthday cake.” Even as the words left his lips, Will regretted it; getting a Stoll to keep a secret was tougher than getting the Earth Mother back to sleep.
Travis’ grin sharpened, his voice now threaded with malicious amusement. “It’s nowhere near your birthday, Solace. So who’s the cake for?”
Will said nothing, telepathically willing the cream to leave the fridge and fly into his hands so he could get the hell out of there.
Travis crossed his arms and tapped a finger against his chin. “Hmm, let me see. No Apollo kids have winter birthdays, except Jerry, and he’s not at camp. Cecil’s birthday already passed, Lou Ellen’s isn’t until the spring, and Chiron…well, I don’t think anyone knows when his birthday is.” Travis’ smile widened, reminding Will very much of a news report he once saw in Texas about a baby manatee that had been mauled to death by a tiger shark.
He tried to back slowly toward the open door. “You know what? I don’t want to take from your dad’s stash. I’ll just…”
At that moment, a winged Doc Marten flew from the closet and slammed the front door shut. Will dropped to the floor, his quick reflexes saving him from suffering a concussion via footwear. He straightened back up and glared at Travis, who was still sporting that shit-eating grin.
“What the fuck, Stoll?!”
Travis screwed up his face into the very paragon of false innocence. “I’m afraid I can’t fulfill your request without complete information. Who’s the cake for, Sunny Boy?”
Will chewed on his bottom lip while he did a quick calculation in his head. There was no way Travis would keep his mouth shut, but maybe Will could use the Stolls’ favorite strategy against them. Hermes’ kids weren’t the only demigods with blackmail material.
“Ok, I’ll tell you.” Travis’ grin got impossibly wider, and Will crossed his arms and glared daggers back at him. “But it’s a surprise, so if you say anything to anyone before the actual day, I’ll tell Chiara you were the one who replaced her mother’s cornucopias with giant Bugle chips at the Thesmophoria feast last fall.”
Bullseye. Travis’ smirk dropped instantly; he hustled to the mini-fridge, grabbed the quart of cream, and looked nervously in Will’s direction. “Deal. So who is it?”
“Nico. His birthday's at the end of the month.”
“Oh! Why didn’t you just say so?” Travis flashed a rare, real smile, and handed Will the glass bottle. “Nico’s an honorary Hermes bro - of course we’ll help out with his birthday.”
“Uh, thanks.” Will felt bad, suddenly, for deploying the nuclear strategy. “Sorry for the, um, threat about Chiara. I just really want to keep it a surprise.”
“Hey, it’s cool, man. His dad and my dad are simpatico.” He leaned in as if letting Will into a secret society, one that possibly sacrificed goats and unwary demigods who wandered in looking for a quart of cream. “Everyone thinks Lord Hades is this, like, super scary nightmare guy, but he’s actually pretty chill. It’s di Angelo’s stepmother who’s the terrifying one.”
Will didn’t know much about the Queen of the Underworld, other than Nico’s grumbling stories, but he knew enough not to risk offending any goddess. “I’m sure she’s not that bad. Plus, I’ve heard her garden is incredible.”
Travis shrugged, and walked Will out to the porch. “Whatever. Good luck with the cake. And don’t worry about the surprise; my lips are sealed.”
“Promise?”
“Silent as the grave.” Travis smiled again, as close to sincere as Will had ever seen him, and went back into his blessedly quiet cabin.
Cabin Four
The only year-round child of Demeter was Miranda, and she and Will got along famously. She often accompanied Will into the forest on his plant-gathering expeditions, and he had become almost as good as her at identifying the best leaves and roots for specific ailments. So when Will knocked on her door and explained what he needed, she was more than happy to help.
“Cake flour? Not a problem,” Miranda nodded sagely. “It’s hard to find freshly ground wheat this time of year, but I’ll bet Peaches can help me out.”
Will rubbed one foot against the back of his knee, hesitant to bring the demonic grain spirit into this. “I don’t want to bother Meg at home.”
Miranda waved away his concern. “It’s fine.” She grinned at Will, already reaching for a bowl of drachmas and a prism. “Demeter kids will do anything for Nico.”
“Really? He always feels bad around you guys because of how he tends to, you know, wilt plants just by looking at them.”
“Are you kidding?” Miranda looked genuinely perplexed. “Our mom adores him. She gets such a kick out of the way he drives his father crazy.” She lowered her voice and shifted her eyes from wall to wall, as if the Lord of the Dead were hiding in the closet. “Mom said his dad drinks straight from the wine bottle whenever Nico goes on some insane quest. It’s hilarious.”
Privately, Will sympathized entirely with Lord Hades - he too considered becoming a functioning alcoholic whenever Nico was back on his bullshit. Alas, he was a head counselor and needed to set a good example for his many siblings.
“What else does your mom say about him?”
“Well, you know he goes down for family dinners once a month. Mom says he and Persephone always fight over who gets the last piece of baklava. And he feeds Cerberus from the table, which drives the queen crazy.”
“I know. I told him to stop doing that; it’s not healthy for dogs to eat people food.”
Miranda raised an eyebrow. “I think Persephone just doesn’t want an enormous, three-headed monster dog jumping onto her dinner plates. Anyway, mom purposely takes Nico’s side just to annoy her. She says he and Cerberus are both ‘good boys who deserve treats.’”
Will laughed, and Miranda set up the prism and threw the drachma into the resulting rainbow, asking for Meg McCaffrey. A moment later, Meg’s flushed face appeared, glasses askew and something greenish and shiny smeared on one cheek.
Her breath came out in labored gasps. “Hey sis; can’t talk long - inter-succulent prank war - agaves and aloes are going at it - sap everywhere - gotta negotiate a ceasefire.”
“We won’t keep you.” Miranda was unfazed by the news of the Battle of the Desert Plants. “We need some fresh-milled flour; cake flour, if possible. We were hoping you could send Peaches up with some.”
“Yeah, I can do that. What’s it for?”
“Nico’s birthday.” Miranda waved for Will to come into view.
“Oh, is that the healer guy? The one mom says Nico’s all heart-eyed about?”
Will coughed to cover his flush, and Miranda grinned. He waved shyly to Meg. “I’m trying to make a cake for him. I really appreciate the help, Meg.”
“No problemo. Nico’s cool. He has the best buttons on his jacket. And he sent me cactus socks from Hot Topic for Winter Solstice.” She eyed Will critically, frowning down at his beloved cargo shorts. “Maybe his style will rub off on you if you guys stay together.”
Will’s blush deepened, and Miranda, who he thought was his dear friend, laughed right in his face. “Fat chance of that. Thanks again, Meg; good luck with the ceasefire.”
Meg waved a grimy hand and disappeared, and Miranda nodded triumphantly. “See? Told you we’d take care of it. ‘Course, it was a low blow bringing the cargo shorts into it,” she added with a wink.
“Yeah, thanks. Nico does look good all the time.” Will looked down at his own clothes. “How do you think I’d look in black jeans and combat boots?”
“I think Nico likes you just the way you are, Will.” Miranda’s smile turned sweet, and Will instantly forgave her for insulting his style and his honor. “Besides, didn’t I see him wearing your tie-dye hoodie and panda slippers to breakfast the other day?”
Will yanked the door open and hopped out onto the porch. “Appreciate the help, thanks!” He called as he raced across the green, cheeks aflame, with Miranda’s laughter echoing behind him.
Cabin Ten
There was a 50/50 chance that Valentina would open the door when Will knocked, but Tyche had never favored stupid-in-love sons of Apollo, and she was not about to start now.
So Will was disappointed, but not surprised, when Mitchell’s dumb, handsy face poked through the door.
He at least had the decency to look nervous. “Uh, hey Will. H-how can I help you?”
Will was not interested in small talk. “I need some sugar.”
Mitchell’s eyes widened. His gaze drifted from Will’s piercing blue eyes to the shoulder muscles that were just starting to fill out his camp t-shirt, then down to his trim waist and long, cargo-shorted legs. His cheeks flushed as pink as the cabin walls.
“Um, well, you - you’ve come to the right place.” He placed a poised hand on one hip, tilting his head up and fluttering his eyelashes in Will’s direction.
“Are your eyes dry? I’ve got some drops in the infirmary that can help with that.”
“What?” The fluttering slowed to a confused series of blinks. “You said you needed some sugar, so I thought, I mean, I’m flattered and everything, but…” His glance flicked over to the Hades cabin a few doors down. “So are you and Nico, like, not together anymore? Because, um, do you think he’d be open to…”
Violence was not in Will’s nature, but as soon as he realized what this boyfriend-stealing son of Aphrodite was assuming, he flew into an Apollonian rage. “What the fresh hell- I need sugar for Nico’s birthday cake, you over-gelled idiot!”
Luckily for Mitchell, the Goddess of Luck was rather fond of Aphrodite’s children, and just before Will infected him with bubonic plague (or athlete’s foot - he hadn’t decided yet), Valentina skipped up the porch steps and through the door.
She took one look at the scene and sighed elegantly. “Mitchell, were you hitting on Nico again? Piper talked to you about this.”
Mitchell’s mouth opened and closed in a fair approximation of a dying goldfish, and he slowly inched away from the incensed Head Medic. Will turned his back on him and tried to even out his voice. “Hi, Val. I’m baking a cake. For my boyfriend.” He twisted his head to glare at Mitchell, who was retreating toward his bunk to hide from Will’s laser-beam fury. “I was wondering if you guys had some white sugar I can use.”
“Oh, sure.” Valentina motioned for him to follow her to the potions closet. “We use it to make foot scrubs. Speaking of which,” she crossed her arms and looked pointedly at Will’s flip-flopped feet, “what in Hades are you wearing, Will? It’s so cold and dry outside; your heels will be a mess come summer. You’ll never be beach-ready at this rate. Don’t you own close-toed shoes?”
“I have sneakers for running, but other shoes always give me blisters.”
She rolled her eyes, reminding Will of Nico (although Nico was better at it; he and Will often had entire conversations that consisted only of eyerolls and raised brows). “You get blisters because you don’t wear them enough.” She pulled a small bag of sugar with a blue and yellow label off a shelf and reached out to give it to him, but stopped when she caught sight of his hands. “Di immortales, Will, your fingers are a disaster.”
“Yeah, it’s from washing my hands all the time in the infirmary. It gets worse in the winter.”
“Well, you can’t celebrate your boyfriend’s birthday with nails like that. Go sit at the manicure counter.” Sugar still in hand, Valentina motioned toward the mirrored table with comfy chairs on both sides.
“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”
“I can do it!” Mitchell, never the sharpest eyeliner pen in the drawer, piped up from the shield of blankets on his bunk.
Will didn’t even bother to look at him. “I’d rather cut my hands off.”
Valentina sighed and shoved Will bodily across the room and into the padded seat. “I’ll do it. Pick a color, Head Medic.”
She pointed to the shelves behind her filled with tiny bottles of nail color in every shade imaginable. Will made his choice - a teal blue labeled “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” - while Valentina pulled the supplies she needed from various drawers.
Will kept a wary eye on Mitchell while he tried to carry on a conversation with Aphrodite’s daughter. “I like that lotion; it smells familiar.”
Valentina looked up coyly at him. “Nico uses it.” She swiped his nails with some alcohol rub and twisted the top off the polish bottle.
“Wait - how did Nico get it?”
“He asked me for some a few months ago. His hands were all calloused from swordfighting, and I told him this stuff would do the trick.” She tapped Will’s hand so he’d spread his fingers out on the soft cloth, casually adding, “He’s been back for a refill twice. I usually do his nails every few weeks, too.” Her glossed mouth turned down in a scowl. “I haven’t been able to talk him into anything except black, but maybe he’ll change his mind when he sees your hands.”
Will studied his fingers as Valentina applied a quick-drying topcoat. It was very pretty - a perfect robin’s egg blue - but Will knew Nico would never use it on himself. Will liked the black on him, anyway; it made him look adorably edgy, like a Botticelli cherub at an Audioslave concert. He had a sudden, lovely vision of dancing with Nico to “Dandelion.” It was an admittedly hard song to dance to, so Will envisioned more of a pleasant swaying with Nico in his arms.
Valentina’s voice jolted him out of his starry-eyed dancing dream. “All done, Will. Be careful carrying the sugar; you don’t want to smudge the polish.”
Will thanked her kindly, then turned to Mitchell, still cowering in his bunk, with fury in his blue eyes. “If you so much as blink in Nico’s direction, I will curse your entire bloodline with incurable bromhidrosis.”
He waved to Valentina with one Breakfast at Tiffany’s-decorated hand, and went in search of almonds and chocolate.
Cabin 8
The Hunters hadn’t been at camp since the summer, so Will had to Iris-message Reyna to ask about almonds.
“They grow all over the place in Puerto Rico,” she told him. “I’m stuck up north trying to find this damn fox, but I’ll send some of the new recruits to get a fresh batch from the island. They could use a good mission.”
“You really don’t have to do that, Reyna,” Will protested. “I can just pick some up at the supermarket when we go on tomorrow’s supply run.”
Her piercing black eyes - almond-shaped, Will noted - narrowed to deadly arrow points. “You’re going to make Nico’s birthday cake with supermarket nuts?”
“Um, y-yes?”
“Tell me something, Solace; are you familiar with the story of Salmoneus?”
Will was not.
“He was a Greek king who built a temple to Zeus, then pretended to be the King of the Gods so people would worship him instead. He drove around in his chariot making thunder noises and chucking lit torches at people.”
“Sounds like he needed an intervention.”
Reyna’s glare sharpened. “Do you know how the gods punished him?”
Will did not.
“Zeus blasted him with a lightning bolt, and destroyed his entire city just to get the point across. And do you know what that point was?”
“Take grandpa’s keys away before he gets everyone killed?”
“The point, son of Apollo, is that there is no honor in cheap imitations. I understand you hold the camp’s 400 meter dash record. How well do you think you could dodge a lightning bolt?”
The answer to that was a definitive not well. But he failed to see what that had to do with almonds.
Reyna didn’t wait for him to figure it out. “Nico deserves the highest honor and respect, especially on his birthday. You are making a cake for a hero who shadow-traveled a forty-foot statue halfway across the world, mediated a behind-the-scenes alliance for two camps on opposite sides of the country, defeated King Minos and absorbed his title and his power - when he was eleven years old - who survived Tartarus twice-”
“I was with him the second time,” Will interrupted.
Reyna picked up an arrow and began polishing the pointed tip. “You know what, Solace? Just get the shitty mega-store almonds. Lord Hades will drag your ass down to Tartarus for dishonoring his son way before my arrows can get to you.”
“Well, when you put it that way,” Will swallowed hard, very much not looking forward to stitching up an arrow wound in his own trachea, “I would truly appreciate it if the Hunters could get some quality almonds. Oh, and if it’s not too much trouble, would the island happen to have any good baking chocolate? I need it for the filling.”
“Cortés is the best. My sister used to make flancocho with it. I’ll tell my Hunters to send some along with the almonds. You’ll have a Hermes Express box at your cabin by tomorrow night.”
“That’s awesome, Reyna. I don’t know how to thank you.”
Somehow, her ebony glare scared him way more than Nico’s ever did. “You can thank me by being good to my hermano. He tries to act all tough around me, but he can’t hide his smile when he talks about you.”
Will’s heart skipped a beat. “Nico…talks to you about me?”
Reyna smirked at the blush creeping up his neck. “A ridiculous amount. Every time you tell him he’s doing a good job in the infirmary, I have to hear about it. And when he helps you with archery and you actually hit the target. And whenever you wear that stupid ‘Black Hole Sun’ shirt he got you because you’re such a pun nerd.”
“It’s a pun on us - I’m the sun and he’s…”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Her eyes softened the tiniest bit, although that could have just been the rainbow lighting. “You make him happy, Solace. Don’t screw this up.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Will gave her a small, wary smile, and ended the call before she could threaten his life again.
Cabin 12
Cecil or Connor could have helped him procure the rum, but Hermes' kids notoriously favored cheap booze (what the Aphrodite cabin sniffily referred to as “rotgut”), and Will wanted something classier for Nico’s cake. Besides, Annabeth had informed him that it was better to use high-quality liquor for flavor purposes, since the cake would be soaked in it after it was baked, rather than the alcohol burning off in the oven.
There was only one place to go for the good stuff, but, despite the urgency of his errand, Will was hesitant to approach Cabin 12.
Pollux had changed since the war. They had all lost siblings, and Will was getting better at shoving down the choking feeling whenever he opened his closet and saw Lee and Michael’s camp shirts hanging next to his own. But Pollux was different; it had been him and Castor since the womb, and with his brother gone, his eyes reflected an empty sadness. He still moved like Castor was beside him before remembering he was dead - like a war veteran with a phantom limb.
Mr. D. had been surprisingly paternal about the situation, often sitting with his surviving son at meals and walking with him to his daily activities. Will found the two of them on the steps of Cabin 12, playing cards spread on the stairs in some multi-level version of Go Fish.
Pollux glanced up when Will approached, trepidation making his face pale. “Will? Is everything okay? Is someone hurt?”
“Everyone’s fine, bud,” Will assured him gently. “I was actually wondering if you could help me with something.”
Mr. D. looked up sharply. “Tell Stoll I’m not accepting a note claiming he’s ‘under the weather,’ just because he decided to mix vodka and tequila again.”
“Oh, no, it’s not that,” Will shook his head and flashed his most charming smile. “I actually need a bottle of rum.”
Mr. D. was decidedly not charmed. “Are you aspiring to piracy, Solace?”
“What?”
“You know,” Pollux chimed in. “‘Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum’?”
“Oh! From Pirates of the Caribbean!” Will breathed a sigh of relief that he actually understood one of the wine god’s obscure references.
“William Solace, that song was put in writing by my son Robert Stevenson, 12 decades before that ridiculous theme park ride. Savvy?”
Will nodded frantically, desperate to not be transformed into a dolphin as punishment for his ignorance. It would be considerably harder to mix cake batter with fins.
Pollux saved him from a future as an aquatic mammal, pining after Nico from a plexiglass tank. “Do you need it for the infirmary? ‘Cause there are other spirits that are more effective antiseptics."
“No, we have the medical stuff in the supply closet.” Will sat down next to Pollux on the step, carefully avoiding Mr. D.’s glare. “I actually need it for Nico’s birthday. I’m making him a rum cake, and it’s one of the last ingredients I need.”
“And you didn’t come to me first?!” Mr. D.’s booming voice startled Will so badly he jumped and fell from the stairs right into the dirt.
He looked up at the wine god, convinced his dolphin transformation was imminent. “Uh, um, I’m…I’m sorry, I know we’re not supposed to have alcohol, but…”
“What in Hades are you blabbering about, Solace? I don’t care if you brats all become fall-down drunks; some Bacchic revelry would really liven up the three-legged race, if you ask me. I’m wondering why, in your tiny Apollonion brain, you didn’t think to ask Nico’s favorite divine cousin to just snap a cake into existence.”
Will carefully picked himself up from the ground and rubbed futilely at the dirt smudged into his cargo shorts. “His favorite…oh. Right.” Nico and Mr. D. were strangely fond of each other (Will attributed it to similar whiplash tempers and a talent for sleeping past noon). Pollux didn’t seem to mind; in fact, it had been his suggestion that Nico join their father/son yoga sessions in the first place.
“I think Will wants to make it himself, Dad,” the boy reasoned. “I mean, Nico is his boyfriend, after all.”
“Oh, I’m aware. The little goth gremlin never shuts up about his dirt-covered sunbeam over here.”
Pollux smiled at Will and started gathering the playing cards into his hands. “Leave it to me, Will. I’ll get you a bottle of something nice.” He turned to his father, who was glaring slightly less in Will’s direction. “Nico likes sweets. Maybe a Gosling’s or Bumbu?”
“We’ll take care of it. It’ll be in the inner drawer of your office desk by this time tomorrow. Feel free to sample some - it’ll make putting in stitches much more fun.” Mr. D. pulled a Diet Coke out of thin air and popped the top to take a long pull.
“That’s awesome - I don’t know how to thank you!” Will started backing away before Mr. D.’s thoughts turned from rum cake to ocean life.
“I’ll take a prayer of thanksgiving, plus half your dessert in the fire at dinner tonight, Sunshine Boy.”
“Dad, it’s for Nico.”
“Ugh - fine. Forget the prayer. Just the dessert; I like those caramel whoopie pies the nymphs serve on Thursdays. They taste like rum and coke.”
When Will got back to the infirmary office, he wrote himself a reminder on a sticky note about the whoopie pies. This was one thank you he definitely didn’t want to forget.
Cabin 3
Will held off as long as possible to ask Percy for help. He wasn’t jealous of Percy - in fact, he delighted in teasing Nico about his baby crush on the son of Poseidon (at least until Nico brought up Will’s short-lived epic romance with Drew Tanaka, which Will considered an illegal maneuver) - but he did harbor a teeny-tiny kernel of resentment against the guy who had once held a sword to his boyfriend’s throat.
Nico was the first to admit that he probably deserved it, and he and Percy seemed closer than ever - training, fighting, and ribbing each other like brothers. It helped that Nico was madly in love (as all demigods rightly were) with Sally Jackson, and often stated, loudly and in Percy’s presence, that his mother was the only tolerable thing about him.
Besides the incident in Hades’ palace, Percy just made Will nervous. His brain jumped around at a dizzying pace, even compared to a camp full of ADHD poster children. His conversation turned and twisted and spiraled so much that even Will, who considered himself a good listener, often struggled to hold onto the thread. And underneath his friendly, goofy-teenager demeanor, Percy radiated raw power, just like Nico. There was good reason for the Big Three to keep it in their pants - and Camp Half-Blood had a scarred dining pavilion and ruined bathroom pipes to prove it.
Will would have preferred asking Sally directly for the ingredients he was certain she had in her arsenal, but the Hermes cabin had commandeered Argus for the rest of the week, and Will felt weird going around Percy to ask his mother for a favor. So he screwed his courage to the sticking place, and went in search of Sally’s son.
He found Percy at the end of the pier, supervising a mini naval battle between the Athena campers and the Demeter cabin on the half-frozen lake. The Demeter kids had thawed the water just enough for their own canoes, but were strategically refreezing it to keep Cabin 6 out of range.
Percy turned around when he heard Will’s steps tapping on the ancient wooden boards. “What’s up, Will? Annabeth had some work to do on a new temple design for Olympus, so I said I’d keep an eye on her siblings’ canoe war.”
Will moved aside to avoid the volley of lake water from a Demeter canoe attack. “Hey, Percy. I have a favor to ask.”
“Sure, man; what can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if your mom could help me with something.”
Percy reached a hand out and commanded the water to spit back the oar that one of Athena’s kids had dropped in the latest salvo, earning him a chorus of ‘No fair!’ from Cabin 4. “Sure! I know you’re a pancake fan; have a hankering for some blue ones?”
Why did Percy have to be so godsdamn likable? “Uh, no - but your mom’s pancakes are amazing.” He twisted his bracelet around his wrist, first one way, then the other. “I was actually wondering if she had any vanilla and lemon extracts I could use. I’m making an Italian cake for Nico’s birthday.”
“Dude! He’s a total dessert fiend; he’s gonna love that!” Percy regarded Will with fond respect. “I’ll have to tell him how lucky he is to have such a multi-talented boyfriend.”
Will scuffed a flip-flop against the wooden pier, suddenly bashful under Percy’s exuberant praise. “I just want him to have a nice birthday, that’s all.”
“For sure! And I know my mom has that stuff - vanilla and lemon, right? Seriously, her kitchen cabinets are better stocked than Gordon Ramsey’s. And Nico’s like, her second favorite son; she’ll be stoked to help out with his birthday cake.”
“Incoming!”
As if summoned by Poseidon himself, a wave crested directly over the pier from the Demeter side of the battle, pushed along by a wall of lily pads that had apparently gained sentience and arranged themselves into a giant paddle. Will didn’t even have time to shield his eyes before he was hit in spectacular fashion, water sluicing from his clothes and dripping down his sodden curls. He shook his head rapidly to try to clear his ears, pressing his palms to the sides of his head to suction out the fluid before he got an instant ear infection.
Percy, infuriatingly bone-dry, held onto the post so he could lean over the edge and berate Cabin 4. “Hey! Watch the plant powers! Your enemy’s over there!” He pointed to the Athena canoes, clustered together and laughing so hard their little boats were close to capsizing.
Percy rolled his eyes and turned apologetically toward Will. “Kids today, amiright? Don’t have the sense the gods gave them.”
Will chose not to bring up the time he caught Percy and Nico on the roof of the Hephaestus cabin, waiting giddily for Leo to emerge so they could douse him with lake water. The two of them had collected their ammunition in a bunch of buckets from the stables, for that extra-special pegasus-poop flavor.
He sighed down at his drenched clothes. “I’d better go change before I get hypothermia.”
“Yeah, good idea. I’ll shoot over to my mom’s and grab that stuff for you. I’ll even use the Gray Sisters so you can have it as soon as possible.” Percy’s nose wrinkled slightly at the thought of enduring the hellish taxi ride, but Will knew he’d follow through like the hero he was.
Cabin 9
Will was halfway across the green, heading to Nico’s cabin to coax him to the sing-along with a bag of barbecue chips and a box of Nutter Butters, when Harley came barreling right into his shins. They both went down in a flurry of limbs and snacks; when Will’s eyes finally refocused, he was looking up into the son of Hephaestus’ manic grin.
“Harley, what the-”
“We want to help with Nico’s birthday!”
Will struggled upright, gently (but not too gently) shoving the boy off of him. “What?”
“Jake said Lacy told him that Connor heard Annabeth and Percy talking about you making a cake for Nico’s birthday. Cabin 9 wants to help!”
Will glanced nervously across the green. Nico had sharp ears, but the curtains were still drawn on Cabin 13’s gothic windows, so hopefully he was still in bed for his afternoon nap (being awakened by Percy and Nyssa’s homage to Blue Man Group before breakfast had put him in a fouler mood than usual, and Will had learned to let sleeping Nicos lie).
He stood up and sighed down at Harley. “I don’t need anymore ingredients, Harley. I’m sorry; I didn’t realize you guys wanted to help.”
Harley’s eyes shone with his father’s volcanic fervor. “Nah, we had something else in mind. You’ll need something to put the cake on, right? Like, something fancy?”
“I was just going to use a platter from the Big House kitchen.”
“Pfft. No way, man! It’s for Nico - he’s, like, a prince! You can’t serve him cake on some old kitchen plate. Get a load of this!”
If anyone asked, Will absolutely did not flinch when the pint-sized pyromaniac whipped something out of one of his many pockets. It turned out to be a piece of parchment, folded into an elaborate paper crane.
Harley carefully unfolded the bird. He held the parchment face-out so Will could see it - it was some kind of diagram, but Will couldn’t decipher all of the numbers and letters. He recognized a couple of the Greek letters, as well as the Hades symbol drawn smack in the middle of a blue-penciled circle that took up most of the page.
Harley was bouncing on his toes, vibrating with excitement. “It’s a cake platter! We’re going to craft it out of Stygian iron, and then have every cabin write a birthday message to Nico on it using a special burin that Leo invented.”
“Harley, that’s…very sweet.” Will gave the young demigod a real smile. “Was this your idea?”
The boy fidgeted and glanced nervously toward Cabin 5. “Actually, Clarisse came up with it.”
Now that was a surprise. “Huh?”
“Well, Clarisse was talking to Connor, and he told her how Nico’s birthday is coming up and you were making him a cake and everything.”
Fucking Connor, Will fumed, but nodded for Harley to continue.
“And Clarisse said if you were making this big fancy cake, you should at least do the honorable thing and serve it on a nice platter. So I said my cabin could make one, and then I called Leo and he came up with the idea of writing messages on it.”
Will failed to understand what a cake platter had to do with his honor as a demigod, but he appreciated the contribution all the same. “Well, I think it’s a great idea. I’ll…thank Clarisse when I see her. And I’ll give Leo a call, too.”
Harley’s bouncing slowed, his motormouth turning down slightly. “Leo’s real sorry he can’t be here for Nico’s birthday. He said Nico’s like a bonus brother to us. I promised him I’d do a good job on the platter.”
Will crouched down to look the kid in the eye. “Nico’s going to love it. He loves your cabin, too, you know.”
“Really?!” The bouncing started up again, more enthusiastically than before.
“Absolutely. I’m always yelling at him about shadow-traveling to the Underworld to get raw materials for you guys, but he keeps doing it. He says a master smith’s talents are wasted on anything less than the best.”
“Nico called me a master smith?!” Harley’s big brown eyes got impossibly wider, and the bouncing intensified. Will worried the kid was actually going to achieve liftoff. “Wow!”
“Yup.” Will straightened up, clapped Harley on the shoulder, and looked across the green, where Clarisse was just coming back from training in full armor. “You’re going to do a great job on the platter, Harley. And I suppose I should go thank Clarisse as well.”
The Goddess of the Hearth
The day before Nico’s birthday, Will’s lofty baking ambitions were shattered in one tragic explosion that could be heard all throughout camp, and probably up in Olympus as well.
The Hephaestus cabin had taken it upon themselves to make some upgrades to the Big House kitchen, including filling the oven’s propane line with Greek fire for ‘maximum heat efficiency.’ As it turned out, a General Electric gas oven from the 80’s was not built to withstand celestial flames, and the only silver lining was that the explosion only blew out one wall of the kitchen instead of destroying the entire house.
Will was devastated. Kayla found him sprawled on the infirmary office floor, surrounded by all the ingredients for torta al rum. At Lou Ellen’s suggestion, he had drawn a pentagram in chalk and placed each ingredient at an inflection point, but so far, they had failed to magically assemble themselves into a cake.
“Someone’s here to see you, loser.” Kayla leaned down, plucking an almond from a bowl and tossing it in the air; it landed dead-center on her tongue.
“What am I gonna do, Kayla? It’s his birthday; he can’t just not have a cake.”
“He can have a basket of rotten pomegranates for all I care. There’s somebody waiting for you at the intake desk; now go do your job.”
Will sighed mournfully, heaving himself from the floor as if he carried the weight of all the birthdays in the world on his broad shoulders. He tried to fix his face into a welcoming smile, but he was just so sad, the best he could manage was a professional grimace. Then he saw who was waiting at the desk, and his blue eyes widened in awe.
Every camper knew the girl who tended the hearth in the dining pavilion, and Will immediately gave her a respectful bow. “Lady Hestia. How can I be of service?”
The goddess favored him with a sweet smile. “William Solace. I have something you might find useful.” She gestured to a cardboard box on the floor, covered in an array of scratch-n-sniff food stickers. Will could smell the creamsicle ones from across the room.
Hestia waved him over, and he opened the box and lifted out the bulky object inside, balancing it carefully on the intake counter.
“An Easy-Bake Oven! Oh my gods!” Will’s hands clapped together, delighted. “My mom had one of these on her tour bus - the heating element was broken, but I used to love pretending to cook with it.”
The goddess’ eyes sparkled warmly. “This one works just fine. It’s a special birthday model. For the torta al rum.”
Will hated to look a gift horse in the mouth (his father still wouldn’t shut up about the damn Trojans), but he couldn’t help a skeptical look at the toy. “Um, thank you so much, my lady, but isn’t it too small for a full-size cake?”
“Oh, I think you’ll find it will meet your needs quite nicely.” The empty, sticker-covered box disappeared with a wave of her hand, and the goddess opened the door to return to her hearth. “It’s my honor to help with Nico’s birthday surprise. No one shows the gods more respect than my brother’s son.”
Will blinked, staring for a moment at the empty spot where the goddess had been standing. He picked up the toy oven and carried it carefully to the back office, placing it on the desk where every Head Medic had carved their initials before him. He opened the oven to find a small direction sheet that read simply: Place all ingredients inside, close the door, and press START.
Will looked anxiously at the bowls and packages still scattered around the pentagram on the floor. Every cabin had contributed something to make Nico’s birthday special - what if this didn’t work and all their help was for nothing? Then he thought of the gentle smile in Lady Hestia’s eyes, and how everyone who knew Nico - really knew him - loved him and wanted to celebrate him.
He gathered up each ingredient, from the eggs to the extracts, and crammed them inside the oven. Then he shut the door and pushed the big raspberry-colored START button. “Here goes nothing,” he murmured, watching in amazement as a soft glow spread from the inside of the toy to envelop the entire office, and a distinct, sugary scent of Italian pastry wafted throughout the infirmary.
Cabin 13
Nico’s birthday dinner celebration began with him bursting into tears.
That morning, Will had told Nico that for his birthday, he would do whatever Nico wanted for the whole day. After a hike out to the Grove of Dodona, a lovely canoe ride on the frigid lake, and an hours-long Mythomagic session that Will claimed he let Nico win, it was time to get ready for dinner.
Will waited until Nico was preoccupied with carefully sorting the Mythomagic cards before putting them away.
“Hey, Neeks.”
“Yeah?” Nico pulled a Hermes card from a pile and placed it in its proper spot.
“How about we have dessert first tonight?”
“The nymphs never serve dessert first. Mr. D. would let them, but Chiron said no.”
“Neeks.”
Now the Demeter pile needed shuffling.
“Nico.”
More sorting, more shuffling.
“Hey, birthday boy.”
“What?” Nico finally looked up from the floor, and his breath caught at the sight of Will standing in front of him.
He rose slowly from the floor, eyes fixed on the enormous, picture-perfect torta al rum resting on the shining platter in Will’s hands.
It was like something out of a magazine. Toasted, sliced almonds completely covered the rounded sides, pressed into the vanilla-scented pastry cream. Glossy dollops of cream circled the top of the cake, each one topped with a chocolate-almond bonbon. Piped onto the smooth top in elegant black script were the words, Happy Birthday Nico.
Nico stared at the cake for so long Will started to worry he had gone into some kind of rum-induced trance. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath coming out in short bursts. Then, Will’s worst nightmare came true - Nico’s face crumpled, and he dropped his head into his hands in a heartbreaking sob.
Will immediately set the platter down on Nico’s desk, and moved in to grasp his boyfriend’s arms. “Nico, Nico, darlin’, don’t cry. I’m…I’m sorry. You don’t have to eat it if it upsets you.”
Nico lifted his tear-streaked face to meet Will’s anguished eyes. “It’s the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten, Will. I can’t…I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Oh.” Will cradled Nico’s dark head against his shoulder, heedless of the tears soaking through his shirt. “I told you I was going to make a rum cake for your birthday.”
“I didn’t think you’d be crazy enough to actually go through with it, you goober!” A watery laugh broke through Nico’s tears, and he pulled away just enough to smack Will gently on the chest. “It looks just like the ones I used to have in Venice.”
“So…do you like it?”
“Yes, Will, I like it so much.” He rubbed his face with his hoodie sleeve, taking one last sniffle before leaning up to wrap his arms around Will’s neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s cheek.
Will held him for a long moment, sending a thankful prayer to the gods (and Lady Hestia especially) that Nico’s cake was a success. Eventually they pulled apart, but Will kept one hand firmly in Nico’s.
“I have a card for you, too.” He tugged Nico over to the bookcase, where Will had hidden the card before they started the Mythomagic game.
Nico beamed up at him. “Will you read it to me?”
Will blinked. “Don’t…don’t you want to read it yourself?”
“Nope. I like to hear you talk.” He fluttered his long lashes, almost certainly on purpose. “Please? It’s my birthday.”
Well. Will would challenge anyone, mortal or immortal, to argue with that logic (or with those eyes). He pulled the card from the envelope and cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up as he read:
“Dear Nico, Sometimes it feels like my brain is full of chickens, all running and scratching and squawking. You’re the only thing that makes the chickens calm down. I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and I hope you like the cake. Love, Will.”
Nico arched an eyebrow, looking questioningly at his boyfriend. “I…calm the chickens?”
“Yup.” Will’s flush deepened, reaching up toward his ears.
“The chickens…in your head.”
“Uh-huh.” His ears were definitely bright red now.
Nico nodded solemnly, but Will caught a secret smile tugging at his lips (Will never missed one of Nico’s smiles).
Nico looked him in the eye. “You know, chickens are sacred to my stepmother.”
“Really?”
“Well, hens specifically, but close enough.”
“I had no idea.”
“Yeah. There’s a famous pinax from Locri showing her and my dad on their thrones. He’s holding wheat or something, and she has a chicken on her lap.”
“Wow. Are they…okay with that?”
Nico shrugged. “It’s the only piece of art where they’re both smiling, so I assume they approve of it.” He tilted his head in a vaguely chicken-esque gesture. “And your dad has a thing for roosters, so I guess you and I were fated to be each other’s…special person.”
Will was fairly certain his face was actually on fire, and he’d be forced to go through life with people mistaking him for a child of Hephaestus. “I love being your special person. Because of, you know, the chickens.”
“And the cake,” Nico reminded him, smiling at the enormous almond-covered confection. “You know, there’s no way we can eat this whole thing by ourselves. It seems only right to share it with everyone who helped make it.”
Will nodded approvingly. “Well, I can’t say no to the birthday boy. Dinner’s just finishing up; let’s bring it to the dining pavilion and give everyone a treat.”
Nico carried the cake himself while Will regaled him with the tale of the Great Baking Quest. He beamed gratefully at Hestia as they entered the pavilion, and the Lady gave him a warm smile in return. The rest of the campers cheered and shouted birthday greetings as they made their way to the Apollo table.
Nico waved shyly to the other cabins, then raised his voice to be heard above the mealtime bustle. “You know, when it’s your birthday in Italy, you’re the one who treats your friends to a celebration. Everyone line up for some cake!”
Another round of cheers echoed throughout the pavilion, and demigods raced to beat each other to dessert. Nico and Will served a piece to each one, and the cake never ran out. Will blushed harder as the grateful campers praised his baking skills.
Harley shoved a bite into his mouth before he even left the line. “My cabin made the platter, Nico!” He jumped up and down, spilling pastry cream down his shirt. “We all wrote birthday messages on it - look!”
Nico wiped one side of the platter with a napkin and read the etching shining from the polished Stygian iron surface. His eyes welled with tears again, but he wiped them quickly with his sleeve before Percy could notice and razz him about it (Percy’s message was the one that started the tears in the first place).
Will slipped an arm around his waist as they both watched Harley skip off with pastry cream smudged on his cheek. When the last camper had been served, Nico leaned down and took two cake slices, handing one to Will.
“Alright, Solace, moment of truth.” His deep brown eyes sparkled teasingly, and he closed his eyes to take his first bite.
Will waited with bated breath. “Well? What do you think?”
Nico opened his shining eyes, entirely unable to hold back his smile. “This is incredible, Will. I think you’re ready for The Great Olympian Bake-Off.”
“Lady Hestia’s oven actually made it. I just got the ingredients.” Will finally took his own bite, nodding with satisfaction. It really was delicious; the rum gave it just the right touch of deep caramel flavor.
“My nonna always said food tastes better when you make it with love,” Nico informed him. “And that’s what you did, Will. That’s why it’s so good.”
Will leaned in to kiss a drop of cream off Nico’s lips. “I think the rum helps, too.”