fulminata Latin for armed with lightning; a Roman legion under Julius Caesar whose emblem was a  lightning bolt (fulmen)

Gaea the Greek earth goddess; wife of Ouranos; mother of the Titans, giants, Cyclopes, and other monsters. Roman form: Terra

galea Latin for helmet

gladiator a person trained to fight with particular weapons in an arena

gladius a stabbing sword; the primary weapon of Roman foot soldiers

greaves shin armor

Imperial gold a rare metal deadly to monsters, consecrated at the Pantheon; its existence was a closely guarded secret of the emperors

invenient Latin for find

Janus the Roman god of doorways, transitions, beginnings, and endings

Juno the Roman goddess of marriage; Jupiter’s wife and sister; Apollo’s stepmother. Greek form: Hera

Jupiter the Roman god of the sky and king of the gods. Greek form: Zeus

laquearius (laquearii, pl.) Latin for snarer; a gladiator who fought with a lasso in one hand and a sword in the other

Lar (Lares, pl.) Roman house gods

legion a unit of soldiers in the Roman army

legionnaire a member of the Roman army

Little Tiber named after the Tiber River of Rome, the smallest river that forms the barrier of Camp Jupiter

Lupa the wolf goddess, guardian spirit of Rome

Mamurius Veturius master craftsman to King Numa, who instructed him to make eleven identical copies of the ancile

manubalista a Roman heavy crossbow

Mars Ultor the Avenger, another name for the Roman god of war

Mefitis the Roman goddess of noxious vapors that emanate from the earth

Mercury the Roman god of travelers; guide to spirits of the dead; god of communication. Greek form: Hermes

Mist a magical force that prevents mortals from seeing gods, mythical creatures, and supernatural occurrences by replacing them with things the human mind can comprehend

murmillo the oldest gladiator fighting style, in which the gladius sword is the primary weapon

naiad a female water spirit

Neptune the Roman god of the sea. Greek form: Poseidon

New Rome both the valley in which Camp Jupiter is located and a city—a smaller, modern version of the ancient imperial city—where Roman demigods can go to live in peace, study, and retire

Numa the king who took the throne after Rome’s founder, Romulus, died

oculus the round skylight in the center of a domed ceiling

pilum a javelin

plumbata a throwing dart

Pluto the Roman god of death and ruler of the Underworld. Greek form: Hades

Pomerian Line the invisible boundary that encircles New Rome

praetor an elected Roman magistrate and commander of the army

praetorian guard a unit of elite Roman soldiers in the Imperial Roman Army

principia the military headquarters for the praetors at Camp Jupiter

probatio the rank assigned to new members of the legion at Camp Jupiter

pugio a dagger

purgamentorum derelinquere caeno Latin for sewage sludge

retiarius (retiarii, pl.) a gladiator who fights with a net and a trident or dagger

Romulus a demigod son of Mars, twin brother of Remus; the first king of Rome, who founded the city in 753 BCE

scutum a large curved shield

Senate a council of ten representatives elected from the legion at Camp Jupiter

SPQR an abbreviation for Senatus Populusque Romanus (Senate and People of Rome)

Temple Hill the site just outside the city limits of New Rome where the temples to all the gods are located

Terminus the Roman god of boundaries

testudo a tortoise battle formation in which legionnaires put their shields together to form a barrier

trireme a Greek warship, having three tiers of oars on each side

Via Praetoria the main road into Camp Jupiter that runs from the barracks to the headquarters

Vulcan the Roman god of fire, including volcanic, and of crafts and blacksmithing. Greek form: Hephaestus

Not ready to leave Camp Jupiter?

Read the first chapter of

The Trials of Apollo Book 4:

The Tyrant’s Tomb

I BELIEVE IN RETURNING DEAD BODIES.

It seems like a simple courtesy, doesn’t it? A warrior dies, you should do what you can to get their body back to their people for funerary rites. Maybe I’m old-fashioned. (I am over four thousand years old.) But I find it rude not to properly dispose of corpses.

Achilles during the Trojan War, for instance. Total pig. He chariot-dragged the body of the Trojan champion Hector around the walls of the city for days. Finally I convinced Zeus to pressure the big bully into returning Hector’s body to his parents so he could have a decent burial. I mean, come on. Have a little respect for the people you slaughter.

Then there was Oliver Cromwell’s corpse. I wasn’t a fan of the man, but please. First, the English bury him with honors. Then they decide they hate him, so they dig him up and “execute” his body. Then his head falls off the pike where it’s been impaled for decades and gets passed around from collector to collector for almost three centuries like a disgusting souvenir snow globe. Finally, in 1960, I whispered in the ears of some influential people, Enough, already. I am the god Apollo, and I order you to bury that thing. You’re grossing me out.

When it came to Jason Grace, my fallen friend and half brother, I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. I would personally escort his coffin to Camp Jupiter and see him off with full honors.

That turned out to be a good call. What with the ghouls attacking us and everything.

Sunset turned San Francisco Bay into a cauldron of molten copper as our private plane landed at Oakland Airport. I say our private plane; the chartered trip was actually a parting gift from our friend Piper McLean and her movie star father. (Everyone should have at least one friend with a movie star parent.)

Waiting for us beside the runway was another surprise the McLeans must have arranged: a gleaming black hearse.

Meg McCaffrey and I stretched our legs on the tarmac while the ground crew somberly removed Jason’s coffin from the Cessna’s storage bay. The polished mahogany box seemed to glow in the evening light. Its brass fixtures glinted red. I hated how beautiful it was. Death shouldn’t be beautiful.

The crew loaded it into the hearse, then transferred our luggage to the backseat. We didn’t have much: Meg’s backpack and mine, my bow and quiver and ukulele, and a couple of sketchbooks and a poster-board diorama we’d inherited from Jason.

I signed some paperwork, accepted the flight crew’s condolences, then shook hands with a nice undertaker who handed me the keys to the hearse and walked away.

I stared at the keys, then at Meg McCaffrey, who was chewing the head off a Swedish Fish. The plane had been stocked with half a dozen tins of the squishy red candy. Not anymore. Meg had single-handedly brought the Swedish Fish ecosystem to the brink of collapse.

“I’m supposed to drive?” I wondered. “Is this a rental hearse? I’m pretty sure my New York junior driver’s license doesn’t cover this.”

Meg shrugged. During our flight, she’d insisted on sprawling on the Cessna’s sofa, so her dark pageboy haircut was flattened against the side of her head. One rhinestone-studded point of her cat-eye glasses poked through her hair like a disco shark fin.

The rest of her outfit was equally disreputable: floppy red high-tops, threadbare yellow leggings, and the well-loved knee-length green frock she’d gotten from Percy Jackson’s mother. By well-loved, I mean the frock had been through so many battles, been washed and mended so many times, it looked less like a piece of clothing and more like a deflated hot-air balloon. Around Meg’s waist was the pièce de résistance: her multi-pocketed gardening belt, because children of Demeter never leave home without one.