I caught a whiff of cologne: something between clove and cinnamon. It made my eyes water.
He said something again.
“What?” I asked.
He gestured to the seat next to me.
“Oh. Uh—”
“Thank you.” He plopped down in a cloud of too-sweet-smelling fragrance and looked around the train at the six other riders. He snapped his fingers, like he was calling a dog, and all the people froze. Not that you could really tell any difference.
“So.” He spread his manicured fingers on his kneecaps and smiled sideways at me. “Percy Jackson. This is nice.”
“Which god are you?”
He pouted. “What makes you think I’m a god?”
“Lucky guess.”
“Hmph. And I went to all this trouble to blend in. I even put on clothes.”
“I appreciate the effort. Really.”
“Well, you’ve ruined my big reveal. I am Ganymede, beloved cupbearer to Zeus, and I need your help. What say you, Percy Jackson?”
The train came screeching into my stop. Annabeth and Grover would be waiting.
“Do you like Himbo Juice?” I asked the god.
I’d had all kinds of meetings with gods before, but this was the first time I’d ever taken one to a smoothie bar. The place was packed. Fortunately, Annabeth and Grover had scored our usual booth in the corner. Annabeth waved me over, then frowned when she saw the golden guy trailing behind me.
“We put in our order already,” she said as we slipped into the seat across from them. “I didn’t know you were bringing a friend.”
“Order for Grover!” said the server at the counter. Like most of the dudes who worked at Himbo Juice, he was huge and ripped and wearing a tank top, and his smile was blindingly white. “I’ve got a Fiji Fro-Yo, a Salty Sailor, and a Golden Eagle!”
“An eagle?! Where?” shrieked Ganymede, trying his best to hide under the table.
Annabeth and Grover exchanged a confused look.
“I’ll get the drinks,” Grover said, and he jogged over to the counter.
“The Golden Eagle is just a smoothie,” Annabeth told Ganymede, who was still hunched over and quivering.
Cautiously, the god straightened up. “I . . . I have some unresolved trauma about eagles.”
“You must be Ganymede,” Annabeth guessed.
The god frowned. He looked down at his shirt. “Am I wearing a name tag? How did you know that?”
“Well, you’re gorgeous,” Annabeth said.
That seemed to cheer up the god, though it didn’t do much for my mood.
“Thank you,” he said.
“And Ganymede was supposed to be the most beautiful of the gods,” Annabeth continued. “Along with Aphrodite, of course.”
Ganymede bobbed his head like he was weighing the comparison. “I suppose I’ll allow it.”
“You used to be mortal,” she went on. “You were so beautiful that Zeus turned into an eagle and snatched you away, brought you to Olympus.”
Ganymede flinched. “Yes. Long ago, but it still stings. . . .”
Grover reappeared with a tray of smoothies. “I got you a Mighty Mead,” he told Ganymede. “Hope that’s okay. What did I miss?”
“He’s a god,” I said.
“I know that,” Grover said. “He’s Ganymede.”
“How did you—？” Ganymede stopped himself. “Never mind.”
“We were just about to hear why Ganymede came to find me,” I said.
Grover passed around the smoothies. Salty Sailor for me, obviously—just a hint of salted caramel with apples and bananas. The Fiji Fro-Yo was Grover’s. The Golden Eagle was Annabeth’s: turmeric, ginger, coconut milk, and a bunch of brain-food-type stuff, as if she needed any help in that department.
Ganymede thoughtfully stirred his Mighty Mead, occasionally eying Annabeth’s smoothie like it might grow claws and snatch him into the heavens. “I saw your ad on the bulletin board,” he began. “It . . . it also seemed too good to be true.”
“Thanks?”
“And all I have to do to reward you is write a letter of recommendation?”
I bit my tongue to keep from making several comments: Tips are appreciated. Actually, our surge pricing is in effect. “That’s the deal. And what is it I have to do?”
“We,” Annabeth and Grover corrected me in unison.
Ganymede squeaked his straw in his smoothie lid. I hated that sound. “I have to be sure this is completely discreet,” he said, dropping his voice and peering around nervously, even though none of the other patrons were paying us any attention. “You cannot tell anyone else. Is that understood?”