Read Online The Son of Neptune by Rick Riordan - Free Book Online Page B

there was talk that the club might have to shut down completely until the Japanese were whipped and the soldiers came back home. Sammy could usually sneak Hazel in to help take care of the horses. Once in a while they’d go riding.
    Hazel loved horses. They seemed to be the only living things that weren’t scared of her. People hated her. Cats hissed. Dogs growled. Even the stupid hamster in Miss Finley’s classroom squeaked in terror when she gave it a carrot. But horses didn’t mind. When she was in the saddle, she could ride so fast that there was no chance of gemstones cropping up in her wake. She almost felt free of her curse.
    That afternoon, she’d taken out a tan roan stallion with a gorgeous black mane. She galloped into the fields so swiftly, she left Sammy behind. By the time he caught up, he and his horse were both winded.
    “What are you running from?” He laughed. “I’m not that ugly, am I?”
    It was too cold for a picnic, but they had one anyway, sitting under a magnolia tree with the horses tethered to a split-rail fence. Sammy had brought her a cupcake with a birthday candle, which had gotten smashed on the ride but was still the sweetest thing Hazel had ever seen. They broke it in half and shared it.
    Sammy talked about the war. He wished he were old enough to go. He asked Hazel if she would write him letters if he were a soldier going overseas.
    “’Course, dummy,” she said.
    He grinned. Then, as if moved by a sudden impulse, he lurched forward and kissed her on the cheek. “Happy birthday, Hazel.”
    It wasn’t much. Just one kiss, and not even on the lips. But Hazel felt like she was floating. She hardly remembered the ride back to the stables, or telling Sammy good-bye. He said, “See you tomorrow,” like he always did. But she would never see him again.
    By the time she got back to the French Quarter, it was getting dark. As she approached home, her warm feeling faded, replaced by dread.
    Hazel and her mother—Queen Marie, she liked to be called—lived in an old apartment above a jazz club. Despite the beginning of the war, there was a festive mood in the air. New recruits would roam the streets, laughing and talking about fighting the Japanese. They’d get tattoos in the parlors or propose to their sweethearts right on the sidewalk. Some would go upstairs to Hazel’s mother to have their fortunes read or to buy charms from Marie Levesque, the famous gris gris queen.
    “Did you hear?” one would say. “Two bits for this good-luck charm. I took it to a guy I know, and he says it’s a real silver nugget. Worth twenty dollars! That voodoo woman is crazy!”
    For a while, that kind of talk brought Queen Marie a lot of business. Hazel’s curse had started out slowly. At first it seemed like a blessing. The precious stones and gold only appeared once in a while, never in huge quantities. QueenMarie paid her bills. They ate steak for dinner once a week. Hazel even got a new dress. But then stories started spreading. The locals began to realize how many horrible things happened to people who bought those good-luck charms or got paid with Queen Marie’s treasure. Charlie Gasceaux lost his arm in a harvester while wearing a gold bracelet. Mr. Henry at the general store dropped dead from a heart attack after Queen Marie settled her tab with a ruby.
    Folks started whispering about Hazel—how she could find cursed jewels just by walking down the street. These days only out-of-towners came to visit her mother, and not so many of them, either. Hazel’s mom had become short-tempered. She gave Hazel resentful looks.
    Hazel climbed the stairs as quietly as she could, in case her mother had a customer. In the club downstairs, the band was tuning their instruments. The bakery next door had started making beignets for tomorrow morning, filling the stairwell with the smell of melting butter.
    When she got to the top, Hazel thought she heard two voices inside the apartment. But when she peeked