The Last Olympian

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CHAPTER SIX: MY COOKIES GET SCORCHED

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I don't recommend shadow travel if you're scared of:

a) The dark

b) Cold shivers up your spine

c) Strange noises

d) Going so fast you feel like your face is peeling off

In other words, I thought it was awesome. One minute I couldn't see anything. I could only feel Mrs.

O'Leary's fur and my fingers wrapped around the bronze links of her dog collar.

The next minute the shadows melted into a new scene. We were on a cliff in the woods of

Connecticut. At least, it looked like Connecticut from the few times I'd been there: lots of trees, low stone

walls, big houses. Down one side of the cliff, a highway cut through a ravine. Down the other side was

someone's backyard. The property was huge—more wilderness than lawn. The house was a two-story

white Colonial. Despite the fact that it was right on the other side of the hill from a highway, it felt like it

was in the middle of nowhere. I could see a light glowing m the kitchen window. A rusty old swing set

stood under an apple tree.

I couldn't imagine living in a house like this, with an actual yard and everything. I'd lived in a tiny

apartment or a school dorm my whole life. If this was Luke's home, I wondered why he'd ever wanted to

leave.

Mrs. O'Leary staggered. I remembered what Nico had said about shadow travel draining her, so I

slipped off her back. She let out a huge toothy yawn that would've scared a T. rex, then turned in a circle

and flopped down so hard the ground shook.

Nico appeared right next to me, as if the shadows had darkened and created him. He stumbled, but I

caught his arm.

"I'm okay," he managed, rubbing his eyes.

"How did you do that?"

"Practice. A few times running into walls. A few accidental trips to China."

Mrs. O'Leary started snoring. If it hadn't been for the roar of traffic behind us, I'm sure she would've

woken up the whole neighborhood.

"Are you going to take a nap too?" I asked Nico.

He shook his head. "The first time I shadow traveled, I passed out for a week. Now it just makes me a

little drowsy, but I can't do it more than once or twice a night. Mrs. O'Leary won't be going anywhere for

a while."

"So we've got some quality time in Connecticut." I gazed at the white Colonial house. "What now?"

"We ring the doorbell," Nico said.

If I were Luke's mom, I would not have opened my door at night for two strange kids. But I wasn't

anything like Luke's mom.

I knew that even before we reached the front door. The sidewalk was lined with those little stuffed

beanbag animals you see in gift shops. There were miniature lions, pigs, dragons, hydras, even a teeny

Minotaur in a little Minotaur diaper. Judging from their sad shape, the beanbag creatures had been sitting

out here a long time—since the snow melted last spring at least. One of the hydras had a tree sapling

sprouting between its necks.

The front porch was infested with wind chimes. Shiny bits of glass and metal clinked in the breeze.

Brass ribbons tinkled like water and made me realize I needed to use the bathroom. I didn't know how

Ms. Castellan could stand all the noise.

The front door was painted turquoise. The name CASTELLAN was written in English, and below in

Greek: Διοικητής φρουρίου.

Nico looked at me. "Ready?"

He'd barely tapped the door when it swung open.

"Luke!" the old lady cried happily.

She looked like someone who enjoyed sticking her fingers in electrical sockets. Her white hair stuck

out in tufts all over her head. Her pink housedress was covered in scorch marks and smears of ash. When

she smiled, her face looked unnaturally stretched, and the high-voltage light in her eves made me wonder

if she was blind.

"Oh, my dear boy!" She hugged Nico. I was trying to figure out why she thought Nico was Luke

(they looked absolutely nothing alike), when she smiled at me and said, "Luke!"

She forgot all about Nico and gave me a hug. She smelled like burned cookies. She was as thin as a

scarecrow, but that didn't stop her from almost crushing me.

"Come in!" she insisted. "I have your lunch ready!"

She ushered us inside. The living room was even weirder than the front lawn. Mirrors and candles

filled every available space. I couldn't look anywhere without seeing my own reflection. Above the

mantel, a little bronze Hermes flew around the second hand of a ticking clock. I tried to imagine the god

of messengers ever falling in love with this old woman, but the idea was too bizarre.

Then I noticed the framed picture on the mantel, and I froze. It was exactly like Rachel's sketch—

Luke around nine years old, with blond hair and a big smile and two missing teeth. The lack of a scar on

his face made him look like a different person—carefree and happy. How could Rachel have known about

that picture?

"This way, my dear!" Ms. Castellan steered me toward the back of the house. "Oh, I told them you

would come back. I knew it!"

She sat us down at the kitchen table. Stacked on the counter were hundreds—I mean hundreds—of

Tupperware boxes with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches inside. The ones on the bottom were green and

fuzzy, like they'd been there for a long time. The smell reminded me of my sixth grade locker—and that's

not a good thing.

On top of the oven was a stack of cookie sheets. Each one had a dozen burned cookies on it. In the

sink was a mountain of empty plastic Kool-Aid pitchers. A beanbag Medusa sat by the faucet like she was

guarding the mess.

Ms. Castellan started humming as she got out peanut butter and jelly and started making a new

sandwich. Something was burning in the oven. I got the feeling more cookies were on the way.

Above the sink, taped all around the window, were dozens of little pictures cut from magazines and

newspaper ads—pictures of Hermes from the FTD Flowers logo and Quickie Cleaners, pictures of the

caduceus from medical ads.

My heart sank. I wanted to get out of that room, but Ms. Castellan kept smiling at me as she made the

sandwich, like she was making sure I didn't bolt.

Nico coughed. "Urn, Ms. Castellan?"

"Mm?"

"We need to ask you about your son."

"Oh, yes! They told me he would never come back. But I knew better." She patted my cheek

affectionately, giving me peanut butter racing stripes.

"When did you last see him?" Nico asked.

Her eyes lost focus.

"He was so young when he left," she said wistfully. "Third grade. That's too young to run away! He

said he'd be back for lunch. And I waited. He likes peanut butter sandwiches and cookies and Kool-Aid.

He'll be back for lunch very soon. . . ." Then she looked at me and smiled. "Why, Luke, there you are!

You look so handsome. You have your father's eyes."

She turned toward the pictures of Hermes above the sink. "Now, there's a good man. Yes, indeed. He

comes to visit me, you know."

The clock kept ticking in the other room. I wiped the peanut butter off my face and looked at Nico

pleadingly, like Can we get out of here now?

"Ma'am," Nico said. "What, uh . . . what happened to your eyes?"

Her gaze seemed fractured—like she was trying to focus on him through a kaleidoscope. "Why, Luke,

you know the story. It was right before you were born, wasn't it? I'd always been special, able to see

through the . . . whatever-they-call-it."

"The Mist?" I said.

"Yes, dear." She nodded encouragingly. "And they offered me an important job. That's how special I

was!"

I glanced at Nico, but he looked as confused as I was.

"What sort of job?" I asked. "What happened?"

Ms. Castellan frowned. Her knife hovered over the sandwich bread. "Dear me, it didn't work out, did

it? Your father warned me not to try. He said it was too dangerous. But I had to. It was my destiny! And

now . . . I still can't get the images out of my head. They make everything seem so fuzzy. Would you like

some cookies?"

She pulled a tray out of the oven and dumped a dozen lumps of chocolate chip charcoal on the table.

"Luke was so kind," Ms. Castellan murmured. "He left to protect me, you know. He said if he went

away, the monsters wouldn't threaten me. But I told him the monsters are no threat! They sit outside on

the sidewalk all day, and they never come in." She picked up the little stuffed Medusa from the

windowsill. "Do they, Mrs. Medusa? No, no threat at all." She beamed at me. "I'm so glad you came

home. I knew you weren't ashamed of me!"

I shifted in my seat. I imagined being Luke sitting at this table, eight or nine years old, and just

beginning to realize that my mother wasn't all there.

"Ms. Castellan," I said.

"Mom," she corrected.

"Um, yeah. Have you seen Luke since he left home?"

"Well, of course!"

I didn't know if she was imagining that or not. For all I knew, every time the mailman came to the

door he was Luke. But Nico sat forward expectantly.

"When?" he asked. "When did Luke visit you last?"

"Well, it was . . . Oh goodness . . ." A shadow passed across her face. "The last time, he looked so

different. A scar. A terrible scar, and his voice so full of pain . . ."

"His eyes," I said. "Were they gold?"

"Gold?" She blinked. "No. How silly. Luke has blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes!"

So Luke really had been here, and this had happened before last summer—before he'd turned into

Kronos.

"Ms. Castellan?" Nico put his hand on the old woman's arm. "This is very important. Did he ask you

for anything?"

She frowned as if trying to remember. "My—my blessing. Isn't that sweet?" She looked at us

uncertainly. "He was going to a river, and he said he needed my blessing. I gave it to him. Of course I

did."

Nico looked at me triumphantly. "Thank you, ma'am. That's all the information we—"

Ms. Castellan gasped. She doubled over, and her cookie tray clattered to the floor. Nico and I jumped

to our feet.

"Ms. Castellan?" I said.

"AHHHH," She straightened. I scrambled away and almost fell over the kitchen table, because her

eyes—her eyes were glowing green.

"My child," she rasped in a much deeper voice. "Must protect him! Hermes, help! Not my child! Not

his fate—no!"

She grabbed Nico by the shoulders and began to shake him as if to make him understand. "Not his

fate!"

Nico made a strangled scream and pushed her away. He gripped the hilt of his sword. "Percy, we

need to get out—"

Suddenly Ms. Castellan collapsed. I lurched forward and caught her before she could hit the edge of

the table. I managed to get her into a chair.

"Ms. C?" I asked.

She muttered something incomprehensible and shook her head. "Goodness. I . . . I dropped the

cookies. How silly of me."

She blinked, and her eyes were back to normal—or at least, what they had been before. The green

glow was gone.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Well, of course, dear. I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

I glanced at Nico, who mouthed the word Leave.

"Ms. C, you were telling us something," I said. "Something about your son."

"Was I?" she said dreamily. "Yes, his blue eyes. We were talking about his blue eyes. Such a

handsome boy!"

"We have to go," Nico said urgently. "We'll tell Luke . . . uh, we'll tell him you said hello."

"But you can't leave!" Ms. Castellan got shakily to her feet, and I backed away. I felt silly being

scared of a frail old woman, but the way her voice had changed, the way she'd grabbed Nico . . .

"Hermes will be here soon," she promised. "He'll want to see his boy!"

"Maybe next time," I said. "Thank you for—" I looked down at the burned cookies scattered on the

floor. "Thanks for everything."

She tried to stop us, to offer us Kool-Aid, but I had to get out of that house. On the front porch, she

grabbed my wrist and I almost jumped out of my skin. "Luke, at least be safe. Promise me you'll be safe."

"I will . . . Mom."

That made her smile. She released my wrist, and as she closed the front door I could hear her talking

to the candles: "You hear that? He will be safe. I told you he would be!"

As the door shut, Nico and I ran. The little beanbag animals on the sidewalk seemed to grin at us as

we passed.

Back at the cliff, Mrs. O'Leary had found a friend.

A cozy campfire crackled in a ring of stones. A girl about eight years old was sitting cross-legged

next to Mrs. O'Leary, scratching the hellhound's ears.

The girl had mousy brown hair and a simple brown dress. She wore a scarf over her head so she

looked like a pioneer kid—like the ghost of Little House on the Prairie or something. She poked the fire

with a stick, and it seemed to glow more richly red than a normal fire.

"Hello," she said.

My first thought was: monster. When you're a demigod and you find a sweet little girl alone in the

woods—that's typically a good time to draw your sword and attack. Plus, the encounter with Ms.

Castellan had rattled me pretty bad.

But Nico bowed to the little girl. "Hello again, Lady."

She studied me with eyes as red as the firelight. I decided it was safest to bow.

"Sit, Percy Jackson," she said. "Would you like some dinner?

After staring at moldy peanut butter sandwiches and burned cookies, I didn't have much of an

appetite, but the girl waved her hand and a picnic appeared at the edge of the fire. There were plates of

roast beef, baked potatoes, buttered carrots, fresh bread, and a whole bunch of other foods I hadn't had in

a long time. My stomach started to rumble. It was the kind of home-cooked meal people are supposed to

have but never do. The girl made a five-foot-long dog biscuit appear for Mrs. O'Leary, who happily began

tearing it to shreds.

I sat next to Nico. We picked up our food, and I was about to dig in when I thought better of it.

I scraped part of my meal into the flames, the way we do at camp. "For the gods," I said.

The little girl smiled. "Thank you. As tender of the flame, I get a share of every sacrifice, you know."

"I recognize you now," I said. "The first time I came to camp, you were sitting by the fire, in the

middle of the commons area."

"You did not stop to talk," the girl recalled sadly. "Alas, most never do. Nico talked to me. He was

the first in many years. Everyone rushes about. No time for visiting family."

"You're Hestia," I said. "Goddess of the Hearth."

She nodded.

Okay . . . so she looked eight years old. I didn't ask. I'd learned that gods could look any way they

pleased.

"My lady," Nico asked, "why aren't you with the other Olympians, fighting Typhon?"

"I'm not much for fighting." Her red eyes flickered. I realized they weren't just reflecting the flames.

They were filled with flames—but not like Ares's eyes. Hestia's eyes were warm and cozy.

"Besides," she said, "someone has to keep the home fires burning while the other gods are away."

"So you're guarding Mount Olympus?" I asked.

"'Guard' may be too strong a word. But if you ever need a warm place to sit and a home-cooked meal,

you are welcome to visit. Now eat."

My plate was empty before I knew it. Nico scarfed his down just as fast.

"That was great," I said. "Thank you, Hestia."

She nodded. "Did you have a good visit with May Castellan?"

For a moment I'd almost forgotten the old lady with her bright eyes and her maniacal smile, the way

she'd suddenly seemed possessed.

"What's wrong with her, exactly?" I asked.

"She was born with a gift," Hestia said. "She could see through the Mist."

"Like my mother," I said. And I was also thinking, Like Rachel "But the glowing eyes thing—"

"Some bear the curse of sight better than others," the goddess said sadly. "For a while, May Castellan

had many talents. She attracted the attention of Hermes himself. They had a beautiful baby boy. For a

brief time, she was happy. And then she went too far."

I remembered what Ms. Castellan had said: They offered me an important job . . . It didn't work out. I

wondered what kind of job left you like that.

"One minute she was all happy," I said. "And then she was freaking out about her son's fate, like she

knew he'd turned into Kronos. What happened to . . . to divide her like that?"

The goddess's face darkened. "That is a story I do not like to tell. But May Castellan saw too much. If

you are to understand your enemy Luke, you must understand his family."

I thought about the sad little pictures of Hermes taped above May Castellan's sink. I wondered if Ms.

Castellan had been so crazy when Luke was little. That green-eyed fit could've seriously scared a nineyear-

old kid. And if Hermes never visited, if he'd left Luke alone with his mom all those years . . .

"No wonder Luke ran away," I said. "I mean, it wasn't right to leave his mom like that, but still—he

was just a kid. Hermes shouldn't have abandoned them."

Hestia scratched behind Mrs. O'Leary's ears. The hellhound wagged her tail and accidentally knocked

over a tree.

"It's easy to judge others," Hestia warned. "But will you follow Luke's path? Seek the same powers?"

Nico set down his plate. "We have no choice, my lady. It's the only way Percy stands a chance."

"Mmm." Hestia opened her hand and the fire roared. Flames shot thirty feet into the air. Heat slapped

me in the face. Then the fire died back down to normal.

"Not all powers are spectacular." Hestia looked at me. "Sometimes the hardest power to master is the

power of yielding. Do you believe me?"

"Uh-huh," I said. Anything to keep her from messing with her flame powers again.

The goddess smiled. "You are a good hero, Percy Jackson. Not too proud. I like that. But you have

much to learn. When Dionysus was made a god, I gave up my throne for him. It was the only way to

avoid a civil war among the gods."

"It unbalanced the Council," I remembered. "Suddenly there were seven guys and five girls."

Hestia shrugged. "It was the best solution, not a perfect one. Now I tend the fire. I fade slowly into the

background. No one will ever write epic poems about the deeds of Hestia. Most demigods don't even stop

to talk to me. But that is no matter. I keep the peace. I yield when necessary. Can you do this?"

"I don't know what you mean."

She studied me. "Perhaps not yet. But soon. Will you continue your quest?"

"Is that why you're here—to warn me against going?"

Hestia shook her head. "I am here because when all else fails, when all the other mighty gods have

gone off to war, I am all that's left. Home. Hearth. I am the last Olympian. You must remember me when

you face your final decision.

I didn't like the way she said final.

I looked at Nico, then back at Hestia's warm glowing eyes. "I have to continue, my lady. I have to

stop Luke . . . I mean Kronos."

Hestia nodded. "Very well. I cannot be of much assistance, beyond what I have already told you. But

since you sacrificed to me, I can return you to your own hearth. I will see you again, Percy, on Olympus."

Her tone was ominous, as though our next meeting would not be happy.

The goddess waved her hand, and everything faded.

Suddenly I was home. Nico and I were sitting on the couch in my mom's apartment on the Upper East

Side. That was the good news. The bad news was that the rest of the living room was occupied by Mrs.

O'Leary.

I heard a muffled yell from the bedroom. Paul's voice said, "Who put this wall of fur in the doorway?"

"Percy?" my mom called out. "Are you here? Are you all right?"

"I'm here!" I shouted back.

"WOOF!" Mrs. O'Leary tried to turn in a circle to find my mom, knocking all the pictures off the

walls. She's only met my mom once before (long story), but she loves her.

It took a few minutes, but we finally got things worked out. After destroying most of the furniture in

the living room and probably making our neighbors really mad, we got my parents out of the bedroom

and into the kitchen, where we sat around the kitchen table. Mrs. O'Leary still took up the entire living

room, but she'd settled her head in the kitchen doorway so she could see us, which made her happy. My

mom tossed her a ten-pound family-size tube of ground beef, which disappeared down her gullet. Paul

poured lemonade for the rest of us while I explained about our visit to Connecticut.

"So it's true." Paul stared at me like he'd never seen me before. He was wearing his white bathrobe,

now covered in hellhound fur, and his salt-and-pepper hair was sticking up in every direction. "All the

talk about monsters, and being a demigod . . . it's really true."

I nodded. Last fall I'd explained to Paul who I was. My mom had backed me up. But until this

moment, I don't think he really believed us.

"Sorry about Mrs. O'Leary," I said, "destroying the living room and all."

Paul laughed like he was delighted. "Are you kidding? This is awesome! I mean, when I saw the

hoofprints on the Prius, I thought maybe. But this!"

He patted Mrs. O'Leary's snout. The living room shook—BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—which either

meant a SWAT team was breaking down the door or Mrs. O'Leary was wagging her tail.

I couldn't help but smile. Paul was a pretty cool guy, even if he was my English teacher as well as my

stepdad.

"Thanks for not freaking out," I said.

"Oh, I'm freaking out," he promised, his eyes wide. "I just think it's awesome!"

"Yeah, well," I said, "you may not be so excited when you hear what's happening."

I told Paul and my mom about Typhon, and the gods, and the battle that was sure to come. Then I told

them Nico's plan.

My mom laced her fingers around her lemonade glass. She was wearing her old blue flannel bathrobe,

and her hair was tied back. Recently she'd started writing a novel, like she'd wanted to do for years, and I

could tell she'd been working on it late into the night, because the circles under her eyes were darker than

usual.

Behind her at the kitchen window, silvery moon lace glowed in the flower box. I'd brought the

magical plant back from Calypso's island last summer, and it bloomed like crazy under my mother's care.

The scent always calmed me down, but it also made me sad because it reminded me of lost friends.

My mom took a deep breath, like she was thinking how to tell me no.

"Percy, it's dangerous," she said. "Even for you."

"Mom, I know. I could die. Nico explained that. But if we don't try—"

"We'll all die," Nico said. He hadn't touched his lemonade. "Ms. Jackson, we don't stand a chance

against an invasion. And there will be an invasion."

"An invasion of New York?" Paul said. "Is that even possible? How could we not see the . . . the

monsters?"

He said the word like he still couldn't believe this was real.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I don't see how Kronos could just march into Manhattan, but the Mist is

strong. Typhon is trampling across the country right now, and mortals think he's a storm system."

"Ms. Jackson," Nico said, "Percy needs your blessing. The process has to start that way. I wasn't sure

until we met Luke's mom, but now I'm positive. This has only been done successfully twice before. Both

times, the mother had to give her blessing. She had to be willing to let her son take the risk."

"You want me to bless this?" She shook her head. "It's crazy. Percy, please—"

"Mom, I can't do it without you."

"And if you survive this . . . this process?"

"Then I go to war," I said. "Me against Kronos. And only one of us will survive."

I didn't tell her the whole prophecy—about the soul reaping and the end of my days. She didn't need

to know that I was probably doomed. I could only hope I'd stop Kronos and save the rest of the world

before I died.

"You're my son," she said miserably. "I can't just . . ."

I could tell I'd have to push her harder if I wanted her to agree, but I didn't want to. I remembered

poor Ms. Castellan in her kitchen, waiting for her son to come home. And I realized how lucky I was. My

mom had always been there for me, always tried to make things normal for me, even with the gods and

monsters and stuff. She put up with me going off on adventures, but now I was asking her blessing to do

something that would probably get me killed.

I locked eyes with Paul, and some kind of understanding passed between us.

"Sally." He put his hand over my mother's hands. "I can't claim to know what you and Percy have

been going through all these years. But it sounds to me . . . it sounds like Percy is doing something noble.

I wish I had that much courage."

I got a lump in my throat. I didn't get compliments like that too much.

My mom stared at her lemonade. She looked like she was trying not to cry. I thought about what

Hestia had said, about how hard it was to yield, and I figured maybe my mom was finding that out.

"Percy," she said, "I give you my blessing."

I didn't feel any different. No magic glow lit the kitchen or anything.

I glanced at Nico.

He looked more anxious than ever, but he nodded. "It's time."

"Percy," my mom said. "One last thing. If you . . . if you survive this fight with Kronos, send me a

sign." She rummaged through her purse and handed me her cell phone.

"Mom," I said, "you know demigods and phones—"

"I know," she said. "But just in case. If you're not able to call . . . maybe a sign that I could see from

anywhere in Manhattan. To let me know you're okay."

"Like Theseus," Paul suggested. "He was supposed to raise white sails when he came home to

Athens."

"Except he forgot," Nico muttered. "And his father jumped off the palace roof in despair. But other

than that, it was a great idea."

"What about a flag or a flare?" my mom said. "From Olympus—the Empire State Building."

"Something blue," I said.

We'd had a running joke for years about blue food. It was my favorite color, and my mom went out of

her way to humor me. Every year my birthday cake, my Easter basket, my Christmas candy canes always

had to be blue.

"Yes," my mom agreed. "I'll watch for a blue signal. And I'll try to avoid jumping off palace roofs."

She gave me one last hug. I tried not to feel like I was saying good-bye. I shook hands with Paul.

Then Nico and I walked to the kitchen doorway and looked at Mrs. O'Leary.

"Sorry, girl," I said. "Shadow travel time again."

She whimpered and crossed her paws over her snout.

"Where now?" I asked Nico. "Los Angeles?"

"No need," he said. "There's a closer entrance to the Underworld."

CHAPTER SEVEN: MY MATH TEACHER GIVES ME A LIFT

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We emerged in Central Park just north of the Pond. Mrs. O'Leary looked pretty tired as she limped over to

a cluster of boulders. She started sniffing around, and I was afraid she might mark her territory, but Nico

said, "It's okay. She just smells the way home."

I frowned. "Through the rocks?"

"The Underworld has two major entrances," Nico said. "You know the one in L.A."

"Charon's ferry."

Nico nodded. "Most souls go that way, but there's a smaller path, harder to find. The Door of

Orpheus."

"The dude with the harp."

"Dude with the lyre," Nico corrected. "But yeah, him. He used his music to charm the earth and open

a new path into the Underworld. He sang his way right into Hades's palace and almost got away with his

wife's soul."

I remembered the story. Orpheus wasn't supposed to look behind him when he was leading his wife

back to the world, but of course he did. It was one of those typical "and-so-they-died/the-end" stories that

always made us feel warm and fuzzy.

"So this is the Door of Orpheus." I tried to be impressed, but it still looked like a pile of rocks to me.

"How does it open?"

"We need music," Nico said. "How's your singing?"

"Um, no. Can't you just, like, tell it to open? You're the son of Hades and all."

"It's not so easy. We need music."

I was pretty sure if I tried to sing, all I would cause was an avalanche.

"I have a better idea." I turned and called, "GROVER!"

We waited for a long time. Mrs. O'Leary curled up and took a nap. I could hear the crickets in the woods

and an owl hooting. Traffic hummed along Central Park West. Horse hooves clopped down a nearby path,

maybe a mounted police patrol. I was sure they'd love to find two kids hanging out in the park at one in

the morning.

"It's no good," Nico said at last.

But I had a feeling. My empathy link was really tingling for the first time in months, which either

meant a whole lot of people had suddenly switched on the Nature Channel, or Grover was close.

I shut my eyes and concentrated. Grover.

I knew he was somewhere in the park. Why couldn't I sense his emotions? All I got was a faint hum

in the base of my skull.

Grover, I thought more insistently.

Hmm-hmmmm, something said.

An image came into my head. I saw a giant elm tree deep in the woods, well off the main paths.

Gnarled roots laced the ground, making a kind of bed. Lying in it with his arms crossed and his eyes

closed was a satyr. At first I couldn't be sure it was Grover. He was covered in twigs and leaves, like he'd

been sleeping there a long time. The roots seemed to be shaping themselves around him, slowly pulling

him into the earth.

Grover, I said. Wake up.

Unnnh—zzzzz.

Dude, you're covered in dirt. Wake up!

Sleepy, his mind murmured.

FOOD, I suggested. PANCAKES!

His eyes shot open. A blur of thoughts filled my head like he was suddenly on fast-forward. The

image shattered, and I almost fell over.

"What happened?" Nico asked.

"I got through. He's . . . yeah. He's on his way."

A minute later, the tree next to us shivered. Grover fell out of the branches, right on his head.

"Grover!" I yelled.

"Woof!" Mrs. O'Leary looked up, probably wondering if we were going to play fetch with the satyr.

"Blah-haa-haa!" Grover bleated.

"You okay, man?"

"Oh, I'm fine." He rubbed his head. His horns had grown so much they poked an inch above his curly

hair. "I was at the other end of the park. The dryads had this great idea of passing me through the trees to

get me here. They don't understand height very well."

He grinned and got to his feet—well, his hooves, actually. Since last summer, Grover had stopped

trying to disguise himself as human. He never wore a cap or fake feet anymore. He didn't even wear

jeans, since he had furry goat legs from the waist down. His T-shirt had a picture from that book Where

the Wild Things Are. It was covered with dirt and tree sap. His goatee looked fuller, almost manly (or

goatly?), and he was as tall as me now.

"Good to see you, G-man," I said. "You remember Nico."

Grover nodded at Nico, then he gave me a big hug. He smelled like fresh-mown lawns.

"Perrrrcy!" he bleated. "I missed you! I miss camp. They don't serve very good enchiladas in the

wilderness."

"I was worried," I said. "Where've you been the last two months?"

"The last two—" Grover's smile faded. "The last two months? What are you talking about?"

"We haven't heard from you," I said. "Juniper's worried. We sent Iris-messages, but—"

"Hold on." He looked up at the stars like he was trying to calculate his position. "What month is

this?"

"August."

The color drained from his face. "That's impossible. It's June. I just lay down to take a nap and . . ."

He grabbed my arms. "I remember now! He knocked me out. Percy, we have to stop him!"

"Whoa," I said. "Slow down. Tell me what happened."

He took a deep breath. "I was . . . I was walking in the woods up by Harlem Meer. And I felt this

tremble in the ground, like something powerful was near."

"You can sense stuff like that?" Nico asked.

Grover nodded. "Since Pan's death, I can feel when something is wrong in nature. It's like my ears

and eyes are sharper when I'm in the Wild. Anyway, I started following the scent. This man in a long

black coat was walking through the park, and I noticed he didn't cast a shadow. Middle of a sunny day,

and he cast no shadow. He kind of shimmered as he moved."

"Like a mirage?" Nico asked.

"Yes," Grover said. "And whenever he passed humans—"

"The humans would pass out," Nico said. "Curl up and go to sleep."

"That's right! Then after he was gone, they'd get up and go about their business like nothing

happened."

I stared at Nico. "You know this guy in black?"

"Afraid so," Nico said. "Grover, what happened?"

"I followed the guy. He kept looking up at the buildings around the park like he was making

estimates or something. This lady jogger ran by, and she curled up on the sidewalk and started snoring.

The guy in black put his hand on her forehead like he was checking her temperature. Then he kept

walking. By this time, I knew he was a monster or something even worse. I followed him into this grove,

to the base of a big elm tree. I was about to summon some dryads to help me capture him when he turned

and . . ."

Grover swallowed. "Percy, his face. I couldn't make out his face because it kept shifting. Just looking

at him made me sleepy. I said, 'What are you doing?' He said, 'Just having a look around. You should

always scout a battlefield before the battle.' I said something really smart like, 'This forest is under my

protection. You won't start any battles here!' And he laughed. He said, 'You're lucky I'm saving my

energy for the main event, little satyr. I'll just grant you a short nap. Pleasant dreams.' And that's the last

thing I remember."

Nico exhaled. "Grover, you met Morpheus, the God of Dreams. You're lucky you ever woke up."

"Two months," Grover moaned. "He put me to sleep for two months!"

I tried to wrap my mind around what this meant. Now it made sense why we hadn't been able to

contact Grover all this time.

"Why didn't the nymphs try to wake you?" I asked.

Grover shrugged. "Most nymphs aren't good with time. Two months for a tree—that's nothing. They

probably didn't think anything was wrong."

"We've got to figure out what Morpheus was doing in the park," I said. "I don't like this 'main event'

thing he mentioned."

"He's working for Kronos," Nico said. "We know that already. A lot of the minor gods are. This just

proves there's going to be an invasion. Percy, we have to get on with our plan."

"Wait," Grover said. "What plan?"

We told him, and Grover started tugging at his leg fur.

"You're not serious," he said. "Not the Underworld again."

"I'm not asking you to come, man," I promised. "I know you just woke up. But we need some music

to open the door. Can you do it?"

Grover took out his reed pipes. "I guess I could try. I know a few Nirvana tunes that can split rocks.

But, Percy, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Please, man," I said. "It would mean a lot. For old times' sake?"

He whimpered. "As I recall, in the old times we almost died a lot. But okay, here goes nothing."

He put his pipes to his lips and played a shrill, lively tune. The boulders trembled. A few more

stanzas, and they cracked open, revealing a triangular crevice.

I peered inside. Steps led down into the darkness. The air smelled of mildew and death. It brought

back bad memories of my trip through the Labyrinth last year, but this tunnel felt even more dangerous. It

led straight to the land of Hades, and that was almost always a one-way trip.

I turned to Grover. "Thanks . . . I think."

"Perrrrcy, is Kronos really going to invade?"

"I wish I could tell you better, but yeah. He will."

I thought Grover might chew up his reed pipes in anxiety, but he straightened up and brushed off his

T-shirt. I couldn't help thinking how different he looked from fat old Leneus. "I've got to rally the nature

spirits, then. Maybe we can help. I'll see if we can find this Morpheus.'"

"Better tell Juniper you're okay, too."

His eyes widened. "Juniper! Oh, she's going to kill me!"

He started to run off, then scrambled back and gave me another hug. "Be careful down there! Come

back alive!"

Once he was gone, Nico and I roused Mrs. O'Leary from her nap.

When she smelled the tunnel, she got excited and led the way down the steps. It was a pretty tight fit.

I hoped she wouldn't get stuck. I couldn't imagine how much Drano we'd need to un-stick a hellhound

wedged halfway down a tunnel to the Underworld.

"Ready?" Nico asked me. "It'll be fine. Don't worry."

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

I glanced up at the stars, wondering if I would ever see them again. Then we plunged into darkness.

The stairs went on forever—narrow, steep, and slippery. It was completely dark except for the light of my

sword. I tried to go slow, but Mrs. O'Leary had other ideas. She bounded ahead, barking happily. The

sound echoed through the tunnel like cannon shots, and I figured we would not be catching anybody by

surprise once we reached the bottom.

Nico lagged behind, which I thought was strange.

"You okay?" I asked him.

"Fine." What was that expression on his face . . . doubt? "Just keep moving," he said.

I didn't have much choice. I followed Mrs. O'Leary into the depths. After another hour, I started to

hear the roar of a river.

We emerged at the base of a cliff, on a plain of black volcanic sand. To our right, the River Styx

gushed from the rocks and roared off in a cascade of rapids. To our left, far away in the gloom, fires

burned on the ramparts of Erebos, the great black walls of Hades's kingdom.

I shuddered. I'd first been here when I was twelve, and only Annabeth and Grover's company had

given me the courage to keep going. Nico wasn't going to be quite as helpful with the "courage" thing. He

looked pale and worried himself.

Only Mrs. O'Leary acted happy. She ran along the beach, picked up a random human leg bone, and

romped back toward me. She dropped the bone at my feet and waited for me to throw it.

"Um, maybe later, girl." I stared at the dark waters, trying to get up my nerve. "So, Nico . . . how do

we do this?"

"We have to go inside the gates first," he said.

"But the river's right here."

"I have to get something," he said. "It's the only way."

He marched off without waiting.

I frowned. Nico hadn't mentioned anything about going inside the gates. But now that we were here, I

didn't know what else to do. Reluctantly, I followed him down the beach toward the big black gates.

Lines of the dead stood outside waiting to get in. It must've been a heavy day for funerals, because

even the EZ-DEATH line was backed up.

"Woof!" Mrs. O'Leary said. Before I could stop her she bounded toward the security checkpoint.

Cerberus, the guard dog of Hades, appeared out of the gloom—a three-headed rottweiler so big he made

Mrs. O'Leary look like a toy poodle. Cerberus was half transparent, so he's really hard to see until he's

close enough to kill you, but he acted like he didn't care about us. He was too busy saying hello to Mrs.

O'Leary.

"Mrs. O'Leary, no!" I shouted at her. "Don't sniff . . . Oh, man."

Nico smiled. Then he looked at me and his expression turned all serious again, like he'd remembered

something unpleasant. "Come on. They won't give us any trouble in the line. You're with me."

I didn't like it, but we slipped through the security ghouls and into the Fields of Asphodel. I had to

whistle for Mrs. O'Leary three times before she left Cerberus alone and ran after us.

We hiked over black fields of grass dotted with black poplar trees. If I really died in a few days like

the prophecy said, I might end up here forever, but I tried not to think about that.

Nico trudged ahead, bringing us closer and closer to the palace of Hades.

"Hey," I said, "we're inside the gates already. Where are we—"

Mrs. O'Leary growled. A shadow appeared overhead—something dark, cold, and stinking of death. It

swooped down and landed in the top of a poplar tree.

Unfortunately, I recognized her. She had a shriveled face, a horrible blue knit hat, and a crumpled

velvet dress. Leathery bat wings sprang from her back. Her feet had sharp talons, and in her brass-clawed

hands she held a flaming whip and a paisley handbag.

"Mrs. Dodds," I said.

She bared her fangs. "Welcome back, honey."

Her two sisters—the other Furies—swooped down and settled next to her in the branches of the

poplar.

"You know Alecto?" Nico asked me.

"If you mean the hag in the middle, yeah," I said. "She was my math teacher."

Nico nodded, like this didn't surprise him. He looked up at the Furies and took a deep breath. "I've

done what my father asked. Take us to the palace."

I tensed. "Wait a second, Nico. What do you—"

"I'm afraid this is my new lead, Percy. My father promised me information about my family, but he

wants to see you before we try the river. I'm sorry."

"You tricked me?" I was so mad I couldn't think. I lunged at him, but the Furies were fast. Two of

them swooped down and plucked me up by the arms. My sword fell out of my hand, and before I knew it,

I was dangling sixty feet in the air.

"Oh, don't struggle, honey," my old math teacher cackled in my ear. "I'd hate to drop you."

Mrs. O'Leary barked angrily and jumped, trying to reach me, but we were too high.

"Tell Mrs. O'Leary to behave," Nico warned. He was hovering near me in the clutches of the third

Fury. "I don't want her to get hurt, Percy. My father is waiting. He just wants to talk."

I wanted to tell Mrs. O'Leary to attack Nico, but it wouldn't have done any good, and Nico was right

about one thing: my dog could get hurt if she tried to pick a fight with the Furies.

I gritted my teeth. "Mrs. O'Leary, down! It's okay, girl."

She whimpered and turned in circles, looking up at me. "All right, traitor," I growled at Nico.

"You've got your prize. Take me to the stupid palace."

Alecto dropped me like a sack of turnips in the middle of the palace garden.

It was beautiful in a creepy way. Skeletal white trees grew from marble basins. Flower beds

overflowed with golden plants and gemstones. A pair of thrones, one bone and one silver, sat on the

balcony with a view of the Fields of Asphodel. It would've been a nice place to spend a Saturday morning

except for the sulfurous smell and the cries of tortured souls in the distance.

Skeletal warriors guarded the only exit. They wore tattered U.S. Army desert combat fatigues and

carried M16s.

The third Fury deposited Nico next to me. Then all three of them settled on the top of the skeletal

throne. I resisted the urge to strangle Nico. They'd only stop me. I'd have to wait for my revenge.

I stared at the empty thrones, waiting for something to happen. Then the air shimmered. Three figures

appeared—Hades and Persephone on their thrones, and an older woman standing between them. They

seemed to be in the middle of an argument.

"—told you he was a bum!" the older woman said.

"Mother!" Persephone replied.

"We have visitors!" Hades barked. "Please!"

Hades, one of my least favorite gods, smoothed his black robes, which were covered with the terrified

faces of the damned. He had pale skin and the intense eyes of a madman.

"Percy Jackson," he said with satisfaction. "At last."

Queen Persephone studied me curiously. I'd seen her once before in the winter, but now in the

summer she looked like a totally different goddess. She had lustrous black hair and warm brown eyes.

Her dress shimmered with colors. Flower patterns in the fabric changed and bloomed—roses, tulips,

honeysuckle.

The woman standing between them was obviously Persephone's mother. She had the same hair and

eyes, but looked older and sterner. Her dress was golden, the color of a wheat field. Her hair was woven

with dried grasses so it reminded me of a wicker basket. I figured if somebody lit a match next to her,

she'd be in serious trouble.

"Hmmph," the older woman said. "Demigods. Just what we need."

Next to me, Nico knelt. I wished I had my sword so I could cut his stupid head off. Unfortunately,

Riptide was still out in the fields somewhere.

"Father," Nico said. "I have done as you asked."

"Took you long enough," Hades grumbled. "Your sister would've done a better job."

Nico lowered his head. If I hadn't been so mad at the little creep, I might've felt sorry for him.

I glared up at the god of the dead. "What do you want, Hades?"

"To talk, of course." The god twisted his mouth in a cruel smile. "Didn't Nico tell you?"

"So this whole quest was a lie. Nico brought me down here to get me killed."

"Oh, no," Hades said. "I'm afraid Nico was quite sincere about wanting to help you. The boy is as

honest as he is dense. I simply convinced him to take a small detour and bring you here first."

"Father," Nico said, "you promised that Percy would not be harmed. You said if I brought him, you

would tell me about my past—about my mother."

Queen Persephone sighed dramatically. "Can we please not talk about that woman in my presence?"

"I'm sorry, my dove," Hades said. "I had to promise the boy something."

The older lady harrumphed. "I warned you, daughter. This scoundrel Hades is no good. You could've

married the god of doctors or the god of lawyers, but noooo. You had to eat the pomegranate."

"Mother—"

"And get stuck in the Underworld!"

"Mother, please—"

"And here it is August, and do you come home like you're supposed to? Do you ever think about your

poor lonely mother?"

"DEMETER!" Hades shouted. "That is enough. You are a guest in my house."

"Oh, a house is it?" she said. "You call this dump a house? Make my daughter live in this dark,

damp—"

"I told you," Hades said, grinding his teeth, "there's a war in the world above. You and Persephone

are better off here with me."

"Excuse me," I broke in. "But if you're going to kill me, could you just get on with it?"

All three gods looked at me.

"Well, this one has an attitude," Demeter observed.

"Indeed," Hades agreed. "I'd love to kill him."

"Father!" Nico said. "You promised!"

"Husband, we talked about this," Persephone chided. "You can't go around incinerating every hero.

Besides, he's brave. I like that."

Hades rolled his eyes. "You liked that Orpheus fellow too. Look how well that turned out. Let me kill

him, just a little bit."

"Father, you promised!" Nico said. "You said you only wanted to talk to him. You said if I brought

him, you'd explain."

Hades glowered, smoothing the folds of his robes. "And so I shall. Your mother—what can I tell you?

She was a wonderful woman." He glanced uncomfortably at Persephone. "Forgive me, my dear. I mean

for a mortal, of course. Her name was Maria di Angelo. She was from Venice, but her father was a

diplomat in Washington, D.C. That's where I met her. When you and your sister were young, it was a bad

time to be children of Hades. World War II was brewing. A few of my, ah, other children were leading

the losing side. I thought it best to put you two out of harm's way."

"That's why you hid us in the Lotus Casino?"

Hades shrugged. "You didn't age. You didn't realize time was passing. I waited for the right time to

bring you out."

"But what happened to our mother? Why don't I remember her?"

"Not important," Hades snapped.

"What? Of course it's important. And you had other children—why were we the only ones who were

sent away? And who was the lawyer who got us out?"

Hades grit his teeth. "You would do well to listen more and talk less, boy. As for the lawyer . . ."

Hades snapped his fingers. On top of his throne, the Fury Alecto began to change until she was a

middle-aged man in a pinstriped suit with a briefcase. She—he—looked strange crouching at Hades's

shoulder.

"You!" Nico said.

The Fury cackled. "I do lawyers and teachers very well!"

Nico was trembling. "But why did you free us from the casino?"

"You know why," Hades said. "This idiot son of Poseidon cannot be allowed to be the child of the

prophecy."

I plucked a ruby off the nearest plant and threw it at Hades. It sank harmlessly into his robe. "You

should be helping Olympus!" I said. "All the other gods are fighting Typhon, and you're just sitting

here—"

"Waiting things out," Hades finished. "Yes, that's correct. When's the last time Olympus ever helped

me, half-blood? When's the last time a child of mine was ever welcomed as a hero? Bah! Why should I

rush out and help them? I'll stay here with my forces intact."

"And when Kronos comes after you?"

"Let him try. He'll be weakened. And my son here, Nico—" Hades looked at him with distaste. "Well,

he's not much now, I'll grant you. It would've been better if Bianca had lived. But give him four more

years of training. We can hold out that long, surely. Nico will turn sixteen, as the prophecy says, and then

he will make the decision that will save the world. And I will be king of the gods."

"You're crazy," I said. "Kronos will crush you, right after he finishes pulverizing Olympus."

Hades spread his hands. "Well, you'll get a chance to find out, half-blood. Because you'll be waiting

out this war in my dungeons."

"No!" Nico said. "Father, that wasn't our agreement. And you haven't told me everything!"

"I've told you all you need to know," Hades said. "As for our agreement, I spoke with Jackson. I did

not harm him. You got your information. If you had wanted a better deal, you should've made me swear

on the Styx. Now, go to your room!" He waved his hand, and Nico vanished.

"That boy needs to eat more," Demeter grumbled. "He's too skinny. He needs more cereal."

Persephone rolled her eyes. "Mother, enough with the cereal. My lord Hades, are you sure we can't let

this little hero go? He's awfully brave."

"No, my dear. I've spared his life. That's enough."

I was sure she was going to stand up for me. The brave, beautiful Persephone was going to get me

out of this.

She shrugged indifferently. "Fine. What's for breakfast? I'm starving."

"Cereal," Demeter said.

"Mother!" The two women disappeared in a swirl of flowers and wheat.

"Don't feel too bad, Percy Jackson," Hades said. "My ghosts keep me well informed of Kronos's

plans. I can assure you that you had no chance to stop him in time. By tonight, it will be too late for your

precious Mount Olympus. The trap will be sprung."

"What trap?" I demanded. "If you know about it, do something! At least let me tell the other gods!"

Hades smiled. "You are spirited. I'll give you credit for that. Have fun in my dungeon. We'll check on

you again in—oh, fifty or sixty years."

CHAPTER EIGHT: I TAKE THE WORST BATH EVER

Click here to Go to Index

My sword reappeared in my pocket.

Yeah, great timing. Now I could attack the walls all I wanted. My cell had no bars, no windows, not

even a door. The skeletal guards shoved me straight through a wall, and it became solid behind me. I

wasn't sure if the room was airtight. Probably. Hades's dungeon was meant for dead people, and they don't

breathe. So forget fifty or sixty years. I'd be dead in fifty or sixty minutes. Meanwhile, if Hades wasn't

lying, some big trap was going to be sprung in New York by the end of the day, and there was absolutely

nothing I could do about it.

I sat on the cold stone floor, feeling miserable.

I don't remember dozing off. Then again, it must've been about seven in the morning, mortal time, and

I'd been through a lot.

I dreamed I was on the porch of Rachel's beach house in St. Thomas. The sun was rising over the

Caribbean. Dozens of wooded islands dotted the sea, and white sails cut across the water. The smell of

salt air made me wonder if I would ever see the ocean again.

Rachel's parents sat at the patio table while a personal chef fixed them omelets. Mr. Dare was dressed

in a white linen suit. He was reading The Wall Street Journal. The lady across the table was probably

Mrs. Dare, though all I could see of her were hot pink fingernails and the cover of Condé Nast Traveler.

Why she'd be reading about vacations while she was on vacation, I wasn't sure.

Rachel stood at the porch railing and sighed. She wore Bermuda shorts and her van Gogh T-shirt.

(Yeah, Rachel was trying to teach me about art, but don't get too impressed. I only remembered the dude's

name because he cut his ear off.)

I wondered if she was thinking about me, and how much it sucked that I wasn't with them on

vacation. I know that's what I was thinking.

Then the scene changed. I was in St. Louis, standing downtown under the Arch. I'd been there before.

In fact, I'd almost fallen to my death there before.

Over the city, a thunderstorm boiled—a wall of absolute black with lightning streaking across the sky.

A few blocks away, swarms of emergency vehicles gathered with their lights flashing. A column of dust

rose from a mound of rubble, which I realized was a collapsed skyscraper.

A nearby reporter was yelling into her microphone: "Officials are describing this as a structural

failure, Dan, though no one seems to know if it is related to the storm conditions."

Wind whipped her hair. The temperature was dropping rapidly, like ten degrees just since I'd been

standing there.

"Thankfully, the building had been abandoned for demolition," she said. "But police have evacuated

all nearby buildings for fear the collapse might trigger—"

She faltered as a mighty groan cut through the sky. A blast of lightning hit the center of the darkness.

The entire city shook. The air glowed, and every hair on my body stood up. The blast was so powerful I

knew it could only be one thing: Zeus's master bolt. It should have vaporized its target, but the dark cloud

only staggered backward. A smoky fist appeared out of the clouds. It smashed another tower, and the

whole thing collapsed like children's blocks.

The reporter screamed. People ran through the streets. Emergency lights flashed. I saw a streak of

silver in the sky—a chariot pulled by reindeer, but it wasn't Santa Claus driving. It was Artemis, riding

the storm, shooting shafts of moonlight into the darkness. A fiery golden comet crossed her path . . .

maybe her brother Apollo.

One thing was clear: Typhon had made it to the Mississippi River. He was halfway across the U.S.,

leaving destruction in his wake, and the gods were barely slowing him down.

The mountain of darkness loomed above me. A foot the size of Yankee Stadium was about to smash

me when a voice hissed, "Percy!"

I lunged out blindly. Before I was fully awake, I had Nico pinned to the floor of the cell with the edge

of my sword at his throat.

"Want . . . to . . . rescue," he choked.

Anger woke me up fast. "Oh, yeah? And why should I trust you?"

"No . . . choice?" he gagged.

I wished he hadn't said something logical like that. I let him go.

Nico curled into a ball and made retching sounds while his throat recovered. Finally he got to his feet,

eyeing my sword warily. His own blade was sheathed. I suppose if he'd wanted to kill me, he could've

done it while I slept. Still, I didn't trust him.

"We have to get out of here," he said.

"Why?" I said. "Does your dad want to talk to me again?"

He winced. "Percy, I swear on the River Styx, I didn't know what he was planning."

"You know what your dad is like!"

"He tricked me. He promised—" Nico held up his hands. "Look . . . right now, we need to leave. I put

the guards to sleep, but it won't last."

I wanted to strangle him again. Unfortunately, he was right. We didn't have time to argue, and I

couldn't escape on my own. He pointed at the wall. A whole section vanished, revealing a corridor.

"Come on." Nico led the way.

I wished I had Annabeth's invisibility hat, but as it turned out, I didn't need it. Every time we came to

a skeleton guard, Nico just pointed at it, and its glowing eyes dimmed. Unfortunately, the more Nico did

it, the more tired he seemed. We walked through a maze of corridors filled with guards. By the time we

reached a kitchen staffed by skeletal cooks and servants, I was practically carrying Nico. He managed to

put all the dead to sleep but nearly passed out himself. I dragged him out of the servants' entrance and into

the Fields of Asphodel.

I almost felt relieved until I heard the sound of bronze gongs high in the castle.

"Alarms," Nico murmured sleepily.

"What do we do?"

He yawned then frowned like he was trying to remember. "How about . . . run?"

Running with a drowsy child of Hades was more like doing a three-legged race with a life-size rag doll. I

lugged him along, holding my sword in front of me. The spirits of the dead made way like the Celestial

bronze was a blazing fire.

The sound of gongs rolled across the fields. Ahead loomed the walls of Erebos, but the longer we

walked, the farther away they seemed. I was about to collapse from exhaustion when I heard a familiar

"WOOOOOF!"

Mrs. O'Leary bounded out of nowhere and ran circles around us, ready to play.

"Good girl.'" I said. "Can you give us a ride to the Styx?"

The word Styx got her excited. She probably thought I meant sticks. She jumped a few times, chased

her tail just to teach it who was boss, and then calmed down enough for me to push Nico onto her back. I

climb aboard, and she raced toward the gates. She leaped straight over the EZ-DEATH line, sending

guards sprawling and causing more alarms to blare. Cerberus barked, but he sounded more excited than

angry, like: Can I play too?

Fortunately, he didn't follow us, and Mrs. O'Leary kept running. She didn't stop until we were far

upriver and the fires of Erebos had disappeared in the murk.

Nico slid off Mrs. O'Leary's back and crumpled in a heap on the black sand.

I took out a square of ambrosia—part of the emergency god-food I always kept with me. It was a little

bashed up, but Nico chewed it.

"Uh," he mumbled. "Better."

"Your powers drain you too much," I noted.

He nodded sleepily. "With great power . . . comes great need to take a nap. Wake me up later."

"Whoa, zombie dude." I caught him before he could pass out again. "We're at the river. You need to

tell me what to do."

I fed him the last of my ambrosia, which was a little dangerous. The stuff can heal demigods, but it

can also burn us to ashes if we eat too much. Fortunately, it seemed to do the trick. Nico shook his head a

few times and struggled to his feet.

"My father will be coming soon," he said. "We should hurry."

The River Styx's current swirled with strange objects—broken toys, ripped-up college diplomas,

wilted homecoming corsages—all the dreams people had thrown away as they'd passed from life into

death. Looking at the black water, I could think of about three million places I'd rather swim.

"So . . . I just jump in?"

"You have to prepare yourself first," Nico said, "or the river will destroy you. It will burn away your

body and soul."

"Sounds fun," I muttered.

"This is no joke," Nico warned. "There is only one way to stay anchored to your mortal life. You

have to . . ."

He glanced behind me and his eyes widened. I turned and found myself face-to-face with a Greek

warrior.

For a second I thought he was Ares, because this guy looked exactly like the god of war—tall and

buff, with a cruel scarred face and closely shaved black hair. He wore a white tunic and bronze armor. He

held a plumed war helm under his arm. But his eyes were human—pale green like a shallow sea—and a

bloody arrow stuck out of his left calf, just above the ankle.

I stunk at Greek names, but even I knew the greatest warrior of all time, who had died from a

wounded heel.

"Achilles," I said.

The ghost nodded. "I warned the other one not to follow my path. Now I will warn you."

"Luke? You spoke with Luke?"

"Do not do this," he said. "It will make you powerful. But it will also make you weak. Your prowess

in combat will be beyond any mortal's, but your weaknesses, your failings will increase as well."

"You mean I'll have a bad heel?" I said. "Couldn't I just, like, wear something besides sandals? No

offense."

He stared down at his bloody foot. "The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. My mother,

Thetis, held me there when she dipped me in the Styx. What really killed me was my own arrogance.

Beware! Turn back!"

He meant it. I could hear the regret and bitterness in his voice. He was honestly trying to save me

from a terrible fate.

Then again, Luke had been here, and he hadn't turned back.

That's why Luke had been able to host the spirit of Kronos without his body disintegrating. This is

how he'd prepared himself, and why he seemed impossible to kill. He had bathed in the River Styx and

taken on the powers of the greatest mortal hero, Achilles. He was invincible.

"I have to," I said. "Otherwise I don't stand a chance."

Achilles lowered his head. "Let the gods witness I tried. Hero, if you must do this, concentrate on

your mortal point. Imagine one spot of your body that will remain vulnerable. This is the point where

your soul will anchor your body to the world. It will be your greatest weakness, but also your only hope.

No man may be completely invulnerable. Lose sight of what keeps you mortal, and the River Styx will

burn you to ashes. You will cease to exist."

"I don't suppose you could tell me Luke's mortal point?"

He scowled. "Prepare yourself, foolish boy. Whether you survive this or not, you have sealed your

doom!"

With that happy thought, he vanished.

"Percy," Nico said, "maybe he's right."

"This was your idea."

"I know, but now that we're here—"

"Just wait on the shore. If anything happens to me . . . Well, maybe Hades will get his wish, and

you'll be the child of the prophecy after all."

He didn't look pleased about that, but I didn't care.

Before I could change my mind, I concentrated on the small of my back—a tiny point just opposite

my navel. It was well defended when I wore my armor. It would be hard to hit by accident, and few

enemies would aim for it on purpose. No place was perfect, but this seemed right to me, and a lot more

dignified than, like, my armpit or something.

I pictured a string, a bungee cord connecting me to the world from the small of my back. And I

stepped into the river.

Imagine jumping into a pit of boiling acid. Now multiply that pain times fifty. You still won't be close to

understanding what it felt like to swim in the Styx. I planned to walk in slow and courageous like a real

hero. As soon as the water touched my legs, my muscles turned to jelly and I fell face-first into the

current.

I submerged completely. For the first time in my life, I couldn't breathe underwater. I finally

understood the panic of drowning. Every nerve in my body burned. I was dissolving in the water. I saw

faces—Rachel, Grover, Tyson, my mother—but they faded as soon as they appeared.

"Percy," my mom said. "I give you my blessing."

"Be safe, brother!" Tyson pleaded.

"Enchiladas!" Grover said. I wasn't sure where that came from, but it didn't seem to help much.

I was losing the fight. The pain was too much. My hands and feet were melting into the water, my

soul was being ripped from my body. I couldn't remember who I was. The pain of Kronos's scythe had

been nothing compared to this.

The cord, a familiar voice said. Remember your lifeline, dummy!

Suddenly there was a tug in my lower back. The current pulled at me, but it wasn't carrying me away

anymore. I imagined the string in my back keeping me tied to the shore.

"Hold on, Seaweed Brain." It was Annabeth's voice, much clearer now. "You're not getting away

from me that easily."

The cord strengthened.

I could see Annabeth now—standing barefoot above me on the canoe lake pier. I'd fallen out of my

canoe. That was it. She was reaching out her hand to haul me up, and she was trying not to laugh. She

wore her orange camp T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was tucked up in her Yankees cap, which was strange

because that should have made her invisible.

"You are such an idiot sometimes." She smiled. "Come on. Take my hand."

Memories came flooding back to me—sharper and more colorful. I stopped dissolving. My name was

Percy Jackson. I reached up and took Annabeth's hand.

Suddenly I burst out of the river. I collapsed on the sand, and Nico scrambled back in surprise.

"Are you okay?" he stammered. "Your skin. Oh, gods. You're hurt!"

My arms were bright red. I felt like every inch of my body had been broiled over a slow flame.

I looked around for Annabeth, though I knew she wasn't here. It had seemed so real.

"I'm fine . . . I think." The color of my skin turned back to normal. The pain subsided. Mrs. O'Leary

came up and sniffed me with concern. Apparently I smelled really interesting.

"Do you feel stronger?" Nico asked.

Before I could decide what I felt, a voice boomed, "THERE!"

An army of the dead marched toward us. A hundred skeletal Roman legionnaires led the way with

shields and spears. Behind them came an equal number of British redcoats with bayonets fixed. In the

middle of the host, Hades himself rode a black-and-gold chariot pulled by nightmare horses, their eyes

and manes smoldering with fire.

"You will not escape me this time, Percy Jackson!" Hades bellowed. "Destroy him!"

"Father, no!" Nico shouted, but it was too late. The front line of Roman zombies lowered their spears

and advanced.

Mrs. O'Leary growled and got ready to pounce. Maybe that's what set me off. I didn't want them

hurting my dog. Plus, I was tired of Hades being a big bully. If I was going to die, I might as well go

down fighting.

I yelled, and the River Styx exploded. A black tidal wave smashed into the legionnaires. Spears and

shields flew everywhere. Roman zombies began to dissolve, smoke coming off their bronze helmets.

The redcoats lowered their bayonets, but I didn't wait for them. I charged.

It was the stupidest thing I've ever done. A hundred muskets fired at me, point blank. All of them

missed. I crashed into their line and started hacking with Riptide. Bayonets jabbed. Swords slashed. Guns

reloaded and fired. Nothing touched me.

I whirled through the ranks, slashing redcoats to dust, one after the other. My mind went on autopilot:

stab, dodge, cut, deflect, roll. Riptide was no longer a sword. It was an arc of pure destruction.

I broke through the enemy line and leaped into the black chariot. Hades raised his staff. A bolt of dark

energy shot toward me, but I deflected it off my blade and slammed into him. The god and I both tumbled

out of the chariot.

The next thing I knew, my knee was planted on Hades's chest. I was holding the collar of his royal

robes in one fist, and the tip of my sword was poised right over his face.

Silence. The army did nothing to defend their master. I glanced back and realized why. There was

nothing left of them but weapons in the sand and piles of smoking, empty uniforms. I had destroyed them

all.

Hades swallowed. "Now, Jackson, listen here. . . ."

He was immortal. There was no way I could kill him, but gods can be wounded. I knew that firsthand,

and I figured a sword in the face wouldn't feel too good.

"Just because I'm a nice person," I snarled, "I'll let you go. But first, tell me about that trap!"

Hades melted into nothing, leaving me holding empty black robes.

I cursed and got to my feet, breathing heavily. Now that the danger was over, I realized how tired I

was. Every muscle in my body ached. I looked down at my clothes. They were slashed to pieces and full

of bullet holes, but I was fine. Not a mark on me.

Nico's mouth hung open. "You just . . . with a sword . . . you just—"

"I think the river thing worked," I said.

"Oh gee," he said sarcastically. "You think?"

Mrs. O'Leary barked happily and wagged her tail. She bounded around, sniffing empty uniforms and

hunting for bones. I lifted Hades's robe. I could still see the tormented faces shimmering in the fabric.

I walked to the edge of the river. "Be free."

I dropped the robe in the water and watched as it swirled away, dissolving in the current.

"Go back to your father," I told Nico. "Tell him he owes me for letting him go. Find out what's going

to happen to Mount Olympus and convince him to help."

Nico stared at me. "I . . . I can't. He'll hate me now. I mean . . . even more."

"You have to," I said. "You owe me too."

His ears turned red. "Percy, I told you I was sorry. Please . . . let me come with you. I want to fight."

"You'll be more help down here."

"You mean you don't trust me anymore," he said miserably.

I didn't answer. I didn't know what I meant. I was too stunned by what I'd just done in battle to think

clearly.

"Just go back to your father," I said, trying not to sound too harsh. "Work on him. You're the only

person who might be able to get him to listen."

"That's a depressing thought." Nico sighed. "All right. I'll do my best. Besides, he's still hiding

something from me about my mom. Maybe I can find out what."

"Good luck. Now Mrs. O'Leary and I have to go."

"Where?" Nico said.

I looked at the cave entrance and thought about the long climb back to the world of the living. "To get

this war started. It's time I found Luke."

CHAPTER NINE: TWO SNAKES SAVE MY LIFE

Click here to Go to Index

I love New York. You can pop out of the Underworld in Central Park, hail a taxi, head down Fifth

Avenue with a giant hellhound loping along behind you, and nobody even looks at you funny.

Of course, the Mist helped. People probably couldn't see Mrs. O'Leary, or maybe they thought she

was a large, loud, very friendly truck.

I took the risk of using my mom's cell phone to call Annabeth for the second time. I'd called her once

from the runnel but only reached her voice mail. I'd gotten surprisingly good reception, seeing as I was at

the mythological center of the world and all, but I didn't want to see what my mom's roaming charges

were going to be.

This time, Annabeth picked up.

"Hey," I said. "You get my message?"

"Percy, where have you been? Your message said almost nothing! We've been worried sick!"

"I'll fill you in later," I said, though how I was going to do that I had no idea. "Where are you?"

"We're on our way like you asked, almost to the Queens—Midtown Tunnel. But, Percy, what are you

planning? We've left the camp virtually undefended, and there's no way the gods—"

"Trust me," I said. "I'll see you there."

I hung up. My hands were trembling. I wasn't sure if it was a leftover reaction from my dip in the

Styx, or anticipation of what I was about to do. If this didn't work, being invulnerable wasn't going to save

me from getting blasted to bits.

It was late afternoon when the taxi dropped me at the Empire State Building. Mrs. O'Leary bounded

up and down Fifth Avenue, licking cabs and sniffing hot dog carts. Nobody seemed to notice her,

although people did swerve away and look confused when she came close.

I whistled for her to heel as three white vans pulled up to the curb. They said Delphi Strawberry

Service, which was the cover name for Camp Half-Blood. I'd never seen all three vans in the same place

at once, though I knew they shuttled our fresh produce into the city.

The first van was driven by Argus, our many-eyed security chief. The other two were driven by

harpies, who are basically demonic human/chicken hybrids with bad attitudes. We used the harpies

mostly for cleaning the camp, but they did pretty well in midtown traffic too.

The doors slid open. A bunch of campers climbed out, some of them looking a little green from the

long drive. I was glad so many had come: Pollux, Silena Beauregard, the Stoll brothers, Michael Yew,

Jake Mason, Katie Gardner, and Annabeth, along with most of their siblings. Chiron came out of the van

last. His horse half was compacted into his magic wheelchair, so he used the handicap lift. The Ares cabin

wasn't here, but I tried not to get too angry about that. Clarisse was a stubborn idiot. End of story.

I did a head count: forty campers in all.

Not many to fight a war, but it was still the largest group of half-bloods I'd ever seen gathered in one

place outside camp. Everyone looked nervous, and I understood why. We were probably sending out so

much demigod aura that every monster in the northeastern United States knew we were here.

As I looked at their faces—all these campers I'd known for so many summers—a nagging voice

whispered in my mind: One of them is a spy.

But I couldn't dwell on that. They were my friends. I needed them.

Then I remembered Kronos's evil smile. You can't count on friends. They will always let you down.

Annabeth came up to me. She was dressed in black camouflage with her Celestial bronze knife

strapped to her arm and her laptop bag slung over her shoulder—ready for stabbing or surfing the

Internet, whichever came first.

She frowned. "What is it?"

"What's what?" I asked.

"You're looking at me funny."

I realized I was thinking about my strange vision of Annabeth pulling me out of the Styx River. "It's,

uh, nothing." I turned to the rest of the group. "Thanks for coming, everybody. Chiron, after you."

My old mentor shook his head. "I came to wish you luck, my boy. But I make it a point never to visit

Olympus unless I am summoned."

"But you're our leader."

He smiled. "I am your trainer, your teacher. That is not the same as being your leader. I will go gather

what allies I can. It may not be too late to convince my brother centaurs to help. Meanwhile, you called

the campers here, Percy. You are the leader."

I wanted to protest, but everybody was looking at me expectantly, even Annabeth.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, like I told Annabeth on the phone, something bad is going to happen by

tonight. Some kind of trap. We've got to get an audience with Zeus and convince him to defend the city.

Remember, we can't take no for an answer."

I asked Argus to watch Mrs. O'Leary, which neither of them looked happy about.

Chiron shook my hand. "You'll do well, Percy. Just remember your strengths and beware your

weaknesses."

It sounded eerily close to what Achilles had told me. Then I remembered Chiron had taught Achilles.

That didn't exactly reassure me, but I nodded and tried to give him a confident smile.

"Let's go," I told the campers.

A security guard was sitting behind the desk in the lobby, reading a big black book with a flower on the

cover. He glanced up when we all filed in with our weapons and armor clanking. "School group? We're

about to close up."

"No," I said. "Six-hundredth floor."

He checked us out. His eyes were pale blue and his head was completely bald. I couldn't tell if he was

human or not, but he seemed to notice our weapons, so I guess he wasn't fooled by the Mist.

"There is no six-hundredth floor, kid." He said it like it was a required line he didn't believe. "Move

along."

I leaned across the desk. "Forty demigods attract an awful lot of monsters. You really want us

hanging out in your lobby?"

He thought about that. Then he hit a buzzer and the security gate swung open. "Make it quick."

"You don't want us going through the metal detectors," I added.

"Um, no," he agreed. "Elevator on the right. I guess you know the way."

I tossed him a golden drachma and we marched ill rough.

We decided it would take two trips to get everybody up in the elevator. I went with the first group.

Different elevator music was playing since my last visit—that old disco song "Stayin' Alive." A terrifying

image flashed through my mind of Apollo in bell-bottom pants and a slinky silk shirt.

I was glad when the elevator doors finally dinged open. In front of us, a path of floating stones led

through the clouds up to Mount Olympus, hovering six thousand feet over Manhattan.

I'd seen Olympus several times, but it still took my breath away. The mansions glittered gold and

white against the sides of the mountain. Gardens bloomed on a hundred terraces. Scented smoke rose

from braziers that lined the winding streets. And right at the top of the snow-capped crest rose the main

palace of the gods. It looked as majestic as ever, but something seemed wrong. Then I realized the

mountain was silent—no music, no voices, no laughter.

Annabeth studied me. "You look . . . different," she decided. "Where exactly did you go?"

The elevator doors opened again, and the second group of half-bloods joined us.

"Tell you later," I said. "Come on."

We made our way across the sky bridge into the streets of Olympus. The shops were closed. The

parks were empty. A couple of Muses sat on a bench strumming flaming lyres, but their hearts didn't

seem to be in it. A lone Cyclops swept the street with an uprooted oak tree. A minor godling spotted us

from a balcony and ducked inside, closing his shutters.

We passed under a big marble archway with statues of Zeus and Hera on either side. Annabeth made

a face at the queen of the gods.

"Hate her," she muttered.

"Has she been cursing you or something?" I asked. Last year Annabeth had gotten on Hera's bad side,

but Annabeth hadn't really talked about it since.

"Just little stuff so far," she said. "Her sacred animal is the cow, right?"

"Right."

"So she sends cows after me."

I tried not to smile. "Cows? In San Francisco?"

"Oh, yeah. Usually I don't see them, but the cows leave me little presents all over the place—in our

backyard, on the sidewalk, in the school hallways. I have to be careful where I step."

"Look!" Pollux cried, pointing toward the horizon. "What is that?"

We all froze. Blue lights were streaking across the evening sky toward Olympus like tiny comets.

They seemed to be coming from all over the city, heading straight toward the mountain. As they got

close, they fizzled out. We watched them for several minutes and they didn't seem to do any damage, but

still it was strange.

"Like infrared scopes," Michael Yew muttered. "We're being targeted."

"Let's get to the palace," I said.

No one was guarding the hall of the gods. The gold-and-silver doors stood wide open. Our footsteps

echoed as we walked into the throne room.

Of course, "room" doesn't really cover it. The place was the size of Madison Square Garden. High

above, the blue ceiling glittered with constellations. Twelve giant empty thrones stood in a U around a

hearth. In one corner, a house-size globe of water hovered in the air, and inside swam my old friend the

Ophiotaurus, half-cow, half-serpent.

"Moooo!" he said happily, turning in a circle.

Despite all the serious stuff going on, I had to smile. Two years ago we'd spent a lot of time trying to

save the Ophiotaurus from the Titans, and I'd gotten kind of fond of him. He seemed to like me too, even

though I'd originally thought he was a girl and named him Bessie.

"Hey, man," I said. "They treating you okay?"

"Mooo," Bessie answered.

We walked toward the thrones, and a woman's voice said, "Hello again, Percy Jackson. You and your

friends are welcome."

Hestia stood by the hearth, poking the flames with a stick. She wore the same kind of simple brown

dress as she had before, but she was a grown woman now.

I bowed. "Lady Hestia."

My friends followed my example.

Hestia regarded me with her red glowing eyes. "I see you went through with your plan. You bear the

curse of Achilles."

The other campers started muttering among themselves: What did she say? What about Achilles?

"You must be careful," Hestia warned me. "You gained much on your journey. But you are still blind

to the most important truth. Perhaps a glimpse is in order."

Annabeth nudged me. "Um . . . what is she talking about?"

I stared into Hestia's eyes, and an image rushed into my mind: I saw a dark alley between red brick

warehouses. A sign above one of the doors read RICHMOND IRONWORKS.

Two half-bloods crouched in the shadows—a boy about fourteen and a girl about twelve. I realized

with a start that the boy was Luke. The girl was Thalia, daughter of Zeus. I was seeing a scene from back

in the days when they were on the run, before Grover found them.

Luke carried a bronze knife. Thalia had her spear and shield of terror, Aegis. Luke and Thalia both

looked hungry and lean, with wild animal eyes, like they were used to being attacked.

"Are you sure?" Thalia asked.

Luke nodded. "Something down here. I sense it."

A rumble echoed from the alley, like someone had banged on a sheet of metal. The half-bloods crept

forward.

Old crates were stacked on a loading dock. Thalia and Luke approached with their weapons ready. A

curtain of corrugated tin quivered as if something were behind it.

Thalia glanced at Luke. He counted silently: One, two, three! He ripped away the tin, and a little girl

flew at him with a hammer.

"Whoa!" Luke said.

The girl had tangled blond hair and was wearing flannel pajamas. She couldn't have been more than

seven, but she would've brained Luke if he hadn't been so fast.

He grabbed her wrist, and the hammer skittered across the cement.

The little girl fought and kicked. "No more monsters! Go away!"

"It's okay!" Luke struggled to hold her. "Thalia, put your shield up. You're scaring her."

Thalia tapped Aegis, and it shrank into a silver bracelet. "Hey, it's all right," she said. "We're not

going to hurt you. I'm Thalia. This is Luke."

"Monsters!"

"No," Luke promised. "But we know all about monsters. We fight them too."

Slowly, the girl stopped kicking. She studied Luke and Thalia with large intelligent gray eyes.

"You're like me?" she said suspiciously.

"Yeah," Luke said. "We're . . . well, it's hard to explain, but we're monster fighters. Where's your

family?"

"My family hates me," the girl said. "They don't want me. I ran away."

Thalia and Luke locked eyes. I knew they both related to what she was saying.

"What's your name, kiddo?" Thalia asked.

"Annabeth."

Luke smiled. "Nice name. I tell you what, Annabeth—you're pretty fierce. We could use a fighter like

you."

Annabeth's eyes widened. "You could?"

"Oh, yeah." Luke turned his knife and offered her the handle. "How'd you like a real monster-slaying

weapon? This is Celestial bronze. Works a lot better than a hammer."

Maybe under most circumstances, offering a seven-year-old kid a knife would not be a good idea, but

when you're a half-blood, regular rules kind of go out the window.

Annabeth gripped the hilt.

"Knives are only for the bravest and quickest fighters," Luke explained. "They don't have the reach or

power of a sword, but they're easy to conceal and they can find weak spots in your enemy's armor. It takes

a clever warrior to use a knife. I have a feeling you're pretty clever."

Annabeth stared at him with adoration. "I am!"

Thalia grinned. "We'd better get going, Annabeth. We have a safe house on the James River. We'll get

you some clothes and food."

"You're . . . you're not going to take me back to my family?" she said. "Promise?"

Luke put his hand on her shoulder. "You're part of our family now. And I promise I won't let anything

hurt you. I'm not going to fail you like our families did us. Deal?"

"Deal!" Annabeth said happily.

"Now, come on," Thalia said. "We can't stay put for long!"

The scene shifted. The three demigods were running through the woods. It must've been several days

later, maybe even weeks. All of them looked beat up, like they'd seen some battles. Annabeth was

wearing new clothes—jeans and an oversize army jacket.

"Just a little farther!" Luke promised. Annabeth stumbled, and he took her hand. Thalia brought up

the rear, brandishing her shield like she was driving back whatever pursued them. She was limping on her

left leg.

They scrambled to a ridge and looked down the other side at a white Colonial house—May

Castellan's place.

"All right," Luke said, breathing hard. "I'll just sneak in and grab some food and medicine. Wait

here."

"Luke, are you sure?" Thalia asked. "You swore you'd never come back here. If she catches you—"

"We don't have a choice!" he growled. "They burned our nearest safe house. And you've got to treat

that leg wound."

"This is your house?" Annabeth said with amazement.

"It was my house," Luke muttered. "Believe me, if it wasn't an emergency—"

"Is your mom really horrible?" Annabeth asked. "Can we see her?"

"No!" Luke snapped.

Annabeth shrank away from him as though his anger surprised her.

"I . . . I'm sorry," he said. "Just wait here. I promise everything will be okay. Nothing's going to hurt

you. I'll be back—"

A brilliant golden flash illuminated the woods. The demigods winced, and a man's voice boomed:

"You should not have come home."

The vision shut off.

My knees buckled, but Annabeth grabbed me. "Percy! What happened?"

"Did . . . did you see that?" I asked.

"See what?"

I glanced at Hestia, but the goddess's face was expressionless. I remembered something she'd told me

in the woods: If you are to understand your enemy Luke, you must understand his family. But why had

she shown me those scenes?

"How long was I out?" I muttered.

Annabeth knit her eyebrows. "Percy, you weren't out at all. You just looked at Hestia for like one

second and collapsed."

I could feel everyone's eyes on me. I couldn't afford to look weak. Whatever those visions meant, I

had to stay focused on our mission.

"Um, Lady Hestia," I said, "we've come on urgent business. We need to see—"

"We know what you need," a man's voice said. I shuddered, because it was the same voice I'd heard

in the vision.

A god shimmered into existence next to Hestia. He looked about twenty-five, with curly salt-andpepper

hair and elfish features. He wore a military pilot's flight suit, with tiny bird's wings fluttering on

his helmet and his black leather boots. In the crook of his arm was a long staff entwined with two living

serpents.

"I will leave you now," Hestia said. She bowed to the aviator and disappeared into smoke. I

understood why she was so anxious to go. Hermes, the God of Messengers, did not look happy.

"Hello, Percy." His brow furrowed as though he was annoyed with me, and I wondered if he

somehow knew about the vision I'd just had. I wanted to ask why he'd been in May Castellan's house that

night, and what had happened after he caught Luke. I remembered the first time I'd met Luke at Camp

Half-Blood. I'd asked him if he'd ever met his father, and he'd looked at me bitterly and said, Once. But I

could tell from Hermes's expression that this was not the time to ask.

I bowed awkwardly. "Lord Hermes."

Oh, sure, one of the snakes said in my mind. Don't say hi to us. We're just reptiles.

George, the other snake scolded. Be polite.

"Hello, George," I said. "Hey, Martha."

Did you bring us a rat? George asked.

George, stop it, Martha said. He's busy!

Too busy for rats? George said. That's just sad.

I decided it was better not to get into it with George. "Um, Hermes," I said. "We need to talk to Zeus.

It's important."

Hermes's eyes were steely cold. "I am his messenger. May I take a message?"

Behind me, the other demigods shifted restlessly. This wasn't going as planned. Maybe if I tried to

speak with Hermes in private . . .

"You guys," I said. "Why don't you do a sweep of the city? Check the defenses. See who's left in

Olympus. Meet Annabeth and me back here in thirty minutes."

Silena frowned. "But—"

"That's a good idea," Annabeth said. "Connor and Travis, you two lead."

The Stolls seemed to like that—getting handed an important responsibility right in front of their dad.

They usually never led anything except toilet paper raids. "We're on it!" Travis said. They herded the

others out of the throne room, leaving Annabeth and me with Hermes.

"My lord," Annabeth said. "Kronos is going to attack New York. You must suspect that. My mother

must have foreseen it."

"Your mother," Hermes grumbled. He scratched his back with his caduceus, and George and Martha

muttered Ow, ow, ow. "Don't get me started on your mother, young lady. She's the reason I'm here at all.

Zeus didn't want any of us to leave the front line. But your mother kept pestering him nonstop, 'It's a trap,

it's a diversion, blah, blah, blah.' She wanted to come back herself, but Zeus was not going to let his

number one strategist leave his side while we're battling Typhon. And so naturally he sent me to talk to

you."

"But it is a trap!" Annabeth insisted. "Is Zeus blind?"

Thunder rolled through the sky.

"I'd watch the comments, girl," Hermes warned. "Zeus is not blind or deaf. He has not left Olympus

completely undefended."

"But there are these blue lights—"

"Yes, yes. I saw them. Some mischief by that insufferable goddess of magic, Hecate, I'd wager, but

you may have noticed they aren't doing any damage. Olympus has strong magical wards. Besides, Aeolus,

the King of the Winds, has sent his most powerful minions to guard the citadel. No one save the gods can

approach Olympus from the air. They would be knocked out of the sky."

I raised my hand. "Um . . . what about that materializing/teleporting thing you guys do?"

"That's a form of air travel too, Jackson. Very fast, but the wind gods are faster. No, if Kronos wants

Olympus, he'll have to march through the entire city with his army and take the elevators! Can you see

him doing this?"

Hermes made it sound pretty ridiculous—hordes of monsters going up in the elevator twenty at a

time, listening to "Stayin' Alive." Still, I didn't like it.

"Maybe just a few of you could come back," I suggested.

Hermes shook his head impatiently. "Percy Jackson, you don't understand. Typhon is our greatest

enemy."

"I thought that was Kronos."

The god's eyes glowed. "No, Percy. In the old days, Olympus was almost overthrown by Typhon. He

is husband of Echidna—"

"Met her at the Arch," I muttered. "Not nice."

"—and the father of all monsters. We can never forget how close he came to destroying us all; how he

humiliated us! We were more powerful back in the old days. Now we can expect no help from Poseidon

because he's fighting his own war. Hades sits in his realm and does nothing, and Demeter and Persephone

follow his lead. It will take all our remaining power to oppose the storm giant. We can't divide our forces,

nor wait until he gets to New York. We have to battle him now. And we're making progress."

"Progress?" I said. "He nearly destroyed St. Louis."

"Yes," Hermes admitted. "But he destroyed only half of Kentucky. He's slowing down. Losing

power."

I didn't want to argue, but it sounded like Hermes was trying to convince himself.

In the corner, the Ophiotaurus mooed sadly.

"Please, Hermes," Annabeth said. "You said my mother wanted to come. Did she give you any

messages for us?"

"Messages," he muttered. "'It'll be a great job,' they told me. 'Not much work. Lots of worshippers.'

Hmph. Nobody cares what I have to say. It's always about other people's messages.”

Rodents, George mused. I'm in it for the rodents.

Shhh, Martha scolded. We care what Hermes has to say. Don't we, George?

Oh, absolutely. Can we go back to the battle now? I want to do laser mode again. That's fun.

"Quiet, both of you," Hermes grumbled.

The god looked at Annabeth, who was doing her big-pleading-gray-eyes thing.

"Bah," Hermes said. "Your mother said to warn you that you are on your own. You must hold

Manhattan without the help of the gods. As if I didn't know that. Why they pay her to be the wisdom

goddess, I'm not sure."

"Anything else?" Annabeth asked.

"She said you should try plan twenty-three. She said you would know what that meant."

Annabeth's face paled. Obviously she knew what it meant, and she didn't like it. "Go on."

"Last thing." Hermes looked at me. "She said to tell Percy: 'Remember the rivers.' And, um,

something about staying away from her daughter."

I'm not sure whose face was redder: Annabeth's or mine.

"Thank you, Hermes," Annabeth said. "And I . . . I wanted to say . . . I'm sorry about Luke."

The god's expression hardened like he'd turned to marble. "You should've left that subject alone."

Annabeth stepped back nervously. "Sorry?"

"SORRY doesn't cut it!"

George and Martha curled around the caduceus, which shimmered and changed into something that

looked suspiciously like a high-voltage cattle prod.

"You should've saved him when you had the chance," Hermes growled at Annabeth. "You're the only

one who could have."

I tried to step between them. "What are you talking about? Annabeth didn't—"

"Don't defend her, Jackson!" Hermes turned the cattle prod toward me. "She knows exactly what I'm

talking about."

"Maybe you should blame yourself!" I should've kept my mouth shut, but all I could think about was

turning his attention away from Annabeth. This whole time, he hadn't been angry with me. He'd been

angry with her. "Maybe if you hadn't abandoned Luke and his mom!"

Hermes raised his cattle prod. He began to grow until he was ten feet tall. I thought, Well, that's it.

But as he prepared to strike, George and Martha leaned in close and whispered something in his ear.

Hermes clenched his teeth. He lowered the cattle prod, and it turned back to a staff.

"Percy Jackson," he said, "because you have taken on the curse of Achilles, I must spare you. You are

in the hands of the Fates now. But you will never speak to me like that again. You have no idea how

much I have sacrificed, how much—"

His voice broke, and he shrank back to human size. "My son, my greatest pride . . . my poor May . . ."

He sounded so devastated I didn't know what to say. One minute he was ready to vaporize us. Now he

looked like he needed a hug.

"Look, Lord Hermes," I said. "I'm sorry, but I need to know. What happened to May? She said

something about Luke's fate, and her eyes—"

Hermes glared at me, and my voice faltered. The look on his face wasn't really anger, though. It was

pain. Deep, incredible pain.

"I will leave you now," he said tightly. "I have a war to fight."

He began to shine. I turned away and made sure Annabeth did the same, because she was still frozen

in shock.

Good luck, Percy, Martha the snake whispered.

Hermes glowed with the light of a supernova. Then he was gone.

Annabeth sat at the foot of her mother's throne and cried. I wanted to comfort her, but I wasn't sure how.

"Annabeth," I said, "it's not your fault. I've never seen Hermes act that way. I guess . . . I don't know .

. . he probably feels guilty about Luke. He's looking for somebody to blame. I don't know why he lashed

out at you. You didn't do anything to deserve that."

Annabeth wiped her eyes. She stared at the hearth like it was her own funeral pyre.

I shifted uneasily. "Um, you didn't, right?"

She didn't answer. Her Celestial bronze knife was strapped to her arm—the same knife I'd seen in

Hestia's vision. All these years, I hadn't realized it was a gift from Luke. I'd asked her many times why

she preferred to fight with a knife instead of a sword, and she'd never answered me. Now I knew.

"Percy," she said. "What did you mean about Luke's mother? Did you meet her?"

I nodded reluctantly. "Nico and I visited her. She was a little . . . different." I described May

Castellan, and the weird moment when her eyes had started to glow and she talked about her son's fate.

Annabeth frowned. "That doesn't make sense. But why were you visiting—" Her eyes widened.

"Hermes said you bear the curse of Achilles. Hestia said the same thing. Did you . . . did you bathe in the

River Styx?"

"Don't change the subject."

"Percy! Did you or not?"

"Um . . . maybe a little."

I told her the story about Hades and Nico, and how I'd defeated an army of the dead. I left out the

vision of her pulling me out of the river. I still didn't quite understand that part, and just thinking about it

made me embarrassed.

She shook her head in disbelief. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

"I had no choice," I said. "It's the only way I can stand up to Luke."

"You mean . . . di immortales, of course! That's why Luke didn't die. He went to the Styx and . . . Oh

no, Luke. What were you thinking?"

"So now you're worried about Luke again," I grumbled.

She stared at me like I'd just dropped from space. "What?"

"Forget it," I muttered. I wondered what Hermes had meant about Annabeth not saving Luke when

she'd had the chance. Clearly, she wasn't telling me something. But at the moment I wasn't in the mood to

ask. The last thing I wanted to hear about was more of her history with Luke.

"The point is he didn't die in the Styx," I said. "Neither did I. Now I have to face him. We have to

defend Olympus."

Annabeth was still studying my face, like she was trying to see differences since my swim in the

Styx. "I guess you're right. My mom mentioned—"

"Plan twenty-three."

She rummaged in her pack and pulled out Daedalus's laptop. The blue Delta symbol glowed on the

top when she booted it up. She opened a few files and started to read.

"Here it is," she said. "Gods, we have a lot of work to do."

"One of Daedalus's inventions?"

"A lot of inventions . . . dangerous ones. If my mother wants me to use this plan, she must think

things are very bad." She looked at me. "What about her message to you: 'Remember the rivers'? What

does that mean?"

I shook my head. As usual, I had no clue what the gods were telling me. Which rivers was I supposed

to remember? The Styx? The Mississippi?

Just then the Stoll brothers ran in to the throne room.

"You need to see this," Connor said. "Now."

The blue lights in the sky had stopped, so at first I didn't understand what the problem was.

The other campers had gathered in a small park at the edge of the mountain. They were clustered at

the guardrail, looking down at Manhattan. The railing was lined with those tourist binoculars, where you

could deposit one golden drachma and see the city. Campers were using every single one.

I looked down at the city. I could see almost everything from here—the East River and the Hudson

River carving the shape of Manhattan, the grid of streets, the lights of skyscrapers, the dark stretch of

Central Park in the north. Everything looked normal, but something was wrong. I felt it in my bones

before I realized what it was.

"I don't . . . hear anything," Annabeth said.

That was the problem.

Even from this height, I should've heard the noise of the city—millions of people bustling around,

thousands of cars and machines—the hum of a huge metropolis. You don't think about it when you live in

New York, but it's always there. Even in the dead of night, New York is never silent.

But it was now.

I felt like my best friend had suddenly dropped dead.

"What did they do?" My voice sounded tight and angry. "What did they do to my city?"

I pushed Michael Yew away from the binoculars and took a look.

In the streets below, traffic had stopped. Pedestrians were lying on the sidewalks, or curled up in

doorways. There was no sign of violence, no wrecks, nothing like that. It was as if all the people in New

York had simply decided to stop whatever they were doing and pass out.

"Are they dead?" Silena asked in astonishment.

Ice coated my stomach. A line from the prophecy rang in my ears: And see the world in endless sleep.

I remembered Grover's story about meeting the god Morpheus in Central Park. You're lucky I'm saving my

energy for the main event.

"Not dead," I said. "Morpheus has put the entire island of Manhattan to sleep. The invasion has

started."

CHAPTER TEN: I BUY SOME NEW FRIENDS

Click here to Go to Index

Mrs. O'Leary was the only one happy about the sleeping city.

We found her pigging out at an overturned hot dog stand while the owner was curled up on the

sidewalk, sucking his thumb.

Argus was waiting for us with his hundred eyes wide open. He didn't say anything. He never does. I

guess that's because he supposedly has an eyeball on his tongue. But his face made it clear he was

freaking out.

I told him what we'd learned in Olympus, and how the gods would not be riding to the rescue. Argus

rolled his eyes in disgust, which looked pretty psychedelic since it made his whole body swirl.

"You'd better get back to camp," I told him. "Guard it as best you can."

He pointed at me and raised his eyebrow quizzically.

"I'm staying," I said.

Argus nodded, like this answer satisfied him. He looked at Annabeth and drew a circle in the air with

his finger.

"Yes," Annabeth agreed. "I think it's time."

"For what?" I asked.

Argus rummaged around in the back of his van. He brought out a bronze shield and passed it to

Annabeth. It looked pretty much standard issue—the same kind of round shield we always used in

capture the flag. But when Annabeth set it on the ground, the reflection on the polished metal changed

from sky and buildings to the Statue of Liberty—which wasn't anywhere close to us.

"Whoa," I said. "A video shield."

"One of Daedalus's ideas," Annabeth said. "I had Beckendorf make this before—" She glanced at

Silena. "Um, anyway, the shield bends sunlight or moonlight from anywhere in the world to create a

reflection. You can literally see any target under the sun or moon, as long as natural light is touching it.

Look."

We crowded around as Annabeth concentrated. The image zoomed and spun at first, so I got motion

sickness just watching it. We were in the Central Park Zoo, then zooming down East 60th, past

Bloomingdale's, then turning on Third Avenue.

"Whoa," Connor Stoll said. "Back up. Zoom in right there."

"What?" Annabeth said nervously. "You see invaders?"

"No, right there—Dylan's Candy Bar." Connor grinned at his brother. "Dude, it's open. And everyone

is asleep. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Connor!" Katie Gardner scolded. She sounded like her mother, Demeter. "This is serious. You are

not going to loot a candy store in the middle of a war!"

"Sorry," Connor muttered, but he didn't sound very ashamed.

Annabeth passed her hand in front of the shield, and another scene popped up: FDR Drive, looking

across the river at Lighthouse Park.

"This will let us see what's going on across the city," she said. "Thank you, Argus. Hopefully we'll

see you back at camp . . . someday."

Argus grunted. He gave me a look that clearly meant Good luck; you'll need it, then climbed into his

van. He and the two harpy drivers swerved away, weaving around clusters of idle cars that littered the

road.

I whistled for Mrs. O'Leary, and she came bounding over.

"Hey, girl," I said. "You remember Grover? The satyr we met in the park?"

"WOOF!"

I hoped that meant Sure I do! And not, Do you have more hot dogs?

"I need you to find him," I said. "Make sure he's still awake. We're going to need his help. You got

that? Find Grover!"

Mrs. O'Leary gave me a sloppy wet kiss, which seemed kind of unnecessary. Then she raced off

north.

Pollux crouched next to a sleeping policeman. "I don't get it. Why didn't we fall asleep too? Why just

the mortals?"

"This is a huge spell," Silena Beauregard said. "The bigger the spell, the easier it is to resist. If you

want to sleep millions of mortals, you've got to cast a very thin layer of magic. Sleeping demigods is

much harder."

I stared at her. "When did you learn so much about magic?"

Silena blushed. "I don't spend all my time on my wardrobe."

"Percy," Annabeth called. She was still looking at the shield. "You'd better see this."

The bronze image showed Long Island Sound near La Guardia. A fleet of a dozen speedboats raced

through the dark water toward Manhattan. Each boat was packed with demigods in full Greek armor. At

the back of the lead boat, a purple banner emblazoned with a black scythe flapped m the night wind. I'd

never seen that design before, but it wasn't hard to figure out: the battle flag of Kronos.

"Scan the perimeter of the island," I said. "Quick."

Annabeth shifted the scene south to the harbor. A Staten Island Ferry was plowing through the waves

near Ellis Island. The deck was crowded with dracaenae and a whole pack of hellhounds. Swimming in

front of the ship was a pod of marine mammals. At first I thought they were dolphins. Then I saw their

doglike faces and the swords strapped to their waists, and I realized they were telkhines—sea demons.

The scene shifted again: the Jersey shore, right at the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel. A hundred

assorted monsters were marching past the lanes of stopped traffic: giants with clubs, rogue Cyclopes, a

few fire-spitting dragons, and just to rub it in, a World War II-era Sherman tank, pushing cars out of its

way as it rumbled into the tunnel.

"What's happening with the mortals outside Manhattan?" I said. "Is the whole state asleep?"

Annabeth frowned. "I don't think so, but it's strange. As far as I can tell from these pictures,

Manhattan is totally asleep. Then there's like a fifty-mile radius around the island where time is running

really, really slow. The closer you get to Manhattan, the slower it is."

She showed me another scene—a New Jersey highway. It was Saturday evening, so the traffic wasn't

as bad as it might've been on a weekday. The drivers looked awake, but the cars were moving at about

one mile per hour. Birds flew overhead in slow motion.

"Kronos," I said. "He's slowing time."

"Hecate might be helping," Katie Gardner said. "Look how the cars are all veering away from the

Manhattan exits, like they're getting a subconscious message to turn back."

"I don't know." Annabeth sounded really frustrated. She hated not knowing. "But somehow they've

surrounded Manhattan in layers of magic. The outside world might not even realize something is wrong.

Any mortals coming toward Manhattan will slow down so much they won't know what's happening."

"Like flies in amber," Jake Mason murmured.

Annabeth nodded. "We shouldn't expect any help coming in."

I turned to my friends. They looked stunned and scared, and I couldn't blame them. The shield had

shown us at least three hundred enemies on the way. There were forty of us. And we were alone.

"All right," I said. "We're going to hold Manhattan."

Silena tugged at her armor. "Um, Percy, Manhattan is huge."

"We are going to hold it," I said. "We have to."

"He's right," Annabeth said. "The gods of the wind should keep Kronos's forces away from Olympus

by air, so he'll try a ground assault. We have to cut off the entrances to the island."

"They have boats," Michael Yew pointed out.

An electric tingle went down my back. Suddenly I understood Athena's advice: Remember the rivers.

"I'll take care of the boats," I said.

Michael frowned. "How?"

"Just leave it to me," I said. "We need to guard the bridges and tunnels. Let's assume they'll try a

midtown or downtown assault, at least on their first try. That would be the most direct way to the Empire

State Building. Michael, take Apollo's cabin to the Williamsburg Bridge. Katie, Demeter's cabin takes the

Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. Grow thorn bushes and poison ivy in the tunnel. Do whatever you have to do,

but keep them out of there! Conner, take half of Hermes cabin and cover the Manhattan Bridge. Travis,

you take the other half and cover the Brooklyn Bridge. And no stopping for looting or pillaging!"

"Awwww!" the whole Hermes cabin complained.

"Silena, take the Aphrodite crew to the Queens-Midtown Tunnel."

"Oh my gods," one of her sisters said. "Fifth Avenue is so on our way! We could accessorize, and

monsters, like, totally hate the smell of Givenchy."

"No delays," I said. "Well . . . the perfume thing, if you think it'll work."

Six Aphrodite girls kissed me on the cheek in excitement.

"All right, enough!" I closed my eyes, trying to think of what I'd forgotten. "The Holland Tunnel.

Jake, take the Hephaestus cabin there. Use Greek fire, set traps. Whatever you've got."

He grinned. "Gladly. We've got a score to settle. For Beckendorf!"

The whole cabin roared in approval.

"The 59th Street Bridge," I said. "Clarisse—"

I faltered. Clarisse wasn't here. The whole Ares cabin, curse them, was sitting back at camp.

"We'll take that," Annabeth stepped in, saving me from an embarrassing silence. She turned to her

siblings. "Malcolm, take the Athena cabin, activate plan twenty-three along the way, just like I showed

you. Hold that position."

"You got it."

"I'll go with Percy," she said. "Then we'll join you, or we'll go wherever we're needed."

Somebody in the back of the group said, "No detours, you two."

There were some giggles, but I decided to let it pass.

"All right," I said. "Keep in touch with cell phones."

"We don't have cell phones," Silena protested.

I reached down, picked up some snoring lady's BlackBerry, and tossed it to Silena. "You do now.

You all know Annabeth's number, right? If you need us, pick up a random phone and call us. Use it once,

drop it, then borrow another one if you have to. That should make it harder for the monsters to zero in on

you."

Everyone grinned as though they liked this idea.

Travis cleared his throat. "Uh, if we find a really nice phone—"

"No, you can't keep it," I said.

"Aw, man."

"Hold it, Percy," Jake Mason said. "You forgot the Lincoln Tunnel."

I bit back a curse. He was right. A Sherman tank and a hundred monsters were marching through that

tunnel right now, and I'd positioned our forces everywhere else.

Then a girl's voice called from across the street: "How about you leave that to us?"

I'd never been happier to hear anyone in my life. A band of thirty adolescent girls crossed Fifth

Avenue. They wore white shirts, silvery camouflage pants, and combat boots. They all had swords at

their sides, quivers on their backs, and bows at the ready. A pack of white timber wolves milled around

their feet, and many of the girls had hunting falcons on their arms.

The girl in the lead had spiky black hair and a black leather jacket. She wore a silver circlet on her

head like a princess's tiara, which didn't match her skull earrings or her Death to Barbie T-shirt showing a

little Barbie doll with an arrow through its head.

"Thalia!" Annabeth cried.

The daughter of Zeus grinned. "The Hunters of Artemis, reporting for duty."

There were hugs and greetings all around . . . or at least Thalia was friendly. The other Hunters didn't like

being around campers, especially boys, but they didn't shoot any of us, which for them was a pretty warm

welcome.

"Where have you been the last year?" I asked Thalia. "You've got like twice as many Hunters now!"

She laughed. "Long, long story. I bet my adventures were more dangerous than yours, Jackson."

"Complete lie," I said.

"We'll see," she promised. "After this is over, you, Annabeth, and me: cheeseburgers and fries at that

hotel on West 57th."

"Le Parker Meridien," I said. "You're on. And Thalia, thanks."

She shrugged. "Those monsters won't know what hit them. Hunters, move out!"

She slapped her silver bracelet, and the shield Aegis spiraled into full form. The golden head of

Medusa molded in the center was so horrible, the campers all backed away. The Hunters took off down

the avenue, followed by their wolves and falcons, and I had a feeling the Lincoln Tunnel would be safe

for now.

"Thank the gods," Annabeth said. "But if we don't blockade the rivers from those boats, guarding the

bridges and tunnels will be pointless."

"You're right," I said.

I looked at the campers, all of them grim and determined. I tried not to feel like this was the last time

I'd ever see them all together.

"You're the greatest heroes of this millennium," I told them. "It doesn't matter how many monsters

come at you. Fight bravely, and we will win." I raised Riptide and shouted, "FOR OLYMPUS!"

They shouted in response, and our forty voices echoed off the buildings of Midtown. For a moment it

sounded brave, but it died quickly in the silence of ten million sleeping New Yorkers.

Annabeth and I would've had our pick of cars, but they were all wedged in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

None of the engines were running, which was weird. It seemed the drivers had had time to turn off the

ignition before they got too sleepy. Or maybe Morpheus had the power to put engines to sleep as well.

Most of the drivers had apparently tried to pull to the curb when they felt themselves passing out, but still

the streets were too clogged to navigate.

Finally we found an unconscious courier leaning against a brick wall, still straddling his red Vespa.

We dragged him off the scooter and laid him on the sidewalk.

"Sorry, dude," I said. With any luck, I'd be able to bring his scooter back. If I didn't, it would hardly

matter, because the city would be destroyed.

I drove with Annabeth behind me holding on to my waist. We zigzagged down Broadway with our

engine buzzing through the eerie calm. The only sounds were occasional cell phones ringing—like they

were calling out to each other, as if New York had turned into a giant electronic aviary.

Our progress was slow. Every so often we'd come across pedestrians who'd fallen asleep right in front

of a car, and we'd move them just to be safe. Once we stopped to extinguish a pretzel vendor's cart that

had caught on fire. A few minutes later we had to rescue a baby carriage that was rolling aimlessly down

the street. It turned out there was no baby in it—just somebody's sleeping poodle. Go figure. We parked it

safely in a doorway and kept riding.

We were passing Madison Square Park when Annabeth said, "Pull over."

I stopped in the middle of East 23rd. Annabeth jumped off and ran toward the park. By the time I

caught up with her, she was staring at a bronze statue on a red marble pedestal. I'd probably passed it a

million times but never really looked at it.

The dude was sitting in a chair with his legs crossed. He wore an old-fashioned suit—Abraham

Lincoln style—with a bow tie and long coattails and stuff. A bunch of bronze books were piled under his

chair. He held a writing quill in one hand and a big metal sheet of parchment in the other.

"Why do we care about . . ." I squinted at the name on the pedestal. "William H. Steward?"

"Seward," Annabeth corrected. "He was a New York governor. Minor demigod—son of Hebe, I

think. But that's not important. It's the statue I care about."

She climbed on a park bench and examined the base of the statue.

"Don't tell me he's an automaton," I said.

Annabeth smiled. "Turns out most of the statues in the city are automatons. Daedalus planted them

here just in case he needed an army."

"To attack Olympus or defend it?"

Annabeth shrugged. "Either one. That was plan twenty-three. He could activate one statue and it

would start activating its brethren all over the city, until there was an army. It's dangerous, though. You

know how unpredictable automatons are."

"Uh-huh," I said. We'd had our share of bad experiences with them. "You're seriously thinking about

activating it?"

"I have Daedalus's notes," she said. "I think I can . . . Ah, here we go."

She pressed the tip of Seward's boot, and the statue stood up, its quill and paper ready.

"What's he going to do?" I muttered. "Take a memo?"

"Shh," Annabeth. "Hello, William."

"Bill," I suggested.

"Bill . . . Oh, shut up," Annabeth told me. The statue tilted its head, looking at us with blank metal

eyes.

Annabeth cleared her throat. "Hello, er, Governor Seward. Command sequence: Daedalus Twentythree.

Defend Manhattan. Begin Activation."

Seward jumped off his pedestal. He hit the ground so hard his shoes cracked the sidewalk. Then he

went clanking off toward the east.

"He's probably going to wake up Confucius," Annabeth guessed.

"What?" I said.

"Another statue, on Division. The point is, they'll keep waking each other up until they're all

activated."

"And then?"

"Hopefully, they defend Manhattan."

"Do they know that we're not the enemy?"

"I think so."

"That's reassuring." I thought about all the bronze statues in the parks, plazas, and buildings of New

York. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands.

Then a ball of green light exploded in the evening sky. Greek fire, somewhere over the East River.

"We have to hurry," I said. And we ran for the Vespa.

We parked outside Battery Park, at the lower tip of Manhattan where the Hudson and East Rivers came

together and emptied into the bay.

"Wait here," I told Annabeth.

"Percy, you shouldn't go alone."

"Well, unless you can breathe underwater . . ."

She sighed. "You are so annoying sometimes."

"Like when I'm right? Trust me, I'll be fine. I've got the curse of Achilles now. I'll all invincible and

stuff."

Annabeth didn't look convinced. "Just be careful. I don't want anything to happen to you. I mean,

because we need you for the battle."

I grinned. "Back in a flash."

I clambered down the shoreline and waded into the water.

Just for you non-sea-god types out there, don't go swimming m New York Harbor. It may not be as

filthy as it was in my mom's day, but that water will still probably make you grow a third eye or have

mutant children when you grow up.

I dove into the murk and sank to the bottom. I tried to find the spot where the two rivers' currents

seemed equal—where they met to form the bay. I figured that was the best place to get their attention.

"HEY!" I shouted in my best underwater voice. The sound echoed in the darkness. "I heard you guys

are so polluted you're embarrassed to show your faces. Is that true?"

A cold current rippled through the bay, churning up plumes of garbage and silt.

"I heard the East River is more toxic," I continued, "but the Hudson smells worse. Or is it the other

way around?"

The water shimmered. Something powerful and angry was watching me now. I could sense its

presence . . . or maybe two presences.

I was afraid I'd miscalculated with the insults. What if they just blasted me without showing

themselves? But these were New York river gods. I figured their instinct would be to get in my face.

Sure enough, two giant forms appeared in front of me. At first they were just dark brown columns of

silt, denser than the water around them. Then they grew legs, arms, and scowling faces.

The creature on the left looked disturbingly like a telkhine. His face was wolfish. His body was

vaguely like a seal's—sleek black with flipper hands and feet. His eyes glowed radiation green.

The dude on the right was more humanoid. He was dressed in rags and seaweed, with a chain-mail

coat made of bottle caps and old plastic six-pack holders. His face was blotchy with algae, and his beard

was overgrown. His deep blue eyes burned with anger.

The seal, who had to be the god of the East River, said, "Are you trying to get yourself killed, kid? Or

are you just extra stupid?"

The bearded spirit of the Hudson scoffed. "You're the expert on stupid, East."

"Watch it, Hudson," East growled. "Stay on your side of the island and mind your business."

"Or what? You'll throw another garbage barge at me?"

They floated toward each other, ready to fight.

"Hold it!" I yelled. "We've got a bigger problem."

"The kid's right," East snarled. "Let's both kill him, then we'll fight each other."

"Sounds good," Hudson said.

Before I could protest, a thousand scraps of garbage surged off the bottom and flew straight at me

from both directions: broken glass, rocks, cans, tires.

I was expecting it, though. The water in front of me thickened into a shield. The debris bounced off

harmlessly. Only one piece got through—a big chunk of glass that hit my chest and probably should've

killed me, but it shattered against my skin.

The two river gods stared at me.

"Son of Poseidon?" East asked.

I nodded.

"Took a dip in the Styx?" Hudson asked.

"Yep."

They both made disgusted sounds.

"Well, that's perfect," East said. "Now how do we kill him?"

"We could electrocute him," Hudson mused. "If I could just find some jumper cables—"

"Listen to me!" I said. "Kronos's army is invading Manhattan.'"

"Don't you think we know that?" East asked. "I can feel his boats right now. They're almost across."

"Yep," Hudson agreed. "I got some filthy monsters crossing my waters too."

"So stop them," I said. "Drown them. Sink their boats."

"Why should we?" Hudson grumbled. "So they invade Olympus. What do we care?"

"Because I can pay you." I took out the sand dollar my father had given me for my birthday.

The river gods' eyes widened.

"It's mine!" East said. "Give it here, kid, and I promise none of Kronos's scum are getting across the

East River."

"Forget that," Hudson said. "That sand dollar's mine, unless you want me to let all those ships cross

the Hudson."

"We'll compromise." I broke the sand dollar in half. A ripple of clean fresh water spread out from the

break, as if all the pollution in the bay were being dissolved.

"You each get half," I said. "In exchange, you keep all of Kronos's forces away from Manhattan."

"Oh, man," Hudson whimpered, reaching out for the sand dollar. "It's been so long since I was clean."

"The power of Poseidon," East River murmured. "He's a jerk, but he sure knows how to sweep

pollution away."

They looked at each other, then spoke as one: "It's a deal."

I gave them each a sand-dollar half, which they held reverently.

"Um, the invaders?" I prompted.

East flicked his hand. "They just got sunk."

Hudson snapped his fingers. "Bunch of hellhounds just took a dive."

"Thank you," I said. "Stay clean."

As I rose toward the surface, East called out, "Hey, kid, any time you got a sand dollar to spend,

come on back. Assuming you live."

"Curse of Achilles," Hudson snorted. "They always think that'll save them, don't they?"

"If only he knew," East agreed. They both laughed, dissolving into the water.

Back on the shore, Annabeth was talking on her cell phone, but she hung up as soon as she saw me. She

looked pretty shaken.

"It worked," I told her. "The rivers are safe."

"Good," she said. "Because we've got other problems. Michael Yew just called. Another army is

marching over the Williamsburg Bridge. The Apollo cabin needs help. And Percy, the monster leading

the enemy . . . it's the Minotaur."

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