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“Yay!” Tyson said. “That means it was good! It saved your life!”
“It sure did, big guy,” I said. “But now it’s ruined.”
“Not ruined!” Tyson promised. “I will visit and fix it next summer.”
The idea picked me up instantly. I guess I hadn’t realized how much I missed having Tyson around.
“Seriously?” I asked. “They’ll let you take time off ?”
“Yes! I have made two thousand seven hundred and forty-one magic swords,” Tyson said proudly, showing me the newest blade. “The boss says ‘good work’! He will let me take the whole summer off. I will visit camp!”
We talked for a while about war preparations and our dad’s fight with the old sea gods, and all the cool things we could do together next summer, but then Tyson’s boss started yelling at him and he had to get back to work.
I dug out my last golden drachma and made one more Iris-message.
“Sally Jackson,” I said. “Upper East Side, Manhattan.”
The mist shimmered, and there was my mom at our kitchen table, laughing and holding hands with her friend Mr. Blowfish.
I felt so embarrassed, I was about to wave my hand through the mist and cut the co
Her eyes got wide. She let go of Mr. Blowfish’s hand real quick. “Oh, Paul! You know what? I left my writing journal in the living room. Would you mind getting it for me?”
“Sure, Sally. No problem.”
He left the room, and instantly my mom leaned toward the Iris-message. “Percy! Are you all right?”
“I’m, uh, fine. How’s that writing seminar going?”
She pursed her lips. “It’s fine. But that’s not important. Tell me what’s happened!”
I filled her in as quickly as I could. She sighed with relief when she heard that A
“I knew you could do it!” she said. “I’m so proud.”
“Yeah, well, I’d better let you get back to your homework.”
“Percy, I . . . Paul and I—”
“Mom, are you happy?”
The question seemed to take her by surprise. She thought for a moment. “Yes. I really am, Percy. Being around him makes me happy.”
“Then it’s cool. Seriously. Don’t worry about me.”
The fu
“You promise not to call him Mr. Blowfish?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Well, maybe not to his face, anyway.”
“Sally?” Mr. Blofis called from our living room. “You need the green binder or the red one?”
“I’d better go,” she told me. “See you for Christmas?”
“Are you putting blue candy in my stocking?”
She smiled. “If you’re not too old for that.”
“I’m never too old for candy.”
“I’ll see you then.”
She waved her hand across the mist. Her image disappeared, and I thought to myself that Thalia had been right, so many days ago at Westover Hall: my mom really was pretty cool.
Compared to Mount Olympus, Manhattan was quiet. Friday before Christmas, but it was early in the morning, and hardly anyone was on Fifth Avenue. Argus, the many-eyed security chief, picked up A
As we trudged back up Half-Blood Hill to the pine tree where the Golden Fleece glittered, I half expected to see Thalia there, waiting for us. But she wasn’t. She was long gone with Artemis and the rest of the Hunters, off on their next adventure.
Chiron greeted us at the Big House with hot chocolate and toasted cheese sandwiches. Grover went off with his satyr friends to spread the word about our strange encounter with the magic of Pan. Within an hour, the satyrs were all ru
A
“I got news,” she mumbled uneasily. “Bad news.”
“I’ll fill you in later,” Chiron said with forced cheerfulness. “The important thing is you have prevailed. And you saved A
A
For some strange reason, I found myself thinking about Hoover Dam, and the odd mortal girl I’d run into there, Rachel Elizabeth Dare. I didn’t know why, but her a
“Luke is alive,” I said. “A
A
I tried not to feel a
“Well.” A
I had a feeling that when she said “figure something out,” she meant “get Luke to change his ways,” which a
Chiron’s expression was gloomy. Sitting by the fire in his wheelchair, he looked really old. I mean . . . he was really old, but he usually didn’t look it.
“Two years may seem like a long time,” he said. “But it is the blink of an eye. I still hope you are not the child of the prophecy, Percy. But if you are, then the second Titan war is almost upon us. Kronos’s first strike will be here.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “Why would he care about camp?”
“Because the gods use heroes as their tools,” Chiron said simply. “Destroy the tools, and the gods will be crippled. Luke’s forces will come here. Mortal, demigod, monstrous . . . We must be prepared. Clarisse’s news may give us a clue as to how they will attack, but—”
There was a knock on the door, and Nico di Angelo came huffing into the parlor, his cheeks bright red from the cold.
He was smiling, but he looked around anxiously. “Hey! Where’s . . . where’s my sister?”
Dead silence. I stared at Chiron. I couldn’t believe nobody had told him yet. And then I realized why. They’d been waiting for us to appear, to tell Nico in person.
That was the last thing I wanted to do. But I owed it to Bianca.
“Hey, Nico.” I got up from my comfortable chair. “Let’s take a walk, okay? We need to talk.”
He took the news in silence, which somehow made it worse. I kept talking, trying to explain how it had happened, how Bianca had sacrificed herself to save the quest. But I felt like I was only making things worse.
“She wanted you to have this.” I brought out the little god figurine Bianca had found in the junkyard. Nico held it in his palm and stared at it.
We were standing at the dining pavilion, just where we’d last spoken before I went on the quest. The wind was bitter cold, even with the camp’s magical weather protection. Snow fell lightly against the marble steps. I figured outside the camp borders, there must be a blizzard happening.
“You promised you would protect her,” Nico said.
He might as well have stabbed me with a rusty dagger.
It would’ve hurt less than reminding me of my promise.
“Nico,” I said. “I tried. But Bianca gave herself up to save the rest of us. I told her not to. But she—”