The Lightning Thief - Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 I AM OFFERED
 A QUEST

 The next morning, Chiron moved me to cabin three.
 I didn't have to share with anybody. I had plenty of room for all my stuff: the Minotaur's horn, one set of
spare clothes, and a toiletry bag. I got to sit at my own dinner table, pick all my own activities, call "lights
out" whenever I felt like it, and not listen to anybody else.
 And I was absolutely miserable.
 Just when I'd started to feel accepted, to feel I had a home in cabin eleven and I might be a normal
kid—or as normal as you can be when you're a half-blood—I'd been separated out as if I had some rare
disease.
 Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. The
attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, that I was the son of the Sea God; and two,
monsters would stop at nothing to kill me. They could even invade a camp that had always been
considered safe.
 The other campers steered clear of me as much as possi- ble. Cabin eleven was too nervous to have
sword class with me after what I'd done to the Ares folks in the woods, so my les-sons with Luke
became one-on-one. He pushed me harder than ever, and wasn't afraid to bruise me up in the process.
 "You're going to need all the training you can get," he promised, as we were working with swords and
flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper-beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions."
 Annabeth still taught me Greek in the mornings, but she seemed distracted. Every time I said something,
she scowled at me, as if I'd just poked her between the eyes.
 After lessons, she would walk away muttering to herself: "Quest ... Poseidon? ... Dirty rotten ... Got to
make a plan ..."
 Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill me for
breaking her magic spear. I wished she would just yell or punch me or something. I'd rather get into fights
every day than be ignored.
 I knew somebody at camp resented me, because one night I came into my cabin and found a mortal
newspaper dropped inside the doorway, a copy of theNew York Daily News, opened to the Metro
page. The article took me almost an hour to read, because the angrier I got, the more the words floated
around on the page.
 BOY AND MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER
 FREAK CAR ACCIDENT
 BY EILEEN SMYTHE
 Sally Jackson and son Percy are still missing one week after their mysterious disappearance. The family's
badly burned '78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a north Long Island road with the roof ripped
off and  the front axle broken. The car had flipped and skidded for several hundred feet before exploding.
 Mother and son had gone for a weekend vacation toMontauk, but left hastily, under mysterious circum-stances. Small traces of blood were found in the car andnear the scene of the wreck, but there were no
other signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents in the ruralarea reported seeing nothing unusual around the
time of  the accident.
 Ms. Jackson's husband, Gabe Ugliano, claims thathis stepson, Percy Jackson, is a troubled child who
has been kicked out of numerous boarding schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past.
 Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his mother's disappearance, but they have not
ruled out foul play. Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson and Percy. Police urge anyone with
informa-tion to call the following toll-free crime-stoppers hotline.
 The phone number was circled in black marker.
 I wadded up the paper and threw it away, then flopped down in my bunk bed in the middle of my empty
cabin.
 "Lights out," I told myself miserably.
 That night, I had my worst dream yet.
 I was running along the beach in a storm. This time, there was a city behind me. Not New York. The
sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in the distance.
 About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular,
with beards and long hair. Both wore flowing Greek tunics, one trimmed in blue, the other in green. They
grappled with each other, wrestled, kicked and head-butted, and every time they connected, lightning
flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind rose.
 I had to stop them. I didn't know why. But the harder I ran, the more the wind blew me back, until I was
running in place, my heels digging uselessly in the sand.
 Over the roar of the storm, I could hear the blue-robed one yelling at the green-robed one, Give it back!
Give it back! Like a kindergartner fighting over a toy.
 The waves got bigger, crashing into the beach, spraying me with salt.
 I yelled, Stop it! Stop fighting!
 The ground shook. Laughter came from somewhere under the earth, and a voice so deep and evil it
turned my blood toice.
 Come down, little hero,the voice crooned.Come down!
 The sand split beneath me, opening up a crevice straight down to the center of the earth. My feet
slipped, and dark-ness swallowed me.
 I woke up, sure I was falling.
 I was still in bed in cabin three. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder
rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn't dreamed that.
 I heard a clopping sound at the door, a hoof knocking on the threshold.
 "Come in?"
 Grover trotted inside, looking worried. "Mr. D wants to see you."
 "Why?"
 "He wants to kill... I mean, I'd better let him tell you."
 Nervously, I got dressed and followed, sure that I was in huge trouble.
 For days, I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that I was declared a son of
Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I fig-ured it was a crime for me
just to be alive. The other gods had probably been debating the best way to punish me for existing, and
now Mr. D was ready to deliver their verdict.
 Over Long Island Sound, the sky looked like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain was
coming in our direction. I asked Grover if we needed an umbrella.
 "No," he said. "It never rains here unless we want it to."
 I pointed at the storm. "What the heck is that, then?"
 He glanced uneasily at the sky. "It'll pass around us. Bad weather always does."
 I realized he was right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds
I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley.
 But this storm ... this one was huge.
 At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin were playing a morning game against the satyrs.
Dionysus's twins were walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everybody was
going about their normal busi-ness, but they looked tense. They kept their eyes on the storm.
 Grover and I walked up to the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his
tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sat across the table
in his fake wheel-chair. They were playing against invisible opponents--two sets of cards hovering in the
air.
 "Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity."
 I waited.
 "Come closer," Mr. D said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old
Barnacle-Beard is your father."
 A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house.
 "Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said.
 Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back
and forth.
 "If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the
ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this
cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."
 "Spontaneous combustionis  a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in.
 "Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself I'm
thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father."
 "Mr. D—" Chiron warned.
 "Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose,
and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If
the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And
Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron
feels you must do."
 Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A
security pass.
 He snapped his fingers.
 The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone,
leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind.
 Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, Percy, please. And Grover."
 We did.
 Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use.
 "Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?"
 Just hearing the name made me shudder.
 Chiron probably wanted me to say, Heck, it was nothing. I eat hellhounds for breakfast.  But I didn't
feel like lying.
 "It scared me," I said. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."
 "You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done."
 "Done ... with what?"
 "Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?"
 I glanced at Grover, who was crossing his fingers.
 "Um, sir," I said, "you haven't told me what it is yet."
 Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details."
 Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as
I could see, the sky and the sea were boiling together.
 "Poseidon and Zeus," I said. "They're fighting over something valuable ... something that was stolen,
aren'tthey?"
 Chiron and Grover exchanged looks.
 Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?"
 My face felt hot. I wished I hadn't opened my big mouth. "The weather since Christmas has been weird,
like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a
theft. And ... I've also been having these dreams."
 "I knew it," Grover said.
 "Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered.
 "But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!"
 "Only the Oracle can determine." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are
correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something
valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt."
 I laughed nervously. "Awhat ?"
 "Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in
a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylin-der of high-grade celestial bronze, capped
on both ends with god-level explosives."
 "Oh."
 "Zeus's master bolt," Chiron said, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all
other light-ning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the
Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt,
which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."
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 "And it's missing?"
 "Stolen," Chiron said.
 "By who?"
 "By whom,"  Chiron corrected. Once a teacher, always a teacher. "By you."
 My mouth fell open.
 "At least"—Chiron held up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last
council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked
you best,' Air dis-asters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his
master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed
Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the
most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father con-vinced a human hero to take it."
 "But I didn't—"
 "Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the
Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's
lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly hav-ing the Cyclopes
build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus
wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed
you as his son. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into
Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief."
 "But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"
 Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around us, as
Grover had promised. They were rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid.
 "Er, Percy ...?" Grover said. "We don't use the c -word to describe the Lord of the Sky."
 "Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe
that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at me as if he actually expected me to
remember question thirty-eight.
 How could anyone accuse me of stealing a god's weapon? I couldn't even steal a slice of pizza from
Gabe's poker party without getting busted. Chiron was waiting for an answer.
 "Something about a golden net?" I guessed. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods ... they, like,
trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler, right?"
 "Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies
stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and
forth for months, threaten-ing war. And now, you've come along—the proverbial last straw."
 "But I'm just a kid!"
 "Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to
overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World
War II, that he's fathered a new mortal hero who might be used as a weapon against you.... Wouldn't
that put a twist in your toga?"
 "But I didn't do anything. Poseidon—my dad—he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?"
 Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea
God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the
summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called
a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would
make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will
back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the
solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Percy?"
 "Bad?" I guessed.
 "Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus
and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big
it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight."
 "Bad," I repeated.
 "And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."
 It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky.
 I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of me. I was
furious.
 "So I have to find the stupid bolt," I said. "And return it to Zeus."
 "What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?"
 "If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?"
 "I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago ... well, some of
the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You
must seek the counsel of the Oracle."
 "Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?"
 "Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge."
 I swallowed. "Good reason."
 "You agree then?"
 I looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly.
 Easy for him. I was the one Zeus wanted to kill.
 "All right," I said. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin."
 "Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When
you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."
 Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trap-door.
 I pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into place.
 The warm air from above smelled like mildew and rotten wood and something else ... a smell I
remembered from biology class. Reptiles. The smell of snakes.
 I held my breath and climbed.
 The attic was filled with Greek hero junk: armor stands covered in cobwebs; once-bright shields pitted
with rust; old leather steamer trunks plastered with stickers sayingITHAKA, CIRCE'S ISLE, and LAND
OF THE AMAZONS. One long table was stacked with glass jars filled withpickled things  —severed
hairy claws, huge yelloweyes, various other parts of monsters. A dusty mounted trophy on the wall
looked like a giant snake's head, but with horns and a full set of shark's teeth. The plaque read, HYDRA
HEAD #1, WOODSTOCK, N.Y., 1969.
 By the window, sitting on a wooden tripod stool, was the most gruesome memento of all: a mummy. Not
the wrapped-in-cloth kind, but a human female body shriveled to a husk. She wore a tie-dyed sundress,
lots of beaded necklaces, and a headband over long black hair. The skin of her face was thin and
leathery over her skull, and her eyes were glassy white slits, as if  the real eyes had been replaced by
marbles; she'd been dead a long, long time.
 Looking at her sent chills up my back. And that was before she sat up on her stool and opened her
mouth. A green mist poured from the mummy's mouth, coiling over the floor in thick tendrils, hissing like
twenty thousand snakes. I stumbled over myself trying to get to the trap-door, but it slammed shut. Inside
my head, I heard a voice, slithering into one ear and coiling around my brain:I am the spirit of Delphi,
speaker of the prophecies of Phoebus Apollo, slayer of the mighty Python. Approach, seeker, and
ask.
 I wanted to say, No thanks, wrong door, just looking for the bath-room. But I forced myself to take
a deep breath.
 The mummy wasn't alive. She was some kind of grue-some receptacle for something else, the power
that was now swirling around me in the green mist. But its presence didn't feel evil, like my demonic math
teacher Mrs. Dodds or the Minotaur. It felt more like the Three Fates I'd seen knitting the yarn outside
the highway fruit stand: ancient, powerful, and definitely not human. But not particularly interested in killing
me, either.
 I got up the courage to ask, "What is my destiny?"
 The mist swirled more thickly, collecting right in front of me and around the table with the pickled
monster-part jars. Suddenly there were four men sitting around the table, playing cards. Their faces
became clearer. It was Smelly Gabe and his buddies.
 My fists clenched, though I knew this poker party couldn't be real. It was an illusion, made out of mist.
 Gabe turned toward me and spoke in the rasping voice of the Oracle: You shall go west, and face the
god who has turned.
 His buddy on the right looked up and said in the same voice: You shall find what was stolen, and see it
safely returned.
 The guy on the left threw in two poker chips, then said: You shall he betrayed by one who calls you a
friend.
 Finally, Eddie, our building super, delivered the worst line of all:And you shall fail to save what
matters most, in the end.
 The figures began to dissolve. At first I was too stunned to say anything, but as the mist retreated, coiling
into a huge green serpent and slithering back into the mouth of the mummy, I cried, "Wait! What do you
mean? What friend? What will I fail to save?"
 The tail of the mist snake disappeared into the mummy's mouth. She reclined back against the wall. Her
mouth closed tight, as if it hadn't been open in a hundred years. The attic was silent again, abandoned,
nothing but a room full of mementos.
 I got the feeling that I could stand here until I had cob-webs, too, and I wouldn't learn anything else.
 My audience with the Oracle was over.
 "Well?" Chiron asked me.
 I slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. "She said I would retrieve what was stolen."
 Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!"
 "What did the Oracle say exactly?"  Chiron pressed. "This is important."
 My ears were still tingling from the reptilian voice. "She . .. she said I would go west and face a god who
had turned. I would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned."
 "I knew it," Grover said.
 Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?"
 I didn't want to tell him.
 What friend would betray me? I didn't have that many.
 And the last line—I would fail to save what mattered most. What kind of Oracle would send me on a
quest and tell me, Oh, by the way, you'll fail
 How could I confess that?
 "No," I said. "That's about it."
 He studied my face. "Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings.
Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."
 I got the feeling he knew I was holding back something bad, and he was trying to make me feel better.
 "Okay," I said, anxious to change topics. "So where do I go? Who's this god in the west?"
 "Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to
gain?"
 "Somebody else who wants to take over?" I guessed.
 "Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was
divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates
his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now
broken."
 I thought about my dreams, the evil voice that had spo-ken from under the ground. "Hades."
 Chiron nodded. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."
 A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh-what?"
 "A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his
iden-tity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."
 "Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes," Grover pro-tested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son
of Poseidon... ."
 "A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of
Pun-ishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He
must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this
young half-blood before he can take on the quest."
 "Great," I muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me."
 "But a quest to ..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in some place like Maine?
Maine's very nice this time of year."
 "Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full
well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to under-stand the Lord of the Dead's motives
perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the
Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth."
 A strange fire burned in my stomach. The weirdest thing was: it wasn't fear. It was anticipation. The
desire for revenge. Hades had tried to kill me three times so far, with the Fury, the Minotaur, and the
hellhound. It was his fault my mother had disappeared in a flash of light. Now he was trying to frame me
and my dad for a theft we hadn't committed.
 I was ready to take him on.
 Besides, if my mother was in the Underworld ...
 Whoa, boy, said the small part of my brain that was still sane. You're a kid. Hades is a god.
 Grover was trembling. He'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips.
 The poor guy needed to complete a quest with me so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that
was, but how could I ask him to do this quest, especially when the Oracle said I was destined to fail?
This was suicide.
 "Look, if we know it's Hades," I told Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon
could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads."
 "Suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron said. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect
Hades—and I imag-ine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt them-selves. Gods cannot cross
each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have
certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong
enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always
operate through humans?"
 "You're saying I'm being used."
 "I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a
desperate situa-tion. He needs you."
 My dad needs me.
 Emotions rolled around inside me like bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. I didn't know whether to feel
resentful or grateful or happy or angry. Poseidon had ignored me for twelve years. Now suddenly he
needed me.
 I looked at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?"
 "I had my suspicions. As I said ... I've spoken to the Oracle, too."
 I got the feeling there was a lot he wasn't telling me about his prophecy, but I decided I couldn't worry
about that right now. After all, I was holding back information too.
 "So let me get this straight," I said. "I'm supposed go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the
Dead."
 "Check," Chiron said.
 "Find the most powerful weapon in the universe."
 "Check."
 "And get it back to Olympus before the summer sol-stice, in ten days."
 "That's about right."
 I looked at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts.
 "Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly.
 "You don't have to go," I told him. "I can't ask that ofyou.
 "Oh ..." He shifted his hooves. "No ... it's just that satyrs and underground places ... well..."
 He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shred-ded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt. "You
saved my life, Percy. If ... if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down."
 I felt so relieved I wanted to cry, though I didn't think that would be very heroic. Grover was the only
friend I'd ever had for longer than a few months. I wasn't sure what good a satyr could do against the
forces of the dead, but I felt better knowing he'd be with me.
 "All the way, G-man." I turned to Chiron. "So where do we go? The Oracle just said to go west."
 "The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus.
Right now, of course, it's in America."
 "Where?"
 Chiron looked surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in
Los Angeles."
 "Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane—"
 "No!" Grover shrieked. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"
 I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me anywhere by plane. She'd always
said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash.
 "Percy, think," Chiron said. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord
of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain.
You would never come down again alive."
 Overhead, lightning crackled. Thunder boomed.
 "Okay," I said, determined not to look at the storm. "So, I'll travel overland."
 "That's right," Chiron said. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other has already
vol-unteered, if you will accept her help."
 "Gee," I said, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?"
 The air shimmered behind Chiron.
 Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket.
 "I've been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain," she said. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if
you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up."
 "If you do say so yourself," I said. "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?"
 Her cheeks colored. "Do you want my help or not?"
 The truth was, I did. I needed all the help I could get.
 "A trio," I said. "That'll work."
 "Excellent," Chiron said. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After
that, you are on your own."
 Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent
weather.
 "No time to waste," Chiron said. "I think you should all get packing."

Categories: The Lightning Thief