THE SEA OF MONSTERS Percy Jackson and the Olympians – Book 2Rick Riordan Scanned by Cluttered MindONEMY BEST FRIEN DOWNLOAD PDF . The Sea of Monsters (Percy Jackson and the Olympians, Book 2) · Read more The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson & the Olympians, Book 5). Read more. Percy Jackson come to life in this explosive graphic novel adaptation of Rick first novel featuring the heroic young demigod, was the . bestthing.info pdf. Percy Jackson and the Sea of Monsters: The Graphic Novel, Rick Riordan.
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bestthing.info File Size: bestthing.info File Size: This book is in many ways Part II of my book, Rich Dad poor Dad for those My rich, but Percy Jackson and the Olympians #2 – The Sea Of Monsters. This is the link you want Library Genesis of this book. The Sea of Monsters (Percy Jackson & the Olympians). If you want any more pdfs message me. thanks.
On the ship, they are captured by Luke Castellan, and they learn that he is working to revive Kronos.
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The trio narrowly escapes on an emergency lifeboat, and take shelter in a hideout that Annabeth, Thalia, and Luke built as children. In order to enter the Sea of Monsters, the group is forced to pass between Charybdis and Scylla , who attack and destroy the ship.
It appears that Tyson and Clarisse are killed in action, so Percy and Annabeth board another life raft and head toward the nearest island. Like Odysseus, after travelling through the narrow strait that Charybdis and Scylla guarded, the two land on the island of the queen-witch Circe.
After realizing she is not to be trusted and seeing that she has turned dozens of men into guinea pigs, they rush to leave the island. Percy and Annabeth pass the Sirens, and Annabeth confesses her insecurities to Percy.
They reach the island of Percy's half brother, the cyclops Polyphemus. Before journeying to the centre of the island, Percy and Annabeth meet Grover pretending to be a female cyclops to trick Polyphemus into not eating him. They also learn that Clarisse and Tyson are alive, finding the Golden Fleece and narrowly escaping to the mainland fighting Polyphemus in a bloody battle. Percy gives the Golden Fleece to Clarisse as a token of friendship as it was her quest. Percy manages to send a message to Camp Half-Blood in which Luke admits to poisoning the tree of Thalia; the elders see their mistake and reinstate Chiron as the camp counsellor.
When Luke finds out, he challenges Percy to a duel. As Luke was the best sword-player in camp before he left, he wins easily against Percy. As Luke is about to go on a rampage and finish Percy and the rest of the group off, a group of centaurs called the Pary Ponies, led by Chiron, appear and whisk the group away to safety. The Golden Fleece is applied to the tree of Thalia, and the poison is reversed curing the tree; however, the Fleece's magic goes too far and resurrects Thalia, providing another possible demigod for the Big Prophecy.
He is accompanied by Annabeth and Tyson, his half-brother, on the quest. He is successful in the end; and gives Clarisse the Fleece while he is attacked by Luke on his way to the Camp. However, he and his friends are rescued by Chiron and the Party Ponies. Annabeth Chase : The daughter of Athena. A demigod who is 13 years old and a friend of Percy. She accompanies him to the island and helps him in his quest by rescuing Percy from Circe's island.
Annabeth is injured by Polyphemus and recovers with the help of the Golden Fleece. She accompanies Percy to Camp after Chiron succeeds in rescuing them from the hands of Luke and the Titan army. Grover Underwood : The guard for Percy given by the gods, a satyr who has been captured by Polyphemus during his search for the wild god Pan. Due to his poor eyesight, Polyphemus mistakes Grover for a female Cyclops. Florida, I thought. Though I wasn't sure how I knew that.
I'd never been to Florida. Then I heard hooves clattering against the pavement. I turned and saw my friend Grover running for his life. Yeah, I said hooves. Grover is a satyr. From the waist up, he looks like a typical gangly teenager with a peach-fuzz goatee and a bad case of acne. He walks with a strange limp, but unless you happen to catch him without his pants on which I don't recommend , you'd never know there was anything un-human about him.
Baggy jeans and fake feet hide the fact that he's got furry hindquarters and hooves. Grover had been my best friend in sixth grade. He'd gone on this adventure with me and a girl named Annabeth to save the world, but I hadn't seen him since last July, when he set off alone on a dangerous quest—a quest no satyr had ever returned from.
Anyway, in my dream, Grover was hauling goat tail, holding his human shoes in his hands the way he does when he needs to move fast. He clopped past the little tourist shops and surfboard rental places.
The wind bent the palm trees almost to the ground. Grover was terrified of something behind him. He must've just come from the beach. Wet sand was caked in his fur. He'd escaped from somewhere. He was trying to get away from A bone-rattling growl cut through the storm. Behind Grover, at the far end of the block, a shadowy figure loomed.
It swatted aside a street lamp, which burst in a shower of sparks. Grover stumbled, whimpering in fear. He muttered to himself, Have to get away. Have to warn them! I couldn't see what was chasing him, but I could hear it muttering and cursing.
The ground shook as it got closer. Grover dashed around a street corner and faltered. He'd run into a deadend courtyard full of shops. No time to back up. The nearest door had been blown open by the storm. The sign above the darkened display window read: ST.
Grover dashed inside. He dove behind a rack of wed-ding dresses. The monster's shadow passed in front of the shop. I could smell the thing—a sickening combination of wet sheep wool and rotten meat and that weird sour body odor only monsters have, like a skunk that's been living off Mexican food. Grover trembled behind the wedding dresses. The monster's shadow passed on. Silence except for the rain. Grover took a deep breath.
Maybe the thing was gone. Then lightning flashed. There was no storm. No monster. Morning sunlight filtered through my bedroom win-dow. I thought I saw a shadow flicker across the glass—a humanlike shape. But then there was a knock on my bed-room door—my mom called: "Percy, you're going to be late"—and the shadow at the window disappeared.
It must've been my imagination. A fifth-story window with a rickety old fire escape You should be excited! You've almost made it. I felt under my pillow. My fingers closed reassuringly around the ballpoint pen I always slept with. I brought it out, studied the Ancient Greek writing engraved on the side: Anaklusmos.
I thought about uncapping it, but something held me back. I hadn't used Riptide for so long…. Besides, my mom had made me promise not to use deadly weapons in the apartment after I'd swung a javelin the wrong way and taken out her china cabinet. I put Anaklusmos on my nightstand and dragged myself out of bed. I got dressed as quickly as I could. I tried not to think about my nightmare or monsters or the shadow at my window.
Have to get away. What had Grover meant? I made a three-fingered claw over my heart and pushed outward—an ancient gesture Grover had once taught me for warding off evil. The dream couldn't have been real. Last day of school. My mom was right, I should have been excited. For the first time in my life, I'd almost made it an entire year without getting expelled.
No weird accidents. No fights in the classroom. No teachers turn-ing into monsters and trying to kill me with poisoned cafeteria food or exploding homework. Tomorrow, I'd be on my way to my favorite place in the world—Camp Half-Blood. Only one more day to go.
Surely even I couldn't mess that up. As usual, I didn't have a clue how wrong I was. My mom made blue waffles and blue eggs for breakfast. She's funny that way, celebrating special occasions with blue food. I think it's her way of saying anything is possible. Percy can pass seventh grade.
Waffles can be blue. Little miracles like that. I ate at the kitchen table while my mom washed dishes. She was dressed in her work uniform—a starry blue skirt and a red-and-white striped blouse she wore to sell candy at Sweet on America.
Her long brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The waffles tasted great, but I guess I wasn't digging in like I usually did. My mom looked over and frowned. She dried her hands and sat down across from me. I knew what she was asking. She pursed her lips. We didn't talk much about the other part of my life.
We tried to live as normally as possible, but my mom knew all about Grover. If there were a problem, I'm sure we would've heard from This afternoon we'll celebrate the end of school. I'll take you and Tyson to Rockefeller Center—to that skateboard shop you like. We were always struggling with money. Between my mom's night classes and my private school tuition, we could never afford to do special stuff like shop for a skateboard.
But something in her voice bothered me. I got a message from Chiron last night. Chiron was the activities director at Camp Half-Blood. He wouldn't contact us unless some-thing serious was going on. We might have to postpone. Mom, how could it not be safe? I'm a half-blood! It's like the only safe place on earth for me! But with the problems they're having—" "What problems?
I'm very, very sorry. I was hoping to talk to you about it this afternoon. I can't explain it all now. I'm not even sure Chiron can. Everything happened so suddenly.
How could I not go to camp? I wanted to ask a million questions, but just then the kitchen clock chimed the half-hour.
My mom looked almost relieved. You should go. Tyson will be waiting. Go on to school. Besides, she was right about my friend Tyson. I had to meet him at the subway station on time or he'd get upset. He was scared of traveling underground alone.
I gathered up my stuff, but I stopped in the doorway. Does it I'll explain I jogged downstairs to catch the Number Two train. I didn't know it at the time, but my mom and I would never get to have our afternoon talk. In fact, I wouldn't be seeing home for a long, long time. As I stepped outside, I glanced at the brownstone building across the street.
Just for a second I saw a dark shape in the morning sunlight—a human silhouette against the brick wall, a shadow that belonged to no one. Then it rippled and vanished. Or as normal as it ever gets at Meriwether College Prep. See, it's this "progressive" school in downtown Man-hattan, which means we sit on beanbag chairs instead of at desks, and we don't get grades, and the teachers wear jeans and rock concert T-shirts to work.
That's all cool with me. I mean, I'm ADHD and dys-lexic, like most half-bloods, so I'd never done that great in regular schools even before they kicked me out. The only bad thing about Meriwether was that the teachers always looked on the bright side of things, and the kids weren't always Take my first class today: English.
The whole middle school had read this book called Lord of the Flies, where all these kids get marooned on an island and go psycho.
So for our final exam, our teachers sent us into the break yard to spend an hour with no adult supervision to see what would happen. What happened was a massive wedgie contest between the seventh and eighth graders, two pebble fights, and a full-tackle basketball game. The school bully, Matt Sloan, led most of those activities. Sloan wasn't big or strong, but he acted like he was. He had eyes like a pit bull, and shaggy black hair, and he always dressed in expensive but sloppy clothes, like he wanted everybody to see how little he cared about his family's money.
Anyway, Sloan was giving everybody wedgies until he made the mistake of trying it on my friend Tyson. Tyson was the only homeless kid at Meriwether College Prep. As near as my mom and I could figure, he'd been aban-doned by his parents when he was very young, probably because he was so He was six-foot-three and built like the Abominable Snowman, but he cried a lot and was scared of just about everything, including his own reflection. His face was kind of misshapen and brutal-looking.
I couldn't tell you what color his eyes were, because I could never make myself look higher than his crooked teeth. His voice was deep, but he talked funny, like a much younger kid—I guess because he'd never gone to school before coming to Meriwether.
He wore tattered jeans, grimy size-twenty sneakers, and a plaid flannel shirt with holes in it. He smelled like a New York City alleyway, because that's where he lived, in a cardboard refrigerator box off 72nd Street.
Meriwether Prep had adopted him as a community service project so all the students could feel good about themselves. Unfortunately, most of them couldn't stand Tyson. Once they discovered he was a big softie, despite his massive strength and his scary looks, they made themselves feel good by picking on him. I was pretty much his only friend, which meant he was my only friend.
My mom had complained to the school a million times that they weren't doing enough to help him. She'd called social services, but nothing ever seemed to happen.
The social workers claimed Tyson didn't exist. They swore up and down that they'd visited the alley we described and couldn't find him, though how you miss a giant kid living in a refrigerator box, I don't know. Anyway, Matt Sloan snuck up behind him and tried to give him a wedgie, and Tyson panicked. He swatted Sloan away a little too hard. Sloan flew fifteen feet and got tangled in the little kids' tire swing. He sat down on the jungle gym so hard he bent the bar, and buried his head in his hands.
Sloan just sneered at me. You might have friends if you weren't always stick-ing up for that freak. I hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt. He's just He and his big ugly friends were too busy laughing. I wondered if it were my imagination, or if Sloan had more goons hanging around him than usual. I was used to seeing him with two or three, but today he had like, half a dozen more, and I was pretty sure I'd never seen them before.
He pronounced that we'd understood Lord of the Flies perfectly. We all passed his course, and we should never, never grow up to be violent people. Matt Sloan nodded earnestly, then gave me a chip-toothed grin.
I had to promise to download Tyson an extra peanut butter sandwich at lunch to get him to stop sobbing. I am a freak? Miss you next year if I realized he didn't know if he'd be invited back next year for the community service project. I wondered if the headmaster had even bothered talking to him about it. How could I promise a kid like him that anything would be fine? Our next exam was science.
Tesla told us that we had to mix chemicals until we succeeded in making something explode, Tyson was my lab partner. His hands were way too big for the tiny vials we were supposed to use. He accidentally knocked a tray of chemicals off the counter and made an orange mushroom cloud in the trash can. After Mrs. Tesla evacuated the lab and called the haz-ardous waste removal squad, she praised Tyson and me for being natural chemists.
We were the first ones who'd ever aced her exam in under thirty seconds. I was glad the morning went fast, because it kept me from thinking too much about my problems. I couldn't stand the idea that something might be wrong at camp. Even worse, I couldn't shake the memory of my bad dream. I had a terrible feeling that Grover was in danger.
She was wearing jeans and a denim jacket over her orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt. Her blond hair was pulled back in a bandanna. She was standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial with her arms crossed, looking extremely pleased with herself, like she'd personally designed the place.
See, Annabeth wants to be an architect when she grows up, so she's always visiting famous monuments and stuff. She's weird that way. She'd e-mailed me the picture after spring break, and every once in a while I'd look at it just to remind myself she was real and Camp Half-Blood hadn't just been my imagination.
I wished Annabeth were here. She'd know what to make of my dream. I'd never admit it to her, but she was smarter than me, even if she was annoying sometimes. I was about to close my notebook when Matt Sloan reached over and ripped the photo out of the rings. Sloan checked out the picture and his eyes got wide.
Who is that? She is not your—" "Give it back! Sloan handed the photo to his ugly buddies, who snick-ered and started ripping it up to make spit wads. They were new kids who must've been visiting, because they were all wearing those stupid HI! No human beings had names like that. Good thing I'm gonna put you out of your misery next period. I wanted to pulverize them, but I was under strict orders from Chiron never to take my anger out on regular mortals, no matter how obnoxious they were.
I had to save my fighting for monsters. Still, part of me thought, if Sloan only knew who I really was The bell rang. As Tyson and I were leaving class, a girl's voice whispered, "Percy! Like any girl at Meriwether would ever be caught dead calling my name. Before I had time to consider whether or not I'd been imagining things, a crowd of kids rushed for the gym, carrying Tyson and me along with them. It was time for PE. Our coach had promised us a free-for-all dodgeball game, and Matt Sloan had promised to kill me.
The gym uniform at Meriwether is sky blue shorts and tie-dyed T-shirts.
Fortunately, we did most of our athletic stuff inside, so we didn't have to jog through Tribeca looking like a bunch of boot-camp hippie children.
I changed as quickly as I could in the locker room because I didn't want to deal with Sloan. I was about to leave when Tyson called, "Percy? He was standing by the weight room door, clutching his gym clothes. I stood guard outside the door while he changed. I felt kind of awkward doing this, but he asked me to most days. I think it's because he's completely hairy and he's got weird scars on his back that I've never had the courage to ask him about.
Anyway, I'd learned the hard way that if people teased Tyson while he was dressing out, he'd get upset and start ripping the doors off lockers. When we got into the gym, Coach Nunley was sitting at his little desk reading Sports Illustrated. Nunley was about a million years old, with bifocals and no teeth and a greasy wave of gray hair.
He reminded me of the Oracle at Camp Half-Blood—which was a shriveled-up mummy—except Coach Nunley moved a lot less and he never billowed green smoke. Well, at least not that I'd observed. Matt Sloan said, "Coach, can I be captain? He made me the other team's captain, but it didn't matter who I picked, because all the jocks and the popular kids moved over to Sloan's side. So did the big group of visitors. On my side I had Tyson, Corey Bailer the computer geek, Raj Mandali the calculus whiz, and a half dozen other kids who always got harassed by Sloan and his gang.
Normally I would've been okay with just Tyson—he was worth half a team all by himself—but the visitors on Sloan's team were almost as tall and strong-looking as Tyson, and there were six of them. Matt Sloan spilled a cage full of balls in the middle of the gym.
I couldn't help wondering where they were from. Someplace where they fed kids raw meat and beat them with sticks. Sloan blew the coach's whistle and the game began. Sloan's team ran for the center line.
On my side, Raj Mandali yelled something in Urdu, probably "I have to go potty! Corey Bailer tried to crawl behind the wall mat and hide. The rest of my team did their best to cower in fear and not look like targets. I sat down hard in the mid-dle of the gym floor. The other team exploded in laughter. My eyesight was fuzzy. I felt like I'd just gotten the Heimlich maneuver from a gorilla. I couldn't believe any-body could throw that hard. Tyson yelled, "Percy, duck!
It hit the wall mat, and Corey Bailer yelped. Somehow, he looked a lot bigger now His biceps bulged beneath his T-shirt. I hope so!
Nobody called me Perseus except those who knew my true identity. What had Tyson said? They smell funny. All around Matt Sloan, the visitors were growing in size. They were no longer kids. They were eight-foot-tall giants with wild eyes, pointy teeth, and hairy arms tattooed with snakes and hula women and Valentine hearts. Matt Sloan dropped his ball. You're not from Detroit!
It streaked past Raj Mandali just as he was about to leave and hit the door, slamming it shut like magic. Raj and some of the other kids banged on it desperately but it wouldn't budge. The one called Joe Bob growled at me. He had a tattoo on his biceps that said: JB luvs Babycakes. No, Son of the Sea God. We Laistrygonians aren't just playing for your death. We want lunch! They were bronze, the size of cannon balls, perforated like wiffle balls with fire bubbling out the holes.
They must've been searing hot, but the giants picked them up with their bare hands.
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Nunley looked up sleepily, but if he saw anything abnormal about the dodgeball game, he didn't let on. That's the problem with mortals. A magical force called the Mist obscures the true appearance of monsters and gods from their vision, so mortals tend to see only what they can understand.
Maybe the coach saw a few eighth graders pounding the younger kids like usual. Maybe the other kids saw Matt Sloan's thugs getting ready to toss Molotov cock-tails around. It wouldn't have been the first time. At any rate, I was pretty sure nobody else realized we were dealing with genuine man-eating bloodthirsty monsters.
Mm-hmm," Coach muttered. The giant named Skull Eater threw his ball. I dove aside as the fiery bronze comet sailed past my shoulder. Tyson pulled him out from behind the exercise mat just as the ball exploded against it, blasting the mat to smoking shreds. My teammates scattered as it blasted a crater in the gym floor. I reached for Riptide, which I always kept in my pocket, but then I realized I was wearing gym shorts.
I had no pockets. Riptide was tucked in my jeans inside my gym locker. And the locker room door was sealed. I was com-pletely defenseless. Another fireball came streaking toward me.
Tyson pushed me out of the way, but the explosion still blew me head over heels. I found myself sprawled on the gym floor, dazed from smoke, my tie-dyed T-shirt peppered with sizzling holes.
Just across the center line, two hungry giants were glaring down at me. Both balls slammed into him Somehow Tyson, who was so clumsy he knocked over lab equipment and broke playground structures on a regu-lar basis, had caught two fiery metal balls speeding toward him at a zillion miles an hour. The giants disintegrated in twin columns of flame—a sure sign they were monsters, all right. Monsters don't die. They just dissipate into smoke and dust, which saves heroes a lot of trouble cleaning up after a fight.
He flexed his muscles and his Babycakes tattoo rippled. Tyson just had time to swat it aside. Kids were running around screaming, trying to avoid the sizzling craters in the floor. Others were banging on the door, calling for help. Sloan himself stood petrified in the middle of the court, watching in disbelief as balls of death flew around him.
Coach Nunley still wasn't seeing anything. He tapped his hearing aid like the explosions were giving him interfer-ence, but he kept his eyes on his magazine. Surely the whole school could hear the noise.
The head-master, the police, somebody would come help us.
The other three giants followed his lead. I knew we were dead. Tyson couldn't deflect all those balls at once. His hands had to be seriously burned from blocking the first volley. Without my sword I had a crazy idea. I ran toward the locker room. Tyson had batted two of the balls back toward their owners and blasted them to ashes. That left two giants still standing. A third ball hurtled straight at me. I forced myself to wait—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—then dove aside as the fiery sphere demolished the locker room door.
The wall blew apart. Locker doors, socks, athletic sup-porters, and other various nasty personal belongings rained all over the gym. I turned just in time to see Tyson punch Skull Eater in the face. The giant crumpled. But the last giant, Joe Bob, had wisely held on to his own ball, waiting for an opportunity.
He threw just as Tyson was turning to face him. The ball caught Tyson square in the chest. He slid the length of the court and slammed into the back wall, which cracked and partially crumbled on top of him, making a hole right onto Church Street. I didn't see how Tyson could still be alive, but he only looked dazed. The bronze ball was smoking at his feet. Tyson tried to pick it up, but he fell back, stunned, into a pile of cinder blocks.
I'll have enough meat to bring Babycakes a doggie bag! Riptide had to be around here somewhere. Then I spotted my jeans in a smoking heap of clothes right by the giant's feet. If I could only get there I knew it was hopeless, but I charged. The giant laughed. I braced myself to die. Suddenly the giant's body went rigid. His expression changed from gloating to surprise. Right where his belly button should've been, his T-shirt ripped open and he grew something like a horn—no, not a horn—the glowing tip of a blade.
The ball dropped out of his hand. The monster stared down at the knife that had just run him through from behind. He muttered, "Ow," and burst into a cloud of green flame, which I figured was going to make Babycakes pretty upset.
Standing in the smoke was my friend Annabeth.
Her face was grimy and scratched. She had a ragged backpack slung over her shoulder, her baseball cap tucked in her pocket, a bronze knife in her hand, and a wild look in her storm-gray eyes, like she'd just been chased a thousand miles by ghosts. Matt Sloan, who'd been standing there dumbfounded the whole time, finally came to his senses. He blinked at Annabeth, as if he dimly recognized her from my notebook picture.
That's the girl—" Annabeth punched him in the nose and knocked him flat. Kids were still running around screaming. I heard sirens wailing and a garbled voice over the intercom. Through the glass windows of the exit doors, I could see the headmaster, Mr. Bonsai, wres-tling with the lock, a crowd of teachers piling up behind him. The doors burst open and the adults came pouring in. Annabeth gave him a look of distaste that I didn't quite understand. That left me standing alone in the middle of the burn-ing gymnasium when the headmaster came charging in with half the faculty and a couple of police officers.
Bonsai said. He focused on me with a look of terror. He set the whole building on fire. Coach Nunley will tell you! He saw it all! I knew they would never believe me, even if I could tell them the truth. I grabbed Riptide out of my ruined jeans, told Tyson, "Come on!
She pulled Tyson and me off the sidewalk just as a fire truck screamed past, heading for Meriwether Prep. Now, under different circumstances, I would've been really happy to see her. We'd made our peace last summer, despite the fact that her mom was Athena and didn't get along with my dad.
I'd missed Annabeth probably more than I wanted to admit. But I'd just been attacked by cannibal giants, Tyson had saved my life three or four times, and all Annabeth could do was glare at him like he was the problem. He can hear you, you know. Why don't you ask him? I couldn't believe she was being so rude. I examined Tyson's hands, which I was sure must've been badly scorched by the flaming dodge balls, but they looked fine—grimy and scarred, with dirty fingernails the size of potato chips—but they always looked like that.
He tried to touch it, but she smacked his hand away. The monsters in the gym. They're a race of giant cannibals who live in the far north. Odysseus ran into them once, but I've never seen them as far south as New York before. What would you call them in English?
No, what about Grover? What were you dreaming about?
But what kind of trouble? Something's wrong. We have to get there right away. Monsters have been chasing me all the way from Virginia, trying to stop me. Have you had a lot of attacks? But how Son of the Sea God? I didn't know how I could explain, but I figured Tyson deserved the truth after almost getting killed.
They kind of follow Western Civilization around, living in the strongest countries, so like now they're in the U. And sometimes they have kids with mortals. Kids called half-bloods. And whenever monsters pick up our scent, they attack us. That's what those giants were in the gym. He didn't seem surprised or confused by what I was telling him, which surprised and confused me.
Now he looked confused. A police car raced past our alley. If he freaked out on a regular playground with reg-ular bullies, how would he act at a training camp for demigods? On the other hand, the cops would be looking for us. Now come on. Together the three of us sneaked through the side streets of downtown while a huge column of smoke billowed up behind us from my school gymnasium.
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She fished around in her backpack. Her chin was cut. Twigs and grass were tangled in her ponytail, as if she'd slept several nights in the open. The slashes on the hems of her jeans looked suspiciously like claw marks. All around us, sirens wailed. I figured it wouldn't be long before more cops cruised by, looking for juvenile delinquent gym-bombers.
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No doubt Matt Sloan had given them a statement by now. He'd probably twisted the story around so that Tyson and I were the bloodthirsty cannibals. Thank the gods. It had Zeus's likeness stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. She'd said: Stop, Chariot of Damnation! That didn't exactly make me feel real excited about whatever her plan was. She threw her coin into the street, but instead of clattering on the asphalt, the drachma sank right through and disappeared.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, just where the coin had fallen, the asphalt dark-ened. It melted into a rectangular pool about the size of a parking space—bubbling red liquid like blood. Then a car erupted from the ooze. It was a taxi, all right, but unlike every other taxi in New York, it wasn't yellow. It was smoky gray. I mean it looked like it was woven out of smoke, like you could walk right through it.
The passenger window rolled down, and an old woman stuck her head out. She had a mop of grizzled hair cover-ing her eyes, and she spoke in a weird mumbling way, like she'd just had a shot of Novocain. She opened the cab's back door and waved at me to get in, like this was all completely normal. What was it? Pick-on-Big-and-Ugly-Kids Day? Reluctantly I got in the cab. Tyson squeezed in the middle. Annabeth crawled in last. The interior was also smoky gray, but it felt solid enough.
The seat was cracked and lumpy— no different than most taxis. There was no Plexiglas screen separating us from the old lady driving Wait a minute. There wasn't just one old lady. There were three, all crammed in the front seat, each with stringy hair covering her eyes, bony hands, and a charcoal-colored sackcloth dress.
The one driving said, "Long Island! Out-of-metro fare bonus! A prerecorded voice came on over the speaker: Hi, this is Ganymede, cup-bearer to Zeus, and when I'm out downloading wine for the Lord of the Skies, I always buckle up!
I looked down and found a large black chain instead of a seat belt. I decided I wasn't that desperate The cab sped around the corner of West Broadway, and the gray lady sitting in the middle screeched, "Look out! Go left! Give her the eye? I didn't have time to ask questions because the driver swerved to avoid an oncoming delivery truck, ran over the curb with a jaw-rattling thump, and flew into the next block.
I want to bite it. The middle one, Tempest, screamed, "Red light! Instead, Wasp floored the accelerator and rode up on the curb, screeching around another corner, and knocking over a newspaper box.
She left my stomach somewhere back on Broome Street. I looked at Annabeth. One eye total. Anybody got a garbage bag or something? I looked over at Annabeth, who was hang-ing on for dear life, and I gave her a why-did-you-do-this-to-me look.
You remember him? That was three thousand years ago! That was your turn! She punched the gas and we shot up the Williamsburg Bridge at seventy miles an hour. The three sisters were fighting for real now, slapping each other as Anger tried to grab at Wasp's face and Wasp tried to grab at Tempest's. With their hair flying and their mouths open, screaming at each other, I realized that none of the sisters had any teeth except for Wasp, who had one mossy yellow incisor.
Instead of eyes, they just had closed, sunken eyelids, except for Anger, who had one bloodshot green eye that stared at everything hungrily, as if it couldn't get enough of anything it saw. Finally Anger, who had the advantage of sight, managed to yank the tooth out of her sister Wasp's mouth.
This made Wasp so mad she swerved toward the edge of the Williamsburg Bridge, yelling, "'Ivit back! They're really very wise. We were skimming along the edge of a bridge a hundred and thirty feet above the East River. Immediately her sisters pummeled her from either side, screaming, "Be quiet! Be quiet! He didn't even ask yet! I'm not seeking any—" "Nothing! It's nothing! There was a sickening pop and something flew out of Anger's face.
Anger fumbled for it, trying to catch it, but she only managed to bat it with the back of her hand. The slimy green orb sailed over her shoulder, into the backseat, and straight into my lap. I jumped so hard, my head hit the ceiling and the eyeball rolled away.
Get it! The whole car shud-dered, billowing gray smoke as if it were about to dissolve from the strain. Get the eye! We hurtled down the bridge toward Brooklyn, going faster than any human taxi.
The Gray Sisters screeched and pummeled each other and cried out for their eye. At last I steeled my nerves. I ripped off a chunk of my tie-dyed T-shirt, which was already falling apart from all the burn marks, and used it to pick the eyeball off the floor. Sure enough, trees and cars and whole neighborhoods were now zipping by in a gray blur.
We were already out of Brooklyn, heading through the middle of Long Island. We'll just keep accelerating until we break into a million pieces. Now give us the eye!
Almost to camp! I could see Half-Blood Hill ahead of us, with its giant pine tree at the crest—Thalia's tree, which contained the life force or a fallen hero. I threw the eye into Wasp's lap. The old lady snatched it up, pushed it into her eye socket like somebody putting in a contact lens, and blinked.
The taxi spun four or five times in a cloud of smoke and squealed to a halt in the middle of the farm road at the base of Half-Blood Hill.
Tyson let loose a huge belch. At the crest of the hill was a group of campers. And they were under attack. This time what I saw up there was even worse: two bulls.
And not just regular bulls—bronze ones the size of elephants. And even that wasn't bad enough. Naturally they had to breathe fire, too. As soon as we exited the taxi, the Gray Sisters peeled out, heading back to New York, where life was safer. They didn't even wait for their extra three-drachma payment. They just left us on the side of the road, Annabeth with nothing but her backpack and knife, Tyson and me still in our burned-up tie-dyed gym clothes.
What worried me most weren't the bulls themselves. Or the ten heroes in full battle armor who were getting their bronze-plated booties whooped.
What worried me was that the bulls were ranging all over the hill, even around the back side of the pine tree. That shouldn't have been possible. The camp's magic boundaries didn't allow monsters to cross past Thalia's tree. But the metal bulls were doing it anyway. One of the heroes shouted, "Border patrol, to me! Border patrol? I thought. The camp didn't have a border patrol.Do not think for a moment that the titan lord has forgotten you!
A strand of her stringy brown hair was smoldering, but she didn't seem to notice. Now the Hermes cabin was led by Travis and Connor Stoll. Then she went off to join her siblings from the Athena cabin—a dozen boys and girls with blond hair and gray eyes like hers. I'd always had a soft spot for the satyrs. This could be a trap of the titan lord. He sat down on the jungle gym so hard he bent the bar, and buried his head in his hands.
I lunged but Bull Number Two blew flames at me. He flexed his muscles and his Babycakes tattoo rippled. For a moment, nothing happened.