I managed a step forward. Then another, still leaning heavily on Annabeth. Argus followed us outside, but he kept his distance.
By the time we reached the porch, my face was beaded with sweat. My stomach had twisted into knots. But I had managed to make it all the way to the railing.
It was dusk. The camp looked completely deserted. The cabins were dark and the volleyball pit silent. No canoes cut the surface of the lake. Beyond the woods and the strawberry fields, the Long Island Sound glittered in the last light of the sun.
“What are you going to do?” Annabeth asked me.
“I don’t know.”
I told her I got the feeling Chiron wanted me to stay year-round, to put in more individual training time, but I wasn’t sure that’s what I wanted. I admitted I’d feel bad about leaving her alone, though, with only Clarisse for company.…
Annabeth pursed her lips, then said quietly, “I’m going home for the year, Percy.”
I stared at her. “You mean, to your dad’s?”
She pointed toward the crest of Half-Blood Hill. Next to Thalia’s pine tree, at the very edge of the camp’s magical boundaries, a family stood silhouetted—two little children, a woman, and a tall man with blond hair. They seemed to be waiting. The man was holding a backpack that looked like the one Annabeth had gotten from Waterland in Denver.
“I wrote him a letter when we got back,” Annabeth said. “Just like you suggested. I told him…I was sorry. I’d come home for the school year if he still wanted me. He wrote back immediately. We decided…we’d give it another try.”
“That took guts.”
She pursed her lips. “You won’t try anything stupid during the school year, will you? At least…not without sending me an Iris-message?”
I managed a smile. “I won’t go looking for trouble. I usually don’t have to.”
“When I get back next summer,” she said, “we’ll hunt down Luke. We’ll ask for a quest, but if we don’t get approval, we’ll sneak off and do it anyway. Agreed?”
“Sounds like a plan worthy of Athena.”
She held out her hand. I shook it.
“Take care, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth told me. “Keep your eyes open.”
“You too, Wise Girl.”
I watched her walk up the hill and join her family. She gave her father an awkward hug and looked back at the valley one last time. She touched Thalia’s pine tree, then allowed herself to be led over the crest and into the mortal world.
For the first time at camp, I felt truly alone. I looked out at Long Island Sound and I remembered my father saying, The sea does not like to be restrained.
I made my decision.
I wondered, if Poseidon were watching, would he approve of my choice?
“I’ll be back next summer,” I promised him. “I’ll survive until then. After all, I am your son.” I asked Argus to take me down to cabin three, so I could pack my bags for home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Without the assistance of numerous valiant helpers, I would have been slain by monsters many times over as I endeavored to bring this story to print. Thanks to my elder son, Haley Michael, who heard the story first; my younger son, Patrick John, who at the age of six is the levelheaded one in the family; and my wife, Becky, who puts up with my many long hours at Camp Half-Blood. Thanks also to my cadre of middle-school beta testers: Travis Stoll, clever and quick as Hermes; C. C. Kellogg, beloved as Athena; Allison Bauer, clear-eyed as Artemis the Huntress; and Mrs. Margaret Floyd, the wise and kindly seer of middle-school English. My appreciation also to Professor Egbert J. Bakker, classicist extraordinaire; Nancy Gallt, agent summa cum laude; Jonathan Burnham, Jennifer Besser, and Sarah Hughes for believing in Percy.
Keep reading for a preview of The Sea of Monsters, the next book in the Percy Jackson and the Olympians series!
ONE
MY BEST FRIEND SHOPS FOR A WEDDING DRESS
My nightmare started like this.
I was standing on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink and yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned.
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 unhuman 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…something.
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 dead-end 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. AUGUSTINE BRIDAL BOUTIQUE.
Grover dashed inside. He dove behind a rack of wedding 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. The entire front of the store exploded, and a monstrous voice bellowed: “MIIIIINE!”
I sat bolt upright, shivering in my bed.
There was no storm. No monster.
Morning sunlight filtered through my bedroom window.
I thought I saw a shadow flicker across the glass—a humanlike shape. But then there was a knock on my bedroom 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…there couldn’t have been anyone out there.