The Last Olympian, Page 8

Page 8

 

  Oh, and according to the ancient prophecy, I was going to die when I turned sixteen—which happened to be in five days, the exact same time Typhon was supposed to hit New York. Almost forgot that.

  "Well," Chiron said, "I think thats enough for one night. "

  He waved his hand and the steam dissipated. The stormy battle of Typhon and the gods disappeared.

  "Thats an understatement," I muttered.

  And the war council adjourned.

  FOUR

  WE BURN A METAL

  SHROUD

  I dreamed Rachel Elizabeth Dare was throwing darts at my picture.

  She was standing in her room . . . Okay, back up. I have to explain that Rachel doesnt have a room. She has the top floor of her familys mansion, which is a renovated brownstone in Brooklyn. Her "room" is a huge loft with industrial lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows. Its about twice as big as my moms apartment.

  Some alt rock was blaring from her paint-covered Bose docking system. As far as I could tell, Rachels only rule about music was that no two songs on her iPod could sound the same, and they all had to be strange.

  She wore a kimono, and her hair was frizzy, like shed been sleeping. Her bed was messed up. Sheets hung over a bunch of artists easels. Dirty clothes and old energy bar wrappers were strewn around the floor, but when youve got a room that big, the mess doesnt look so bad. Out the windows you could see the entire nighttime skyline of Manhattan.

  The picture she was attacking was a painting of me standing over the giant Antaeus. Rachel had painted it a couple of months ago. My expression in the picture was fierce—disturbing, even—so it was hard to tell if I was the good guy or the bad guy, but Rachel said Id looked just like that after the battle.

  "Demigods," Rachel muttered as she threw another dart at the canvas. "And their stupid quests. "

  Most of the darts bounced off, but a few stuck. One hung off my chin like a goatee.

  Someone pounded on her bedroom door.

  "Rachel!" a man shouted. "What in the world are you doing? Turn off that—"

  Rachel scooped up her remote control and shut off the music. "Come in!"

  Her dad walked in, scowling and blinking from the light. He had rust-colored hair a little darker than Rachels. It was smushed on one side like hed lost a fight with his pillow. His blue silk pajamas had "WD" monogrammed on the pocket. Seriously, who has monogrammed pajamas?

  "What is going on?" he demanded. "Its three in the morning. "

  "Couldnt sleep," Rachel said.

  On the painting, a dart fell off my face. Rachel hid the rest behind her back, but Mr. Dare noticed.

  "So . . . I take it your friend isnt coming to St. Thomas?" Thats what Mr. Dare called me. Never Percy. Just your friend. Or young man if he was talking to me, which he rarely did.

  Rachel knit her eyebrows. "I dont know. "

  "We leave in the morning," her dad said. "If he hasnt made up his mind yet—"

  "Hes probably not coming," Rachel said miserably. "Happy?"

  Mr. Dare put his hands behind his back. He paced the room with a stern expression. I imagined he did that in the boardroom of his land development company and made his employees nervous.

  "Are you still having bad dreams?" he asked. "Headaches?"

  Rachel threw her darts on the floor. "I should never have told you about that. "

  "Im your father," he said. "Im worried about you. "

  "Worried about the familys reputation," Rachel muttered.

  Her father didnt react—maybe because hed heard that comment before, or maybe because it was true.

  "We could call Dr. Arkwright," he suggested. "He helped you get through the death of your hamster. "

  "I was six then," she said. "And no, Dad, I dont need a therapist. I just . . . " She shook her head helplessly.

  Her father stopped in front of the windows. He gazed at the New York skyline as if he owned it—which wasnt true. He only owned part of it.

  "It will be good for you to get away," he decided. "Youve had some unhealthy influences. "

  "Im not going to Clarion Ladies Academy," Rachel said. "And my friends are none of your business. "

  Mr. Dare smiled, but it wasnt a warm smile. It was more like, Someday youll realize how silly you sound.

  "Try to get some sleep," he urged. "Well be at the beach by tomorrow night. It will be fun. "

  "Fun," Rachel repeated. "Lots of fun. "

  Her father exited the room. He left the door open behind him.

  Rachel stared at the portrait of me. Then she walked to the easel next to it, which was covered in a sheet.

  "I hope theyre dreams," she said.

  She uncovered the easel. On it was a hastily sketched charcoal, but Rachel was a good artist. The picture was definitely Luke as a young boy. He was about nine years old, with a wide grin and no scar on his face. I had no idea how Rachel couldve known what he looked like back then, but the portrait was so good I had a feeling she wasnt guessing. From what I knew about Lukes life (which wasnt much), the picture showed him just before hed found out he was a half-blood and had run away from home.

  Rachel stared at the portrait. Then she uncovered the next easel. This picture was even more disturbing. It showed the Empire State Building with lightning all around it. In the distance a dark storm was brewing, with a huge hand coming out of the clouds. At the base of the building a crowd had gathered . . . but it wasnt a normal crowd of tourists and pedestrians. I saw spears, javelins, and banners—the trappings of an army.

  "Percy," Rachel muttered, as if she knew I was listening, "what is going on?"

  The dream faded, and the last thing I remember was wishing I could answer her question.

  The next morning, I wanted to call her, but there were no phones at camp. Dionysus and Chiron didnt need a landline. They just called Olympus with an Iris-message whenever they needed something. And when demigods use cell phones, the signals agitate every monster within a hundred miles. Its like sending up a flare: Here I am! Please rearrange my face! Even within the safe borders of camp, thats not the kind of advertising we wanted to do.

  Most demigods (except for Annabeth and a few others) dont even own cell phones. And I definitely couldnt tell Annabeth, "Hey, let me borrow your phone so I can call Rachel!" To make the call, I wouldve had to leave camp and walk several miles to the nearest convenience store. Even if Chiron let me go, by the time I got there, Rachel wouldve been on the plane to St. Thomas.

  I ate a depressing breakfast by myself at the Poseidon table. I kept staring at the fissure in the marble floor where two years ago Nico had banished a bunch of bloodthirsty skeletons to the Underworld. The memory didnt exactly improve my appetite.

  After breakfast, Annabeth and I walked down to inspect the cabins. Actually, it was Annabeths turn for inspection. My morning chore was to sort through reports for Chiron. But since we both hated our jobs, we decided to do them together so it wouldnt be so heinous.

  We started at the Poseidon cabin, which was basically just me. Id made my bunk bed that morning (well, sort of) and straightened the Minotaur horn on the wall, so I gave myself a four out of five.

  Annabeth made a face. "Youre being generous. " She used the end of her pencil to pick up an old pair of running shorts.

  I snatched them away. "Hey, give me a break. I dont have Tyson cleaning up after me this summer. "

  "Three out of five," Annabeth said. I knew better than to argue, so we moved along.

  I tried to skim through Chirons stack of reports as we walked. There were messages from demigods, nature spirits, and satyrs all around the country, writing about the latest monster activity. They were pretty depressing, and my ADHD brain did not like concentrating on depressing stuff.

  Little battles were raging everywhere. Camp recruitment was down to zero. Satyrs were having trouble finding new demigods and bringing them to Half-Blood Hill because so many monsters were roaming the country.
Our friend Thalia, who led the Hunters of Artemis, hadnt been heard from in months, and if Artemis knew what had happened to them, she wasnt sharing information.

  We visited the Aphrodite cabin, which of course got a five out of five. The beds were perfectly made. The clothes in everyones footlockers were color coordinated. Fresh flowers bloomed on the windowsills. I wanted to dock a point because the whole place reeked of designer perfume, but Annabeth ignored me.

  "Great job as usual, Silena," Annabeth said.

  Silena nodded listlessly. The wall behind her bed was decorated with pictures of Beckendorf. She sat on her bunk with a box of chocolates on her lap, and I remembered that her dad owned a chocolate store in the Village, which was how hed caught the attention of Aphrodite.

  "You want a bonbon?" Silena asked. "My dad sent them. He thought—he thought they might cheer me up. "

  "Are they any good?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "They taste like cardboard. "

  I didnt have anything against cardboard, so I tried one. Annabeth passed. We promised to see Silena later and kept going.

  As we crossed the commons area, a fight broke out between the Ares and Apollo cabins. Some Apollo campers armed with firebombs flew over the Ares cabin in a chariot pulled by two pegasi. Id never seen the chariot before, but it looked like a pretty sweet ride. Soon, the roof of the Ares cabin was burning, and naiads from the canoe lake rushed over to blow water on it.

  Then the Ares campers called down a curse, and all the Apollo kids arrows turned to rubber. The Apollo kids kept shooting at the Ares kids, but the arrows bounced off.

  Two archers ran by, chased by an angry Ares kid who was yelling in poetry: "Curse me, eh? Ill make you pay! / I dont want to rhyme all day!"

  Annabeth sighed. "Not that again. Last time Apollo cursed a cabin, it took a week for the rhyming couplets to wear off. "

  I shuddered. Apollo was god of poetry as well as archery, and Id heard him recite in person. Id almost rather yet shot by an arrow.

  "What are they fighting about anyway?" I asked.

  Annabeth ignored me while she scribbled on her inspection scroll, giving both cabins a one out of five.

  I found myself staring at her, which was stupid since Id seen her a billion times. She and I were about the same height this summer, which was a relief. Still, she seemed so much more mature. It was kind of intimidating. I mean, sure, shed always been cute, but she was starting to be seriously beautiful.

  Finally she said, "That flying chariot. "

  "What?"

  "You asked what they were fighting about. "

  "Oh. Oh, right. "

  "They captured it in a raid in Philadelphia last week. Some of Lukes demigods were there with that flying chariot. The Apollo cabin seized it during the battle, but the Ares cabin led the raid. So theyve been fighting about who gets it ever since. "

  We ducked as Michael Yews chariot dive-bombed an Ares camper. The Ares camper tried to stab him and cuss him out in rhyming couplets. He was pretty creative about rhyming those cuss words.

  "Were fighting for our lives," I said, "and theyre bickering about some stupid chariot. "