by Rick Riordan
‘Tyson …?’
She shook her head. ‘Percy, I’m really sorry.’
We were silent while the waves tossed us up and down.
‘He may have survived,’ she said half-heartedly. ‘I mean, fire can’t kill him.’
I nodded, but I had no reason to feel hopeful. I’d seen that explosion rip through solid iron. If Tyson had been down in the boiler room, there was no way he could’ve lived.
He’d given his life for us, and all I could think about were the times I’d felt embarrassed by him and had denied that the two of us were related.
Waves lapped at the boat. Annabeth showed me some things she’d salvaged from the wreckage – Hermes’s Flask (now empty), an airtight bag full of ambrosia, a couple of sailors’ shirts and a bottle of Dr Pepper. She’d fished me out of the water and found my knapsack, bitten in half by Scylla’s teeth. Most of my stuff had floated away, but I still had Hermes’s bottle of multivitamins, and of course I had Riptide. The ballpoint pen always appeared back in my pocket no matter where I lost it.
We sailed for hours. Now that we were in the Sea of Monsters, the water glittered a more brilliant green, like Hydra acid. The wind smelled fresh and salty, but it carried a strange metallic scent, too – as if a thunderstorm were coming. Or something even more dangerous. I knew what direction we needed to go. I knew we were exactly one hundred and thirteen nautical miles west by northwest of our destination. But that didn’t make me feel any less lost.
No matter which way we turned, the sun seemed to shine straight into my eyes. We took turns sipping from the Dr Pepper, shading ourselves with the sail as best we could. And we talked about my latest dream of Grover.
By Annabeth’s estimate, we had less than twenty-four hours to find Grover, assuming my dream was accurate, and assuming the Cyclops Polyphemus didn’t change his mind and try to marry Grover earlier.
‘Yeah,’ I said bitterly. ‘You can never trust a Cyclops.’
Annabeth stared across the water. ‘I’m sorry, Percy. I was wrong about Tyson, okay? I wish I could tell him that.’
I tried to stay mad at her, but it wasn’t easy. We’d been through a lot together. She’d saved my life plenty of times. It was stupid of me to resent her.
I looked down at our measly possessions – the empty wind Flask, the bottle of multivitamins. I thought about Luke’s look of rage when I’d tried to talk to him about his dad.
‘Annabeth, what’s Chiron’s prophecy?’
She pursed her lips. ‘Percy, I shouldn’t –’
‘I know Chiron promised the gods he wouldn’t tell me. But you didn’t promise, did you?’
‘Knowledge isn’t always good for you.’
‘Your mom is the wisdom goddess!’
‘I know! But every time heroes learn the future, they try to change it, and it never works.’
‘The gods are worried about something I’ll do when I get older,’ I guessed. ‘Something when I turn sixteen.’
Annabeth twisted her Yankees cap in her hands. ‘Percy, I don’t know the full prophecy, but it warns about a half-blood child of the Big Three – the next one who lives to the age of sixteen. That’s the real reason Zeus, Poseidon and Hades swore a pact after World War II not to have any more kids. The next child of the Big Three who reaches sixteen will be a dangerous weapon.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that hero will decide the fate of Olympus. He or she will make a decision that either saves the Age of the Gods, or destroys it.’
I let that sink in. I don’t get seasick, but suddenly I felt ill. ‘That’s why Kronos didn’t kill me last summer.’
She nodded. ‘You could be very useful to him. If he can get you on his side, the gods will be in serious trouble.’
‘But if it’s me in the prophecy –’
‘We’ll only know that if you survive three more years. That can be a long time for a half-blood. When Chiron first learned about Thalia, he assumed she was the one in the prophecy. That’s why he was so desperate to get her safely to camp. Then she went down fighting and got turned into a pine tree and none of us knew what to think. Until you came along.’
On our port side, a spiky green dorsal fin about five metres long curled out of the water and disappeared.
‘This kid in the prophecy … he or she couldn’t be like, a Cyclops?’ I asked. ‘The Big Three have lots of monster children.’
Annabeth shook her head. ‘The Oracle said “half-blood”. That always means half human, half god. There’s really nobody alive who it could be, except you.’
‘Then why do the gods even let me live? It would be safer to kill me.’
‘You’re right.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Percy, I don’t know. I guess some of the gods would like to kill you, but they’re probably afraid of offending Poseidon. Other gods … maybe they’re still watching you, trying to decide what kind of hero you’re going to be. You could be a weapon for their survival, after all. The real question is … what will you do in three years? What decision will you make?’
‘Did the prophecy give any hints?’
Annabeth hesitated.
Maybe she would’ve told me more, but just then a seagull swooped down out of nowhere and landed on our makeshift mast. Annabeth looked startled as the bird dropped a small cluster of leaves into her lap.
‘Land,’ she said. ‘There’s land nearby!’
I sat up. Sure enough, there was a line of blue and brown in the distance. Another minute and I could make out an island with a small mountain in the centre, a dazzling white collection of buildings, a beach dotted with palm trees and a harbour filled with a strange assortment of boats.
The current was pulling our rowboat towards what looked like a tropical paradise.
‘Welcome!’ said the lady with the clipboard.
She looked like a flight attendant – blue business suit, perfect makeup, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She shook our hands as we stepped onto the dock. With the dazzling smile she gave us, you would’ve thought we’d just got off the Princess Andromeda rather than a bashed-up rowboat.
Then again, our rowboat wasn’t the weirdest ship in port. Along with a bunch of pleasure yachts, there was a U.S. Navy submarine, several dugout canoes and an old-fashioned three-masted sailing ship. There was a helipad with a ‘Channel Five Fort Lauderdale’ helicopter on it, and a short runway with a Learjet and a propeller plane that looked like a World War II fighter. Maybe they were replicas for tourists to look at or something.
‘Is this your first time with us?’ the clipboard lady enquired.
Annabeth and I exchanged looks. Annabeth said, ‘Umm…’
‘First – time – at – spa,’ the lady said as she wrote on her clipboard. ‘Let’s see…’
She looked us up and down critically. ‘Mmm. An herbal wrap to start for the young lady. And of course, a complete makeover for the young gentleman.’
‘A what?’ I asked.
She was too busy jotting down notes to answer.
‘Right!’ she said with a breezy smile. ‘Well, I’m sure C.C. will want to speak with you personally before the luau. Come, please.’
Now here’s the thing. Annabeth and I were used to traps, and usually those traps looked good at first. So I expected the clipboard lady to turn into a snake or a demon, or something, any minute. But, on the other hand, we’d been floating in a rowboat for most of the day. I was hot, tired and hungry, and when this lady mentioned a luau, my stomach sat up on its hind legs and begged like a dog.
‘I guess it couldn’t hurt,’ Annabeth muttered.
Of course it could, but we followed the lady anyway. I kept my hands in my pockets where I’d stashed my only magic defences – Hermes’s multivitamins and Riptide – but the further we wandered into the resort, the more I forgot about them.
The place was amazing. There was white marble and blue water everywhere I looked. Terraces climbed up the side of the mountain, with swimming pool
s on every level, connected by waterslides and waterfalls and underwater tubes you could swim through. Fountains sprayed water into the air, forming impossible shapes, like flying eagles and galloping horses.
Tyson loved horses, and I knew he’d love those fountains. I almost turned around to see the expression on his face before I remembered: Tyson was gone.
‘You okay?’ Annabeth asked me. ‘You look pale.’
‘I’m okay,’ I lied. ‘Just … let’s keep walking.’
We passed all kinds of tame animals. A sea turtle napped in a stack of beach towels. A leopard stretched out asleep on the diving board. The resort guests – only young women, as far as I could see – lounged in deckchairs, drinking fruit smoothies or reading magazines while herbal gunk dried on their faces and manicurists in white uniforms did their nails.
As we headed up a staircase towards what looked like the main building, I heard a woman singing. Her voice drifted through the air like a lullaby. Her words were in some language other than Ancient Greek, but just as old – Minoan, maybe, or something like that. I could understand what she sang about – moonlight in the olive groves, the colours of the sunrise. And magic. Something about magic. Her voice seemed to lift me off the steps and carry me towards her.
We came into a big room where the whole front wall was windows. The back wall was covered in mirrors, so the room seemed to go on forever. There was a bunch of expensive-looking white furniture, and on a table in one corner was a large wire pet cage. The cage seemed out of place, but I didn’t think about it too much, because just then I saw the lady who’d been singing … and whoa.
She sat at a loom the size of a big screen TV, her hands weaving coloured thread back and forth with amazing skill. The tapestry shimmered like it was three-dimensional – a waterfall scene so real I could see the water moving and clouds drifting across a fabric sky.
Annabeth caught her breath. ‘It’s beautiful.’
The woman turned. She was even prettier than her fabric. Her long dark hair was braided with threads of gold. She had piercing green eyes and she wore a silky black dress with shapes that seemed to move in the fabric: animal shadows, black upon black, like deer running through a forest at night.
‘You appreciate weaving, my dear?’ the woman asked.
‘Oh, yes, ma’am!’ Annabeth said. ‘My mother is –’
She stopped herself. You couldn’t just go around announcing that your mom was Athena, the goddess who invented the loom. Most people would lock you in a rubber room.
Our hostess just smiled. ‘You have good taste, my dear. I’m so glad you’ve come. My name is C.C.’
The animals in the corner cage started squealing. They must’ve been guinea pigs, from the sound of them.
We introduced ourselves to C.C. She looked me over with a twinge of disapproval, as if I’d failed some kind of test. Immediately, I felt bad. For some reason, I really wanted to please this lady.
‘Oh dear,’ she sighed. ‘You do need my help.’
‘Ma’am?’ I asked.
C.C. called to the lady in the business suit. ‘Hylla, take Annabeth on a tour, will you? Show her what we have available. The clothing will need to change. And the hair, my goodness. We will do a full image consultation after I’ve spoken with this young gentleman.’
‘But…’ Annabeth’s voice sounded hurt. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’
C.C. smiled benevolently. ‘My dear, you are lovely. Really! But you’re not showing off yourself or your talents at all. So much wasted potential!’
‘Wasted?’
‘Well, surely you’re not happy the way you are! My goodness, there’s not a single person who is. But don’t worry. We can improve anyone here at the spa. Hylla will show you what I mean. You, my dear, need to unlock your true self!’
Annabeth’s eyes glowed with longing. I’d never seen her so much at a loss for words. ‘But … what about Percy?’
‘Oh, definitely,’ C.C. said, giving me a sad look. ‘Percy requires my personal attention. He needs much more work than you.’
Normally if somebody had told me that, I would’ve got angry, but when C.C. said it, I felt sad. I’d disappointed her. I had to figure out how to do better.
The guinea pigs squealed like they were hungry.
‘Well…’ Annabeth said. ‘I suppose…’
‘Right this way, dear,’ Hylla said. And Annabeth allowed herself to be led away into the waterfall-laced gardens of the spa.
C.C. took my arm and guided me towards the mirrored wall. ‘You see, Percy … to unlock your potential, you’ll need serious help. The first step is admitting that you’re not happy the way you are.’
I fidgeted in front of the mirror. I hated thinking about my appearance – like the first zit that had cropped up on my nose at the beginning of the school year, or the fact that my two front teeth weren’t perfectly even, or that my hair never stayed down straight.
C.C.’s voice brought all of these things to mind, as if she were passing me under a microscope. And my clothes were not cool. I knew that.
Who cares? part of me thought. But standing in front of C.C.’s mirror, it was hard to see anything good in myself.
‘There, there,’ C.C. consoled. ‘How about we try … this.’
She snapped her fingers and a sky-blue curtain rolled down over the mirror. It shimmered like the fabric on her loom.
‘What do you see?’ C.C. asked.
I looked at the blue cloth, not sure what she meant. ‘I don’t –’
Then it changed colours. I saw myself – a reflection, but not a reflection. Shimmering there on the cloth was a cooler version of Percy Jackson – with just the right clothes, a confident smile on my face. My teeth were straight. No zits. A perfect tan. More athletic. Maybe a couple of centimetres taller. It was me, without the faults.
‘Whoa,’ I managed.
‘Do you want that?’ C.C. asked. ‘Or shall I try a different –’
‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s … that’s amazing. Can you really –’
‘I can give you a full makeover,’ C.C. promised.
‘What’s the catch?’ I said. ‘I have to like … eat a special diet?’
‘Oh, it’s quite easy,’ C.C. said. ‘Plenty of fresh fruit, a mild exercise programme, and of course … this.’
She stepped over to her wet bar and filled a glass with water. Then she ripped open a drink-mix packet and poured in some red powder. The mixture began to glow. When it faded, the drink looked just like a strawberry milkshake.
‘One of these, substituted for a regular meal,’ C.C. said. ‘I guarantee you’ll see results immediately.’
‘How is that possible?’
She laughed. ‘Why question it? I mean, don’t you want the perfect you right away?’
Something nagged at the back of my mind. ‘Why are there no guys at this spa?’
‘Oh, but there are,’ C.C. assured me. ‘You’ll meet them quite soon. Just try the mixture. You’ll see.’
I looked at the blue tapestry, at the reflection of me, but not me.
‘Now, Percy,’ C.C. chided. ‘The hardest part of the makeover process is giving up control. You have to decide: do you want to trust your judgement about what you should be, or my judgement?’
My throat felt dry. I heard myself say, ‘Your judgement.’
C.C. smiled and handed me the glass. I lifted it to my lips.
It tasted just like it looked – like a strawberry milkshake. Almost immediately a warm feeling spread through my gut: pleasant at first, then painfully hot, searing, as if the mixture were coming to a boil inside me.
I doubled over and dropped the cup. ‘What have you … what’s happening?’
‘Don’t worry, Percy,’ C.C. said. ‘The pain will pass. Look! As I promised. Immediate results.’
Something was horribly wrong.
The curtain dropped away, and in the mirror I saw my hands shrivelling, curling, growing long delicate claws. Fur sprouted on my face
, under my shirt, in every uncomfortable place you can imagine. My teeth felt too heavy in my mouth. My clothes were getting too big, or C.C. was getting too tall – no, I was shrinking.
In one awful flash, I sank into a cavern of dark cloth. I was buried in my own shirt. I tried to run but hands grabbed me – hands as big as I was. I tried to scream for help, but all that came out of my mouth was, ‘Reeet, reeet, reeet!’
The giant hands squeezed me around the middle, lifting me into the air. I struggled and kicked with legs and arms that seemed much too stubby, and then I was staring, horrified, into the enormous face of C.C.
‘Perfect!’ her voice boomed. I squirmed in alarm, but she only tightened her grip around my furry belly. ‘See, Percy? You’ve unlocked your true self!’
She held me up to the mirror, and what I saw made me scream in terror, ‘Reeet, reeet, reeet!’ There was C.C., beautiful and smiling, holding a fluffy, bucktoothed creature with tiny claws and white-and-orange fur. When I twisted, so did the furry critter in the mirror. I was … I was…
‘A guinea pig,’ C.C. said. ‘Lovely, aren’t you? Men are pigs, Percy Jackson. I used to turn them into real pigs, but they were so smelly and large and difficult to keep. Not much different than they were before, really. Guinea pigs are much more convenient! Now come, and meet the other men.’
‘Reeet!’ I protested, trying to scratch her, but C.C. squeezed me so tight I almost blacked out.
‘None of that, little one,’ she scolded, ‘or I’ll feed you to the owls. Go into the cage like a good little pet. Tomorrow, if you behave, you’ll be on your way. There is always a classroom in need of a new guinea pig.’
My mind was racing as fast as my tiny little heart. I needed to get back to my clothes, which were lying in a heap on the floor. If I could do that, I could get Riptide out of my pocket and … And what? I couldn’t uncap the pen. Even if I did, I couldn’t hold the sword.
I squirmed helplessly as C.C. brought me over to the guinea pig cage and opened the wire door.
‘Meet my discipline problems, Percy,’ she warned. ‘They’ll never make good classroom pets, but they might teach you some manners. Most of them have been in this cage for three hundred years. If you don’t want to stay with them permanently, I’d suggest you –’
