The Son of Natune

had strangled a sea monster in the Carquinez Strait. If he could reach the bay, he might be

able to make a last stand. Maybe he could even drown the gorgons. But the shore was at

least two miles away. He'd have to cross an entire city.

He hesitated for another reason. The she-wolf Lupa had taught him to sharpen his

senses—to trust the instincts that had been guiding him south. His homing radar was

tingling like crazy now. The end of his journey was close—almost right under his feet. But

how could that be? There was nothing on the hilltop.

The wind changed. Percy caught the sour scent of reptile. A hundred yards down the

slope, something rustled through the woods—snapping branches, crunching leaves,

hissing.

Gorgons.

For the millionth time, Percy wished their noses weren't so good. They had always

said they could smell him because he was a demigod—the half-blood son of some old

Roman god. Percy had tried rolling in mud, splashing through creeks, even keeping air-

freshener sticks in his pockets so he'd have that new car smell; but apparently demigod

stink was hard to mask.

He scrambled to the west side of the summit. It was too steep to descend. The slope

plummeted eighty feet, straight to the roof of an apartment complex built into the hillside.

Fifty feet below that, a highway emerged from the hill's base and wound its way toward

Berkeley.

Great. No other way off the hill. He'd managed to get himself cornered.

He stared at the stream of cars flowing wesTHE SNAKE-HAIRED LADIES WERE starting to annoy Percy.

They should have died three days ago when he dropped a crate of bowling balls on

them at the Napa Bargain Mart. They should have died two days ago when he ran over

them with a police car in Martinez. They definitely should have died this morning when he

cut off their heads in Tilden Park.

No matter how many times Percy killed them and watched them crumble to powder,

they just kept re-forming like large evil dust bunnies. He couldn't even seem to outrun

them.

He reached the top of the hill and caught his breath. How long since he'd last killed

them? Maybe two hours. They never seemed to stay dead longer than that.

The past few days, he'd hardly slept. He'd eaten whatever he could scrounge—

vending machine gummi bears, stale bagels, even a Jack in the Crack burrito, which was a

new personal low. His clothes were torn, burned, and splattered with monster slime.

He'd only survived this long because the two snake-haired-ladies—gorgons, they

called themselves—couldn't seem to kill him either. Their claws didn't cut his skin. Their

teeth broke whenever they tried to bite him. But Percy couldn't keep going much longer.

Soon he'd collapse from exhaustion, and then—as hard as he was to kill, he was pretty

sure the gorgons would find a way.

Where to run?

He scanned his surroundings. Under different circumstances, he might've enjoyed the

view. To his left, golden hills rolled inland, dotted with lakes, woods, and You're going native! Now, put down that ridiculous tray and help me kill this

demigod. Or have you forgotten that he's the one who vaporized Medusa?"

Percy stepped back. Six more inches, and he'd be tumbling through thin air. "Look,

ladies, we've been over this. I don't even remember killing Medusa. I don't remember

anything! Can't we just call a truce and talk about your weekly specials?"

Stheno gave her sister a pouty look, which was hard to do with giant bronze tusks.

"Can we?"

"No!" Euryale's red eyes bored into Percy. "I don't care what you remember, son of

the sea god. I can smell Medusa's blood on you. It's faint, yes, several years old, but you

were the last one to defeat her. She still has not returned from Tartarus. It's your fault!"

Percy didn't really get that. The whole "dying then returning from Tartarus" concept

gave him a headache. Of course, so did the idea that a ballpoint pen could turn into a

sword, or that monsters could disguise themselves with something called the Mist, or that

Percy was the son of a barnacle-encrusted god from five thousand years ago. But he did

believe it. Even though his memory was erased, he knew he was a demigod the same way

he knew his name was Percy Jackson. From his very first conversation with Lupa the

wolf, he'd accepted that this crazy messed-up world of gods and monsters was his reality.

Which pretty much sucked.

"How about we call it a draw?" he said. "I can't kill you. You can't kill me. If you're

Medusbunch of strange clay beads. Riptide had been in his hand, but Percy had had no idea how

he'd gotten there, and only the vaguest idea who he was. He'd been barefoot, freezing, and

confused. And then the wolves came….

Right next to him, a familiar voice jolted him back to the present: "There you are!"

Percy stumbled away from the gorgon, almost falling off the edge of the hill.

It was the smiley one—Beano.

Okay, her name wasn't really Beano. As near as Percy could figure, he was dyslexic,

because words got twisted around when he tried to read. The first time he'd seen the

gorgon, posing as a Bargain Mart greeter with a big green button that read: Welcome! My

name is STHENO, he'd thought it said BEANO.

She was still wearing her green Bargain Mart employee vest over a flower-print dress.

If you looked just at her body, you might think she was somebody's dumpy old

grandmother—until you looked down and realized she had rooster feet. Or you looked up

and saw bronze boar tusks sticking out of the corners of her mouth. Her eyes glowed red,

and her hair was a writhing nest of bright green snakes.

The most horrible thing about her? She was still holding her big silver platter of free

samples: Crispy Cheese 'n' Wieners. Her platter was dented from all the times Percyhad

killed her, but those little samples looked perfectly fine. Stheno just kept toting them

across California so she could offer Percy a snack before she killed him. Percy didn't

know why she kept doing THE THING ABOUT PLUMMETING DOWNHILL at fifty miles an hour on a snack platter—if

you realize it's a bad idea when you're halfway down, it's too late.

Percy narrowly missed a tree, glanced off a boulder, and spun a three-sixty as he shot

toward the highway. The stupid snack tray did not have power steering. He heard the

gorgon sisters screaming and caught a glimpse of Euryale's coral-snake hair at the top of

the hill, but he didn't have time to worry about it. The roof of the apartment building

loomed below him like the prow of a battleship. Head-on collision in ten, nine, eight…

He managed to swivel sideways to avoid breaking his legs on impact. The snack

platter skittered across the roof and sailed through the air. The platter went one way. Percy

went the other.

As he fell toward the highway, a horrible scenario flashed through his mind: his body

smashing against an SUV's windshield, some annoyed commuter trying to push him off

with the wipers. Stupid sixteen-year-old kid falling from the sky! I'm late!

Miraculously, a gust of wind blew him to one side—just enough to miss the highway

and crash into a clump of bushes. It wasn't a soft landing, but it was better than asphalt.

Percy groaned. He wanted to lie there and pass out, but he had to keep moving.

He struggled to his feet. His hands were scratched up, but no bones seemed to be

broken. He still had his backpack. Somewhere on the sled ride he'd lost his sword, but

Percy knew it would eventually reappear Hmm…

"Reconsidering?" Stheno asked. "Very wise, dear. I added some gorgon's blood to

these, so your death will be quick and painless."

Percy's throat constricted. "You added your blood to the Cheese 'n' Wieners?"

"Just a little." Stheno smiled. "A tiny nick on my arm, but you're sweet to be

concerned. Blood from our right side can cure anything, you know, but blood from our left

side is deadly—"

"You dimwit!" Euryale screeched. "You're not supposed to tell him that! He won't eat

the wieners if you tell him they're poisoned!"

Stheno looked stunned. "He won't? But I said it would be quick and painless."

"Never mind!" Euryale's fingernails grew into claws. "We'll kill him the hard way—

just keep slashing until we find the weak spot. Once we defeat Percy Jackson, we'll be

more famous than Medusa! Our patron will reward us greatly!"

Percy gripped his sword. He'd have to time his move perfectly—a few seconds of

confusion, grab the platter with his left hand…

Keep them talking, he thought.

"Before you slash me to bits," he said, "who's this patron you mentioned?"

Euryale sneered. "The goddess Gaea, of course! The one who brought us back from

oblivion! You won't live long enough to meet her, but your friends below will soon face

her wrath. Even now, her armies are marching south. At the Feast of Fortune, she'll

awaken, and the demigods will be cut down like—like—"

"Like our low prices at Bargain Mart!" Stheno suggested.

"Gah!" Euryale stormed toward her sister."Oh, you can call me June." The old lady's eyes sparkled as if she'd made an excellent

joke. "It is June, isn't it? They named the month after me!"

"Okay…Look, I should go. Two gorgons are coming. I don't want them to hurt you."

June clasped her hands over her heart. "How sweet! But that's part of your choice!"

"My choice…" Percy glanced nervously toward the hill. The gorgons had taken off

their green vests. Wings sprouted from their backs—small bat wings, which glinted like

brass.

Since when did they have wings? Maybe they were ornamental. Maybe they were too

small to get a gorgon into the air. Then the two sisters leaped off the apartment building

and soared toward him.

Great. Just great.

"Yes, a choice," June said, as if she were in no hurry. "You could leave me here at the

mercy of the gorgons and go to the ocean. You'd make it there safely, I guarantee. The

gorgons will be quite happy to attack me and let you go. In the sea, no monster would

bother you. You could begin a new life, live to a ripe old age, and escape a great deal of

pain and misery that is in your future."

Percy was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the second option. "Or?"

"Or you could do a good deed for an old lady," she said. "Carry me to the camp with

you."

"Carry you?" Percy hoped she was kidding. Then June hiked up her skirts and showed

him her swollen purple feet.

"I can't get there by myself," she said. "Carry me to camp—across the highway,

through the tunnel, across the rcement wall jutted from the hillside, with a metal door like the entrance to a bunker.

It might have been a maintenance tunnel. That's probably what mortals thought, if they

noticed the door at all. But they couldn't see through the Mist. Percy knew the door was

more than that.

Two kids in armor flanked the entrance. They wore a bizarre mix of plumed Roman

helmets, breastplates, scabbards, blue jeans, purple T-shirts, and white athletic shoes. The

guard on the right looked like a girl, though it was hard to tell for sure with all the armor.

The one on the left was a stocky guy with a bow and quiver on his back. Both kids held

long wooden staffs with iron spear tips, like old-fashioned harpoons.

Percy's internal radar was pinging like crazy. After so many horrible days, he'd finally

reached his goal. His instincts told him that if he could make it inside that door, he might

find safety for the first time since the wolves had sent him south.

So why did he feel such dread?

Farther up the hill, the gorgons were scrambling over the roof of the apartment

complex. Three minutes away—maybe less.

Part of him wanted to run to the door in the hill. He'd have to cross to the median of

the highway, but then it would be a short sprint. He could make it before the gorgons

reached him.

Part of him wanted to head west to the ocean. That's where he'd be safest. That's

where his power would be greatest. Those Roman guards at the door made him uneasy.

Something inside him salaunched back into the air.

Percy reached the door. "Thanks," he told the guards. "Good shot."

"That should've killed her!" the archer protested.

"Welcome to my world," Percy muttered.

"Frank," the girl said. "Get them inside, quick! Those are gorgons."

"Gorgons?" The archer's voice squeaked. It was hard to tell much about him under the

helmet, but he looked stout like a wrestler, maybe fourteen or fifteen. "Will the door hold

them?"

In Percy's arms, June cackled. "No, no it won't. Onward, Percy Jackson! Through the

tunnel, over the river!"

"Percy Jackson?" The female guard was darker-skinned, with curly hair sticking out

the sides of her helmet. She looked younger than Frank—maybe thirteen. Her sword

scabbard came down almost to her ankle. Still, she sounded like she was the one in charge.

"Okay, you're obviously a demigod. But who's the—?" She glanced at June. "Never mind.

Just get inside. I'll hold them off."

"Hazel," the boy said. "Don't be crazy."

"Go!" she demanded.

Frank cursed in another language—was that Latin?—and opened the door. "Come

on!"

Percy followed, staggering under the weight of the old lady, who was definitely getting

heavier. He didn't know how that girl Hazel would hold off the gorgons by herself, but he

was too tired to argue.

The tunnel cut through solid rock, about the width and height of a school hallway. At

first, it looked like a typical maintenance tunnel, with electric cables, warning signs, and

fuse boxes on the walls, lwoman, trying to figure out who the new player was before they struck.

"What about those guards at the door?" Percy asked.

June smiled. "Oh, they'll let you in, dear. You can trust those two. So, what do you

say? Will you help a defenseless old woman?"

Percy doubted June was defenseless. At worst, this was a trap. At best, it was some

kind of test.

Percy hated tests. Since he'd lost his memory, his whole life was one big fill-in-the-

blank. He was ____________________, from ____________________. He felt like

____________________, and if the monsters caught him, he'd be

____________________.

Then he thought about Annabeth, the only part of his old life he was sure about. He

had to find her.

"I'll carry you." He scooped up the old woman.

She was lighter than he expected. Percy tried to ignore her sour breath and her

calloused hands clinging to his neck. He made it across the first lane of traffic. A driver

honked. Another yelled something that was lost in the wind. Most just swerved and looked

irritated, as if they had to deal with a lot of ratty teenagers carrying old hippie women

across the freeway here in Berkeley.

A shadow fell over him. Stheno called down gleefully, "Clever boy! Found a goddess

to carry, did you?"

A goddess?

June cackled with delight, muttering, "Whoops!" as a car almost killed them.

Somewhere off to his left, Euryale screamed, "Get them! Two prizes are better than

one!"

Percy bolted across the remaining lanes. Somehow he made it "I slowed them down," she said. "But they'll be here any second."

Frank cursed. "We have to get across the river."

June squeezed Percy's neck tighter. "Oh, yes, please. I can't get my dress wet."

Percy bit his tongue. If this lady was a goddess, she must've been the goddess of

smelly, heavy, useless hippies. But he'd come this far. He'd better keep lugging her along.

It's a kindness, she'd said. And if you don't, the gods will die, the world we know will

perish, and everyone from your old life will be destroyed.

If this was a test, he couldn't afford to get an F.

He stumbled a few times as they ran for the river. Frank and Hazel kept him on his

feet.

They reached the riverbank, and Percy stopped to catch his breath. The current was

fast, but the river didn't look deep. Only a stone's throw across stood the gates of the fort.

"Go, Hazel." Frank nocked two arrows at once. "Escort Percy so the sentries don't

shoot him. It's my turn to hold off the baddies."

Hazel nodded and waded into the stream.

Percy started to follow, but something made him hesitate. Usually he loved the water,

but this river seemed…powerful, and not necessarily friendly.

"The Little Tiber," said June sympathetically. "It flows with the power of the original

Tiber, river of the empire. This is your last chance to back out, child. The mark of Achilles

is a Greek blessing. You can't retain it if you cross into Roman territory. The Tiber will

wash it away."

Percy was too exhausted to undersJune chuckled. "All roads lead there, child. You should know that."

"Detention?" Percy asked.

"Rome, child," the old woman said. "Rome."

Percy wasn't sure he'd heard her right. True, his memory was gone. His brain hadn't

felt right since he had woken up at the Wolf House. But he was pretty sure Rome wasn't in

California.

They kept running. The glow at the end of the tunnel grew brighter, and finally they

burst into sunlight.

Percy froze. Spread out at his feet was a bowl-shaped valley several miles wide. The

basin floor was rumpled with smaller hills, golden plains, and stretches of forest. A small

clear rivercut a winding course from a lake in the center and around the perimeter, like a

capital G.

The geography could've been anywhere in northern California—live oaks and

eucalyptus trees, gold hills and blue skies. That big inland mountain—what was it called,

Mount Diablo?—rose in the distance, right where it should be.

But Percy felt like he'd stepped into a secret world. In the center of the valley, nestled

by the lake, was a small city of white marble buildings with red-tiled roofs. Some had

domes and columned porticoes, like national monuments. Others looked like palaces, with

golden doors and large gardens. He could see an open plaza with freestanding columns,

fountains, and statues. A five-story-tall Roman coliseum gleamed in the sun, next to a long

oval arena like a racetrack.

Across the lake to the south, another hill was dotted with even more imhe should probably kneel too, but after carrying the old lady so far, he didn't feel like

showing her that much respect.

"Juno, huh?" he said. "If I passed your test, can I have my memory and my life back?"

The goddess smiled. "In time, Percy Jackson, if you succeed here at camp. You've

done well today, which is a good start. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

She turned to the other kids. "Romans, I present to you the son of Neptune. For

months he has been slumbering, but now he is awake. His fate is in your hands. The Feast

of Fortune comes quickly, and Death must be unleashed if you are to stand any hope in the

battle. Do not fail me!"

Juno shimmered and disappeared. Percy looked at Hazel and Frank for some kind of

explanation, but they seemed just as confused as he was. Frank was holding something

Percy hadn't noticed before—two small clay flasks with cork stoppers, like potions, one in

each hand. Percy had no idea where they'd come from, but he saw Frank slip them into his

pockets. Frank gave him a look like: We'll talk about it later.

The girl in the purple cloak stepped forward. She examined Percy warily, and Percy

couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted to run him through with her dagger.

"So," she said coldly, "a son of Neptune, who comes to us with the blessing of Juno."

"Look," he said, "my memory's a little fuzzy. Um, it's gone, actually. Do I know

you?"

The girl hesitated. "I am Reyna, praetor of the Twelfth Legion. And…no, I don't know

yoThe sentries yelled, but Percy knew they couldn't get a clear shot. They'd end up

killing Frank. The other kids drew swords and got ready to charge into the water, but

they'd be too late.

There was only one way.

Percy thrust out his hands. An intense tugging sensation filled his gut, and the Tiber

obeyed his will. The river surged. Whirlpools formed on either side of Frank. Giant watery

hands erupted from the stream, copying Percy's movements. The giant hands grabbed the

gorgons, who dropped Frank in surprise. Then the hands lifted the squawking monsters in

a liquid vise grip.

Percy heard the other kids yelping and backing away, but he stayed focused on his

task. He made a smashing gesture with his fists, and the giant hands plunged the gorgons

into the Tiber. The monsters hit bottom and broke into dust. Glittering clouds of gorgon

essence struggled to re-form, but the river pulled them apart like a blender. Soon every

trace of the gorgons was swept downstream. The whirlpools vanished, and the current

returned to normal.

Percy stood on the riverbank. His clothes and his skin steamed as if the Tiber's waters

had given him an acid bath. He felt exposed, raw…vulnerable.

In the middle of the Tiber, Frank stumbled around, looking stunned but perfectly fine.

Hazel waded out and helped him ashore. Only then did Percy realize how quiet the other

kids had become.

Everyone was staring at him. Only the old lady June looked unfazed.

"Well, that was a lovely trip," sworry about it."

He sounded pretty worried.

They stopped at the center of camp, where two wide stone-paved roads met at a T.

A street sign labeled the road to the main gates as via praetoria. The other road, cutting

across the middle of camp, was labeled via principalis. Under those markers were hand-

painted signs like berkeley 5 miles; NEW ROME 1 MILE; OLD ROME 7280 MILES; HADES 2310

MILES (pointing straight down); RENO 208 MILES, AND CERTAIN DEATH: YOU ARE HERE!

For certain death, the place looked pretty clean and orderly. The buildings were freshly

whitewashed, laid out in neat grids like the camp had been designed by a fussy math

teacher. The barracks had shady porches, where campers lounged in hammocks or played

cards and drank sodas. Each dorm had a different collection of banners out front

displaying Roman numerals and various animals—eagle, bear, wolf, horse, and something

that looked like a hamster.

Along the Via Praetoria, rows of shops advertised food, armor, weapons, coffee,

gladiator equipment, and toga rentals. A chariot dealership had a big advertisement out

front: CAESAR XLS W/ANTILOCK BRAKES, NO DENARII DOWN!

At one corner of the crossroads stood the most impressive building—a two-story

wedge of white marble with a columned portico like an old-fashioned bank. Roman

guards stood out front. Over the doorway hung a big purple banner with the gold letters

SPQR embroidered inside a laurel wreath.

"Your headquarters?" Percy asked.

Reyna facedPERCY WASN'T SCARED OF GHOSTS, which was lucky. Half the people in camp were dead.

Shimmering purple warriors stood outside the armory, polishing ethereal swords.

Others hung out in front of the barracks. A ghostly boy chased a ghostly dog down the

street. And at the stables, a big glowing red dude with the head of a wolf guarded a herd

of…Were those unicorns?

None of the campers paid the ghosts much attention, but as Percy's entourage walked

by, with Reyna in the lead and Frank and Hazel on either side, all the spirits stopped what

they were doing and stared at Percy. A few looked angry. The little boy ghost shrieked

something like "Greggus!" and turned invisible.

Percy wished he could turn invisible too. After weeks on his own, all this attention

made him uneasy. He stayed between Hazel and Frank and tried to look inconspicuous.

"Am I seeing things?" he asked. "Or are those—"

"Ghosts?" Hazel turned. She had startling eyes, like fourteen-karat gold. "They're

Lares. House gods."

"House gods," Percy said. "Like…smaller than real gods, but larger than apartment

gods?"

"They're ancestral spirits," Frank explained. He'd removed his helmet, revealing a

babyish face that didn't go with his military haircut or his big burly frame. He looked like

a toddler who'd taken steroids and joined the Marines.

"The Lares are kind of like mascots," he continued. "Mostlythey're harmless, but I've

never seen them so agitated."

"They're staring at me," Percy said. "That ghostat any moment. The worry lines around her eyes made her look older than she probably

was.

"We have met," he decided. "I don't remember when. Please, if you can tell me

anything—"

"First things first," Reyna said. "I want to hear your story. What do you remember?

How did you get here? And don't lie. My dogs don't like liars."

Argentum and Aurum snarled to emphasize the point.

Percy told his story—how he'd woken up at the ruined mansion in the woods of

Sonoma. He described his time with Lupa and her pack, learning their language of

gestures and expressions, learning to survive and fight.

Lupa had taught him about demigods, monsters, and gods. She'd explained that she

was one of the guardian spirits of Ancient Rome. Demigods like Percy were still

responsible for carrying on Roman traditions in modern times—fighting monsters, serving

the gods, protecting mortals, and upholding the memory of the empire. She'd spent weeks

training him, until he was as strong and tough and vicious as a wolf. When she was

satisfied with his skills, she'd sent him south, telling him that if he survived the journey,

he might find a new home and regain his memory.

None of it seemed to surprise Reyna. In fact, she seemed to find it pretty ordinary—

except for one thing.

"No memory at all?" she asked. "You still remember nothing?"

"Fuzzy bits and pieces." Percy glanced at the greyhounds. He didn't want to mention

Annabeth. It seemed too private, and he was still confused about where caused enough trouble this week."

Frank's ears turned red. He fiddled with a little tablet on a cord around his neck. Percy

hadn't paid much attention to it, but it looked like a name tag made out of lead.

"Go to the armory," Reyna told him. "Check our inventory. I'll call you if I need you."

"But—" Frank caught himself. "Yes, Reyna."

He hurried off.

Reyna waved Hazel and Percy toward the headquarters. "Now, Percy Jackson, let's see

if we can improve your memory."

The principia was even more impressive inside. On the ceiling glittered a mosaic of

Romulus and Remus under their adopted mama she-wolf (Lupa had told Percy that story a

million times). The floor was polished marble. The walls were draped in velvet, so Percy

felt like he was inside the world's most expensive camping tent. Along the back wall stood

a display of banners and wooden poles studded with bronze medals—military symbols,

Percy guessed. In the center was one empty display stand, as if the main banner had been

taken down for cleaning or something.

In the back corner, a stairwell led down. It was blocked by a row of iron bars like a

prison door. Percy wondered what was down there—monsters? Treasure? Amnesiac

demigods who had gotten on Reyna's bad side?

In the center of the room, a long wooden table was cluttered with scrolls, notebooks,

tablet computers, daggers, and a large bowl filled with jelly beans, which seemed kind of

out of place. Two life-sized statues of greyhounds—one silver, onebut then realized he'd never shown Reyna the sword. Hazel and Frank hadn't seen it

either. How had Reyna known about it?

Too late to pretend it didn't exist.…He uncapped the pen. Riptide sprang to full form.

Hazel gasped. The greyhounds barked apprehensively.

"What is that?" Hazel asked. "I've never seen a sword like that."

"I have," Reyna said darkly. "It's very old—a Greek design. We used to have a few in

the armory before…" She stopped herself. "The metal is called Celestial bronze. It's

deadly to monsters, like Imperial gold, but even rarer."

"Imperial gold?" Percy asked.

Reyna unsheathed her dagger. Sure enough, the blade was gold. "The metal was

consecrated in ancient times, at the Pantheon in Rome. Its existence was a closely guarded

secret of the emperors—a way for their champions to slay monsters that threatened the

empire. We used to have more weapons like this, but now…well, we scrape by. I use this

dagger. Hazel has a spatha, a cavalry sword. Most legionnaires use a shorter sword called

a gladius. But that weapon of yours is not Roman at all. It's another sign you're not a

typical demigod. And your arm…"

"What about it?" Percy asked.

Reyna held up her own forearm. Percy hadn't noticed before, but she had a tattoo on

the inside: the letters SPQR, a crossed sword and torch, and under that, four parallel lines

like score marks.

Percy glanced at Hazel.

"We all have them," she confirmed, holding up her arm. "All full members of the

legion do."

HReyna studied him. "You're old for a recruit. You're what, sixteen?"

"I think so," Percy said.

"If you spent that many years on your own, without training or help, you should be

dead. A son of Neptune? You'd have a powerful aura that would attract all kinds of

monsters."

"Yeah," Percy said. "I've been told that I smell."

Reyna almost cracked a smile, which gave Percy hope. Maybe she was human after

all.

"You must've been somewhere before the Wolf House," she said.

Percy shrugged. Juno had said something about him slumbering, and he did have a

vague feeling that he'd been asleep—maybe for a long time. But that didn't make sense.

Reyna sighed. "Well, the dogs haven't eaten you, so I suppose you're telling the truth."

"Great," Percy said. "Next time, can I take a polygraph?"

Reyna stood. She paced in front of the banners. Her metal dogs watched her go back

and forth.

"Even if I accept that you're not an enemy," she said, "you're not a typical recruit. The

Queen of Olympus simply doesn't appear at camp, announcing a new demigod. The last

time a major god visited us in person like that…" She shook her head. "I've only heard

legends about such things. And a son of Neptune…that's not a good omen. Especially

now."

"What's wrong with Neptune?" Percy asked. "And what do you mean, 'especially

now'?"

Hazel shot him a warning look.

Reyna kept pacing. "You've fought Medusa's sisters, who haven't been seen in

thousands of years. You've agitated our Lares, who are car...