Merry Christmas to all my readers who celebrates Christmas, and happy holidays to those who don't.

Warning: Certain ancient Greek names matches words use of foul language but no foul language was intentionally used. Also if you haven't read them yet read 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Early Adventures' 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief' 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Olympians: The Sea of Monsters' 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Olympians: The Titan's Curse' and 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Olympians: The Magical Labyrinth' as well as the one shots 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Stolen Chariot' The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Sword of Hades', 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Bronze Dragon' 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Olympians: The Last Olympian' 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon & the Staff of Hermes' 'The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero' and 'The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford' before reading this story as stuff that happened in them will be mentioned. Lastly, any one who wants to do a Demigods and Olympian reads story using 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon' is allowed as long as you inform me about it.

A/N (I recommend reading this): I'm going to MAKE THIS CLEAR. Just like I mention on my bio page about every other fanfiction I done: I DON'T OWN THE PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIAN SERIES OR IT'S CHARACTERS as the rights goes to Rick Rioran. Also I suggest you guys start paying attention to the Author notes and my warnings that I left on EVERY chapter of EVERY story.

Keep in mind it would be hard to be original with Hazel's and Frank's Flashbacks in this story. Sorry if this chapter is too much like the book

Sorry for reposting this chapter, but I had to add something at the end.

Percy's's POV Part X

It wasn't that hard to find Phineas. All we had to do was listen for the screaming and the weed whackers.

We'd brought lightweight Polartec jackets since even in Mist-disguised form our armor didn't keep us warm, so we were able to bundled up against the cold rain and walked for a few blocks through the most deserted streets. We also made sure to bring our duffle bags since we don't want to be caught without them. I even stuffed the macrobiotic jerky in my coat pocket, in case I needed them.

We some bicycle traffic and a few homeless guys shuddled in doorways, but the majority of Portlanders seemed to be staying indoors.

As we made our way down Glisan Street, I looked longingly at the folks in the cafés enjoying coffee and pastries. I was about to suggest that we stop for breakfast when I heard a voice down the street yelling: "HA! TAKE THAT, STUPID CHICKENS!" followed by the revving of a small engine and a lot of squawking.

I glanced back at my friends. "You think—?"

"Probably," I agreed.

We ran toward the sounds.

The next block over, we found a big open parking lot with tree-lined sidewalks and rows of food trucks facing the streets on all four sides. I had seen food trucks before, but never so many in one place. Some were simple white metal boxes on wheels, with awning and serving counters. Others were painted blue or purple or polka-dotted, with big banners out front and colorful menu boards and tables like do-it-yourself sidewalk cafés. One advertised Korean/Brazilian fusion tacos, which sounded like some kind of top-secret radioactive cuisine. Another offered sushi on a stick. A third was selling deep-fried ice cream sandwiches. The smell was amazing—dozens of different kitchens cooking at once.

My stomach rumbled. Most of the food carts were open for business, but there was hardly anyone around. They could get anything they wanted! Deep-fried ice cream sandwiches? Oh man, that sounded way better than wheat germ.

Unfortunately, there was more happening than just cooking. In the center of the lot, behind all the food trucks, an old man in a bathrobe was running around with a weed whacker, screaming at a flock of bird-ladies who were trying to steal food off a picnic table.

"Harpies," said Hazel. "Which means—"

"That's Phineas," Frank guessed.

We ran across the street and squeezed between the Korean/Brazilian truck and a Chinese egg roll burrito vendor.

The backs of the food trucks weren't nearly as appetizing as the fronts. They were cluttered with stacks of plastic buckets, overflowing garbage cans, and makeshift clothesline hung with wet aprons and towels. The parking lot itself was nothing but a square of cracked asphalt, marbled with weeds. In the middle was a picnic table piled high with food from all different trucks.

The guy in the bathrobe was old and fat. He was mostly bald, with scars across his forehead and a rim of stringy white hair. His bathrobe was splattered with ketchup, and he kept stumbling around in fuzzy pink bunny slippers, swinging his gas powered weed whacker at the half-dozen harpies who were hovering over his picnic table.

He was clearly blind. His eyes were milky white, and usually he missed the harpies by a lot, but he was still doing a pretty good job fending them off.

"Back, dirty chickens!" he bellowed.

I wasn't sure why, but I had a vague sense that harpies were supposed to be plump. These looked like they were starving. Their human faces had sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks. Their bodies were covered in molting feathers, and their wing were tipped with tiny, shriveled hand. They wore ragged burlap sacks for dresses. As they dived for food, they seemed more desperate than hungry than angry.

If I'm right, in the story of Phineas the Harpies are part of his curse as they steal his food until he died. I would think the Harpies would have been plump at the time, but now that Phineas was armed with a weed whacker it probably wasn't so easy for them since he's a seer.

Still, I felt sorry for the Harpies.

WHIRRRR! The old man swung his weed whacker. He grazed one of the harpies' wings. The harpy yelped in pain and fluttered off, dropping yellow feathers as she flew.

Another harpy circled higher than the rest. She looked younger and smaller than the other ones, with bright-red feathers.

She watched carefully for an opening, and when the old man's back was turned, she made a wild dive for the table. She grabbed a burrito in her clawed feet, but before she could escape, the blind man swung his weed whacker and smacked her in the back so hard I winced. The harpy yelped, dropped the burrito, and flew off.

"Hey, stop it!" I yelled.

I was actually yelling at the blind old man, but the harpies took that the wrong way. They glanced at us and immediately fled. Most of them fluttered away and perched in the trees around the square, staring dejectedly at the picnic table. The red-feathered one with the hurt back flew unsteadily down Glisan Street and out of sight.

"Ha!" The blind man yelled in triumph and killed the power of his weed whacker. He grinned vacantly in my direction. "Thank you, strangers! Your help is most appreciated."

I bit back my anger as I silently reminded myself that we needed information from him.

"Uh, whatever." I approached the old guy, keeping one eye on the weed whacker. "I'm Percy Jackson. This is—"

"Demigods!" the old man said. "I can always smell demigods."

Hazel frowned. "Do we smell that bad?"

The old man laughed. "Of course not, my dear. But you'd be surprises how sharp my other senses because once I was blinded. I'm Phineas. And you—wait, don't tell me—"

He reached for my face and poked me in the eyes.

"Ow!" I complained.

"Son of Neptune!" Phineas exclaimed. "I thought I smelled the ocean on you, Percy Jackson. I'm also a son of Neptune, you know."

"Yeah, I heard," I grumbled.

Phineas turned to Hazel. "And here… Oh my, the smell of gold and deep earth. Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto. And next to you—the son of Mars. But there's more to your story, Frank Zhang—"

"Ancient blood," Frank muttered. "Prince of Pylos. Blah, blah, blah."

"Periclymenus, exactly! Oh, he was a nice fellow. I love the Argonauts!"

Frank's mouth fell open. "W-wait. Perry who?"

"Periclymenus—" I said as the info came to my mind, "The grandson of Neptune—back when the Greeks saw him as Poseidon—who took part in the quest with Jason of the Argonauts for the Golden Fleece up until his battle with Hercules. He—"

I stop for a moment of confusion as any info I might have remembered on Pericylmenus seem to have disappeared as fast as they appeared, like someone didn't want me to reveal it yet.

I shook it off, deciding to leave the info from there. "Wait if Frank is a descendant of Periclymenus, that would make him—"

"A Legacy of Neptune," Hazel said in shock.

"Not only that, but there are a few other things about your friend's history that he's only just been reminded of. Not to mention the story about his great-grandfather? He didn't really destroy the camp. Now, what an interesting group. Are you hungry?"

The three of us were in total shock, but Frank had it worse as he looked like he just got ran over by a truck.

Phineas waved his hand at the picnic table. In the nearby trees, harpies shrieked miserably. As hungry as I was, I couldn't stand to think about eating with those poor bird ladies watching over him.

"Look, all we need is information," I said. "We were told—"

"—that the harpies were keeping my food away from me," Phineas finished, "and if you helped me, I'd help you."

"Something like that," I admitted.

Phineas laughed. "That's old news. Do I look like I'm missing any meals?"

He patted his belly, which was the size of an overinflated basketball.

"I guess not," I said.

Phineas waved his weed whacker in an expansive gesture, causing the three of us to duck.

"Things have changed, my friends!" he said. "When I first got the gift of prophecy, eons ago, it's true Jupiter cursed me. He sent the harpies to steal my food. You see, I had a big mouth. I gave away too many secrets that the gods wanted kept." He turned to Hazel. "For instance, you're supposed to be dead. And you—" He turned to Frank. "Your life depends on a burned stick."

I frowned. I knew Hazel was supposed to be dead, but I didn't know Frank's life depended on a burned stick.

Meanwhile Hazel looked as if she'd been slapped, and Frank looked like the truck backed up and run over him again.

"And you," Phineas turned to me. "You still bear the Mark of Achilles, and your only weak spot is right in your left armpit—well protected choice may I say—as long as you're wearing your armor at least.

I felt like I just took a jab to the chest. How did Phineas know about my Mark of Achilles, and how did he know where my vulnerable spot was when I wasn't even sure it was there?

"Other than that… well now, you don't even know who you really are! I could tell you, of course, but… ha! What fun would that be? And Brigid O'Shaughnessly shot Miles Archer in The Maltese Falcon. And Darth Vader is actually Luke's Father and Leila is Luke's twin sister. And the winner of the next Super Bowl will be—"

"Got it," Frank muttered.

Hazel gripped her sword like she was tempted to pommel-whip the old man, and I might join her. "So you talk too much, and the gods cursed you. Why did they stop?"

"Oh, they didn't!" the old man arched his bushy eyebrows like, Can you believe it? "I had to make a deal with the Argonauts. They wanted information too, you see. I told them to kill the harpies, and I cooperate. Well, they drove those nasty creatures away, but Iris would let them kill the harpies. An outrage! So this time, when my patron brought me back to life—"

"Your patron?" Frank asked.

Phineas gave him a wicked grin. "Why, Gaea, of course. Who do you think opened the Doors of Death? Your girlfriend here understands. Isn't Gaea your patron, too?"

Hazel drew her sword. "I'm not his—I don't—Gaea is not my patron!"

Phineas looked amused. If he heard the sword being drawn, he didn't seemed concern. "Fine, if you want to be noble and stick to the losing side, that's your business."

"We're not going to lose this war!" I yelled.

"How would you know?" Phineas asked. "Gaea is walking. She already rewritten the rules of life and death! I'm alive, and in exchange for my help—a prophecy here, a prophecy there—I get my fondest wish. The tables have been turned, so to speak. Now I can eat all I want, all day long, and the harpies have to watch and starve."

He revved his weed whacker, and the harpies wailed in the trees.

"They're cursed!" the old man said. "They can eat only food from my table, and they can't leave Portland. Since the Doors of Death are open, they can't even die. It's beautiful!"

"Beautiful?" Frank protested. "They're living creatures."

"Not to mention they're doing their duty," I responded. "The duty of which Jupiter assigned them for your punishment."

"Oh, I'm mad at Jupiter, too," Phineas agreed. "In time, Gaea will see that the gods are properly punished. Horrible job they've done, ruling the world. But for now, I'm enjoying Portland and getting revenge on these monsters. The mortals take no notice of me. They think I'm just a crazy old man shooing away pigeons!"

Hazel advanced on the seer. "You're awful!" she told Phineas. "You belong in the Field of Punishment!"

Phineas sneered. "One dead person to another, girlie? I wouldn't be talking. You started this whole thing! If it weren't for you, Alcyoneus wouldn't be alive!"

Hazel stumbled back.

"Hazel?" Frank's eyes got as wide as quarters. "What's he talking about?"

"Ha!" Phineas said. "You'll find out soon enough, Frank Zhang. Then we'll see if you're still sweet on your girlfriend."

"Enough!" I yelled. "I don't care what you have over Hazel. I won't let you use it against her, or any info you have against us. Now tell us where we can find Alcyoneus' lair before or else I'll destroy your precious weed whacker."

I pointed my sword at the weed whacker in Phineas' hands.

Phineas indirectly at me as if he was trying to find juicy info against me now. Judging from him grinding his teeth, he didn't have anything that wouldn't result to his weed whacker being destroyed. "Very well, but you'll have to do me a favor."

"Forget it," Hazel snapped. "You're working for the enemy. We should send you back to the Underworld ourselves."

"You could try." Phineas smiled. "But I doubt I'd stay dead very long. You see, Gaea has shown me the easy way back. And with Thantos in chains, there's no one to keep me down! Besides, if you kill me, you won't get my secrets."

I wanted to kill this guy, or at least destroy his weed whacker. But he was right about if we kill him now, and I have a feeling that if we destroy his only tool against the harpies he'll just get another one as soon as we're out of sight. Plus, right now, saving Camp Jupiter is our priority right now.

I gritted my teeth. "What's the favor?"

Phineas licked his lips greedily. "There's one harpy who's quicker than the rest. She's the only one I have trouble with. She's wily, that one. Always does her own thing, never roost with the others. She gave me these."

He pointed at the scars on his forehead. I got a feeling he was talking about that red harpy that flew off somewhere else.

"Capture that harpy," he said. "Bring her to me. I want her tied up where I can keep an eye on her… ah, so to speak. Harpies hates being tied up. It causes them extreme pain. Yes, I'll enjoy that. Maybe I'll even feed her so that she last longer."

I doubt that. In fact, I don't trust anything this guy says.

I looked at my friends. Judging from their expressions we agreed on it, but we'll need a Plan B if we're going to get information.

"Oh, go talk among yourselves," Phineas said breezily. "I don't care. Just remember that without my help, your quest will fail. And everyone you love in the world will die. Now, off you with you! Bring me a harpy!"