Chapter 3: Camp Half-Blood

They tore through the night along dark country roads. The wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the wind-shield. I didn't know how my mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, he looked at Grover sitting next to him in the backseat, and he wondered if he'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants. But, no, the smell was one he'd remembered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo- lanolin, like from wool.

The smell of a wet barnyard animal. All he could think to say was, "So how long have you and my mom been friends." Grover's eyes flitted to the rear-view mirror, though there were no cars behind them.

"I wouldn't say friends we know each other but she knew I was always watching you. "Watching me?" Grover winced. Sorry man, that must sound creepy, what I meant was uh..."Keeping tabs on you, you know…Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend."

"Um…what are you, exactly?" The deformed teen asked still in disbelief at what he was seeing. "Look that doesn't matter right now, alright." "It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey—" Grover let out a sharp, throaty Bleat much to the teen's surprise.

He'd heard him make that sound before, but he'd always assumed it was a nervous laugh. Now however he realized it was more of an irritated bleat. "Goat!" he said slightly annoyed. "What?" The deformed teen said confused.

"I'm a goat from the waist down." Grover said rolling his eyes as if it were obvious " I thought you just said it didn't matter!" Blaa-ha-ha! Some satyrs would trample you under hoof for such an insult!"

The teen froze his eyes wide with shock. "W-what did you just say?" What? Asked Grover confused. The teen shook his head. "Whoa. Wait a minute alright. You said, Satyrs. You mean like…Mr. Brunner's myths?"

"Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?" Ahha! So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds! Of course. "Then why—The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said like that should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Fury was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are."

The teen looked at his friend dazed. "Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?" The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind them, closer than before. "Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail!" a feeling of dread filling his heart.

"Percy," his mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety." The deformed teen looked at his mother franticly. "Safety from what? Who's after me?!"

"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions." Grover! "Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening, but I couldn't do it. I knew this wasn't a dream. I had no imagination. I could never dream up something this weird. His mother made a hard left. They swerved onto a narrow road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and "PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES" signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" He asked, though there was a part of him that already knew. "The summer camp I told you about." She said her voice said tight with sadness; she was trying for his sake not to be scared.

"The place your father wanted to send you." The place you didn't want me to go. The boy said worriedly. "Please, dear," my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger." The teen shook his head. He'd had enough!

"Because some old ladies cut yarn!" He shouted frustrated. Percy! He turned to look at Grover confused the half man half goat looked extremely worried. "I'm sorry I should have told you sooner." Told me what?

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover said looking away from him. "Those were the Fates." The teen looked sick. W-What? "Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to…when someone's about to die."

"Whoa, wait. You said 'you.'" What? No, I didn't. I said 'someone. "You meant 'you.' As in me." I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you. "Boys!" She shouted above the noise of the storm. She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and he got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"What was that?" he asked. "We're almost there," She shouted as she ignored his question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please." He didn't know where there was, but he found himself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting desperately to arrive.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. He thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and leathery wings.

His limbs went numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human. She'd meant to kill me. But…Why? What did I do wrong? Why did that thing, want to kill me?! Then he thought about Mr. Brunner…and the sword he had thrown him.

Before he could ask Grover about that, the hair rose on the back of his neck. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom! and the car exploded. I remember feeling weightless like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time.

He peeled his forehead off the back of the driver's seat. "Ow. "Percy! He sat up instantly. "I-I'm okay.…" He tried to shake off the daze. He wasn't dead. The car hadn't really exploded. They'd swerved into a ditch. The driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud.

The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in. Lightning. That was the only explanation. They'd been blasted right off the road. Next to him in the backseat was a big motionless lump. "Grover!"

He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. He shook his furry hip, fearing the worst. "No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die!"

"Food," He sighed somewhat relieved. "Of course in a time like this, he'd be thinking about food." Percy, the deformed teen turned to look at his mother her eyes wide with fear. "we have to…" Her voice faltered.

He looked at where she was looking. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, he saw a figure lumbering toward them on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made his skin crawl. The figure was huge! M-Mom!

"Percy," his mother sounded almost, deadly serious. I don't think I've ever seen her this scared before. "Get out of the car!" My mother threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" He reluctantly obeyed pulling Grover with him. There was no way he was going to leave his best friend behind. "Percy—you have to run. Do you see that big tree?" What?

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill. "That's the property line," Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back.

Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door. The teen nodded grabbing his mother's hand. "Mom, you're coming too." Her face paled, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean. No! "You are coming with me. Help me carry Grover."

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder. Hang on buddy! He turned around a flash of lightning illuminated the darkness, and he could make out a pair of sharp gleaming horns on top of the figure's head. "He doesn't want us,". He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

The teen looked at his mother shocked. B-But…"We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please." He instantly felt mad! He was mad at his mother, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns that was lumbering toward us slowly and deliberately like, like a bull.

He climbed across Grover and pushed the door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mom." I told you—"Mom! I am not leaving you. Help me with Grover." I didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside, dragging Grover from the car. He was surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if my mom hadn't come to my aid.

Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass. Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was easily seven feet tall, his arms and legs bulging with knotted muscles.

He wore no clothes except underwear, and I would've laughed had I not been so terrified! The monster was covered in Coarse brown hair that started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener.

"I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories Mr. Brunner told us. But he couldn't be real. I hoped that this was just a bad dream and I'd wake up back in the cabin back in Montauk."

"That's..That's! Pasiphae's son, his mother didn't even look surprised. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you." I stared at her in disbelief. I couldn't believe what I was hearing! "But he's the Min—Don't say his name," she snapped warily. "Names have power."

The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least. glanced behind me again. The Minotaur. I was looking at a myth! A legend! This felt like a bad dream, one that I wanted desperately to wake up from. I pinched my arm nothing happened the Minotaur was still there "This isn't a dream!" This is real!

Why me? Why does this thing want to kill me?! My mother had said they. Someone had sent this thing after me? But why? I'm a hunchback freak, there's nothing special about me? Is there? The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered since we were only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Shhh, Grover! "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?" She shook her head. "His sight and hearing are terrible." He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop.

The gas tank exploded on impact. "Not a scratch" Gabe's words echoed in my mind. Oops. "Percy," When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way—directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand? The teen looked at her confused.

"How do you know all this?" She sighed "I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you near me." Keeping me near you? But— Another bellow of rage and the bull-man started charging uphill.

With dread, I realized that could only mean one thing...He'd smelled us! The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and Grover wasn't getting any lighter. The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of them!

His mother must've been exhausted, but she didn't let on as she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Separate! Remember what I said." He didn't want to split up, but he had the feeling she was right—it was their only chance. he sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on him. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat.

He lowered his head and charged; those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at his chest. The fear churning in his stomach made him want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. He could never outrun this thing! So he held my ground, and at the last moment, he jumped to the side.

The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not toward me this time, toward my mother, who was setting Grover down in the grass. We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side, I could see a valley, just as my mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain.

But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it! The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing my mother, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover.

"Run, Percy!" she pleaded "I can't go any farther. Run!" But I just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away.

He lifted her as she struggled, kicking, and pummeling the air. "Mom!" The deformed teen cried out his eyes wide with horror. For an instant, her eyes met mine and she managed to choke out one last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around my mother's neck, and she dissolved before my eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form as if she were a holographic projection. A blinding flash and she was simply…gone.

"No!" The teen bellowed anger replaced his fear. Newfound strength burned in his limbs—the same rush of energy He'd gotten when Mrs. Dodds grew talons. The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, sniffing my best friend as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too.

"No, not again!" The teen thought panicked. "I won't let that…Thing take anyone else!" He stripped off his red rain jacket. "Hey!" he screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid!" He shouted taunting the beast.

The minotaur's eyes narrowed his eyes locked on the red jacket as well as his red hair. Hey ugly! Come get me! The monster let out a bellowing roar as it charged at him. Suddenly I got an idea—a stupid idea, but better than no idea at all.

He put his back to the big pine tree and waved the red jacket in front of the bull-man, thinking he'd simply jump out of the way at the last moment. But sadly things didn't exactly go according to plan.

The Minotaur charged too fast, his arms out to grab him whichever way he tried to dodge. Time slowed down. His legs tensed. He couldn't jump sideways, so he leaped straight up, kicking off from the creature's head, using it as a springboard, turning in midair, and landing on his neck.

"How did I do that?" The teen thought alarmed. However, he didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked his teeth out.

The Minotaur staggered around, trying to shake him off. Out of desperation, the teen locked his arms around the creature's horns to keep from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was stung his eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned in his nostrils.

The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He could have just as easily backed up into the tree and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward.

Meanwhile, Grover started to come to still crying out for food. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, but the way I was getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth I'd probably bite my own tongue off.

"Food!" This seemed to draw the creature's attention as it wheeled toward him. It pawed the ground again and got ready to charge. I thought about how he had squeezed the life out of my mother made her disappear in a flash of light, and rage-filled me like high octane fuel.

I wrapped both hands tightly around one horn and I pulled backward with all the strength I could muster. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then—snap! The Minotaur screamed in pain and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock.

When he sat up, his vision was blurry. He looked down. In his hand was one of the creature's horns. A ragged bone weapon the size of a knife. The monster charged. Without thinking, he rolled to one side and came up kneeling. As the monster barreled past, he drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage.

The bull-man roared in agony. He flailed, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate—not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart.

The monster was gone. The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. He smelled like livestock and his knees were shaking. His head felt like it was splitting open. He was weak and scared and trembling with grief. "I'd just seen my mother vanish!"

He wanted to lie down and cry, but Grover still needed his help, so with as much strength as he could muster he hauled him up and started to stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse. He was still crying, calling for his mother. He felt like that same scared little kid again.

He wanted to give up to fall to the ground and cry, but he held on to Grover refusing to give up. "I'm not going to let him go!" The last thing he remembered was collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above him, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's.

They both looked down at him with worry and concern. "He's the one. He must be." Silence, Annabeth! "He's still conscious. Bring him inside." The teen blacked out as the world around him slowly faded away.

Ok so I've had weird dreams before but my dreams had finally gotten even weirder. I had dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food. I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again.

I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. The girl with curly blond hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped some pudding off my chin with the spoon.

When she saw my eyes open, she froze. She didn't seem to be freaked out by my ugly features which was somewhat confusing. "What will happen at the summer solstice?" What? She looked around as if afraid someone would overhear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry, I don't…" Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding before I blacked out. The next time I woke up, the girl was gone. A husky blond guy, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me quite literally!

He had blue eyes—at least a dozen of them—on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands. That freaked me out so much I fainted yet again. When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were definitely nicer than what I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, In the distance, I could see a meadow and green hills. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs and a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but... my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest.

My tongue was dry and every one of my teeth hurt. On the table next to me was a tall glass it looked like it was filled with iced apple juice, a green straw sat in the glass, and a paper parasol was stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hands were so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it. "Careful," I looked up. Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoebox. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops, and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD in big bold letters

I felt somewhat relieved. It had all been a dream. Here standing in front of me was Grover. Just plain old Grover. Not the goat boy. Maybe it really had been just a bad dream! Maybe my mom was okay!

We were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And… "You saved my life," I…well, the least I could do…I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this.

Reverently, he placed the shoebox in my lap. Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood. It hadn't been a nightmare! No!

"The Minotaur," The deformed teen said bitterly. "Um, Percy, it isn't a good idea—"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" He demanded "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull." Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days man! W-What?

"How much do you remember?" Tears started to form in his eyes. "My mom. Is she really…" Grover looked away giving a small nod. "I'm so sorry Perce." I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky.

The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even though it all looked so beautiful I couldn't think straight. My mother…was gone! The whole world was black and cold, nothing looked beautiful to me anymore!

"I'm sorry," Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm—I'm the worst satyr in the world." He stomped his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled. Thunder rolled across the clear sky. As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot. "Well, that settles it. Grover was a satyr. I was ready to bet that if I shaved his curly brown hair, I'd find tiny horns on his head"

But I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or even minotaur's. All that meant was my mom really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light. I was alone. An orphan. I would have to live with…Smelly Gabe!

No. That would never happen. I would live on the streets first. I would pretend I was seventeen and join the army. I'd do something. Not that Gabe would let me stick around anyways. I felt miserable. I was all alone. "What am I going to do now!

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid—poor goat, satyr, whatever—looked as if he expected me to hit him and I knew exactly how he felt. " Hey, It wasn't your fault." Grover shook his head miserably.

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you. Did my mother ask you to protect me?" No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least…I was. "But why…" I suddenly felt dizzy my vision swimming. "Don't strain yourself," Grover said worriedly.

"Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips. I recoiled at the taste because I was expecting apple juice however it wasn't that at all! It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies—my mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting.

Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom had just brushed her hand against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was little, and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted. "Was it good? '" I nodded somewhat dumbfounded by what I'd just drank. "What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, and I instantly felt guilty.

"Sorry, I should've let you taste." His eyes got wide. "No! That's not what I meant. I just…wondered." Chocolate-chip cookies, My mom's. Homemade. He sighed. "And how do you feel?" Like I could throw the minotaur a hundred feet.

"That's good," he said thoughtfully. "That's good. I don't think you should risk drinking any more of that stuff though." He stared at his friend confused. "What do you mean?" He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

Percy wasn't sure who Chiron was or Mr. D, but it was better than sitting here thinking about his mother. Slowly he got to his feet his legs shaking as Grover helped him to stand. The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.

My legs still felt wobbly, trying to walk this far. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but I held on to it. I'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. I wasn't going to let it go. As we came around the opposite end of the house, my breath caught in my throat.

We must've been on the north shore of Long Island because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing.

The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school–age kids and satyrs played volleyball.

Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me popcorn-flavored pudding was leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels—what do you call them, cherubs?

That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker games except I got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even my stepfather.

"That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. Who's the girl? That's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron.…" He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

First, I realized he was sitting in a wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard. "Mr. Brunner!" I couldn't believe it. What was my old teacher doing here?! None of this made any sense!

The Latin teacher merely smiled at him. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple-choice answers B. "Ah, good, Percy," he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes He gave a tired sigh and glared at the deformed teen with annoyance. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Uh, thanks." I scooted a little farther away from him because, if there was one thing I had learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult has been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl. She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in-cabin eleven for now."

Annabeth glanced at the strange boy and shrugged "Sure, Chiron." She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image.

They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight. I froze when her eyes locked on to me. She glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me again.

I half expected her to be somewhat impressed like "You killed a minotaur! or Wow, you're so awesome!" or something like that. Nope. "You drool when you sleep." Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her. I watched her memorized before returning my attention to my old teacher.

"So," I said, anxiously wanting to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?" Not Mr. Brunner. The boy looked at his old teacher confused. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Uh…Okay." I turned to look at the so-called director. "And Mr. D…does that stand for something?" Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at him like he'd just grown an extra head. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." My ex-teacher interrupted changing the subject. "I must say, Percy, I'm glad to see your alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time."

The teen frowned. "House call?" My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he thought it was time He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to…ah, take a leave of absence."

I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher my first week at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared, and Mr. Brunner had taken the class.

"You came to Yancy just to teach me?" He asked confused Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother to let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not? Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously. "I'm afraid not," I said rather nervously. "I'm afraid not, sir," he said. "Sir," I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules. "I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron said.

"Please," The teen begged desperately for answers. "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?" Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile. Chiron gave the nervous boy a sympathetic smile, the way he used to in Latin class as if to let him know that no matter what his average was, He was his star student.

He expected me to have the right answer. "Percy, Did your mother tell you nothing?" "She said…" He instantly remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?" "What?" He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did. "I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said somewhat sadly. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient."

"Orientation film?" The deformed boy said slightly baffled. "No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoebox—"that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either lad.

He sighed and looked at him dead in the eyes his gaze never wavering. "What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive!"

He stared at the others around the table. This was a joke right? Right?! He half expected someone to start laughing and say it was all a joke, but no one did. "Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right." Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully. "Wait, wait, wait! ". "You're telling me there's such a thing as….God!" Well, now "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical."

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter."

"Smaller?! Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class. The teen's eyes widened in shock. "Zeus, Hera, and Apollo. You mean them?" And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day.

"Young man," Mr. D growled in frustration. "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around if I were you." But they're stories! The teen said panicking. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science."

"Science!" Mr. D scoffed rolling his eyes. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson" The deformed teen flinched when he used his real name, which he'd never told anybody—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued.

"Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me."

I wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if…he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut.

"Percy," Chiron frowned. "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

He was about to answer, off the top of my head, that it sounded like a pretty good deal, but the tone of Chiron's voice made him hesitate. "Y-You mean, whether people believed in you or not."

"Exactly, "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?"

My heart pounded. He was trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods." Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you. P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock Grover pleaded.

"A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe!" He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet instantly filled itself with red wine.

The red-haired teen's jaw dropped in shock, but Chiron hardly looked up. "Mr. D," your restrictions." Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise. "Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!"

More thunder. Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game. Chiron gave the shocked boy a quick wink. Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," The dazed teen repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space. "Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years!

The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha! Absolutely unfair."

Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid. "And…your father is…w-who? "Di immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said looking annoyed. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course."

I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed as if Mr. D were his master. "You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine."

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? "Well, duh!'?" Percy Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?" The hunchback boy looked at him in disbelief. "You're a god."

"Yes, child. A god. You." He turned to look at him and tore off the dark glasses he was wearing In the depths of his eyes I saw purple-tinted flames in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grapevines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts.

I knew instantly that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a straitjacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he growled quietly. "No. N-No, sir." The teen said shaking slightly The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win." Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight and tallied the points. "The game goes to me.

I half expected Mr. D to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too.

"I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment." Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir."

Mr. D glanced at the awkward teen behind him. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson. And mind your manners." He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably behind him. "W-Will Grover be okay?" The old man sighed but nodded, though he looked a bit troubled.

"Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been…ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus."

You mean Mount Olympus; You're telling me there really is a palace there?" Chiron chuckled. "Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

The teen's eyes widened in shock. "You mean the Greek gods are here? Like…in America? Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West." The what? "Come now, Percy. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years."

"The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know—or as I hope you know since you passed my course—the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps—Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on—but the same forces, the same gods."

"And then they died." Right? "Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings.

"And yes, Percy, of course, they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places."

"Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either—America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

The teen was in disbelief It was all too much, especially the fact that he seemed to be included in Chiron's we as if he were part of some club. "Who…Who are you, Chiron? Who…who am I?" Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you?" he mused softly as if trying to solve a difficult problem. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Lessons the boy thought confused. What was this place, a camp, or a school?!

Besides, there will be smores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate." And then to his surprise, he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt.

At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle, and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair.

It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge, polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk. "What a relief," the centaur said stretching one of his tired legs much to the deformed teen's amazement "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."

The nervous teen looked at the camp below his heart racing in his chest. I-I-The centaur approached him placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know this is all still new for you, but you must trust me, Percy." The nervous teen nodded. Alright, lead the way. Chiron smiled as he led him down the hill. Percy looked back at the large house for an instant before following his old teacher down the hill.