I DO NOT OWN PERCY JACKSON RICK RIORDAN DOES! I only have rights to Atlanta and, just Atlanta. The stories are still in Percy's POV.

Chapter Twelve: We Get Advice from a Poodle

We were pretty miserable that night.

We camped out in the woods, a hundred yards from the main road, in a marshy clearing that local kids had obviously been using parties. The ground was littered with flattened soda cans and fast-food wrappers.

Ermis-who decided to join us, much to Annabeth's annoyance-took some food and blankets from Aunty Em's, but we dare to light a fire to dry our damped clothes. The Furies and Medusa had provided enough excitement for one day. We didn't want to attract anything else.

We decided to sleep in shifts. I volunteered to take first watch.

Annabeth-taking her blanket as far from Ermis as she could-curled up on the blankets and was snoring as soon as her head hit the ground. Atlanta had laid her blanket next to me and put her head on my lap. Ermis had settled next to Grover, falling asleep just as quick as Atlanta and Annabeth. Grover fluttered with his flying shoes to the lowest bough of a tree, put his back to the trunk and stared at the night sky.
"Go ahead and sleep," I told him. "I'll wake you if there's trouble."

He nodded, but still didn't close his eyes/ "It make me sad, Percy."

"What does? The fact that you signed up for this stupid quest?"

"No. This makes me sad." He pointed at all the garbage on the ground. "And the sky. You can't even see the stars. They've polluted the sky. This is a terrible time to be a satyr."

"Oh yeah. I guess you'd be an environmentalist."

He glared at me. "Only a human wouldn't be. Your species is clogging up the would so fast…ah, never mind. It's useless to lecture a human. At the rate things are going, I'll never find Pan."

"Pam? Like the cooking spray?"

"Pan!" He cried indignantly. "P-A-N. The great god Pan! What do you think I want a searcher's license for?"

A strange breeze rustled through the clearing, temporarily overpowering the stink of trash and muck. It brought the smell of berries, and wildflowers and clean rainwater, things that might've once been in these woods. Suddenly I was nostalgic for something I'd never known.

"Tell me about the search," I said.

Grover looked at me cautiously, as if he were afraid I was just making fun.

The God of the Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago," he told me. "A sailor off the cost of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice cry out from the shore, 'Tell them that the great god Pan had died!' When the humans heard the news, they believed it. They've been pillaging Pan's kingdom ever since. But for the satyrs, Pan was our lord and master. He protected us and the wild places of the earth. We refuse to believe that he died. In every generation, the bravest satyrs pledge their lives to finding Pan. They search the earth, exploring all the wildest places, hoping to find where he is hidden, and wake him from his sleep."

"And you want to be a searcher?"

"It's my life's dream," he said. "My father was a searcher. And my Uncle Ferdinand…the statue you saw back there-"

"Oh, right, sorry."

Grover shook his head. "Uncle Ferdinand knew the risks. So did my dad. But I'll succeed. I'll be the first searcher to return alive."

"Hang on-the first?"

Grover took his reed pipes out of his pocket. "No searcher has ever come back. Once they set out, they disappear. They're never seen alive again."

"Not once in two thousand years?"

"No."

"And your dad? You have no idea what happen to him?"

"None."
"But you still want to go," I said amazed. "I mean, you really think you'll be the one to find Pan?"
"I have to believe that, Percy. Every searcher does. It's the only thing that keeps us from despair when we look at what humans have done to the world. I have to believe Pan can still be awakened."

I stared at the orange haze of the sky and tried to understand how Grover could pursue a dream that seemed so hopeless. Then again, was I any better?

"How are we going to get into the Underworld?" I asked him. "I mean, what chance do we have against a god?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But back at Medusa's when you were searching her office? Annabeth was telling me-"

"Oh, I forgot. Annabeth will have a plan all figured out."

"Don't be so hard on her, Percy. She's had a rough life, but she's a good person. After all, she forgave me…" His voice faltered.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Forgave you for what?"

Suddenly, Grover seemed very interested in playing notes on his pipes.

"Wait a minute," I said. "Your first keeper job was five years ago. Annabeth has been at camp five years. She wasn't…I mean, your first assignment that went wrong-"

"I can't talk about it," Grover said, and his quivering lower lip suggest he'd start crying if I pressed him. "But as I was saying back at Medusa's, Annabeth and I agreed something strange going on with this quest. Something isn't what it seems."

"Well, duh. Atlanta and I are getting blamed for stealing a thunderbolt that Hades took."
"That's not what I meant," Grover said. "The Fur-The Kindly Ones were sort of holding back. Like Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy…why did she wait so long to try and kill you? Then on the bus, they just weren't as aggressive as they could've been."
"Seemed plenty aggressive to me."

Grover shook his head. "They were screeching at us: 'Where is it? Where?'"

"Asking about Atlanta and me," I said.

"Maybe…but Annabeth and I, we both got the feeling they were asking about people. They said, 'Where is it?' They seemed to be asking about an object."
"But that doesn't make any sense."

"I know. But if we've misunderstand something about this quest, and we've only have nine days to find the master bolt…" He looked at me like he was hoping for answers, but I didn't have any. Atlanta was the smart one between the two of us.

I thought about what Medusa had said: I was being used by the gods. What lay ahead of me and Atlanta was worse then petrification. "I haven't been straight with you," I told Grover. "I don't care about the master bolt. I agreed to go to the Underworld so I could get everyone to leave my family alone."

Grover blew a soft note on his pipes, "I know that, Percy. But are you sure that's the only reason?"

"I'm not doing it to help my father. He doesn't care about me or mom. I don't care about him."

Grover gazed down from his tree branch. "Look, Percy, I'm not as smart as Annabeth and Ermis. I'm not as brave as you or Atlanta. But I'm pretty good at reading emotions. You're glad your dad is alive. You feel good that he's claimed you, and part of you want to make him proud. That's why you mailed Medusa's head to Olympus. You wanted him to notice."

"Yeah? Well maybe satyr emotions work differently than human emotions. Because you're wrong. I don't care what he thinks."
Grover pulled his feet up into the branch. "Okay, Percy. Whatever."
"Besides, I haven't done anything worth bragging about. We barely got of New York and we're stuck here with little money and no way west."

Grover looked at the night sky, like he was thinking about that problem. "How about I take the first watch, huh? You get some sleep."

I wanted to protest, but he started to play Mozart, soft and sweet, and I turned away, my eyes stinging. After a few bars of Piano Concerto no. 12. I was asleep.

In my dreams, Atlanta and I stood in a dark cavern before a gaping pit. Gray mist creatures churned all around us, whispering rags of smoke that I somehow knew were the spirits of the dead.

They tugged at our clothes, trying to pull Atlanta and I back, but I felt compelled to walk forward to the very edge of the chasm.

Looking down made me dizzy.

The pit yawned so wide and was so completely black, I knew it must be bottomless. Yet I had a feeling that something was trying to rise from the abyss, something huge and evil.

The little hero and my child, an amused voice echoed far down in the darkness. Too weak, too young, but perhaps you will do.

The voice felt ancient-cold and heavy. It wrapped around us like sheets of lead.

They have misled you, boy, it said. Barter with me. I will give you what you want. My child you will be killed once they learn of your true identity. I can protect you.

A shimmering image hovered over the void. Our mother. Her face was tears running down her face and she looked scared. Her eyes looked directly at us, pleading: Go!

I tried to cry out, but my voice wouldn't work.

Cold laughter echoed from the chasm.

An invisible force pulled Atlanta forward. It would have dragged her into he pit if I hadn't grabbed her.

Help me rise, children. The voice became hungrier. Bring me the bolt. Strick a blow against the treacherous gods!

The spirits of the dead whispering around me, No! Wake!

The image of our mother begun to fade. The thing in the pit tighten its unseen grip around Atlanta.

I realized it wasn't interested in pulling her in. It was using Atlanta to itself out.

Good, it murmured. Good.

Wake! The dead whispered. Wake!

Someone was shaking me and Atlanta.

My eyes opened, and it was daylight.

"Well," Annabeth said, "the zombies lives."

I was trembling from the dream. Atlanta was no better than me. She was shaking and still very pale. She was holding on to her shirt and not looking anyone in the eye. "How long were we asleep?"

Long enough for Annabeth to get breakfast," Ermis said. Annabeth glared at him before tossing Atlanta and me a bag of nacho-flavored corn chips from Aunty Em's snack bar. "How do you feel about dogs?"

My eyes had trouble focusing.

Grover was sitting crossed-legged on a blanket with something fuzzy in his lap, a dirty, unnaturally pink stuffed animal.

No. It wasn't stuffed animal. It was a pink poodle.

The poodle yapped at Atlanta and me suspiciously. Grover said, "No, they're not."

"Do we want to know?" Atlanta asked.

I blinked. "Are you…talking to that thing?"

The poodle growled.

"This thing," Grover warned, "is our ticket west. Be nice to him."

"You can talk to animals?" Atlanta asked.

Grover ignored the question. "Atlanta, Percy, meet Gladiola. Gladiola, Atlanta, and Percy."

I stared at Annabeth, figuring she'd crack up at this practical joke they were playing on me, but she looked deadly serious. Ermis looked just as serious, but he had a slight smirk on his face. Atlanta threw her bag of chips at him as she said hello to the pink poodle.

"I'm not saying hello to a pink poodle," I said. "Forget it."

"Percy," Annabeth said. "I said hello to the poodle. Ermis and Atlanta said hello. You say hello to the poodle."

The poodle growled.

I said hello to the poodle.

Grover explained that he'd come across Gladiola in the woods and they'd stuck up a conversation. The poodle had ran away from a rich local family, who'd posted a $200 reward for his return. Gladiola didn't really want to go back to his family, but he was willing to if it meant helping Grover.

"How does Gladiola know about the reward?" I asked.

"He read the signs," Grover said. "Duh."

"Oh sorry we're new to the whole Greek mythology and the idea of animals understanding the language of humans," Atlanta said.

Grover blushed, smiling sheepishly as Gladiola barked.

"So we turned in Gladiola," Annabeth explained in her best strategy voice, "we get money, and we buy tickets to Los Angeles. Simple."

I thought about mine and Atlanta's dream-the whispering voices of the dead, the thing in the chasm, and our mother's face, fearful and worried. Two of the three might be waiting for Atlanta and me in the West.

"Not another bus," I said warily.

"No," Annabeth agreed.

"There's a story behind that," Ermis said.

"Tell you later," Atlanta said.

Annabeth pointed downhill, toward train tracks I hadn't been able to see last night in the dark. "There's an Amtrack station half a mile that way. According to Gladiola, the westbound train leaves at noon."