Is Percy powerful, yeah. Did I make him too powerful, probably! It all fits into the plan, as long as that plan doesn't derail.
He woke up on his boat, carefully tucked in on the captain's bunk. Next to him, he could make out Tyson, fiddling with something in his lap.
"Ty?" He croaked. His brother jumped.
"Percy!" He nearly boomed, "you're awake!"
He scrambled onto the bed, large hands gentle as they pulled him into a hug.
"Yeah," Percy whispered. "What happened?"
Tyson didn't seem to want to let go anytime soon.
"Boat blew up," he murmured, "we were pushed far from the explosion, couldn't find you, thought—" His voice broke off. "—thought you were dead," he whispered.
"'M sorry, Ty," Percy sighed. "Not dead." He waved his hand in front of his brother's face as if to prove his point.
Tyson sniffed. "Good," he said, wiping his own tears away. "Dad is not happy."
With Tyson's help, Percy was able to stand. They made their way out the door.
Clarisse caught sight of him first. "Well well," she drawled, "Seaweed Head lives."
"Clarisse," Percy greeted.
"You idiot," Annabeth scolded, and hugged him.
"Hi to you too, Annie."
She pulled away and frowned at him, still displeased.
"Whoops?" He offered.
Clarisse chortled. Her and Annabeth had been going over maps they'd found below deck, which oh-so-helpfully mapped out the sea for them. He joined them around the map, slowly sitting down and letting their arguments of where to go next wash over him.
It was peaceful again, Charybdis and Scylla far behind them.
They sailed for hours through the Sea of Monsters. The water glittered a more brilliant green, like Hydra acid. The wind smelled fresh and salty, but it carried a strange metallic scent, too—as if a thunderstorm were coming. Or something even more dangerous.
"Where are we now?" Annabeth murmured.
"One hundred thirteen nautical miles west by northwest of our destination," Percy said, eyes closed and head tilted back to bask his face in the suns' rays.
He peaked an eye open when it got quiet.
Clarisse and Annabeth were staring at him, stunned. Tyson grinned happily.
"Uh…I mean, I don't know?"
Annabeth glared. She plopped a map right in front of him and pointed at some random island.
"What is the name of this island?"
He glanced at it. "Delos."
She pointed to another.
"Naxos."
And another.
"Mykonos."
"Fascinating," Annabeth breathed.
"So he can read maps," Clarisse said. There was a begrudgingly small amount of respect in her voice. "Whoop-de-doo."
"Whoop-de-doo," Percy agreed.
Annabeth rolled her eyes. The girls went back to arguing over their path.
Percy went back to sleep and was blissfully met with nothing.
"Percy!"
He jerked awake, blinking up at Tyson.
He was wringing his hands nervously.
The boat was stopped.
"Tyson?" He breathed, sitting up. "Where are we? Where are the others?"
"They wanted to check out the island," Tyson said. "But it smells bad, I didn't want to go and leave you."
Smells bad was an interesting way to put it.
The island smelled sweet. Too sweet. It reminded Percy of the Lotus Hotel, that saccharine smell that drew people in and trapped them like flies in honey.
"Would you mind staying here?" Percy asked. "Watch the boat and make sure no one takes it?"
They were pulled up next to a crowded pier; there were boats of all kinds around them—a bunch of pleasure yachts, a U.S. Navy submarine, several dugout canoes, and an old-fashioned three-masted sailing ship. Tyson nodded in agreement and helped Percy over.
The moment his feet touched the island, he shuddered in disgust.
The sweet smell was overwhelming.
The front welcome area off the pier was empty. He moved past it and up the stairs, looking over some of the signs.
"C.C.'s island—you've got to be kidding me."
But the sign didn't change.
He continued on. Aside from the smell, the place was amazing. There was white marble and blue water everywhere. Terraces climbed up the side of the mountain, with swimming pools on every level, connected by water slides and waterfalls and underwater tubes you could swim through. Fountains sprayed water into the air, forming impossible shapes, like flying eagles and galloping horses.
There were all sorts of tame animals, too. A sea turtle napped on the diving board. The resort guests—only young women, as far as Percy could tell—lounged in deck chairs, drinking fruit smoothies or reading magazines while herbal gunk dried on their faces and manicurists in white uniforms did their nails.
A woman was humming, singing. Her voice drifted into the air like a lullaby, the only truly pleasant thing so far. It was in a language similar to Ancient Greek, just as old—From Colchis, perhaps, though his instincts were guessing. She sang about sunlight in the olive groves, the charm of serpents. Magic.
He followed the smell of owl and boar up the stairs, to a big room where the whole front wall was windows. The back wall was covered in mirrors, so the room seemed to go on forever. There was a bunch of expensive-looking white furniture, and on a table in one corner was a large wire pet cage. The cage seemed out of place.
It smelled funny.
Absent-mindedly, he threw a minotaur-shaped gummy in his mouth and only slightly wondered how it had gotten into his hand.
The room was empty. In the center of the room was a beautiful loom the size of a big screen TV. The tapestry shimmered like it was three dimensional—a waterfall scene so real he could see the water moving and clouds drifting across a fabric sky.
He wondered if he could ask his dad for a loom. The image of the god himself trying to teach him, with blue thread tangled around his claws, made him laugh slightly. Amphitrite had told him that his father had to be in an extremely particular mood to weave well.
In the corner, multiple somethings squeaked.
Guinea pigs, several of them, all looked up at him in a way that wasn't creepy at all for an animal that should be completely harmless and not-at-all anything other than what it appeared.
"Guess she moved away from pigs," Percy muttered.
Voices came closer; the door swung open.
"Come along now, dears, now that you're all dressed up, I'll show you my—oh."
A woman's voice, almost disappointed, reached him. The woman had long dark hair braided with threads of gold. She had piercing green eyes and she wore a silky black dress with shapes that seemed to move in the fabric: animal shadows, black upon black, like deer running through a forest at night.
"Your tapestry is beautiful," Percy said honestly. "I've always wanted to learn how to weave."
"Percy!" Annabeth greeted, "this place is amazing!"
Clarisse muttered in what might have been an agreement, but she looked more uncomfortable.
Both looked better than they had, washed and changed. Their hair had been brushed. Annabeth's was braided with gold; Clarisse's was pulled back into a ponytail with red. Annabeth wore a sleeveless silk dress like the woman's, but white. Percy's sure Clarisse would've rather clawed her own eyes out than put on a dress, so she was wearing a snazzy silk black pantsuit.
They looked nice, but different from the girls Percy knew.
"And who is this?" The woman asked distastefully.
Rude.
"I'm Percy, ma'am," he introduced, "I was looking for my friends here."
"I see," she said. "Well, I am C.C. Welcome to my resort, Percy."
"Are you ready to go?" He asked the girls.
Clarisse immediately nodded, but Annabeth hesitated.
"C.C. has been very kind," she said. "And her library is amazing!"
"I'm sure," Percy agreed, "but we have places to be. Goats to save."
Annabeth blinked. For a moment, she looked like the girl he knew. Then her eyes hazed over again. Clarisse inched towards Percy.
"Nonsense!" C.C. chirped. "There's so much here for you, dear. The best knowledge of the past three millennia. Anything you want to study, anything you want to be, my dear."
"An architect?" Annabeth asked.
"Pah!" C.C. said. "You, my dear, have the makings of a sorceress. Like me."
Percy wondered for a moment if C.C. knew she'd just royally messed up, but figured she was about to find out.
He readied the gummies. '…Everything you need to feel yourself again,' Hermes had said. Hah. From where he was standing, he was sure he could launch them into the cage…
Annabeth took a step back. "A sorceress?"
"Yes, my dear." C.C. dug her own hole and held up her hand. A flame appeared in her palm and danced across her fingertips. "My mother is Hecate, the Goddess of Magic. I know a daughter of Athena when I see one. We are not so different, you and I. We both seek knowledge. We both admire greatness. Neither of us needs to stand in the shadow of men."
Percy's sure ever since their first trip Annabeth would drop kick him if he tried standing in front of her in the face of danger again.
He'd let her.
"I—I don't understand."
"Stay with me," C.C. cajoled. "Study with me. You can join our staff, become a sorceress, learn to bend others to your will. You will become immortal!"
"But—"
Clarisse had fully reached Percy's side, a sour glare on her face. He offered her a gummy.
"You are too intelligent, my dear," C.C. said. "You know better than to trust that silly camp for heroes. How many great female half-blood heroes can you name?"
"Um, Atalanta, Amelia Earhart—"
"Bah! Men get all the glory." C.C. closed her fist and extinguished the magic flame. "The only way to power for women is sorcery. Medea, Calypso, now there were powerful women! And me, of course. The greatest of all."
"Go on ahead," he murmured out the side of his mouth. "This is going to get messy."
"You…C.C.…Circe!"
Clarisse slipped away.
"Yes, my dear!"
Annabeth backed up, and Circe laughed. "You need not worry. I mean you no harm."
"I'm not so sure," Percy muttered.
Circe's whipped towards him, her pleased expression melting to fury. "You," she hissed, "look at him, dear! I bet he has stolen your glory already."
Annabeth turned stony faced. Percy met her eyes and tilted his head toward the cage. There was a flash of bronze by her hip.
3.
"I'm sure he'll make a good pet somewhere."
2.
"It could be your first lesson!"
1.
"You'll be great—Hey!"
"Now!" Annabeth cried.
Percy lunged for the cage, pouring the vitamins in it.
"No!" Circe screamed too late. "That's—Ugh! Curse Hermes and his multivitamins! Those are such a fad! They do nothing for you."
The guinea pigs swarmed forward and began nibbling. Percy made sure to toss one to Annabeth, and she quickly chewed it.
The sorceress howled in frustration. "You don't understand! Those are the worst!"
The cage exploded. Six guys, disoriented, blinked and shook wood shavings out of their hair. One of the men stood up—a huge guy with a long tangled pitch-black beard and teeth the same colour. He wore mismatched clothes of wool and leather, knee-length boots, and a floppy felt hat. The other men were dressed more simply—in breeches and stained white shirts. All of them were barefoot.
"Argggh!" Bellowed the big man, smelling heavily of Ares. "What's the witch done t'me!"
"No!" Circe moaned.
Annabeth gasped. "I recognise you! Edward Teach, son of Ares?"
"Aye, lass," the big man growled. "Though most call me Blackbeard! And there's the sorceress that captured us, lads. Run her through, and then I mean to find me a big bowl of celery! Argggh!"
Circe screamed. She ran from the room, chased by the pirates.
Percy would probably feel bad about that later. Blackbeard didn't seem like the charming type.
"Come on!" He urged the girl, "we have to get away while she's distracted."
They ran down the hillside through the terraces, past screaming spa workers and pirates ransacking the resort. Blackbeard's men broke the tiki torches for the luau, threw herbal wraps into the swimming pool, and kicked over tables of sauna towels.
Ah, yeah, there was that almost feeling bad about it. Had come sooner than he thought.
"Hey!" Percy barked at the pirates.
He slowed to a stop. Focusing on the pools, he manipulated the waters and launched the men he could see towards the pier, away from the cowering workers and resort-goers. They thankfully got the hint and headed for their ship, the giant three-masted sailing ship.
Blackbeard seemed to sense his crew leaving, as he appeared soon after and leaped onto his ship.
From a terrace above, one of the curtains moved like someone had been watching.
Just as he turned to go, he slammed right into someone who was mid-yell for her sister.
She cursed.
"Sorry!" Percy said, and darted passed her.
He jumped into Hurricane, ordering the rope to untie as he did. They were off the moment his feet touched the floor.
"About time!" Clarisse barked, back in her camp outfit.
"Couldn't just leave them with the pirates!" He yelled over the wind. "Not with their magic not working!"
She huffed, but he could tell she agreed.
Now out of relative danger, they relaxed. The girls were quick to wash the make-up off and change. Tyson was delighted to see them safe and sound.
They sailed onward, through the night. Annabeth tried to help Percy keep lookout, but sailing didn't agree with her. Clarisse had ordered her to go lay down after a few hours of rocking back and forth had turned her face the colour of guacamole. Her and Tyson followed her down soon after.
Percy watched the horizon, sitting on the tip of the mast. More than once, he sensed and even spotted other creatures.
A plume of water as tall as a skyscraper spewed into the moonlight. A row of green spines slithered across the waves—something maybe a hundred feet long, reptilian.
He saw a few Nereids, too. A few waved at him, and he waved back before they disappeared into the depths.
Sometime around midnight, Annabeth came up on deck.
They were just passing a smoking volcano island. The sea babbled and steamed around the shore.
"One of the forges of Hephaestus," Annabeth said. "Where he makes his metal monsters."
"Like the bronze bulls?"
She nodded. "Go around. Far around."
He didn't need to be told twice. If Hephaestus destroyed his boat he'd throw the tantrum of the century.
Soon, it was just a red patch of haze behind them.
He looked at Annabeth. "The reason you hate Cyclopes so much…Can I ask what happened?"
Her grey eyes glowed in the dark.
"I guess you deserve to know," she said finally. "The night Grover was escorting us to camp, he got confused, took some wrong turns. You remember he told you that once?"
He nodded.
"Well, the worst wrong turn was into a Cyclops lair in Brooklyn."
"They've got Cyclopes in Brooklyn?"
"You wouldn't believe how many, but that's not the point. This Cyclops, he tricked us. He managed to split us up inside this maze of corridors in an old house in Flatbush. And he could sound like anyone, Percy. It's a skill they have. Thalia thought she was running to save Luke. Luke thought he heard me scream for help. And me…I was alone in the dark. I was seven years old. I couldn't even find the exit."
She brushed the hair out of her face. "I remember finding the main room. There were bones all over the floor. And there were Thalia and Luke and Grover, tied up and gagged, hanging from the ceiling like smoked hams. The Cyclops was starting a fire in the middle of the floor. I drew my knife, but he heard me. He turned and smiled. He spoke, and somehow he knew my dad's voice. I guess he just plucked it out of my mind. He said, 'Now, Annabeth, don't you worry. I love you. You can stay here with me. You can stay forever.'"
Percy shivered. It was like a ghost story. "What did you do?"
"I stabbed him in the foot."
Percy grinned. "Seven years old and you stabbed a Cyclops in the foot?"
"Oh, he would've killed me. But I surprised him. It gave me just enough time to run to Thalia and cut the ropes on her hands. She took it from there."
"But still," he argued, "that was pretty brave, Annabeth."
She shook her head. "We barely got out alive. I still have nightmares, Percy. The way that Cyclops talked in my father's voice. It was his fault we took so long getting to camp. All the monsters who'd been chasing us had time to catch up. That's really why Thalia died. If it hadn't been for that Cyclops, she'd still be alive today."
They sat on the deck, watching the Hercules constellation rise in the night sky.
"It's not your fault, you know," Percy said. "You can't take the blame for that."
But Annabeth didn't answer and Percy could tell she didn't believe him.
"The reason you got stuck in Asphodel…" Percy said quietly. "It wasn't your fault, Annabeth."
"Maybe it was," she said quietly. "We slowed her down."
"No," he said, "it wasn't. It wasn't your fault; you were seven years old, you were tired, scared, probably starving. Thalia made her choice. It wasn't your fault."
"Stop."
"It wasn't your fault."
"Percy."
"It wasn't your fault."
Annabeth abruptly stood. Her eyes were wet.
Percy was quiet, just staring at her. He wondered, if he were her, if he would have enough courage to go on this quest, to sail straight toward the lair of another Cyclops…
"It wasn't your fault," he said quietly.
She turned away, eyes closed. "Go get some sleep, Jackson. I'll keep watch."
He went without another word.
He didn't dream about Grover.
Instead, he found himself in the stateroom of a boat. The curtains were open. It was nighttime outside. The air swirled with shadows. Voices whispered all around him—spirits of the dead.
Beware, they whispered. Traps. Trickery.
A golden sarcophagus glowed faintly—the only source of light in the room.
He knew instinctively who it belonged to.
A cold laugh startled him. It seemed to come from miles below the ship. Finally appeared, I see. You don't have the courage, young one. You can't stop me.
A trap.
A girl spoke right next to him. "Well, Seaweed Brain?"
He looked over. The girl wore punk-style clothes with silver chains on her wrist. She had spiky black hair, dark eyeliner around her stormy blue eyes, and a spray of freckles across her nose.
There was a wound stuffed with fabric on her shoulder, but she looked prepared for battle.
"Well?" She asked again. "Are we going to stop him or not?"
He couldn't force himself to move, couldn't warn her.
"Fine," she muttered. "Leave it to me and Aegis."
She tapped her wrist and her silver chains transformed—flattening and expanding into a huge shield. It was silver and bronze, with the monstrous face of Medusa protruding from the center. It looked like a death mask, as if the gorgon's real head had been pressed into the metal. Just being near it made him cold.
Any sane enemy would turn and run at the sight of it.
The girl drew her sword and advanced on the sarcophagus. The shadowy ghosts parted for her, scattering before the terrible aura of her shield.
"No," he tried to warn her.
But she didn't listen. She marched straight up to the sarcophagus and pushed aside the golden lid.
For a moment, she stood there, gazing down at whatever was in the box.
The coffin began to glow.
"No." Thalia's voice trembled. "It can't be."
From the depths of the ocean, Kronos laughed so loudly, the whole ship trembled.
"No!" Thalia screamed as the sarcophagus engulfed her in a blast of a golden light.
Percy sat bolt upright.
Annabeth was shaking him. "Percy, you were having a nightmare. You need to get up."
He rubbed his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Land," she said grimly. "We're approaching the island of the Sirens."
On deck, he joined Clarisse and Tyson looking grimly at the island ahead of them, barely visible from the distance.
"I want you to do me a favour," Annabeth said. "The Sirens…we'll be in range of their singing soon. Even now, I can hear it."
He remembered the stories. Sirens: of the sea but lacking any scales, and they sang so sweetly their voices enchanted sailors and lured them to their death. He'd always wondered…but he could only ever croon out soft lullabies, and he hadn't done even that in a long, long time.
"There's a big tub of candle wax below deck," Clarisse said, "we'll stop up our ears and—"
Annabeth interrupted, "I want to hear them."
All three of them stared at her.
"Why?" Percy asked.
"They say the Sirens sing the truth about what you desire. They tell you things about yourself you didn't even realise. That's what's so enchanting. If you survive…you become wiser. I want to hear them. How often will I get that chance?"
Clarisse groaned in frustration and stomped downstairs, done with her nonsense.
Percy quietly agreed, but he wasn't that surprised. It made sense for Annabeth to want knowledge like this.
He ushered Tyson downstairs after they tied her to the foremast.
Annabeth made a face at the wax earplugs. Percy made one back at her for the ropes.
The silence was eerie. He couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood in his head, like a stream of water. As they approached the island, jagged rocks loomed out of the fog. He willed Hurricane to skirt around them. If they sailed any closer, not even he would be able to protect the hull.
He kept his eyes on the island, or what he could make out of it. It was mostly mist and rocks, but floating in the water were pieces of wood and fiberglass, the wreckage of old ships, even some flotation cushions from airplanes.
He could feel the Sirens' voices vibrating in the timbers of his ship, pulsing along with the roar of blood in his ears. They seemed to coo at him, curling around him like Charybdis and Scylla's voices had.
Was the whole ocean going to keep doing that to him?
He glanced back.
Annabeth was gone.
His eyes went wide, mouth parting.
An empty mast.
Annabeth's bronze knife lay on the deck. Somehow, she'd managed to wriggle it into her hand. None of them had thought to disarm her. He rushed to the side of the boat and saw her, paddling madly for the island, the waves carrying her straight toward the jagged rocks. He didn't hesitate.
Percy jumped over the side and willed the currents to bend around him, making a jet stream that shot him forward. A wave caught her before he could, sweeping her between two razor-sharp fangs of rock.
He plunged after her, dove under the wrecked hull of a yacht, wove through a collection of floating metal balls on chains that he realised were mines. It was an enormous effort to avoid getting smashed against the rocks or tangled in the nets of barbed wire strung just below the surface.
He jetted between the two rock fangs and found himself in a half-moon-shaped bay. The water was choked with more rocks and ship wreckage and floating mines. The beach was black volcanic sand.
Annabeth was an extremely strong swimmer. She'd made it past the mines and the rocks. She was almost to the black beach.
Then the mist cleared and he saw them—the Sirens.
Vultures the size of people, with dirty black plumage, grey talons, and wrinkled pink necks attached to human heads. Except those human heads kept changing.
He couldn't hear them, but he could see that they were singing. As their mouths moved, their faces morphed into people he knew—his mom, Poseidon, Grover, Chiron. All the people he most wanted to see. They smiled reassuringly, inviting him forward.
But no matter what shape they took, their mouths were greasy and caked with the remnants of old meals. Like vultures, they'd been eating with their faces, and the smell let him know what they'd been eating.
Annabeth swam toward them and Percy didn't allow her to go any further. He propelled himself forward and grabbed her ankle.
The moment he touched her, a shock went through him, and he saw what she did.
It was longing personified. Three people sat on a picnic blanket in Central Park, a feast spread out before them. There was Annabeth's dad, Athena, and a young man…Luke.
The whole scene glowed in a warm, buttery light. The three of them were talking and laughing, and when they saw Annabeth, their faces lit up with delight. They called for her, urged her forward.
The city behind them was dazzling and beautiful. Rebuilt from dazzling white marble, bigger and grander than ever—with golden windows and rooftop gardens.
Her city.
When he blinked, all he could see were the Sirens—ragged vultures with human faces, ready to feed on another victim.
He pulled Annabeth back into the surf. Even as he couldn't hear, he could tell she was screaming. She fought against him, clawed and kicked as he willed the currents to carry them back out into the bay.
As she struggled, he accidentally dunked them. For a moment, her struggling stopped. Her expression became confused. Then their heads broke the surface and she started to fight again.
The water!
It would block the sound. If he could submerge her long enough, he could break the spell of the music.
He mentally apologised, grabbed her by the waist, and ordered the waves to push them down.
They shot into the depths—ten feet, twenty feet. He had to be careful, the pressure difference would get to her before anything else, except—
She fought and struggled for breath as bubbles rose around them.
Bubbles.
He had to keep her alive. He imagined all the bubbles in the sea—always churning, rising. He imagined them coming together, being pulled towards them.
The sea obeyed. There was a flurry of white, a tickling sensation all around him, and when his vision cleared, they had a huge bubble of air around them. Only their legs stuck into the water.
She gasped and coughed. Her whole body shuddered, but when she looked at him, he knew the spell had been broken.
She started to sob—horrible, heartbroken sobs, but she pulled away and curled in on herself, head bowed.
Percy shooed the fish that had gathered away to give her some privacy. A few shot off, and he hoped his father wouldn't be hearing about this.
Oh, what was he talking about, of course he would. Fish were terrible gossips.
"I'll get us back to the ship," Percy told her. "It's okay. Just hang on."
Annabeth nodded, but she still refused to look at him.
He forced the current to steer their weird little air submarine through the rocks and barbed wire and back toward the hull of Hurricane, which was maintaining a slow and steady course away from the island.
They stayed underwater, following the ship, until he felt that they'd gotten out of earshot. He surfaced and their air bubble popped. They climbed back aboard.
Percy kept his earplugs in, just to be sure. They sailed until the island was completely out of sight. Annabeth sat huddled in a blanket on the forward deck. Finally she looked up, dazed and sad, and mouthed, Safe.
He took out the earplugs. No singing. The afternoon was quiet except for the sound of the waves against the hull. The fog had burned away to a blue sky, as if the island of the Sirens had never existed.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She swallowed. "I didn't realise," she murmured, "how powerful the temptation would be."
He breathed deeply.
"I saw the way you rebuilt Manhattan," he said truthfully. "And Luke and your parents."
She blushed. "You saw that?"
He nodded.
She pulled her blanket around her. "My fatal flaw. That's what the Sirens showed me. My fatal flaw is hubris, deadly pride. Thinking you can do things better than anyone else…even the gods."
"You feel that way?" He asked evenly.
She looked down. "Don't you ever feel like, what if the world really is messed up? What if we could do it all over again from scratch? No more war. Nobody homeless. No more summer reading homework."
Percy didn't respond.
"I mean, the West represents a lot of the best things mankind ever did—that's why the fire is still burning. That's why Olympus is still around. But sometimes you just see the bad stuff, you know? And you start thinking the way Luke does: 'If I could tear this all down, I would do it better.' Don't you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?"
"I think a world ruled by me would be a nightmare," he said quietly. "Too disorganised, too chaotic. I am of the Sea. My name…"
They were both quiet.
"I'm going to go rest for a bit," Annabeth said. "I need to think."
He watched her go, feeling like something had changed. She paused at the door.
"Percy," she said, not facing him. "You…looked like you belonged down there."
He swallowed.
"Well," Percy said after a moment's pause, "I am a son of the Sea God."
She was quiet.
"It was more than that," she finally whispered, and went inside.
Later, as Percy showed Tyson how to properly tie off some of the ropes, he passed by the door.
Below, he could hear Annabeth and Clarisse talking in quiet whispers.
He should've kept moving; he shouldn't have stopped to listen, but…
Percy leaned forward, and the words became clear.
"Clarisse," Annabeth whispered, "Clarisse, the Sirens scared me, they did, but…if I hadn't known it was Percy, I would have thought him the monster."
Percy closed his eyes and moved away.
"Annabeth Chase," he heard Clarisse snap, "get yourself together."
Ouch.
Yeah I won't leave you with just that:
This chapter was one of my favourites to write as it's like the climax of everything Percy's questioning. I know it's easy to dislike Annabeth here, but I felt she was valid for feeling the way she did. Can you imagine swimming towards terror (and a part of me thinks she knows she was—she just couldn't stop herself), and then suddenly you're being dragged down into the deep. I'll remind y'all that underwater Percy looks like his father: glowing eyes, a near glow to his skin, while his dark hair and clothes would blend in. He has claws and sharp teeth, and she can't see well nor breathe underwater. What does all of that equal? Terror. Of course, it doesn't excuse her calling Percy what she did, but I was kinda drawing on another well-known scene that's far into the future.
Anyways, did anyone catch a surprise guest on Circe's island? There was more than one, though the first is better well-hidden if you don't know your mythology!