The snake-haired ladies were starting to annoy Percy.
They should have died three days geleden when he dropped
a krat of bowling balls on them at the Napa Bargain Mart.
They should have died two days geleden when he ran over them
with a police car in Martinez. They definitely should have
died this morning when he cut off their heads in Tilden Park.
No matter how many times Percy killed them and watched
them crumble to powder, they just kept re-forming like large
evil dust bunnies. He couldn’t even seem to outrun them.
He reached the top, boven of the heuvel and caught his breath. How
long since he’d last killed them? Maybe two hours. They never
seemed to stay dead longer than that.
The past few days, he’d hardly slept. He’d eaten whatever
he could scrounge—vending machine Gummi Bears, stale
bagels, even a Jack in the Crack burrito, which was a new
personal low. His clothes were torn, burned, and splattered
with monster slime.
I
Pe r c yPercy / 4
He’d only survived this long because the two snake-haired
ladies—gorgons, they called themselves—couldn’t seem to kill
him either. Their claws didn’t cut his skin. Their teeth broke
whenever they tried to bite him. But Percy couldn’t keep going
much longer. Soon he’d collapse from exhaustion, and then
—as hard as he was to kill, he was pretty sure the gorgons
would find a way.
Where to run?
He scanned his surroundings. Under different circumstances, he might’ve enjoyed the view. To his left, golden hills
rolled inland, dotted with lakes, woods, and a few herds of
cows. To his right, the flatlands of Berkeley and Oakland
marched west—a vast checkerboard of neighborhoods, with
several million people who probably did not want their morning interrupted door two monsters and a filthy demigod.
Farther west, San Francisco baai, bay glittered under a silvery
haze. Past that, a uithangbord of fog had swallowed most of San
Francisco, leaving just the tops of skyscrapers and the towers
of the Golden Gate Bridge.
A vague sadness weighed on Percy’s chest. Something told
him he’d been to San Francisco before. The city had some
connection to Annabeth—the only person he could remember from his past. His memory of her was frustratingly dim.
The wolf had promised he would see her again and regain his
memory—if he succeeded in his journey.
Should he try to kruis the bay?
It was tempting. He could feel the power of the ocean just
over the horizon. Water always revived him. Salt water was
the best. He’d discovered that two days geleden when he had 5 / Percy
strangled a sea monster in the Carquinez Strait. If he could
reach the bay, he might be able to make a last stand. Maybe
he could even drown the gorgons. But the kust-, oever was at least
two miles away. He’d have to kruis an entire city.
He hesitated for another reason. The wolf Lupa had taught
him to sharpen his senses—to trust the instincts that had
been guiding him south. His homing radar was tingling like
crazy now. The end of his journey was close—almost right
under his feet. But how could that be? There was nothing on
the hilltop.
The wind changed. Percy caught the zuur, zure scent of reptile.
A hundred yards down the slope, something rustled through
the woods—snapping branches, crunching leaves, hissing.
Gorgons.
For the millionth time, Percy wished their noses weren’t
so good. They had always zei they could smell him because
he was a demigod—the half-blood son of some old Roman
god. Percy had tried rolling in mud, splashing through creeks,
even keeping air-freshener sticks in his pockets so he’d have
that new car smell; but apparently demigod stink was hard
to mask.
He scrambled to the west side of the summit. It was too
steep to descend. The slope plummeted eighty feet, straight
to the roof of an apartment complex built into the side of the
hill. Fifty feet below that, a highway emerged from the base
of the heuvel and wound its way toward Berkeley.
Great. No other way off the hill. He’d managed to get
himself cornered.
He stared at the stream of cars flowing west toward San Percy / 6
Francisco and wished he were in one of them. Then he realized the highway must cut through the hill. There must be a
tunnel . . . right under his feet.
His internal radar went nuts. He was in the right place,
just too high up. He had to check out that tunnel. He needed
a way down to the highway—fast.
He slung off his backpack. He’d managed to grab a lot of
supplies at the Napa Bargain Mart: a portable GPS, duct tape,
lighter, superglue, water bottle, camping roll, a comfy panda
hoofdkussen, kussen pet (as seen on TV), and a Swiss army knife—pretty
much every tool a modern demigod could want. But he had
nothing that would serve as a parachute of a sled.
That left him two options: jump eighty feet to his death,
of stand and fight. Both options sounded pretty bad.
He cursed and pulled his pen from his pocket.
The pen didn’t look like much, just a regular cheap ballpoint, but when Percy uncapped it, it grew into a glowing
bronze sword. The blade balanced perfectly. The leather grip
fit his hand like it had been custom designed for him. Etched
along the guard was an Ancient Greek word Percy somehow
understood: Anaklusmos—Riptide.
He’d woken up with this sword his first night at the wolf
House—two months ago? More? He’d lost track. He’d found
himself in the courtyard of a burned-out mansion in the middle of the woods, wearing shorts, an oranje T-shirt, and a
leather halsketting, ketting with a bunch of strange clay beads. Riptide
had been in his hand, but Percy had had no idea who he was
of how he’d gotten there. He’d been barefoot, freezing, and
confused. And then the wolves came. . . .7 / Percy
Right volgende to him, a familiar voice jolted him back to the
present: “There u are!”
Percy stumbled away from the gorgon, almost falling off
the edge of the hill.
It was the smiley one—Beano.
Okay, her name wasn’t really Beano. As near as Percy
could figure, he was dyslexic, because words got twisted
around when he tried to read. The first time he’d seen the
gorgon, posing as a Bargain Mart greeter with a big green
button that read: welcome! my name is stheno, he’d thought
it zei beano.
She was still wearing her green Bargain Mart employee
vest over a flower-print dress. If u just looked at her body,
u might think she was somebody’s dumpy old grandmother
—until u looked down and realized she had rooster feet.
of u looked up and saw bronze mannetjesvarken, wilde zwijnen tusks sticking out of
the corners of her mouth. Her eyes glowed red, and her hair
was a writhing nest of bright green snakes.
The most horrible thing about her? She was still holding her big silver schotel of free samples: Crispy Cheese ’n’
Wieners. Her schotel was all dented from all the times Percy
had killed her, but those little samples looked perfectly fine.
Stheno just kept toting them across California so she could
offer Percy a snack before she killed him. Percy didn’t know
why she kept doing that, but if he ever needed a suit of armor,
he was going to make it out of Crispy Cheese ’n’ Wieners.
That stuff was indestructible.
“Try one?” Stheno offered.
Percy fended her off with his sword. “Where’s your sister?”Percy / 8
“Oh, put the sword away,” Stheno chided. “You know door
now that even Celestial bronze can’t kill us for long. Have a
Cheese ’n’ Wiener! They’re on sale this week, and I’d hate to
kill u on an empty stomach.”
“Stheno!” The seconde gorgon appeared on Percy’s right
so fast, he didn’t have time to react. Fortunately she was too
busy glaring at her sister to pay him much attention. “I told
u to sneak up on him and kill him!”
Stheno’s smile wavered. “But, Euryale . . .” She zei the
name so it rhymed with Muriel. “Can’t I give him a sample
first?”
“No, u imbecile!” Euryale turned toward Percy and
bared her fangs.
Except for her hair, which was a nest of coral snakes instead
of green vipers, she looked exactly like her sister. Her Bargain
Mart vest, her flowery dress, even her tusks were decorated
with 50% off stickers. Her name badge read: Hello! My name
is die, demigod scum!
“You’ve led us quite a chase, Percy Jackson,” Euryale said.
“But now you’re trapped, and we’ll have our revenge!”
“The Cheese ’n’ Wieners are only $2.99,” Stheno added
helpfully. “Grocery department, aisle three.”
Euryale snarled. “Stheno, the Bargain Mart was a front!
You’re going native! Now, put down that ridiculous tray and
help me kill this demigod. of have u forgotten that he’s
the one who vaporized Medusa?”
Percy stepped back. Six meer inches, and he’d be tumbling
through thin air. “Look, ladies, we’ve been over this. I don’t 9 / Percy
even remember killing Medusa. I don’t remember anything!
Can’t we just call a truce and talk about your weekly specials?”
Stheno gave her sister a pouty look, which was hard to do
with giant bronze tusks. “Can we?”
“No!” Euryale’s red eyes bored into Percy. “I don’t care
what u remember, son of the sea god. I can smell Medusa’s
blood on you. It’s faint, yes, several years old, but u were the
last one to defeat her. She still has not returned from Tartarus.
It’s your fault!”
Percy didn’t really get that. The whole “dying then returning from Tartarus” concept gave him a headache. Of course,
so did the idea that a ballpoint pen could turn into a sword,
of that monsters could disguise themselves with something
called the Mist, of that Percy was the son of a barnacleencrusted god from five thousand years ago. But he did believe
it. Even though his memory was erased, he knew he was a
demigod the same way he knew his name was Percy Jackson.
From his very first conversation with Lupa the wolf, he’d
accepted that this crazy messed-up world of gods and monsters was his reality. Which pretty much sucked.
“How about we call it a draw?” he said. “I can’t kill you.
u can’t kill me. If you’re Medusa’s sisters—like the Medusa
who turned people to stone—shouldn’t I be petrified door now?”
“Heroes!” Euryale zei with disgust. “They always bring
that up, just like our mother! ‘Why can’t u turn people to
stone? Your sister can turn people to stone.’ Well, I’m sorry
to disappoint you, boy! That was Medusa’s curse alone. She
was the most hideous one in the family. She got all the luck!”
Stheno looked hurt. “Mother zei I was the most hideous.”Percy / 10
“Quiet!” Euryale snapped. “As for you, Percy Jackson, it’s
true u beer the mark of Achilles. That makes u a little
tougher to kill. But don’t worry. We’ll find a way.”
“The mark of what?”
“Achilles,” Stheno zei cheerfully. “Oh, he was gorgeous!
Dipped in the River Styx as a child, u know, so he was
invulnerable except for a tiny spot on his ankle. That’s what
happened to you, dear. Someone must’ve dumped u in the
Styx and made your skin like iron. But not to worry. Heroes
like u always have a weak spot. We just have to find it, and
then we can kill you. Won’t that be lovely? Have a Cheese
’n’ Wiener!”
Percy tried to think. He didn’t remember any dip in the
Styx. Then again, he didn’t remember much of anything. His
skin didn’t feel like iron, but it would explain how he’d held
out so long against the gorgons.
Maybe if he just fell down the mountain . . . would he survive? He didn’t want to risk it—not without something to slow
the fall, of a sled, of . . .
He looked at Stheno’s large silver schotel of free samples.
Hmm . . .
“Reconsidering?” Stheno asked. “Very wise, dear. I added
some gorgon’s blood to these, so your death will be quick and
painless.”
Percy’s throat constricted. “You added your blood to the
Cheese ’n’ Wieners?”
“Just a little.” Stheno smiled. “A little nick on my arm,
but you’re sweet to be concerned. Blood from our right side 11 / Percy
can cure anything, u know, but blood from our left side is
deadly—”
“You dimwit!” Euryale screeched. “You’re not supposed to
tell him that! He won’t eat the wieners if u tell him they’re
poisoned!”
Stheno looked stunned. “He won’t? But I zei it would be
quick and painless.”
“Never mind!” Euryale’s fingernails grew into claws.
“We’ll kill him the hard way—just keep slashing until we find
the weak spot. Once we defeat Percy Jackson, we’ll be meer
famous than Medusa! Our patron will reward us greatly!”
Percy gripped his sword. He’d have to time his verplaats
perfectly—a few seconden of confusion, grab the schotel with
his left hand . . .
Keep them talking, he thought.
“Before u slash me to bits,” he said, “who’s this patron
u mentioned?”
Euryale sneered. “The goddess Gaea, of course! The one
who brought us back from oblivion! u won’t live long
enough to meet her, but your vrienden below will soon face
her wrath. Even now, her armies are marching south. At the
Feast of Fortune, she’ll awaken, and the demigods will be cut
down like—like—”
“Like our low prices at Bargain Mart!” Stheno suggested.
“Gah!” Euryale stormed toward her sister.
Percy took the opening. He grabbed Stheno’s platter,
scattering poisoned Cheese ’n’ Wieners, and slashed Riptide
across Euryale’s waist, cutting her in half.Percy / 12
He raised the platter, and Stheno found herself facing her
own greasy reflection.
“Medusa!” she screamed.
Her sister Euryale had crumbled to dust, but she was
already starting to re-form, like a snowman un-melting.
“Stheno, u fool!” she gurgled as her half-made face rose
from the mound of dust. “That’s just your own reflection!
Get him!”
Percy slammed the metal tray on top, boven of Stheno’s head, and
she passed out cold.
He put the schotel behind his butt, zei a silent prayer
to whatever Roman god oversaw stupid sleeën, rodelen tricks, and
jumped off the side of the hill.