The Demigod Files(2)

‘Just my luck,’ Clarisse grumbled, but she was too busy fighting to complain much.

I uncapped my pen, which grew into a metre-long bronze sword, and joined the battle, slashing at the birds and deflecting their feathers off my blade. Together, Clarisse and I sliced and hacked until all the birds were reduced to piles of feathers on the ground.

We were both breathing hard. I had a few scratches, but nothing major. I pulled a feather arrow out of my arm. It hadn’t gone in very deep. As long as it wasn’t tipped with poison, I’d be okay. I took a bag of ambrosia out of my jacket, where I always kept it for emergencies, broke a piece in half and offered some to Clarisse.

‘I don’t need your help,’ she muttered, but she took the ambrosia.

We swallowed a few bites – not too much, since the food of the gods can burn you to ashes if you overindulge. I guess that’s why you don’t see many fat gods. Anyway, in a few seconds our cuts and bruises had disappeared.

Clarisse sheathed her sword and brushed off her denim jacket. ‘Well… see you.’

‘Hold up!’ I said. ‘You can’t just run off.’

‘Sure I can.’

‘What’s going on? What are you doing away from camp? Why were those birds after you?’

Clarisse pushed me, or tried to. I was too accustomed to her tricks. I just sidestepped and let her stumble past me.

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘You just about got killed at my school. That makes it my business.’

‘It does not!’

‘Let me help.’

She took a shaky breath. I got the feeling she really wanted to punch me out, but at the same time there was a desperate look in her eyes, like she was in serious trouble.

‘It’s my brothers,’ she said. ‘They’re playing a prank on me.’

‘Oh,’ I said, not really surprised. Clarisse had lots of siblings at Camp Half-Blood. All of them picked on each other. I guess that was to be expected since they were sons and daughters of the war god, Ares. ‘Which brothers? Sherman? Mark?’

‘No,’ she said, sounding more afraid than I’d ever heard her. ‘My immortal brothers. Phobos and Deimos.’

We sat on a bench at the park while Clarisse told me the story. I wasn’t too worried about getting back to school. Mrs White would just assume the nurse had sent me home, and sixth period was woodwork class. Mr Bell never took attendance.

‘So let me get this straight,’ I said. ‘You took your dad’s car for a joyride and now it’s missing.’

‘It’s not a car,’ Clarisse growled. ‘It’s a war chariot! And he told me to take it out. It’s like… a test. I’m supposed to bring it back at sunset. But –’

‘Your brothers carjacked you.’

‘Chariot-jacked me,’ she corrected. ‘They’re his regular charioteers, see. And they don’t like anybody else getting to drive. So they stole the chariot from me and chased me off with those stupid arrow-throwing birds.’

‘Your dad’s pets?’

She nodded miserably. ‘They guard his temple. Anyway, if I don’t find the chariot…’

She looked like she was about to lose it. I didn’t blame her. I’d seen her dad, Ares, get mad before, and it was not a pretty sight. If Clarisse failed him, he would come down hard on her. Real hard.

‘I’ll help you,’ I said.

She scowled. ‘Why would you? I’m not your friend.’

I couldn’t argue with that. Clarisse had been mean to me a million times, but still, I didn’t like the idea of her or anybody else getting beaten up by Ares. I was trying to figure out how to explain that to her when a guy’s voice said, ‘Aw, look. I think she’s been crying!’

A teenage dude was leaning against a telephone pole. He was dressed in ratty jeans, a black T-shirt and a leather jacket, with a bandanna over his hair. A knife was stuck in his belt. He had eyes the colour of flames.

‘Phobos.’ Clarisse balled her fists. ‘Where’s the chariot, you jerk?’

‘You lost it,’ he teased. ‘Don’t ask me.’

‘You little –’

Clarisse drew her sword and charged, but Phobos disappeared as she swung, and her blade bit into the telephone pole.

Phobos appeared on the bench next to me. He was laughing, but he stopped when I stuck Riptide’s point against his throat.

‘You’d better return that chariot,’ I told him, ‘before I get mad.’

He sneered and tried to look tough, or as tough as you can with a sword under your chin. ‘Who’s your little boyfriend, Clarisse? You have to get help fighting your battles now?’

‘He’s not my boyfriend!’ Clarisse tugged her sword, pulling it out of the telephone pole. ‘He’s not even my friend. That’s Percy Jackson.’

Something changed in Phobos’s expression. He looked surprised, maybe even nervous. ‘The son of Poseidon? The one who made Dad angry? Oh, this is too good, Clarisse. You’re hanging out with a sworn enemy?’

‘I’m not hanging out with him!’

Phobos’s eyes glowed bright red.

Clarisse screamed. She swatted the air as if she were being attacked by invisible bugs. ‘Please, no!’