The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(60)

He didn’t expect Bob to hear him or care, but it felt right to clear his conscience. He couldn’t blame anyone else for his troubles. Not the gods. Not Bob. He couldn’t even blame Calypso, the girl he’d left alone on that island. Maybe she’d turned bitter and cursed Percy’s girlfriend out of despair. Still…Percy should have followed up with Calypso, made sure the gods sprang her from her exile on Ogygia like they’d promised. He hadn’t treated her any better than he’d treated Bob. He hadn’t even thought much about her, though her moonlace plant still bloomed in his mom’s window box.

It took all his remaining effort, but he got to his feet. Steam rose from his whole body. His legs shook. His insides churned like a volcano.

At least Percy could go out fighting. He raised Riptide.

But before he could strike, all the arai in front of him exploded into dust.

BOB SERIOUSLY KNEW HOW TO USE A BROOM.

He slashed back and forth, destroying the demons one after the other while Small Bob the kitten sat on his shoulder, arching his back and hissing.

In a matter of seconds, the arai were gone. Most had been vaporized. The smart ones had flown off into the darkness, shrieking in terror.

Percy wanted to thank the Titan, but his voice wouldn’t work. His legs buckled. His ears rang. Through a red glow of pain, he saw Annabeth a few yards away, wandering blindly toward the edge of the cliff.

“Uh!” Percy grunted.

Bob followed his gaze. He bounded toward Annabeth and scooped her up. She yelled and kicked, pummeling Bob’s gut, but Bob didn’t seem to care. He carried her over to Percy and put her down gently.

The Titan touched her forehead. “Owie.”

Annabeth stopped fighting. Her eyes cleared. “Where— what—?”

She saw Percy, and a series of expressions flashed across her face—relief, joy, shock, horror. “What’s wrong with him?” she cried. “What happened?”

She cradled his shoulders and wept into his scalp.

Percy wanted to tell her it was okay, but of course it wasn’t. He couldn’t even feel his body anymore. His consciousness was like a small helium balloon, loosely tied to the top of his head. It had no weight, no strength. It just kept expanding, getting lighter and lighter. He knew that soon it would either burst or the string would break, and his life would float away.

Annabeth took his face in her hands. She kissed him and tried to wipe the dust and sweat from his eyes.

Bob loomed over them, his broom planted like a flag. His face was unreadable, luminously white in the dark.

“Lots of curses,” Bob said. “Percy has done bad things to monsters.”

“Can you fix him?” Annabeth pleaded. “Like you did with my blindness? Fix Percy!”

Bob frowned. He picked at the name tag on his uniform like it was a scab.

Annabeth tried again. “Bob—”

“Iapetus,” Bob said, his voice a low rumble. “Before Bob. It was Iapetus.”

The air was absolutely still. Percy felt helpless, barely connected to the world.

“I like Bob better.” Annabeth’s voice was surprisingly calm. “Which do you like?”

The Titan regarded her with his pure silver eyes. “I do not know anymore.”

He crouched next to her and studied Percy. Bob’s face looked haggard and careworn, as if he suddenly felt the weight of all his centuries.

“I promised,” he murmured. “Nico asked me to help. I do not think Iapetus or Bob likes breaking promises.” He touched Percy’s forehead.

“Owie,” the Titan murmured. “Very big owie.”

Percy sank back into his body. The ringing in his ears faded. His vision cleared. He still felt like he had swallowed a deep fryer. His insides bubbled. He could sense that the poison had only been slowed, not removed.

But he was alive.

He tried to meet Bob’s eyes, to express his gratitude. His head lolled against his chest.

“Bob cannot cure this,” Bob said. “Too much poison. Too many curses piled up.”

Annabeth hugged Percy’s shoulders. He wanted to say: I can feel that now. Ow. Too tight.

“What can we do, Bob?” Annabeth asked. “Is there water anywhere? Water might heal him.”

“No water,” Bob said. “Tartarus is bad.”

I noticed, Percy wanted to yell.

At least the Titan called himself Bob. Even if he blamed Percy for taking his memory, maybe he would help Annabeth if Percy didn’t make it.

“No,” Annabeth insisted. “No, there has to be a way. Something to heal him.”

Bob placed his hand on Percy’s chest. A cold tingle like eucalyptus oil spread across his sternum, but as soon as Bob lifted his hand, the relief stopped. Percy’s lungs felt as hot as lava again.

“Tartarus kills demigods,” Bob said. “It heals monsters, but you do not belong. Tartarus will not heal Percy. The pit hates your kind.”

“I don’t care,” Annabeth said. “Even here, there has to be someplace he can rest, some kind of cure he can take. Maybe back at the altar of Hermes, or—”

In the distance, a deep voice bellowed—a voice that Percy recognized, unfortunately.

“I SMELL HIM!” roared the giant. “BEWARE, SON OF POSEIDON! I COME FOR YOU!”