The Son of Neptune (The Heroes of Olympus #2)(74)

He froze in his tracks.

“Percy?” Frank asked. “What’s wrong?”

Percy tried desperately to concentrate. Where had those thoughts come from? Architecture, books…Annabeth had taken him to the library once, back home in—in—The memory faded. Percy slammed his fist into the side of a bookshelf.

“Percy?” Hazel asked gently.

He was so angry, so frustrated with his missing memories that he wanted to punch another bookshelf, but his friends’ concerned faces brought him back to the present.

“I’m—I’m all right,” he lied. “Just got dizzy for a sec. Let’s find a way to the roof.”

It took them a while, but they finally found a stairwell with roof access. At the top was a door with a handle alarm, but someone had propped it open with a copy of War and Peace.

Outside, Ella the harpy huddled in a nest of books under a makeshift cardboard shelter.

Percy and his friends advanced slowly, trying not to scare her. Ella didn’t pay them any attention. She picked at her feathers and muttered under her breath, like she was practicing lines for a play.

Percy got within five feet and knelt down. “Hi. Sorry we scared you. Look, I don’t have much food, but…”

He took some of the macrobiotic jerky out of his pocket. Ella lunged and snatched it immediately. She huddled back in her nest, sniffing the jerky, but sighed and tossed it away. “N-not from his table. Ella cannot eat. Sad. Jerky would be good for harpies.”“Not from…Oh, right,” Percy said. “That’s part of the curse. You can only eat his food.”

“There has to be a way,” Hazel said.

“‘Photosynthesis,’” Ella muttered. “‘Noun. Biology. The synthesis of complex organic materials.’ ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness... ’”

“What is she saying?” Frank whispered.

Percy stared at the mound of books around her. They all looked old and mildewed. Some had prices written in marker on the covers, like the library had gotten rid of them in a clearance sale.

“She’s quoting books,” Percy guessed.

“Farmer’s Almanac 1965,” Ella said. “‘Start breeding animals, January twenty-sixth.’”

“Ella,” he said, “have you read all of these?”

She blinked. “More. More downstairs. Words. Words calm Ella down. Words, words, words.”

Percy picked up a book at random—a tattered copy ofA History of Horseracing. “Ella, do you remember the, um, third paragraph on page sixty-two—”

“‘Secretariat,’” Ella said instantly, “‘favored three to two-in the 1973 Kentucky Derby, finished at standing track record of one fifty-nine and two fifths.’”

Percy closed the book. His hands were shaking. “Word for word.”

“That’s amazing,” Hazel said.

“She’s a genius chicken,” Frank agreed.

Percy felt uneasy. He was starting to form a terrible idea about why Phineas wanted to capture Ella, and it wasn’t because she’d scratched him. Percy remembered that line she’d recited, A half-blood of the eldest gods. He was sure it was about him.

“Ella,” he said, “we’re going to find a way to break the curse. Would you like that?”

“‘It’s Impossible,’” she said. “‘Recorded in English by Perry Como, 1970.’”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Percy said. “Now, look, I’m going to say his name. You don’t have to run away. We’re going to save you from the curse. We just need to figure out a way to beat ... Phineas.”

He waited for her to bolt, but she just shook her head vigorously. “N-n-no! No Phineas. Ella is quick. Too quick for him. B-but he wants to ch-chain Ella. He hurts Ella.”

She tried to reach the gash on her back.

“Frank,” Percy said, “you have first-aid supplies?”

“On it.” Frank brought out a thermos full of nectar and explained its healing properties to Ella. When he scooted closer, she recoiled and started to shriek. Then Hazel tried, and Ella let her pour some nectar on her back. The wound began to close.

Hazel smiled. “See? That’s better.”

“Phineas is bad,” Ella insisted. “And weed whackers. And cheese.”

“Absolutely,” Percy agreed. “We won’t let him hurt youagain. We need to figure out how to trick him, though. You harpies must know him better than anybody. Is there any way we can trick him?”

“N-no,” Ella said. “Tricks are for kids. 50 Tricks to Teach Your Dog, by Sophie Collins, call number six-three-six—”

“Okay, Ella.” Hazel spoke in a soothing voice, like she was trying to calm a horse. “But does Phineas have any weaknesses?”

“Blind. He’s blind.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but Hazel continued patiently, “Right. Besides that?”

“Chance,” she said. “Games of chance. Two to one. Bad odds. Call or fold.”

Percy’s spirits rose. “You mean he’s a gambler?”

“Phineas s-sees big things. Prophecies. Fates. God stuff. Not small stuff. Random. Exciting. And he is blind.”