The Son of Neptune (The Heroes of Olympus #2)(77)

Percy had chosen wrong. He’d been stupid to take such a risk. He felt like broken glass was working its way through his stomach, into his intestines.

“Percy!” Frank gripped his shoulders. “Percy, you can’t die!”

He gasped for breath…and suddenly his vision cleared.

At the same moment, Phineas hunched over like he’d been punched.

“You—you can’t!” the old man wailed. “Gaea, you—you—”

He staggered to his feet and stumbled away from the table, clutching his stomach. “I’m too valuable!”

Steam came out of his mouth. A sickly yellow vapor rose from his ears, his beard, his blind eyes.

“Unfair!” he screamed. “You tricked me!”

He tried to claw the piece of paper out of his robe pocket, but his hands crumbled, his fingers turning to sand.

Percy rose unsteadily. He didn’t feel cured of anything in particular. His memory hadn’t magically returned. But the pain had stopped.

“No one tricked you,” Percy said. “You made your choice freely, and I hold you to your oath.” The blind king wailed in agony. He turned in a circle, steaming and slowly disintegrating until there was nothing left but an old, stained bathrobe and a pair of bunny slippers.

“Those,” Frank said, “are the most disgusting spoils of war ever.”

A woman’s voice spoke in Percy’s mind. A gamble, Percy Jackson. It was a sleepy whisper, with just a hint of grudging admiration. You forced me to choose, and you are more important to my plans than the old seer. But do not press your luck. When your death comes, I promise it will be much more painful than gorgon’s blood.

Hazel prodded the robe with her sword. There was nothing underneath—no sign that Phineas was trying to re-form. She looked at Percy in awe. “That was either the bravest thing I’ve ever seen, or the stupidest.”

Frank shook his head in disbelief. “Percy, how did you know? You were so confident he’d choose the poison.”

“Gaea,” Percy said. “She wants me to make it to Alaska. She thinks…I’m not sure. She thinks she can use me as part of her plan. She influenced Phineas to choose the wrong vial.”

Frank stared in horror at the remains of the old man. “Gaea would kill her own servant rather than you? That’s what you were betting on?”

“Plans,” Ella muttered. “Plans and plots. The lady in the ground. Big plans for Percy. Macrobiotic jerky for Ella.”

Percy handed her the whole bag of jerky and she squeaked with joy. “Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, half-singing. “Phineas, nope. Food and words for Ella, yep.”

Percy crouched over the bathrobe and pulled the old man’s note out of the pocket. It read: HUBBARD GLACIER.

All that risk for two words. He handed the note to Hazel.

“I know where that is,” she said. “It’s pretty famous. But we’ve got a long, long way to go.”

In the trees around the parking lot, the other harpies finally overcame their shock. They squawked with excitement and flew at the nearest food trucks, diving through the service windows and raiding the kitchens. Cooks shouted in many languages. Trucks shook back and forth. Feathers and food boxes flew everywhere.

“We’d better get back to the boat,” Percy said. “We’re running out of time.”

XXIX Hazel

EVEN BEFORE SHE GOT ON THE BOAT, Hazel felt queasy.

She kept thinking about Phineas with steam coming out of his eyes, his hands crumbling to dust. Percy had assured her that she wasn’t like Phineas. But she was. She’d done something even worse than torment harpies.

You started this whole thing! Phineas had said. If it weren’t for you, Alcyoneus wouldn’t be alive!

As the boat sped down the Columbia River, Hazel tried to forget. She helped Ella make a nest out of old books and magazines they’d liberated from the library’s recycling bin.

They hadn’t really planned on taking the harpy with them, but Ella acted like the matter was decided.

“Friends,” she muttered. “‘Ten seasons. 1994 to 2004.’ Friends melt Phineas and give Ella jerky. Ella will go with her friends.”

Now she was roosting comfortably in the stern, nibbling bits of jerky and reciting random lines from Charles Dickens and 50 Tricks to Teach Your Dog.

Percy knelt in the bow, steering them toward the ocean with his freaky mind-over-water powers. Hazel sat next to Frank on the center bench, their shoulders touching, which made her feel as jittery as a harpy.

She remembered how Frank stood up for her in Portland, shouting, “She’s a good person!” like he was ready to take on anybody who denied it.

She remembered the way he had looked on the hillside in Mendocino, alone in a clearing of poisoned grass with his spear in hand, fires burning all around him and the ashes of three basilisks at his feet.

A week ago, if someone had suggested that Frank was a child of Mars, Hazel would have laughed. Frank was much too sweet and gentle for that. She had always felt protective of him because of his clumsiness and his knack for getting into trouble.

Since they’d left camp, she saw him differently. He had more courage than she’d realized. He was the one looking out for her. She had to admit that the change was kind of nice.

The river widened into the ocean. The Pax turned north. As they sailed, Frank kept her spirits up by telling her silly jokes—Why did the Minotaur cross the road? How many fauns does it take to change a lightbulb? He pointed out buildings along the coastline that reminded him of places in Vancouver.