Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Demigod Files

knew there wasn’t time. There were bridges to Brooklyn and New Jersey, but either way it would take hours to drive the chariot back to Manhattan, even if we could fool people into thinking it was a regular car.
    Then I got an idea. “We’ll take the direct route.”
    Clarisse frowned. “What do you mean?”
    I closed my eyes and began to concentrate. “Drive straight ahead. Go!”
    Clarisse was so desperate she didn’t hesitate. She yelled, “Hiya!” and lashed the horses. They charged straight toward the water. I imagined the sea turning solid, the waves becoming a firm surface all the way to Manhattan. The war chariot hit the surf, the horses’ fiery breath smoking all around us, and we rode the tops of the waves straight across New York Harbor.
    We arrived at Pier 86 just as the sunset was fading to purple. The USS Intrepid , temple of Ares, was a huge wall of gray metal in front of us, the flight deck dotted with fighter aircraft and helicopters. We parked the chariot on the ramp, and I jumped out. For once I was glad to be on dry land. Concentrating on keeping the chariot above the waves had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I was exhausted.
    “I’d better get out of here before Ares arrives,” I said.
    Clarisse nodded. “He’d probably kill you on sight.”
    “Congratulations,” I said. “I guess you passed your driving test.”
    She wrapped the reins around her hand. “About what you saw, Percy. What I was afraid of, I mean—”
    “I won’t tell anybody.”
    She looked at me uncomfortably. “Did Phobos scare you?”
    “Yeah. I saw the camp in flames. I saw my friends all pleading for my help, and I didn’t know what to do. For a second, I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. I know how you felt.”
    She lowered her eyes. “I, uh . . . I guess I should say. . .”
    The words seemed to stick in her throat. I wasn’t sure Clarisse had ever said thank you in her life. “Don’t mention it,” I told her. I started to walk away, but she called out, “Percy?” “Yeah?” “When you, uh, had that vision about your friends . . .” “You were one of them,” I promised. “Just don’t tell anybody, okay? Or I’d have to kill you.” A faint smile flickered across her face. “See you later.” “See you.” I headed off toward the subway. It had been a long day, and I was ready to get home.

O ne dragon can ruin your whole day.
    Trust me, as a demigod I’ve had my share of bad experiences. I’ve been snapped at, clawed at, blowtorched, and poisoned. I’ve fought single-headed dragons, double-headed, eight-headed, nine-headed, and the kind with so many heads that if you stopped to count them you’d be pretty much dead.
    But that time with the bronze dragon? I thought for sure my friends and I were going to end up as Kibbles ’n’ Dragon Bits.
    The evening started simply enough.
    It was the end of June. I’d come back from my most recent quest about two weeks before, and life at Camp Half-Blood was returning to normal. Satyrs were chasing the dryads. Monsters howled in the woods. The campers were playing pranks on one another, and our camp director, Dionysus, was turning anyone who misbehaved into a shrub. Typical summer-camp stuff.
    After dinner, all the campers were hanging out at the dining pavilion. We were all excited because that evening Capture the Flag was going to be totally vicious.
    The night before, Hephaestus’s cabin had pulled off a huge upset. They’d captured the flag from Ares—with my help, thank you very much—which meant that the Ares cabin would be out for blood. Well . . . they’re always out for blood, but this night especially.
    On the blue team were Hephaestus’s cabin, Apollo, Hermes, and me—the only demigod in Poseidon’s cabin. The bad news was that for once, Athena and Ares—both war god cabins—were against us on the red team, along with Aphrodite, Dionysus, and Demeter. Athena’s cabin held the other flag, and my friend Annabeth was their captain.
    Annabeth is not somebody you want as an enemy.
    Right before the game, she strolled up to me. “Hey, Seaweed Brain.”
    “Will you stop calling me that?”
    She knows I hate that name, mostly because I never have a good comeback. She’s the daughter of Athena, which doesn’t give me a lot of ammunition. I mean, “Owl-head” and “Wise Girl” are kind of lame insults.
    “You know you love it.” She bumped me with her shoulder, which I guess was supposed to be friendly,