The Battle of the Labyrinth

be so easy. “Are you sure?”
    “Hey, my summer was going to be boring. This is the best offer I’ve gotten yet. So what do I look for?”
    “We have to find an entrance to the Labyrinth,” Annabeth said. “There’s an entrance at Camp Half-Blood, but you can’t go there. It’s off-limits to mortals.”
    She said mortals like it was some sort of terrible condition, but Rachel just nodded. “Okay. What does an entrance to the Labyrinth look like?”
    “It could be anything,” Annabeth said. “A section of wall. A boulder. A doorway. A sewer entrance. But it would have the mark of Daedalus on it. A Greek L, glowing in blue.”
    “Like this?” Rachel drew the symbol Delta in water on our table.
    “That’s it,” Annabeth said. “You know Greek?”
    “No,” Rachel said. She pulled a big blue plastic hairbrush from her pocket and started brushing the gold out of her hair. “Let me get changed. You’d better come with me to the Marriott.”
    “Why?” Annabeth asked.
    “Because there’s an entrance like that in the hotel basement, where we store our costumes. It’s got the mark of Daedalus.”

FOURTEEN

MY BROTHER DUELS ME TO THE DEATH
    The metal door was half hidden behind a laundry bin full of dirty hotel towels. I didn’t see anything strange about it, but Rachel showed me where to look, and I recognized the faint blue symbol etched in the metal.
    “It hasn’t been used in a long time,” Annabeth said.
    “I tried to open it once,” Rachel said, “just out of curiosity. It’s rusted shut.”
    “No.” Annabeth stepped forward. “It just needs the touch of a half-blood.”
    Sure enough, as soon as Annabeth put her hand on the mark, it glowed blue. The metal door unsealed and creaked open, revealing a dark staircase leading down.
    “Wow.” Rachel looked calm, but I couldn’t tell if she was pretending or not. She’d changed into a ratty Museum of Modern Art T-shirt and her regular marker-colored jeans, her blue plastic hairbrush sticking out of her pocket. Her red hair was tied back, but she still had flecks of gold in it, and traces of the gold glitter on her face. “So . . . after you?”
    “You’re the guide,” Annabeth said with mock politeness. “Lead on.”
    The stairs led down to a large brick tunnel. It was so dark I couldn’t see two feet in front of us, but Annabeth and I had restocked on flashlights. As soon as we switched them on, Rachel yelped.
    A skeleton was grinning at us. It wasn’t human. It was huge, for one thing—at least ten feet tall. It had been strung up, chained by its wrists and ankles so it made a kind of giant X over the tunnel. But what really sent a shiver down my back was the single black eye socket in the center of its skull.
    “A Cyclops,” Annabeth said. “It’s very old. It’s not . . . anybody we know.”
    It wasn’t Tyson , she meant. But that didn’t make me feel much better. I still felt like it had been put here as a warning. Whatever could kill a grown Cyclops, I didn’t want to meet.
    Rachel swallowed. “You have a friend who’s a Cyclops?”
    “Tyson,” I said. “My half brother.”
    “Your half brother ?”
    “Hopefully we’ll find him down here,” I said. “And Grover. He’s a satyr.”
    “Oh.” Her voice was small. “Well then, we’d better keep moving.”
    She stepped under the skeleton’s left arm and kept walking. Annabeth and I exchanged looks. Annabeth shrugged. We followed Rachel deeper into the maze.
    After fifty feet we came to a crossroads. Ahead, the brick tunnel continued. To the right, the walls were made of ancient marble slabs. To the left, the tunnel was dirt and tree roots.
    I pointed left. “That looks like the tunnel Tyson and Grover took.”
    Annabeth frowned. “Yeah, but the architecture to the right—those old stones—that’s more likely to lead to an ancient part of the maze, toward Daedalus’s workshop.”
    “We need to go straight,” Rachel said.
    Annabeth and I both looked at her.
    “That’s the least likely choice,” Annabeth said.
    “You don’t see it?” Rachel asked. “Look at the floor.”
    I saw nothing except well-worn bricks and mud.
    “There’s a brightness there,” Rachel insisted. “Very faint. But forward is the correct way. To the left, farther down the tunnel, those tree roots are moving like feelers. I don’t like that. To the right, there’s a trap about twenty feet down. Holes in the walls, maybe for spikes. I don’t think we should risk