The Last Olympian

pedestal. He hit the ground so hard his shoes cracked the sidewalk. Then he went clanking off toward the east.
    “He’s probably going to wake up Confucius,” Annabeth guessed.
    “What?” I said.
    “Another statute on Division. The point is, they’ll keep waking each other up until they’re all activated.”
    “And then?”
    “Hopefully, they defend Manhattan.”
    “Do they know that we’re not the enemy?”
    “I think so.”
    “That’s reassuring.” I thought about all the bronze statues in the parks, plazas, and buildings of New York. There had to be hundreds, maybe thousands.
    Then a ball of green light exploded in the evening sky. Greek fire, somewhere over the East River.
    “We have to hurry,” I said. And we ran for the Vespa.
    We parked outside Battery Park, at the lower tip of Manhattan where the Hudson and East Rivers came together and emptied into the bay.
    “Wait here,” I told Annabeth.
    “Percy, you shouldn’t go alone.”
    “Well, unless you can breathe underwater . . .”
    She sighed. “You are so annoying sometimes.”
    “Like when I’m right? Trust me, I’ll be fine. I’ve got the curse of Achilles now. I’ll all invincible and stuff.”
    Annabeth didn’t look convinced. “Just be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I mean, because we need you for the battle.”
    I grinned. “Back in a flash.”
    I clambered down the shoreline and waded into the water.
    Just for you non-sea-god types out there, don’t go swimming in New York Harbor. It may not be as filthy as it was in my mom’s day, but that water will still probably make you grow a third eye or have mutant children when you grow up.
    I dove into the murk and sank to the bottom. I tried to find the spot where the two rivers’ currents seemed equal— where they met to form the bay. I figured that was the best place to get their attention.
    “HEY!” I shouted in my best underwater voice. The sound echoed in the darkness. “I heard you guys are so polluted you’re embarrassed to show your faces. Is that true?”
    A cold current rippled through the bay, churning up plumes of garbage and silt.
    “I heard the East River is more toxic,” I continued, “but the Hudson smells worse. Or is it the other way around?”
    The water shimmered. Something powerful and angry was watching me now. I could sense its presence . . . or maybe two presences.
    I was afraid I’d miscalculated with the insults. What if they just blasted me without showing themselves? But these were New York river gods. I figured their instinct would be to get in my face.
    Sure enough, two giant forms appeared in front of me. At first they were just dark brown columns of silt, denser than the water around them. Then they grew legs, arms, and scowling faces.
    The creature on the left looked disturbingly like a telkhine. His face was wolfish. His body was vaguely like a seal’s—sleek black with flipper hands and feet. His eyes glowed radiation green.
    The dude on the right was more humanoid. He was dressed in rags and seaweed, with a chain-mail coat made of bottle caps and old plastic six-pack holders. His face was blotchy with algae, and his beard was overgrown. His deep blue eyes burned with anger.
    The seal, who had to be the god of the East River, said, “Are you trying to get yourself killed, kid? Or are you just extra stupid?”
    The bearded spirit of the Hudson scoffed. “You’re the expert on stupid, East.”
    “Watch it, Hudson,” East growled. “Stay on your side of the island and mind your business.”
    “Or what? You’ll throw another garbage barge at me?”
    They floated toward each other, ready to fight.
    “Hold it!” I yelled. “We’ve got a bigger problem.”
    “The kid’s right,” East snarled. “Let’s both kill him , then we’ll fight each other.”
    “Sounds good,” Hudson said.
    Before I could protest, a thousand scraps of garbage surged off the bottom and flew straight at me from both directions: broken glass, rocks, cans, tires.
    I was expecting it, though. The water in front of me thickened into a shield. The debris bounced off harmlessly. Only one piece got through—a big chunk of glass that hit my chest and probably should’ve killed me, but it shattered against my skin.
    The two river gods stared at me.
    “Son of Poseidon?” East asked.
    I nodded.
    “Took a dip in the Styx?” Hudson asked.
    “Yep.”
    They both made disgusted sounds.
    “Well, that’s the perfect,” East said. “