The Last Olympian

can’t look at them without burning up.”
    “Kronos would be ten times more powerful. His very presence would incinerate you. And once he achieves this, he will empower the other Titans. They are weak now, compared to what they will soon become, unless you can stop them. The world will fall, the gods will die, and I will never achieve a perfect score on this stupid machine.”
    Maybe I should’ve been terrified, but honestly, I was already about as scared as I could get.
    “Can I go now?” I asked.
    “One last thing. My son Pollux. Is he alive?”
    I blinked. “Yeah, last I saw him.”
    “I would very much appreciate it if you could keep him that way. I lost his brother Castor last year—”
    “I remember.” I stared at him, trying to wrap my mind around the idea that Dionysus could be a caring father. I wondered how many other Olympians were thinking about their demigod children right now. “I’ll do my best.”
    “Your best,” Dionysus muttered. “Well, isn’t that reassuring. Go now. You have some nasty surprises to deal with, and I must defeat Blinky!”
    “Nasty surprises?”
    He waved his hand, and the bar disappeared.
    I was back on Fifth Avenue. Annabeth hadn’t moved. She didn’t give any sign that I’d been gone or anything.
    She caught me staring and frowned. “What?”
    “Um . . . nothing, I guess.”
    I gazed down the avenue, wondering what Mr. D had meant by nasty surprises. How much worse could it get?
    My eyes rested on a beat-up blue car. The hood was badly dented, like somebody had tried to hammer out some huge craters. My skin tingled. Why did that car look so familiar? Then I realized it was a Prius.
    Paul’s Prius.
    I bolted down the street.
    “Percy!” Annabeth called. “Where are you going?”
    Paul was passed out in the driver’s seat. My mom was snoring beside him. My mind felt like mush. How had I not seen them before? They’d been sitting here in traffic for over a day, the battle raging around them, and I hadn’t even noticed.
    “They . . . they must’ve seen those blue lights in the sky.” I rattled the doors but they were locked. “I need to get them out.”
    “Percy,” Annabeth said gently.
    “I can’t leave them here!” I sounded a little crazy. I pounded on the windshield. “I have to move them. I have to—”
    “Percy, just . . . just hold on.” Annabeth waved to Chiron, who was talking to some centaurs down the block. “We can push the car to a side street, all right? They’re going to be fine.”
    My hands trembled. After all I’d been through over the last few days, I felt so stupid and weak, but the sight of my parents made me want to break down.
    Chiron galloped over. “What’s . . . Oh dear. I see.”
    “They were coming to find me,” I said. “My mom must’ve sensed something was wrong.”
    “Most likely,” Chiron said. “But Percy, they will be fine. The best thing we can do for them is stay focused on our job.”
    Then I noticed something in the backseat of the Prius, and my heart skipped a beat. Seat-belted behind my mother was a black-and-white Greek jar about three feet tall. Its lid was wrapped in a leather harness.
    “No way,” I muttered.
    Annabeth pressed her hand to the window. “That’s impossible! I thought you left that at the Plaza.”
    “Locked in a vault,” I agreed.
    Chiron saw the jar and his eyes widened. “That isn’t—”
    “Pandora’s jar.” I told him about my meeting with Prometheus.
    “Then the jar is yours,” Chiron said grimly. “It will follow you and tempt you to open it, no matter where you leave it. It will appear when you are weakest.”
    Like now, I thought. Looking at my helpless parents.
    I imagined Prometheus smiling, so anxious to help out us poor mortals. Give up Hope, and I will know that you are sur rendering. I promise Kronos will be lenient.
    Anger surged through me. I drew Riptide and cut through the driver’s side window like it was made of plastic wrap.
    “We’ll put the car in neutral,” I said. “Push them out of the way. And take that stupid jar to Olympus.”
    Chiron nodded. “A good plan. But, Percy . . .”
    Whatever he was going to say, he faltered. A mechanical drumbeat grew loud in the distance—the chop-chop-chop of a helicopter.
    On a normal Monday morning in New York, this would’ve been no big deal, but after two days of silence, a mortal helicopter was the oddest thing I’d ever heard. A few blocks east, the monster army shouted and jeered