The Lightning Thief

a while.
    “Please, dears,” Aunty Em pleaded. “I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won’t you at least sit for a pose?”
    “A pose?” Annabeth asked warily.
    “A photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children.”
    Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I don’t think we can, ma’am. Come on, Percy—”
    “Sure we can,” I said. I was irritated with Annabeth for being so bossy, so rude to an old lady who’d just fed us for free. “It’s just a photo, Annabeth. What’s the harm?”
    “Yes, Annabeth,” the woman purred. “No harm.”
    I could tell Annabeth didn’t like it, but she allowed Aunty Em to lead us back out the front door, into the garden of statues.
    Aunty Em directed us to a park bench next to the stone satyr. “Now,” she said, “I’ll just position you correctly. The young girl in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side.”
    “Not much light for a photo,” I remarked.
    “Oh, enough,” Aunty Em said. “Enough for us to see each other, yes?”
    “Where’s your camera?” Grover asked.
    Aunty Em stepped back, as if to admire the shot. “Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me please, everyone? A large smile?”
    Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, and mumbled, “That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand.”
    “Grover,” Aunty Em chastised, “look this way, dear.”
    She still had no camera in her hands.
    “Percy—” Annabeth said.
    Some instinct warned me to listen to Annabeth, but I was fighting the sleepy feeling, the comfortable lull that came from the food and the old lady’s voice.
    “I will just be a moment,” Aunty Em said. “You know, I can’t see you very well in this cursed veil. . . .”
    “Percy, something’s wrong,” Annabeth insisted.
    “Wrong?” Aunty Em said, reaching up to undo the wrap around her head. “Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?”
    “That is Uncle Ferdinand!” Grover gasped.
    “Look away from her!” Annabeth shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished. Her invisible hands pushed Grover and me both off the bench.
    I was on the ground, looking at Aunt Em’s sandaled feet.
    I could hear Grover scrambling off in one direction, Annabeth in another. But I was too dazed to move.
    Then I heard a strange, rasping sound above me. My eyes rose to Aunty Em’s hands, which had turned gnarled and warty, with sharp bronze talons for fingernails.
    I almost looked higher, but somewhere off to my left Annabeth screamed, “No! Don’t!”
    More rasping—the sound of tiny snakes, right above me, from . . . from about where Aunty Em’s head would be.
    “Run!” Grover bleated. I heard him racing across the gravel, yelling, “Maia!” to kick-start his flying sneakers.
    I couldn’t move. I stared at Aunty Em’s gnarled claws, and tried to fight the groggy trance the old woman had put me in.
    “Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face,” she told me soothingly. “Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up.”
    I fought the urge to obey. Instead I looked to one side and saw one of those glass spheres people put in gardens— a gazing ball. I could see Aunty Em’s dark reflection in the orange glass; her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was moving, writhing like serpents.
    Aunty Em.
    Aunty “M.”
    How could I have been so stupid?
    Think, I told myself. How did Medusa die in the myth?
    But I couldn’t think. Something told me that in the myth Medusa had been asleep when she was attacked by my namesake, Perseus. She wasn’t anywhere near asleep now. If she wanted, she could take those talons right now and rake open my face.
    “The Gray-Eyed One did this to me, Percy,” Medusa said, and she didn’t sound anything like a monster. Her voice invited me to look up, to sympathize with a poor old grandmother. “Annabeth’s mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman into this.”
    “Don’t listen to her!” Annabeth’s voice shouted, somewhere in the statuary. “Run, Percy!”
    “Silence!” Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr. “You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy’s daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer.”
    “No,” I muttered. I tried to make my legs