The Lightning Thief

snoring and gazed out the train windows as the dark fields of Ohio raced by.
    Toward the end of our second day on the train, June 13, eight days before the summer solstice, we passed through some golden hills and over the Mississippi River into St. Louis.
    Annabeth craned her neck to see the Gateway Arch, which looked to me like a huge shopping bag handle stuck on the city.
    “I want to do that,” she sighed.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Build something like that. You ever see the Parthenon, Percy?”
    “Only in pictures.”
    “Someday, I’m going to see it in person. I’m going to build the greatest monument to the gods, ever. Something that’ll last a thousand years.”
    I laughed. “You? An architect?”
    I don’t know why, but I found it funny. Just the idea of Annabeth trying to sit quietly and draw all day.
    Her cheeks flushed. “Yes, an architect. Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them down, like a certain god of earthquakes I could mention.”
    I watched the churning brown water of the Mississippi below.
    “Sorry,” Annabeth said. “That was mean.”
    “Can’t we work together a little?” I pleaded. “I mean, didn’t Athena and Poseidon ever cooperate?”
    Annabeth had to think about it. “I guess . . . the chariot,” she said tentatively. “My mom invented it, but Poseidon created horses out of the crests of waves. So they had to work together to make it complete.”
    “Then we can cooperate, too. Right?”
    We rode into the city, Annabeth watching as the Arch disappeared behind a hotel.
    “I suppose,” she said at last.
    We pulled into the Amtrak station downtown. The intercom told us we’d have a three-hour layover before departing for Denver.
    Grover stretched. Before he was even fully awake, he said, “Food.”
    “Come on, goat boy,” Annabeth said. “Sightseeing.”
    “Sightseeing?”
    “The Gateway Arch,” she said. “This may be my only chance to ride to the top. Are you coming or not?”
    Grover and I exchanged looks.
    I wanted to say no, but I figured that if Annabeth was going, we couldn’t very well let her go alone.
    Grover shrugged. “As long as there’s a snack bar without monsters.”
    The Arch was about a mile from the train station. Late in the day the lines to get in weren’t that long. We threaded our way through the underground museum, looking at covered wagons and other junk from the 1800s. It wasn’t all that thrilling, but Annabeth kept telling us interesting facts about how the Arch was built, and Grover kept passing me jelly beans, so I was okay.
    I kept looking around, though, at the other people in line. “You smell anything?” I murmured to Grover.
    He took his nose out of the jelly-bean bag long enough to sniff. “Underground,” he said distastefully. “Underground air always smells like monsters. Probably doesn’t mean anything.”
    But something felt wrong to me. I had a feeling we shouldn’t be here.
    “Guys,” I said. “You know the gods’ symbols of power?”
    Annabeth had been in the middle of reading about the construction equipment used to build the Arch, but she looked over. “Yeah?”
    “Well, Hade—”
    Grover cleared his throat. “We’re in a public place. . . . You mean, our friend downstairs?”
    “Um, right,” I said. “Our friend way downstairs. Doesn’t he have a hat like Annabeth’s?”
    “You mean the Helm of Darkness,” Annabeth said. “Yeah, that’s his symbol of power. I saw it next to his seat during the winter solstice council meeting.”
    “He was there?” I asked.
    She nodded. “It’s the only time he’s allowed to visit Olympus—the darkest day of the year. But his helm is a lot more powerful than my invisibility hat, if what I’ve heard is true. . . .”
    “It allows him to become darkness,” Grover confirmed. “He can melt into shadow or pass through walls. He can’t be touched, or seen, or heard. And he can radiate fear so intense it can drive you insane or stop your heart. Why do you think all rational creatures fear the dark?”
    “But then . . . how do we know he’s not here right now, watching us?” I asked.
    Annabeth and Grover exchanged looks.
    “We don’t,” Grover said.
    “Thanks, that makes me feel a lot better,” I said. “Got any blue jelly beans left?”
    I’d almost mastered my jumpy nerves when I saw the tiny little elevator car we were going to ride to the top of the Arch, and I knew I was in trouble. I hate confined places. They