The Lightning Thief

almost like he was nervous.
    “You’re lucky you met me, punk, and not one of the other Olympians. They’re not as forgiving of rudeness as I am. I’ll meet you back here when you’re done. Don’t disappoint me.”
    After that I must have fainted, or fallen into a trance, because when I opened my eyes again, Ares was gone. I might’ve thought the conversation had been a dream, but Annabeth and Grover’s expressions told me otherwise.
    “Not good,” Grover said. “Ares sought you out, Percy. This is not good.”
    I stared out the window. The motorcycle had disappeared.
    Did Ares really know something about my mom, or was he just playing with me? Now that he was gone, all the anger had drained out of me. I realized Ares must love to mess with people’s emotions. That was his power—cranking up the passions so badly, they clouded your ability to think.
    “It’s probably some kind of trick,” I said. “Forget Ares. Let’s just go.”
    “We can’t,” Annabeth said. “Look, I hate Ares as much as anybody, but you don’t ignore the gods unless you want serious bad fortune. He wasn’t kidding about turning you into a rodent.”
    I looked down at my cheeseburger, which suddenly didn’t seem so appetizing. “Why does he need us?”
    “Maybe it’s a problem that requires brains,” Annabeth said. “Ares has strength. That’s all he has. Even strength has to bow to wisdom sometimes.”
    “But this water park . . . he acted almost scared. What would make a war god run away like that?”
    Annabeth and Grover glanced nervously at each other.
    Annabeth said, “I’m afraid we’ll have to find out.”
    The sun was sinking behind the mountains by the time we found the water park. Judging from the sign, it once had been called WATERLAND , but now some of the letters were smashed out, so it read WAT R A D .
    The main gate was padlocked and topped with barbed wire. Inside, huge dry waterslides and tubes and pipes curled everywhere, leading to empty pools. Old tickets and advertisements fluttered around the asphalt. With night coming on, the place looked sad and creepy.
    “If Ares brings his girlfriend here for a date,” I said, staring up at the barbed wire, “I’d hate to see what she looks like.”
    “Percy,” Annabeth warned. “Be more respectful.”
    “Why? I thought you hated Ares.”
    “He’s still a god. And his girlfriend is very temperamental.”
    “You don’t want to insult her looks,” Grover added. “Who is she? Echidna?”
    “No, Aphrodite,” Grover said, a little dreamily.
    “Goddess of love.”
    “I thought she was married to somebody,” I said.
    “Hephaestus.”
    “What’s your point?” he asked. “Oh.” I suddenly felt the need to change the subject.
    “So how do we get in?”
    “Maia!” Grover’s shoes sprouted wings.
    He flew over the fence, did an unintended somersault in midair, then stumbled to a landing on the opposite side. He dusted off his jeans, as if he’d planned the whole thing. “You guys coming?”
    Annabeth and I had to climb the old-fashioned way, holding down the barbed wire for each other as we crawled over the top.
    The shadows grew long as we walked through the park, checking out the attractions. There was Ankle Biter Island, Head Over Wedgie, and Dude, Where’s My Swimsuit?
    No monsters came to get us. Nothing made the slightest noise.
    We found a souvenir shop that had been left open. Merchandise still lined the shelves: snow globes, pencils, postcards, and racks of—
    “Clothes,” Annabeth said. “Fresh clothes.”
    “Yeah,” I said. “But you can’t just—”
    “Watch me.”
    She snatched an entire row of stuff of the racks and disappeared into the changing room. A few minutes later she came out in Waterland flower-print shorts, a big red Waterland T-shirt, and commemorative Waterland surf shoes. A Waterland backpack was slung over her shoulder, obviously stuffed with more goodies.
    “What the heck.” Grover shrugged. Soon, all three of us were decked out like walking advertisements for the defunct theme park.
    We continued searching for the Tunnel of Love. I got the feeling that the whole park was holding its breath. “So Ares and Aphrodite,” I said, to keep my mind off the growing dark, “they have a thing going?”
    “That’s old gossip, Percy,” Annabeth told me. “Three-thousand-year-old gossip.”
    “What about Aphrodite’s husband?”
    “Well, you know,” she said. “Hephaestus. The blacksmith. He was