The Titan's Curse

side of a bonfire. One of the girls blew a silver dog whistle, and a dozen white wolves appeared out of the woods. They began circling the camp like guard dogs. The Hunters walked among them and fed them treats, completely unafraid, but I decided I would stick close to the tents. Falcons watched us from the trees, their eyes flashing in the firelight, and I got the feeling they were on guard duty, too. Even the weather seemed to bend to the goddess’s will. The air was still cold, but the wind died down and the snow stopped falling, so it was almost pleasant sitting by the fire.
    Almost . . . except for the pain in my shoulder and the guilt weighing me down. I couldn’t believe Annabeth was gone. And as angry as I was at Thalia, I had a sinking feeling that she was right. It was my fault.
    What had Annabeth wanted to tell me in the gym? Something serious , she’d said. Now I might never find out. I thought about how we’d danced together for half a song, and my heart felt even heavier.
    I watched Thalia pacing in the snow at the edge of camp, walking among the wolves without fear. She stopped and looked back at Westover Hall, which was now completely dark, looming on the hillside beyond the woods. I wondered what she was thinking.
    Seven years ago, Thalia had been turned into a pine tree by her father, to prevent her from dying. She’d stood her ground against an army of monsters on top of Half-Blood Hill in order to give her friends Luke and Annabeth time to escape. She’d only been back as a human for a few months now, and once in a while she would stand so motionless you’d think she was still a tree.
    Finally, one of the Hunters brought me my backpack. Grover and Nico came back from their walk, and Grover helped me fix up my wounded arm.
    “It’s green!” Nico said with delight.
    “Hold still,” Grover told me. “Here, eat some ambrosia while I clean that out.”
    I winced as he dressed the wound, but the ambrosia square helped. It tasted like homemade brownie, dissolving in my mouth and sending a warm feeling through my whole body. Between that and the magic salve Grover used, my shoulder felt better within a couple of minutes.
    Nico rummaged through his own bag, which the Hunters had apparently packed for him, though how they’d snuck into Westover Hall unseen, I didn’t know. Nico laid out a bunch of figurines in the snow—little battle replicas of Greek gods and heroes. I recognized Zeus with a lightning bolt, Ares with a spear, Apollo with his sun chariot.
    “Big collection,” I said.
    Nico grinned. “I’ve got almost all of them, plus their holographic cards! Well, except for a few really rare ones.”
    “You’ve been playing this game a long time?”
    “Just this year. Before that . . .” He knit his eyebrows.
    “What?” I asked.
    “I forget. That’s weird.”
    He looked unsettled, but it didn’t last long. “Hey, can I see that sword you were using?”
    I showed him Riptide, and explained how it turned from a pen into a sword just by uncapping it.
    “Cool! Does it ever run out of ink?”
    “Um, well, I don’t actually write with it.”
    “Are you really the son of Poseidon?”
    “Well, yeah.”
    “Can you surf really well, then?”
    I looked at Grover, who was trying hard not to laugh.
    “Jeez, Nico,” I said. “I’ve never really tried.”
    He went on asking questions. Did I fight a lot with Thalia, since she was a daughter of Zeus? (I didn’t answer that one.) If Annabeth’s mother was Athena, the goddess of wisdom, then why didn’t Annabeth know better than to fall off a cliff ? (I tried not to strangle Nico for asking that one.) Was Annabeth my girlfriend? (At this point, I was ready to stick the kid in a meat-flavored sack and throw him to the wolves.)
    I figured any second he was going to ask me how many hit points I had, and I’d lose my cool completely, but then Zoë Nightshade came up to us.
    “Percy Jackson.”
    She had dark brown eyes and a slightly upturned nose. With her silver circlet and her proud expression, she looked so much like royalty that I had to resist the urge to sit up straight and say “Yes, ma’am.” She studied me distastefully, like I was a bag of dirty laundry she’d been sent to fetch.
    “Come with me,” she said. “Lady Artemis wishes to speak with thee.”
    * * *
    Zoë led me to the last tent, which looked no different from the others, and waved me inside. Bianca di Angelo was seated next to the auburn-haired girl, who I