The Titan's Curse

the Hunters. He winked at me. “Watch out for those prophecies, Percy. I’ll see you soon.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Instead of answering, he hopped back in the bus. “Later, Thalia,” he called. “And, uh, be good!”
    He gave her a wicked smile, as if he knew something she didn’t. Then he closed the doors and revved the engine. I turned aside as the sun chariot took off in a blast of heat. When I looked back, the lake was steaming. A red Maserati soared over the woods, glowing brighter and climbing higher until it disappeared in a ray of sunlight.
    Nico was still looking grumpy. I wondered what his sister had told him.
    “Who’s Chiron?” he asked. “I don’t have his figurine.”
    “Our activities director,” I said. “He’s . . . well, you’ll see.”
    “If those Hunter girls don’t like him,” Nico grumbled, “that’s good enough for me. Let’s go.”
    The second thing that surprised me about camp was how empty it was. I mean, I knew most half-bloods only trained during the summer. Just the year-rounders would be here— the ones who didn’t have homes to go to, or would get attacked by monsters too much if they left. But there didn’t even seem to be many of them, either.
    I spotted Charles Beckendorf from the Hephaestus cabin stoking the forge outside the camp armory. The Stoll brothers, Travis and Connor, from the Hermes cabin, were picking the lock on the camp store. A few kids from the Ares cabin were having a snowball fight with the wood nymphs at the edge of the forest. That was about it. Even my old rival from the Ares cabin, Clarisse, didn’t seem to be around.
    The Big House was decorated with strings of red and yellow fireballs that warmed the porch but didn’t seem to catch anything on fire. Inside, flames crackled in the hearth. The air smelled like hot chocolate. Mr. D, the camp director, and Chiron were playing a quiet game of cards in the parlor.
    Chiron’s brown beard was shaggier for the winter. His curly hair had grown a little longer. He wasn’t posing as a teacher this year, so I guess he could afford to be casual. He wore a fuzzy sweater with a hoofprint design on it, and he had a blanket on his lap that almost hid his wheelchair completely.
    He smiled when he saw us. “Percy! Thalia! Ah, and this must be—”
    “Nico di Angelo,” I said. “He and his sister are half-bloods.”
    Chiron breathed a sigh of relief. “You succeeded, then.”
    “Well . . .”
    His smile melted. “What’s wrong? And where is Annabeth?”
    “Oh, dear,” Mr. D said in a bored voice. “Not another one lost.”
    I’d been trying not to pay attention to Mr. D, but he was kind of hard to ignore in his neon orange leopard-skin warm-up suit and his purple running shoes. (Like Mr. D had ever run a day in his immortal life.) A golden laurel wreath was tilted sideways on his curly black hair, which must’ve meant he’d won the last hand of cards.
    “What do you mean?” Thalia asked. “Who else is lost?”
    Just then, Grover trotted into the room, grinning like crazy. He had a black eye and red lines on his face that looked like a slap mark. “The Hunters are all moved in!”
    Chiron frowned. “The Hunters, eh? I see we have much to talk about.” He glanced at Nico. “Grover, perhaps you should take our young friend to the den and show him our orientation film.”
    “But . . . Oh, right. Yes, sir.”
    “Orientation film?” Nico asked. “Is it G or PG? ’Cause Bianca is kinda strict—”
    “It’s PG-13,” Grover said.
    “Cool!” Nico happily followed him out of the room.
    “Now,” Chiron said to Thalia and me, “perhaps you two should sit down and tell us the whole story.”
    When we were done, Chiron turned to Mr. D. “We should launch a search for Annabeth immediately.”
    “I’ll go,” Thalia and I said at the same time.
    Mr. D sniffed. “Certainly not!”
    Thalia and I both started complaining, but Mr. D held up his hand. He had that purplish angry fire in his eyes that usually meant something bad and godly was going to happen if we didn’t shut up.
    “From what you have told me,” Mr. D said, “we have broken even on this escapade. We have, ah, regrettably lost Annie Bell—”
    “Annabeth,” I snapped. She’d gone to camp since she was seven, and still Mr. D pretended not to know her name.
    “Yes, yes,” he said. “And you procured a small annoying boy to replace her. So I see no point risking further half-bloods on a ridiculous rescue.