The Titan's Curse

nymph. She giggled and held out her arms as he ran toward her. Pop! She turned into a Scotch pine and he kissed the trunk at top speed.
    “Ah, love,” Grover said dreamily.
    I thought about Zoë’s nightmare, which she’d had only a few hours after mine.
    “I’ve got to talk to Zoë,” I said.
    “Um, before you do . . .” Grover took something out of his coat pocket. It was a three-fold display like a travel brochure. “You remember what you said—about how it was weird the Hunters just happened to show up at Westover Hall? I think they might’ve been scouting us.”
    “Scouting us? What do you mean?”
    He gave me the brochure. It was about the Hunters of Artemis. The front read, A WISE CHOICE FOR YOUR FUTURE! Inside were pictures of young maidens doing hunter stuff, chasing monsters, shooting bows. There were captions like: HEALTH BENEFITS: IMMORTALITY AND WHAT IT MEANS FOR YOU! and A BOY-FREE TOMORROW!
    “I found that in Annabeth’s backpack,” Grover said.
    I stared at him. “I don’t understand.”
    “Well, it seems to me . . . maybe Annabeth was thinking about joining.”
    * * *
    I’d like to say I took the news well.
    The truth was, I wanted to strangle the Hunters of Artemis one eternal maiden at a time. The rest of the day I tried to keep busy, but I was worried sick about Annabeth. I went to javelin-throwing class, but the Ares camper in charge chewed me out after I got distracted and threw the javelin at the target before he got out of the way. I apologized for the hole in his pants, but he still sent me packing.
    I visited the pegasus stables, but Silena Beauregard from the Aphrodite cabin was having an argument with one of the Hunters, and I decided I’d better not get involved.
    After that, I sat in the empty chariot stands and sulked. Down at the archery fields, Chiron was conducting target practice. I knew he’d be the best person to talk to. Maybe he could give me some advice, but something held me back. I had a feeling Chiron would try to protect me, like he always did. He might not tell me everything he knew.
    I looked the other direction. At the top of Half-Blood Hill, Mr. D and Argus were feeding the baby dragon that guarded the Golden Fleece.
    Then it occurred to me: no one would be in the Big House. There was someone else . . . some thing else I could ask for guidance.
    My blood was humming in my ears as I ran into the house and took the stairs. I’d only done this once before, and I still had nightmares about it. I opened the trap door and stepped into the attic.
    The room was dark and dusty and cluttered with junk, just like I remembered. There were shields with monster bites out of them, and swords bent in the shapes of daemon heads, and a bunch of taxidermy, like a stuffed harpy and a bright orange python.
    Over by the window, sitting on a three-legged stool, was the shriveled-up mummy of an old lady in a tie-dyed hippie dress. The Oracle.
    I made myself walk toward her. I waited for green mist to billow from the mummy’s mouth, like it had before, but nothing happened.
    “Hi,” I said. “Uh, what’s up?”
    I winced at how stupid that sounded. Not much could be “up” when you’re dead and stuck in the attic. But I knew the spirit of the Oracle was in there somewhere. I could feel a cold presence in the room, like a coiled sleeping snake.
    “I have a question,” I said a little louder. “I need to know about Annabeth. How can I save her?”
    No answer. The sun slanted through the dirty attic window, lighting the dust motes dancing in the air.
    I waited longer.
    Then I got angry. I was being stonewalled by a corpse.
    “All right,” I said. “Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.”
    I turned and bumped into a big table full of souvenirs. It seemed more cluttered than the last time I was here. Heroes stored all kinds of stuff in the attic: quest trophies they no longer wanted to keep in their cabins, or stuff that held painful memories. I knew Luke had stored a dragon claw somewhere up here—the one that had scarred his face.
    There was a broken sword hilt labeled: This broke and Leroy got killed. 1999.
    Then I noticed a pink silk scarf with a label attached to it. I picked up the tag and tried to read it:
     
    SCARF OF THE GODDESS APHRODITE
    Recovered at Waterland, Denver, Co.,
    by Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson
     
    I stared at the scarf. I’d totally forgotten about it. Two years ago, Annabeth had ripped this scarf out of my hands and said something