The Titan's Curse

you’ll do what’s best for Annabeth.”
    “How can you be sure?”
    “Because she’d do the same for you.”
    And with that, my mother waved her hand over the mist, and the connection dissolved, leaving me with one final image of her new friend, Mr. Blowfish, smiling down at her.
    I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember the dream.
    I was back in that barren cave, the ceiling heavy and low above me. Annabeth was kneeling under the weight of a dark mass that looked like a pile of boulders. She was too tired even to cry out. Her legs trembled. Any second, I knew she would run out of strength and the cavern ceiling would collapse on top of her.
    “How is our mortal guest?” a male voice boomed.
    It wasn’t Kronos. Kronos’s voice was raspy and metallic, like a knife scraped across stone. I’d heard it taunting me many times before in my dreams. But this voice was deeper and lower, like a bass guitar. Its force made the ground vibrate.
    Luke emerged from the shadows. He ran to Annabeth, knelt beside her, then looked back at the unseen man. “She’s fading. We must hurry.”
    The hypocrite. Like he really cared what happened to her.
    The deep voice chuckled. It belonged to someone in the shadows, at the edge of my dream. Then a meaty hand thrust someone forward into the light—Artemis—her hands and feet bound in celestial bronze chains.
    I gasped. Her silvery dress was torn and tattered. Her face and arms were cut in several places, and she was bleeding ichor, the golden blood of the gods.
    “You heard the boy,” said the man in the shadows. “Decide!”
    Artemis’s eyes flashed with anger. I didn’t know why she just didn’t will the chains to burst, or make herself disappear, but she didn’t seem able to. Maybe the chains prevented her, or some magic about this dark, horrible place.
    The goddess looked at Annabeth and her expression changed to concern and outrage. “How dare you torture a maiden like this!”
    “She will die soon,” Luke said. “You can save her.”
    Annabeth made a weak sound of protest. My heart felt like it was being twisted into a knot. I wanted to run to her, but I couldn’t move.
    “Free my hands,” Artemis said.
    Luke brought out his sword, Backbiter. With one expert strike, he broke the goddess’s handcuffs.
    Artemis ran to Annabeth and took the burden from her shoulders. Annabeth collapsed on the ground and lay there shivering. Artemis staggered, trying to support the weight of the black rocks.
    The man in the shadows chuckled. “You are as predictable as you were easy to beat, Artemis.”
    “You surprised me,” the goddess said, straining under her burden. “It will not happen again.”
    “Indeed it will not,” the man said. “Now you are out of the way for good! I knew you could not resist helping a young maiden. That is, after all, your specialty, my dear.”
    Artemis groaned. “You know nothing of mercy, you swine.”
    “On that,” the man said, “we can agree. Luke, you may kill the girl now.”
    “No!” Artemis shouted.
    Luke hesitated. “She—she may yet be useful, sir. Further bait.”
    “Bah! You truly believe that?”
    “Yes, General. They will come for her. I’m sure.”
    The man considered. “Then the dracaenae can guard her here. Assuming she does not die from her injuries, you may keep her alive until winter solstice. After that, if our sacrifice goes as planned, her life will be meaningless. The lives of all mortals will be meaningless.”
    Luke gathered up Annabeth’s listless body and carried her away from the goddess.
    “You will never find the monster you seek,” Artemis said. “Your plan will fail.”
    “How little you know, my young goddess,” the man in the shadows said. “Even now, your darling attendants begin their quest to find you. They shall play directly into my hands. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a long journey to make. We must greet your Hunters and make sure their quest is . . . challenging.”
    The man’s laughter echoed in the darkness, shaking the ground until it seemed the whole cavern ceiling would collapse.
    I woke with a start. I was sure I’d heard a loud banging. I looked around the cabin. It was dark outside. The salt spring still gurgled. No other sounds but the hoot of an owl in the woods and the distant surf on the beach. In the moonlight, on my nightstand, was Annabeth’s New York Yankees cap. I stared at it for a second, and then: BANG. BANG.
    Someone, or something, was