The Titan's Curse

air, his leopard-skin warm-up suit and black hair whipping around in the wind.
    God alert! Blackjack yelled. It’s the wine dude!
    Mr. D sighed in exasperation. “The next person, or horse , who calls me the ‘wine dude’ will end up in a bottle of Merlot!”
    “Mr. D.” I tried to keep my voice calm as the grape vines continued to wrap around my legs. “What do you want?”
    “Oh, what do I want? You thought, perhaps, that the immortal, all-powerful director of camp would not notice you leaving without permission?”
    “Well . . . maybe.”
    “I should throw you off this building, minus the flying horse, and see how heroic you sound on the way down.”
    I balled my fists. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but Mr. D was about to kill me or haul me back to camp in shame, and I couldn’t stand either idea. “Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?”
    Purple flames flickered in his eyes. “You’re a hero, boy. I need no other reason.”
    “I have to go on this quest! I’ve got to help my friends. That’s something you wouldn’t understand!”
    Um, boss, Blackjack said nervously. Seeing as how we’re wrapped in vines nine hundred feet in the air, you might want to talk nice.
    The grape vines coiled tighter around me. Below us, the white van was getting farther and farther away. Soon it would be out of sight.
    “Did I ever tell you about Ariadne?” Mr. D asked. “Beautiful young princess of Crete? She liked helping her friends, too. In fact, she helped a young hero named Theseus, also a son of Poseidon. She gave him a ball of magical yarn that let him find his way out of the Labyrinth.
    And do you know how Theseus rewarded her?”
    The answer I wanted to give was I don’t care! But I didn’t figure that would make Mr. D finish his story any faster.
    “They got married,” I said. “Happily ever after. The end.”
    Mr. D sneered. “Not quite. Theseus said he would marry her. He took her aboard his ship and sailed for Athens. Halfway back, on a little island called Naxos, he . . . What’s the word you mortals use today? . . . he dumped her. I found her there, you know. Alone. Heartbroken. Crying her eyes out. She had given up everything, left everything she knew behind, to help a dashing young hero who tossed her away like a broken sandal.”
    “That’s wrong,” I said. “But that was thousands of years ago. What’s that got to do with me?”
    Mr. D regarded me coldly. “I fell in love with Ariadne, boy. I healed her broken heart. And when she died, I made her my immortal wife in Olympus. She waits for me even now. I shall go back to her when I am done with this infernal century of punishment at your ridiculous camp.”
    I stared at him. “You’re . . . you’re married? But I thought you got in trouble for chasing a wood nymph—”
    “My point is you heroes never change. You accuse us gods of being vain. You should look at yourselves. You take what you want, use whoever you have to, and then you betray everyone around you. So you’ll excuse me if I have no love for heroes. They are a selfish, ungrateful lot. Ask Ariadne. Or Medea. For that matter, ask Zoë Nightshade.”
    “What do you mean, ask Zoë?”
    He waved his hand dismissively. “Go. Follow your silly friends.”
    The vines uncurled around my legs.
    I blinked in disbelief. “You’re . . . you’re letting me go? Just like that?”
    “The prophecy says at least two of you will die. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and you’ll be one of them. But mark my words, Son of Poseidon, live or die, you will prove no better than the other heroes.”
    With that, Dionysus snapped his fingers. His image folded up like a paper display. There was a pop and he was gone, leaving a faint scent of grapes that was quickly blown away by the wind.
    Too close, Blackjack said.
    I nodded, though I almost would have been less worried if Mr. D had hauled me back to camp. The fact that he’d let me go meant he really believed we stood a fair chance of crashing and burning on this quest.
    “Come on, Blackjack,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “I’ll buy you some donuts in New Jersey.”
    As it turned out, I didn’t buy Blackjack donuts in New Jersey. Zoë drove south like a crazy person, and we were into Maryland before she finally pulled over at a rest stop. Blackjack darn near tumbled out of the sky, he was so tired. I’ll be okay, boss, he panted. Just . . . just catching my breath.
    “Stay here,” I told him. “I’m going