The Titan's Curse

She didn’t hide her face under a green cap anymore. She kept her hair tied back, and she looked me right in the eyes when she spoke. With a shiver, I realized that five hundred or a thousand years from now, Bianca di Angelo would look exactly the same as she did today. She might be having a conversation like this with some other half-blood long after I was dead, but Bianca would still look twelve years old.
    “Nico didn’t understand my decision,” Bianca murmured. She looked at me like she wanted assurance it was okay.
    “He’ll be all right,” I said. “Camp Half-Blood takes in a lot of young kids. They did that for Annabeth.”
    Bianca nodded. “I hope we find her. Annabeth, I mean. She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”
    “Lot of good it did her.”
    “Don’t blame yourself, Percy. You risked your life to save my brother and me. I mean, that was seriously brave. If I hadn’t met you, I wouldn’t have felt okay about leaving Nico at the camp. I figured if there were people like you there, Nico would be fine. You’re a good guy.”
    The compliment took me by surprise. “Even though I knocked you down in capture the flag?”
    She laughed. “Okay. Except for that, you’re a good guy.”
    A couple hundred yards away, Grover and Zoë came out of the coffee shop loaded down with pastry bags and drinks. I kind of didn’t want them to come back yet. It was weird, but I realized I liked talking to Bianca. She wasn’t so bad. A lot easier to hang out with than Zoë Nightshade, anyway.
    “So what’s the story with you and Nico?” I asked her. “Where did you go to school before Westover?”
    She frowned. “I think it was a boarding school in D.C. It seems like so long ago.”
    “You never lived with your parents? I mean, your mortal parent?”
    “We were told our parents were dead. There was a bank trust for us. A lot of money, I think. A lawyer would come by once in a while to check on us. Then Nico and I had to leave that school.”
    “Why?”
    She knit her eyebrows. “We had to go somewhere. I remember it was important. We traveled a long way. And we stayed in this hotel for a few weeks. And then . . . I don’t know. One day a different lawyer came to get us out. He said it was time for us to leave. He drove us back east, through D.C. Then up into Maine. And we started going to Westover.”
    It was a strange story. Then again, Bianca and Nico were half-bloods. Nothing would be normal for them.
    “So you’ve been raising Nico pretty much all your life?” I asked. “Just the two of you?”
    She nodded. “That’s why I wanted to join the Hunters so bad. I mean, I know it’s selfish, but I wanted my own life and friends. I love Nico—don’t get me wrong—I just needed to find out what it would be like not to be a big sister twenty-four hours a day.”
    I thought about last summer, the way I’d felt when I found out I had a Cyclops for a baby brother. I could relate to what Bianca was saying.
    “Zoë seems to trust you,” I said. “What were you guys talking about, anyway—something dangerous about the quest?”
    “When?”
    “Yesterday morning on the pavilion,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Something about the General.”
    Her face darkened. “How did you . . . The invisibility hat. Were you eavesdropping?”
    “No! I mean, not really. I just—”
    I was saved from trying to explain when Zoë and Grover arrived with the drinks and pastries. Hot chocolate for Bianca and me. Coffee for them. I got a blueberry muffin, and it was so good I could almost ignore the outraged look Bianca was giving me.
    “We should do the tracking spell,” Zoë said. “Grover, do you have any acorns left?”
    “Umm,” Grover mumbled. He was chewing on a bran muffin, wrapper and all. “I think so. I just need to—”
    He froze.
    I was about to ask what was wrong, when a warm breeze rustled past, like a gust of springtime had gotten lost in the middle of winter. Fresh air seasoned with wildflowers and sunshine. And something else—almost like a voice, trying to say something. A warning.
    Zoë gasped. “Grover, thy cup.”
    Grover dropped his coffee cup, which was decorated with pictures of birds. Suddenly the birds peeled off the cup and flew away—a flock of tiny doves. My rubber rat squeaked. It scampered off the railing and into the trees— real fur, real whiskers.
    Grover collapsed next to his coffee, which steamed against the snow. We gathered around him and tried to