The Titan's Curse

used to lure you into Kronos’s traps. Your fatal flaw is personal loyalty, Percy. You do not know when it is time to cut your losses. To save a friend, you would sacrifice the world. In a hero of the prophecy, that is very, very dangerous.”
    I balled my fists. “That’s not a flaw. Just because I want to help my friends—”
    “The most dangerous flaws are those which are good in moderation,” she said. “Evil is easy to fight. Lack of wisdom . . . that is very hard indeed.”
    I wanted to argue, but I found I couldn’t. Athena was pretty darn smart.
    “I hope the Council’s decisions prove wise,” Athena said. “But I will be watching, Percy Jackson. I do not approve of your friendship with my daughter. I do not think it wise for either of you. And should you begin to waver in your loyalties . . .”
    She fixed me with her cold gray stare, and I realized what a terrible enemy Athena would make, ten times worse than Ares or Dionysus or maybe even my father. Athena would never give up. She would never do something rash or stupid just because she hated you, and if she made a plan to destroy you, it would not fail.
    “Percy!” Annabeth said, running through the crowd. She stopped short when she saw who I was talking to. “Oh . . . Mom.”
    “I will leave you,” Athena said. “For now.”
    She turned and strode through the crowds, which parted before her as if she were carrying Aegis.
    “Was she giving you a hard time?” Annabeth asked.
    “No,” I said. “It’s . . . fine.”
    She studied me with concern. She touched the new streak of gray in my hair that matched hers exactly— our painful souvenir from holding Atlas’s burden. There was a lot I’d wanted to say to Annabeth, but Athena had taken the confidence out of me. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
    I do not approve of your friendship with my daughter.
    “So,” Annabeth said. “What did you want to tell me earlier?”
    The music was playing. People were dancing in the streets. I said, “I, uh, was thinking we got interrupted at Westover Hall. And . . . I think I owe you a dance.”
    She smiled slowly. “All right, Seaweed Brain.”
    So I took her hand, and I don’t know what everybody else heard, but to me it sounded like a slow dance: a little sad, but maybe a little hopeful, too.

TWENTY

I GET A NEW ENEMY FOR CHRISTMAS
    Before I left Olympus, I decided to make a few calls. It wasn’t easy, but I finally found a quiet fountain in a corner garden and sent an Iris-message to my brother, Tyson, under the sea. I told him about our adventures, and Bessie—he wanted to hear every detail about the cute baby cow serpent—and I assured him that Annabeth was safe. Finally I got around to explaining how the shield he’d made me last summer had been damaged in the manticore attack.
    “Yay!” Tyson said. “That means it was good! It saved your life!”
    “It sure did, big guy,” I said. “But now it’s ruined.”
    “Not ruined!” Tyson promised. “I will visit and fix it next summer.”
    The idea picked me up instantly. I guess I hadn’t realized how much I missed having Tyson around.
    “Seriously?” I asked. “They’ll let you take time off ?”
    “Yes! I have made two thousand seven hundred and forty-one magic swords,” Tyson said proudly, showing me the newest blade. “The boss says ‘good work’! He will let me take the whole summer off. I will visit camp!”
    We talked for a while about war preparations and our dad’s fight with the old sea gods, and all the cool things we could do together next summer, but then Tyson’s boss started yelling at him and he had to get back to work.
    I dug out my last golden drachma and made one more Iris-message.
    “Sally Jackson,” I said. “Upper East Side, Manhattan.”
    The mist shimmered, and there was my mom at our kitchen table, laughing and holding hands with her friend Mr. Blowfish.
    I felt so embarrassed, I was about to wave my hand through the mist and cut the connection, but before I could, my mom saw me.
    Her eyes got wide. She let go of Mr. Blowfish’s hand real quick. “Oh, Paul! You know what? I left my writing journal in the living room. Would you mind getting it for me?”
    “Sure, Sally. No problem.”
    He left the room, and instantly my mom leaned toward the Iris-message. “Percy! Are you all right?”
    “I’m, uh, fine. How’s that writing seminar going?”
    She pursed her lips. “It’s fine. But that’s not important. Tell me what’s