NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

forty three: the harpy.

"WE'LL NEED SOME of your food." Percy shouldered his way around the old man and snatched stuff off the picnic table — a covered bowl of Thai noodles in mac-and-cheese sauce, and a tubular pastry that looked like a combination burrito and cinnamon roll.

"Come on, guys," Percy said. Brooklyn led her allies out of the parking lot.

They stopped across the street. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The rain had slowed to a halfhearted drizzle. The cold mist felt good on her face.

"That man . . ." Hazel smacked the side of a bus-stop bench. "He needs to die. Again."

It was hard to tell in the rain, but she seemed to be blinking back tears. Her long curly hair was plastered down the sides of her face. In the gray light, her gold eyes looked more like tin.

Brooklyn remembered how confident she'd acted when they first met — taking control of the situation with the gorgons and ushering Percy and Brooklyn to safety. Now she wanted to return the favor, but she wasn't sure how. Hazel looked lost, bedraggled, and thoroughly depressed.

Brooklyn wasn't surprised that she had come back from the Underworld. She'd suspected that for a while — the way she avoided talking about her past, the way Nico di Angelo had been so secretive and cautious.

But that didn't change how she saw Hazel. She seemed . . . well, alive, like a regular kid with a good heart, who deserved to grow up and have a future. She wasn't a ghoul like Phineas.

"We'll get him," Brooklyn promised. "He's nothing like you, Hazel. I don't give a shit about what he says, he's got it coming."

Hazel shook her head. "You don't know the whole story. I should have been sent to Punishment. I — I'm just as bad—"

"No, you're not!" Frank balled his fists. He looked around like he was searching for anybody who might disagree with him — enemies he could hit for Hazel's sake. "She's a good person!" he yelled across the street. A few harpies squawked in the trees, but no one else paid them any attention.

Hazel stared at Frank. She reached out tentatively, as if she wanted to take his hand but was afraid he might evaporate.

"Frank . . ." she stammered. "I — I don't . . ."

Unfortunately, he seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.

He slung his spear off his back and gripped it uneasily.

"I could intimidate that old man," he offered, "maybe scare him—"

"Frank, it's okay," Percy said. "Let's keep that as a backup plan, but I don't think Phineas can be scared into cooperating. Besides, you've only got two more uses out of the spear, right?"

Frank scowled at the dragon's-tooth point, which had grown back completely overnight. "Yeah. I guess . . ."

Brooklyn wasn't sure what the old seer had meant about Frank's family history — his great-grandfather destroying camp, his Argonaut ancestor, and the bit about a burned stick controlling Frank's life. But it had clearly shaken him up. She decided not to ask for explanations. She didn't care, and she didn't want the big guy reduced to tears, especially in front of her.

"I've got an idea." Brooklyn nodded up the street. "The red-feathered harpy went that way. Let's see if we can get her to talk to us."

Hazel looked at the food in Percy's hands. "You're going to use that as bait?"

"More like a peace offering," Percy said. "Come on. Just try to keep the other harpies from stealing this stuff, okay?"

Percy uncovered the Thai noodles and unwrapped the cinnamon burrito. Fragrant steam wafted into the air. They walked down the street, Brooklyn, Hazel, and Frank with their weapons out. The harpies fluttered after them, perching on trees, mailboxes, and flagpoles, following the smell of food.