Chaos Rising |BOOK 2| Harry Potter x PJO |Alexandra Marine|

PERCY JACKSON

My hands were shaking in pain.

No one knows how hard it is to row boats manually until it's their time to do it.

I pulled back one more time, however. I had to reach the other side- come on..

The oars slipped from my hands and fell into the boat. I panted, taking deep breaths and looking around me.

A wide strait stretched sideways, clear blue water reflecting a shining sun. I looked up to the steep cliff. Someone was there. I knew it.

Maybe they need my help, I thought. The person on the cliff began to wave their hands at me.

I could almost hear a faint, "Hey!"

"I'm coming!" I shouted back at the figure.

Behind the person was the shadow of a few cottages, all seemingly empty and unmoving. Whoever was there- they were alone.

***

"Thank you for coming," the man said. "They didn't know what to expect when you called, really."

I smiled. "Sorry about that."

"Yeah, well, we just changed the phone number a day ago," the boy said.

"Mhm.. My friend Piper got it from me a few.." I didn't know how to explain it. Heck, even I didn't know how it happened. I took the crumpled piece of paper that Piper had given to me.

A few numbers had been scribbled down hastily.... telephone numbers. I hadn't realized whose numbers they were until Piper had given it to me.

Do not dial unless you're in a life or death situation, the words had been written down neatly.

The boy stopped, turning to me. "The boat won't wait for long. Don't hesitate, and get in as quick as you can, alright?"

I nodded. "Right." I took a deep breath. "I'm Percy, by the way," I realized I hadn't introduced myself.

The boy nodded. "I'm Walt." A muscle flexed in his arm as I watched him tug the reed boat into the river. His closely shaven hair was glistening with sweat.

Walt jumped into the boat and waited for me to climb. The boat was basically woven together from coils of plant fiber—like a giant floating rug. I figured the torches at the front couldn't be a good idea, because if we didn't sink, we'd burn. At the back, the tiller was manned by a little guy wearing a black trench coat and hat. The hat was shoved down on his head so I couldn't see his face. His hands and feet were lost in the folds of the coat.

"How does this thing move?" I asked Walt. "You've got no sail."

"Trust me." the boy- the man offered me a hand.

The weather was pretty cold, but when I stepped on board I suddenly felt warmer, as if the torchlight were casting a protective glow over us. In the middle of the boat was a hut made from woven mats.

"Take a seat inside," Walt suggested. "The trip might be a little rough."

"I'll stand, thanks." I nodded at the little guy in back. "Who's your driver?"

Walt ignored the question. "Hang on." He nodded to the steersman, and the boat lurched forward.

The feeling was hard to describe. You know that tingle in the pit of your stomach when you're on a roller coaster and it goes into free fall? It was kind of like that, except we weren't falling, and the feeling didn't go away. The boat moved with astounding speed. The lights of the city blurred, then were swallowed in a thick fog. Strange sounds echoed in the dark: slithering and hissing, distant screams, voices whispering in languages I didn't understand.

The tingling turned to nausea. The sounds got louder, until I was about to scream myself. Then suddenly the boat slowed. The noises stopped, and the fog dissipated. City lights came back, brighter than before.

Above us loomed a bridge. My stomach did a slow roll. Here we were, sailing up the East River, right under the Williamsburg Bridge. We glided to a stop next to a small dock on the Brooklyn side of the river. In front of us was an industrial yard filled with piles of scrap metal and old construction equipment. In the center of it all, right at the water's edge, rose a huge factory warehouse heavily painted with graffiti, the windows boarded up.

"Wait," I said. "This where- Is this where you guys are... wow."

"What?" Walt asked.

"Nothing," I replied. "I just realized a friend of mine lived around here. No wonder..." I remembered Rachel telling me about the weird penguins she could see outside her window. "But... this is not a mansion for magicians, is it?"

"Look again," Walt said calmly.

"How...how did you..." My voice failed me. I wasn't sure why I hadn't seen it before, but now it was obvious: a five-story mansion perched on the roof of the warehouse, like another layer of a cake. "You couldn't build a mansion up there!"

"Long story," Walt said. "But we needed a private location."

"And is this the east shore?" I asked.

"Yes. In ancient times, the east bank of the Nile was always the side of the living, the side where the sun rises. The dead were buried west of the river. It was considered bad luck, even dangerous, to live there. The tradition is still strong among...our people. No offense."

"Well," I shrugged. "That's sorta offensive, but I'll take it, no worries."

Walt ignored me and walked past to the steersman. He plucked off the man's hat and coat—and there was no one underneath. The steersman simply wasn't there. Walt waved toward a metal staircase that wound all the way up the side of the warehouse to the mansion on the roof.

"All ashore," he said. "And welcome to the Twenty-first Nome."

"Gnome?" I asked, as we followed him up the stairs. "Like those little runty guys?"

"Heavens, no," Walt said. "I hate gnomes. They smell horrible."

"But you said—"

"Nome, n-o-m-e. As in a district, a region. The term is from ancient times, when Egypt was divided into forty-two provinces. Today, the system is a little different. We've gone global. The world is divided into three hundred and sixty nomes. Egypt, of course, is the First. Greater New York is the Twenty-first."

"Wow," I whispered.

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