NEVER BE THE SAME . . . percy jackson

ninety one: the vampires.

AS THEY STARTED down the cliff, Brooklyn concentrated on the challenges at hand: keeping her footing, avoiding rockslides that would alert the empousai to their presence, and of course making sure she and her friends didn't plummet to their deaths.

About halfway down the precipice, Annabeth said, "Stop, okay? Just a quick break."

Her legs wobbled very badly. Imagine being that bad. Brooklyn was just fine herself.

But they sat together on a ledge next to a roaring fiery waterfall anyway. Brooklyn pulled Percy's head into her lap, running her fingers through his hair.

"Things could be worse," Annabeth ventured. She put her head onto Brooklyn's shoulder.

"Yeah?" Brooklyn asked.

Annabeth leaned into her for support. Her hair smelled of smoke, and suddenly Brooklyn wanted a cigarette. She hadn't smoked for six months. What a miracle.

"We could've fallen into the River Lethe," Annabeth said. "Lost all our memories."

Brooklyn's skin crawled just thinking about it. She'd had enough trouble with amnesia for one lifetime. Only last month, Hera had erased her and Percy's memories to put them among the Roman demigods. Brooklyn had stumbled into Camp Jupiter with no idea who she was or where she came from. And she hadn't known who Percy was, right after they'd confessed their stupid feelings to each other. Stupid Hera.

"Yeah, the Lethe," Percy muttered. "Not my favorite."

"What was the dude's name?" Brooklyn asked.

"Uh . . . Iapetus. He said it meant the Impaler or something."

"Lame," she commented.

"What's the name you gave him after he lost his memory?" Annabeth asked. "Steve?"

"Bob," Percy said.

Annabeth managed a weak laugh. "Bob the Titan."

Brooklyn gazed across the ashen plains. The other Titans were supposed to be here in Tartarus — maybe bound in chains, or roaming aimlessly, or hiding in some of those dark crevices. She and her allies had destroyed the worst Titan, Kronos, but even his remains might be down here somewhere — a billion angry Titan particles floating through the blood-colored clouds or lurking in that dark fog.

Percy used his hand to prop himself up to press a kiss to Brooklyn's lips. His lips were so chapped. "We should keep moving. You want some more fire to drink?"

"Ugh. Do not. You, Annie?"

"I'll pass," Annabeth scrunched up her nose.

They struggled to their feet. The rest of the cliff looked impossible to descend — nothing more than a crosshatching of tiny ledges — but they kept climbing down.

Brooklyn's body went on autopilot. Her fingers cramped. She felt blisters popping up on her legs. She got shaky from hunger.

She wondered if they would die of starvation, or if the firewater would keep them going.

Keep going, she told herself.

Potatoes, her stomach replied.

Do not, she internally whined.

Baked potatoes, fried potatoes, every kind of potato, her stomach complained.

A billion years later, with a dozen new blisters on her feet, Brooklyn reached the bottom. She collapsed on the ground, Percy and Annabeth closely following.

Ahead of them stretched miles of wasteland, bubbling with monstrous larvae and big insect-hair trees. To their right, the Phlegethon split into branches that etched the plain, widening into a delta of smoke and fire. To the north, along the main route of the river, the ground was riddled with cave entrances. Here and there, spires of rock jutted up like exclamation points.