"Annabeth, wake up."
Salt water splashed my face. Percy was shaking my shoulder.
In the distance, the sun was setting behind a city skyline. I could see a beachside highway lined with palm trees, storefronts glowing with red and blue neon, a harbor filled with sailboats and cruise ships.
"Miami, I think," Percy said. "But the hippocampi are acting funny."
Sure enough, our fishy friends had slowed down and were whinnying and swimming in circles, sniffing the water. They didn't look happy. One of them sneezed. I could tell what they were thinking.
"This is as far as they'll take us," I said. "Too many humans. Too much pollution. We'll have to swim to shore on our own."
None of us was very psyched about that, but we thanked Rainbow and his friends for the ride. Tyson cried a little. He unfastened the makeshift saddle pack he'd made, which contained his tool kit and a couple of other things he'd salvaged from the Birmingham wreck. He hugged Rainbow around the neck, gave him a soggy mango he'd picked up on the island, and said good-bye.
Once the hippocampi's white manes disappeared into the sea, we swam for shore. The waves pushed us forward, and in no time we were back in the mortal world. We wandered along the cruise line docks, pushing through crowds of people arriving for vacations. Porters bustled around with carts of luggage. Taxi drivers yelled at each other in Spanish and tried to cut in line for customers. If anybody noticed us—five kids dripping wet and looking like they'd just had a fight with a monster—they didn't let on.
Now that we were back among mortals, Tyson's single eye had blurred from the Mist. Grover had put on his cap and sneakers. Even the Fleece had transformed from a sheepskin to a red-and-gold high school letter jacket with a large glittery Omega on the pocket.
Percy ran to the nearest newspaper box and checked the date on the Miami Herald. He cursed. "June eighteenth! We've been away from camp ten days!"
"That's impossible!" Clarisse said.
But I knew it wasn't. Time traveled differently in monstrous places.
"Thalia's tree must be almost dead," Grover wailed. "We have to get the Fleece back tonight."
Clarisse slumped down on the pavement. "How are we supposed to do that?" Her voice trembled. "We're hundreds of miles away. No money. No ride. This is just like the Oracle said. It's your fault, Chase! If you hadn't interfered—"
"Annabeth's fault?!" Percy exploded. "Clarisse, how can you say that? You are the biggest—"
"Stop it!" I said.
Clarisse put her head in hands. Percy stomped his foot in frustration.
The thing was: I'd almost forgotten this quest was supposed to be Clarisse's. For a scary moment, I saw things from her point of view. How would I feel if a bunch of other heroes had butted in and made me look bad?
I thought about what I'd overheard in the boiler room of the CSS Birmingham—Ares yelling at Clarisse, warning her that she'd better not fail. Ares couldn't care less about the camp, but if Clarisse made him look bad ...
"Clarisse," I said, "what did the Oracle tell you exactly?"
She looked up. I thought she was going to tell me off, but instead she took a deep breath and recited her prophecy:
"You shall sail the iron ship with warriors of bone,
You shall find what you seek and make it your own,
YOU ARE READING
Annabeth Chase and the Sea of Monsters
FantasíaAnnabeth Chase is still dealing with being a Half-Blood, but she has more pressing issues. Her and her friends have to figure how to save the camp and Grover and there's only one way to do that. The question is can she do it?
