Shades of Glory- Book one of Walk of Glory.

We settle our tab.

Percy's pov

It's funny how humans can wrap their mind around things and fit them into their version of reality.

Chiron had told me that long ago. As usual, I didn't appreciate his wisdom until much later.

According to the L.A. news, the explosion at the Santa Monica beach had been caused when a crazy kidnapper fired a shotgun at a police car. He accidentally hit a gas main that had ruptured during the earthquake.

This crazy kidnapper (a.k.a. Ares) was the same man who had abducted me and two other adolescents in New York and brought us across the country on a ten-day odyssey of terror.

Poor little Percy Jackson wasn't an international criminal after all nor was Cassiopeiea black. He'd caused a commotion on that Greyhound bus in New Jersey trying to get away from his captor (and afterward, witnesses would even swear they had seen the leather-clad man on the bus-"Why didn't I remember him before?"). The crazy man had caused the explosion in the St. Louis Arch. After all, no kid could've done that. A concerned waitress in Denver had seen the man threatening his abductees outside her diner, gotten a friend to take a photo, and notified the police. Finally, brave Percy Jackson (I was beginning to like this kid) had stolen a gun from his captor in Los Angeles and battled him shotgun-to-rifle on the beach. Police had arrived just in time. But in the spectacular explosion, five police cars had been destroyed and the captor had fled. No fatalities had occurred. Percy Jackson and his two friends were

safely in police custody.

The reporters fed us this whole story. We just nodded and acted tearful and exhausted (which

wasn't hard), and played victimized kids for the cameras.

"All I want," I said, choking back my tears, "is to see my loving stepfather again. Every time I

saw him on TV, calling me a delinquent punk, I knew ... somehow ... we would be okay. And I know

he'll want to reward each and every person in this beautiful city of Los Angeles with a free major

appliance from his store. Here's the phone number." The police and reporters were so moved that

they passed around the hat and raised money for three tickets on the next plane to New York.

I knew there was no choice but to fly. I hoped Zeus would cut me some slack, considering the

circumstances. But it was still hard to force myself on board the flight.

Takeoff was a nightmare. Every spot of turbulence was scarier than a Greek monster. I didn't

unclench my hands from the armrests until we touched down safely at La Guardia. The local press

was waiting for us outside security, but we managed to evade them thanks to Annabeth, who lured

them away in her invisible Yankees cap, shouting, "They're over by the frozen yogurt! Come on!"

then rejoined us at baggage claim.

We split up at the taxi stand. I told Annabeth and Grover to get back to Half-Blood Hill and let

Chiron know what had happened. They protested, and it was hard to let them go after all we'd been

through, but I knew I had to do this last part of the quest by myself. If things went wrong, if the gods didn't believe me ... I wanted Annabeth and Grover to survive to tell Chiron the truth.

I hopped in a taxi and headed into Manhattan.

Thirty minutes later, I walked into the lobby of the Empire State Building.