𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲.

A very stinky revenge

Annabeth sat between Percy and Lilia, mainly for Percy's safety.

Percy tried to talk to Lilia, but she was acting like he'd just punched her grandmother. He gave up and turned to Annabeth, all he managed to get out of her was that she'd had a monster-infested spring in San Francisco; she'd come back to camp twice since Christmas but wouldn't tell me why and she'd learned nothing about the whereabouts of Nico di Angelo

"Any word on Luke?" He asked.

She shook her head. This was a touchy subject for her. Annabeth had always admired Luke, the former head counselor for Hermes who had betrayed them and joined the evil Titan Lord Kronos. She wouldn't admit it, she still liked him.

When they fought Luke on Mount Tamalpais last winter, he'd somehow survived a fifty-foot fall off a cliff. Now, as far as they knew, he was still sailing around on his demon-infested cruise ship while his chopped-up Lord Kronos re-formed, bit by bit, in a golden sarcophagus, biding his time until he had enough power to challenge the Olympian gods.
In demigod-speak, they call this a "problem."

"Mount Tam is still overrun with monsters,"
Annabeth said. "I didn't dare go close, but I don't think Luke is up there. I think I would know if he was."

"What about Grover?" Percy asked

"He's at camp," Lilia said. "We'll see him today."

"Did he have any luck? I mean, with the search for Pan?" Lilia twisted the ring on her finger, the way she does when she's worried.

"You'll see," she said. But she didn't explain.

As they headed through Brooklyn, Percy used Annabeth's phone to call his mom. Half-bloods try not to use cell phones if they can avoid it, because broadcasting our voices is like sending up a flare to the monsters: Here I am! Please eat me now! But this call was important. He left a message trying to explain what had happened at Goode.

They rode in silence after that. The city melted away until we were off the expressway and rolling through the countryside of northern Long Island, past orchards and wineries and fresh produce stands.

The taxi exited on Route 25A. They headed through the woods along the North Shore until a low ridge of hills appeared on our left. Annabeth told the driver to pull over on Farm Road 3.141, at the base of Half-Blood Hill.

The driver frowned. "There ain't nothing here, miss. You sure you want out?"

"Yes, please," Annabeth handed him a roll of mortal cash, and the driver decided not to argue.

They hiked to the crest of the hill. The young guardian dragon was dozing, coiled around the pine tree, but he lifted his coppery head as they approached and let Annabeth scratch under his chin. Steam hissed out his nostrils like from a teakettle, and he went cross-eyed with pleasure.

"Hey, Peleus," Annabeth said. "Keeping everything safe?"

Above his head, on the lowest branch of the pine tree, the Golden Fleece shimmered, its magic protecting the camp's borders from invasion. The dragon seemed relaxed, like everything was okay. Below them, Camp Half-Blood looked peaceful green fields, forest, shiny white Greek buildings. The four-story farmhouse we called the Big House sat proudly in the midst of the strawberry fields. To the north, past the beach, the Long Island Sound glittered in the sunlight.

Still...something felt wrong. There was tension in the air, as if the hill itself were holding its breath, waiting for something bad to happen.

They walked down into the valley and found the summer session in full swing. Most of the campers had arrived last Friday, so Percy already felt out of it, Lilia had been a couple days prior.