SEQUAL TO EVERYWHERE EVERYTHING
BOOK TWO OF THREE !!!
Mitchell didn't expect to wake up from a nightmare, only to find himself in a real one. When he finds Percy's bed empty in the middle of the night, he freaks out.
Mitchell will do whatever it tak...
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MITCHELL WAS RELIEVEDWHEN THE DEMON grandmothers closed in for the kill. Sure, he was terrified. He didn't like the odds of three against several dozen. But at least he understood fighting. Wandering through the darkness, waiting to be attacked — that had been driving him crazy. Besides, he and Percy had fought together many times. And now they had a Titan on their side.
"Back off." Percy jabbed Riptide at the nearest shrivelled hag, but she only sneered.
We are the arai, said that weird voice-over, like the entire forest was speaking. You cannot destroy us.
Mitchell pressed against Percy's shoulder. "Don't touch them," he warned. "They're the spirits of curses."
"Bob doesn't like curses," Bob decided. The skeleton kitten Small Bob disappeared inside his coveralls. Smart cat. The Titan swept his broom in a wide arc, forcing the spirits back, but they came in again like the tide.
We serve the bitter and the defeated, said the arai. We serve the slain who prayed for vengeance with their final breath. We have many curses to share with you.
The firewater in Mitchell's stomach started crawling up his throat. He wished Tartarus had better beverage options, or maybe a tree that dispensed antacid fruit.
"I appreciate the offer," Percy said. "But my mom told me not to accept curses from strangers."
The nearest demon lunged. Her claws extended like bony switchblades. Percy cut her in two, but as soon as she vaporised the sides of his chest flared with pain. He stumbled back, clamping his hand to his rib cage. His fingers came away wet and red.
"Percy, you're bleeding!" Mitchell cried, which was kind of obvious to him at that point. "Oh, gods, on both sides."
It was true. The left and right hems of his tattered shirt were sticky with blood, as if a javelin had run him through. Or an arrow . . . Queasiness almost knocked him over. Vengeance. A curse from the slain. He flashed back to an encounter in Texas two years ago — a fight with a monstrous rancher who could only be killed if each of his three bodies was cut through simultaneously.
"Geryon," Percy said. "This is how I killed him . . ."
The spirits bared their fangs. More arai leaped from the black trees, flapping their leathery wings. Yes, they agreed. Feel the pain you inflicted upon Geryon. So many curses have been levelled at you, Percy Jackson. Which will you die from? Choose, or we will rip you apart!
Somehow he stayed on his feet. The blood stopped spreading, but he still felt like he had a hot metal curtain rod sticking through his ribs. His sword arm was heavy and weak. "I don't understand," he muttered.
