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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LOSING HIS SIGHT HAD BEEN BAD ENOUGH. Being isolated from Percy had been horrible. But now that he could see again, watching Percy die slowly from gorgon's blood poison and being unable to do anything about it — that was the worst curse of all.
Bob slung Percy over his shoulder like a bag of sports equipment while the skeleton kitten Small Bob curled up on Percy's back and purred. Bob lumbered along at a fast pace, even for a Titan, which made it almost impossible for Mitchell to keep up.
His lungs rattled. His skin had started to blister again. He probably needed another drink of firewater, but they'd left the River Phlegethon behind. His body was so sore and battered that he'd forgotten what it was like not to be in pain.
"How much longer?" he wheezed.
"Almost too long," Bob called back. "But maybe not."
Very helpful, Mitchell thought, but he was too winded to say it. The landscape changed again. They were still going downhill, which should have made travelling easier, but the ground sloped at just the wrong angle — too steep to jog, too treacherous to let her guard down even for a moment.
The surface was sometimes loose gravel, sometimes patches of slime. Mitchell stepped around random bristles sharp enough to impale his foot, and clusters of . . . well, not rocks exactly. More like warts the size of watermelons. If Mitchell had to guess, he supposed Bob was leading him down the length of Tartarus's large intestine.
The air got thicker and stank of sewage. The darkness maybe wasn't quite as intense, but Mitchell could only see Bob because of the glint of his white hair and the point of his spear. Mitchell noticed he hadn't retracted the spearhead on his broom since their fight with the arai. That didn't reassure him.
Percy flopped around, causing the kitten to readjust his nest in the small of Percy's back. Occasionally Percy would groan in pain, and Mitchell felt like a fist was squeezing his heart. He flashed back to his tea party with Piper, Hazel, Annabeth and Aphrodite in Charleston. Aphrodite had sighed and waxed nostalgic about the good old days of the Civil War — how love and war always went hand in hand.
Aphrodite had gestured proudly to Mitchell, using him as an example for the other girls: I once promised to make his love life interesting. And didn't I?
Mitchell couldn't believe it, but he had wanted to throttle the goddess of love. He'd had more than his share of interesting. Now Mitchell was holding out for a happy ending. Surely that was possible, no matter what the legends said about tragic heroes. There had to be exceptions, right? If suffering led to reward, then Percy and he deserved the grand prize.
