craving |PERCY JACKSON| [book 1] UNDER EDITING

XXIX

THE PACIFIC WAS TURNING GOLD in the setting sun. Selena watched as Percy took a step towards the water, "Percy?" She asked, "What are you doing?"

He kept walking, up to his waist, then his chest. She called after him, "You know how polluted that water is? There're all kinds of toxic-"

That's when his head went under.

The three of them stood on the beach, looking around for anything to do while Percy was under the water.

When he reached the beach, his clothes dried instantly. Percy told them what had happened, and showed them the pearls. Annabeth grimaced. "No gift comes without a price."

"They were free."

"No." She shook her head. "'There is no such thing as a free lunch.; That's an ancient Greek saying that translated pretty well into American. There will be a price. You wait."

On that happy thought, they turned their backs on the sea.

With some spare change from Selena's satchel, they took the bus into West Hollywood. Percy showed the driver the Underworld address slip he had taken from Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium, but the driver had never heard of DOA Recording Studios.

"You remind me of somebody I saw on TV," he told Percy, "You a child actor or something?"

"Uh ... I'm a stunt double ... For a lot of child actors."

"Oh! That explains it."

They thanked him and got off quickly at the next stop. The group wandered for miles on foot, looking for DOA. Nobody seemed to know where it was. It didn't appear in the phone book.

Twice, they ducked into alleys to avoid cop cars.

Percy froze in front of an appliance-store window because a television was playing an interview with somebody who looked very familiar. Percy's stepdad, Smelly Gabe. He was talking to Barbara Walters as if he were some kind of huge celebrity. She was interviewing him in Percy's apartment, in the middle of a poker game, and there was a young blond lady sitting next to him, patting his hand.

A fake tear glistened on his cheek. He was saying, "Honest, Ms. Walters, if it wasn't for Sugar here, my grief counselor, I'd be a wreck. My stepson took everything I cared about. My wife ... My Camaro ... I-I'm sorry. I have trouble talking about it."

"There you have it, America." Barbara Walters turned to the camera. "A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with serious issues. Let me show you, again, the last known photo of this troubled young fugitive, taken a week ago in Denver."

The screen cut to a grainy shot of Percy, Selena, Annabeth, and Grover standing outside the Colorado diner, talking to Ares.

"Who are the other children in this photo?" Barbara Walters asked dramatically. "Who is the man with them? Is Percy Jackson a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult? When we come back, we chat with a leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America."

"C'mon," Selena told him. She hauled him away before he could punch a hole in the appliance-store window.

It got dark, and hungry-looking characters started coming out on the streets to play. They walked past gangbangers, bums, and street hawkers, who looked at the kids like they were trying to figure if they were worth the trouble of mugging.

As they hurried past the entrance of an alley, a voice from the darkness said, "Hey, you." Like an idiot, Percy stopped.

Before they knew it, they were surrounded. A gang of kids had circled them. Six of them in all-white kids with expensive clothes and mean faces. Like the kids at Yancy Academy: rich brats playing at being bad boys.

Instinctively, Percy uncapped Riptide.

When the sword appeared out of nowhere, the kids backed off, but their leader was either really stupid or really brave because he kept coming at him with a switchblade.

Percy made the mistake of swinging.

The kid yelped. But he must've been one hundred percent mortal, because the blade passed harmlessly right through his chest. He looked down. "What the..."

Percy figured he had about three seconds before his shock turned to anger. "Run!" Percy screamed at Annabeth, Selena, and Grover.

They pushed two kids out of the way and raced down the street, not knowing where they were going. The four turned a sharp corner.

"There!" Annabeth shouted. Only one store on the block looked open, its windows glaring with neon. The sign above the door said something like CRSTUY'S WATRE BDE ALPACE.

"Crusty's Water Bed Palace?" Grover translated.

It didn't sound like a place they would ever go except in an emergency, but this definitely qualified.

The four of them burst through the doors, ran behind a water bed, and ducked. A split second later, the gang kids ran past outside. "I think we lost them," Grover panted.

A voice behind us boomed, "Lost who?"

They all jumped.

Standing behind them was a guy who looked like a raptor in a leisure suit. He was at least seven feet tall, with absolutely no hair. He had gray, leathery skin, thick-lidded eyes, and a cold, reptilian smile. He moved toward us slowly, but Selena got the feeling he could move fast if he needed to.

His suit might've come from the Lotus Casino. It belonged back in the seventies, big-time. The shirt was silk paisley, unbuttoned halfway down his hairless chest. The lapels on his velvet jacket were as wide as landing strips. The silver chains around his neck-Percy couldn't even count them.

"I'm Crusty," he said, with a tartar-yellow smile.