It didn't take me long to pack. I decided to leave the Mino- taur horn in my cabin, which left me only an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack Grover had found for me.
The camp store loaned me one hundred dollars in mor- tal money and twenty golden drachmas. These coins were as big as Girl Scout cookies and had images of various Greek gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. T h e ancient mortal drachmas had been silver, Chiron told us, but Olympians never used less than pure gold. Chiron said the coins might come in handy for non- mortal transactions—whatever that meant. He gave Annabeth and me each a canteen of nectar and a Ziploc bag full of ambrosia squares, to be used only in emergencies, if we were seriously hurt. It was god food, Chiron reminded us. It would cure us of almost any injury, but it was lethal to mortals. Too much of it would make a half-blood very, very feverish. An overdose would burn us up, literally.
Annabeth was bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she told me had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She carried a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and
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a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve. I was sure the knife would get us busted the first time we went through a metal detector.
Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he
only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes.
We waved good-bye to the other campers, took one last look at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, then hiked up Half-Blood Hill to the tall pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus.
Chiron was waiting for us in his wheelchair. Next to him stood the surfer dude I'd seen when I was recovering in the sick room. According to Grover, the guy was the camp's head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he was wear- ing a chauffeur's uniform, so I could only see extra peepers on his hands, face and neck.
"This is Argus," Chiron told me. "He will drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things."
I heard footsteps behind us.
Luke came running up the hill, carrying a pair of bas-
ketball shoes.
"Hey!" he panted. "Glad I caught you."
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Annabeth blushed, the way she always did when Luke was around.
"Just wanted to say good luck," Luke told me. "And I thought. . . um, maybe you could use these."
He handed me the sneakers, which looked pretty nor- mal. They even smelled kind of normal.
Luke said, "Maia!"
White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels, startling me so much, I dropped them. The shoes flapped around on the ground until the wings folded up and disappeared.
"Awesome!" Grover said.
Luke smiled. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don't use them much these days. . . ." His expression turned sad.
I didn't know what to say. It was cool enough that Luke had come to say good-bye. I'd been afraid he might resent me for getting so much attention the last few days. But here he was giving me a magic gift. . . . It made me blush almost as much as Annabeth.
"Hey, man," I said. "Thanks."
"Listen, Percy . . ." Luke looked uncomfortable. "A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just . . . kill some monsters for me, okay?"
We shook hands. Luke patted Grover's head between his horns, then gave a good-bye hug to Annabeth, who looked like she might pass out.
After Luke was gone, I told her, "You're hyperventi- lating."
"Am not."
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"You let him capture the flag instead of you, didn't you?"
"Oh . . . why do I want to go anywhere with you, Percy?"
She stomped down the other side of the hill, where a white S U V waited on the shoulder of the road. Argus fol- lowed, jingling his car keys.
I picked up the flying shoes and had a sudden bad feeling. I looked at Chiron. "I won't be able to use these, will I?"
He shook his head. "Luke meant well, Percy. But taking to the air . . . that would not be wise for you."
I nodded, disappointed, but then I got an idea. "Hey, Grover. You want a magic item?"
His eyes lit up. "Me?"
Pretty soon we'd laced the sneakers over his fake feet, and the world's first flying goat boy was ready for launch.
"Maia!" he shouted.
He got off the ground okay, but then fell over sideways
so his backpack dragged through the grass. The winged shoes kept bucking up and down like tiny broncos.
"Practice," Chiron called after him. "You just need practice!"
"Aaaaa!" Grover went flying sideways down the hill like a possessed lawn mower, heading toward the van.
Before I could follow, Chiron caught my arm. "I should have trained you better, Percy," he said. "If only I had more time. Hercules, Jason—they all got more training."
"That's okay. I just wish—"
I stopped myself because I was about to sound like a
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