The war god was waiting for us in the diner parking lot. "Well, well," he said. "You didn't get yourself killed." "You knew it was a trap," I said.
Ares gave me a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled black-
smith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV"
I shoved his shield at him. "You're a jerk."
Annabeth and Grover caught their breath.
Ares grabbed the shield and spun it in the air like pizza
dough. It changed form, melting into a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back.
"See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen- wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas."
T h e eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which I could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTER- NATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.
I said, "You're kidding."
Ares snapped his fingers. T h e back door of the truck
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unlatched. "Free ride west, punk. Stop complaining. And here's a little something for doing the job."
He slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to me.
Inside were fresh clothes for all of us, twenty bucks in cash, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a bag of Double Stuf Oreos.
I said, "I don't want your lousy—"
"Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, giving me his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks a lot."
I gritted my teeth. It was probably a deadly insult to refuse something from a god, but I didn't want anything that Ares had touched. Reluctantly, I slung the backpack over my shoulder. I knew my anger was being caused by the war god's presence, but I was still itching to punch him in the nose. He reminded me of every bully I'd ever faced: Nancy Bobofit, Clarisse, Smelly Gabe, sarcastic teachers— every jerk who'd called me stupid in school or laughed at me when I'd gotten expelled.
I looked back at the diner, which had only a couple of customers now. T h e waitress who'd served us dinner was watching nervously out the window, like she was afraid Ares might hurt us. She dragged the fry cook out from the kitchen to see. She said something to him. He nodded, held up a little disposable camera and snapped a picture of us.
Great, I thought. We'll make the papers again tomorrow.
I imagined the headline: TWELVE-YEAR-OLD OUTLAW BEATS UP DEFENSELESS BIKER.
"You owe me one more thing," I told Ares, trying to
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keep my voice level. "You promised me information about my mother."
"You sure you can handle the news?" He kick-started his motorcycle. "She's not dead."
The ground seemed to spin beneath me. "What do you mean?
"I mean she was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die. She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. N o t death. She's being kept."
"Kept. Why?"
"You need to study war, punk. Hostages. You take somebody to control somebody else."
"Nobody's controlling me."
He laughed. " O h yeah? See you around, kid."
I balled up my fists. "You're pretty smug, Lord Ares, for
a guy who runs from Cupid statues."
Behind his sunglasses, fire glowed. I felt a hot wind in
my hair. "We'll meet again, Percy Jackson. Next time you're in a fight, watch your back."
He revved his Harley, then roared off down Delancy Street.
Annabeth said, "That was not smart, Percy."
"I don't care."
"You don't want a god as your enemy. Especially not
that god."
"Hey, guys," Grover said. "I hate to interrupt, but . . ." He pointed toward the diner. At the register, the last
two customers were paying their check, two men in identi- cal black coveralls, with a white logo on their backs that
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matched the one on the KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL truck. "If we're taking the zoo express," Grover said, "we need
to hurry."
I didn't like it, but we had no better option. Besides, I'd
seen enough of Denver.
We ran across the street and climbed in the back of the
big rig, closing the doors behind us.
The first thing that hit me was the smell. It was like the world's biggest pan of kitty litter.
The trailer was dark inside until I uncapped Anaklusmos. T h e blade cast a faint bronze light over a very sad scene. Sitting in a row of filthy metal cages were three of the most pathetic zoo animals I'd ever beheld: a zebra, a male albino lion, and some weird antelope thing I didn't know the name for.
Someone had thrown the lion a sack of turnips, which he obviously didn't want to eat. T h e zebra and the antelope had each gotten a Styrofoam tray of hamburger meat. The zebra's mane was matted with chewing gum, like somebody had been spitting on it in their spare time. The antelope had a stupid silver birthday balloon tied to one of his horns that read OVER THE HILL!
Apparently, nobody had wanted to get close enough to the lion to mess with him, but the poor thing was pacing around on soiled blankets, in a space way too small for him, panting from the stuffy heat of the trailer. He had flies buzzing around his pink eyes and his ribs showed through his white fur.
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