The Demigod Files (Percy Jackson and the Olympians)

by Rick Riordan

was in fifth-period science class when I heard these noises outside.

Will be important for lost heros

that’s a situation I’ve been in before.

Something changed in Phobos’s expression. He looked surprised, maybe even nervous. “The son of Poseidon?

“How about you, Percy Jackson? What do you fear?

“They’re minor gods,” she said. “Phobos is fear. Deimos is terror.”

“Pier 86. The Intrepid.” “Oh.” It made sense, now that I thought about it. I’d never actually been on board the old aircraft carrier, but I knew they used it as some kind of military museum. It probably had a bunch of guns and bombs and other dangerous toys. Just the kind of place a war god would want to hang out.

“Bartholdi,” I said. “The dude who made the Statue of Liberty. He was a son of Athena, and he designed it to look like his mom. That’s what Annabeth told me, anyway.”

I was at Camp Half-Blood, my favorite place in the world, and it was in flames. The woods were on fire. The cabins were smoking. The dining pavilion’s

Greek columns had crumbled, and the Big House was a smoldering ruin. My friends were on their knees pleading with me.

I stood paralyzed. This was the moment I had always dreaded: the prophecy that was supposed to come about when I was sixteen. I would make a choice that would save or destroy Mount Olympus.

The fear god looked afraid.

“When you, uh, had that vision about your friends . . .” “You were one of them,” I promised. “Just don’t tell anybody, okay?

One dragon can ruin your whole day.

It was the end of June.

Annabeth is not somebody you want as an enemy.

It was hard for anyone to look cute in combat armor, but Annabeth pulled it off.

I’d never seen her so happy, like the chance to beat me up was the best thing that had ever happened to her. Beckendorf walked up with his helmet under his arm. “She likes you, man.” “Sure,” I muttered. “She likes me for target practice.” “Nah, they always do that. A girl starts trying to kill you, you know she’s into you.”

He’d just turned eighteen and was on his way to NYU in the fall. Since he was older, I usually listened to him about stuff, but the idea of asking Annabeth to the Fourth of July fireworks down at the beach—like, the biggest dating event of the summer—made my stomach do somersaults. Then Silena Beauregard, the head counselor for Aphrodite, passed by. Beckendorf had had a not-so-secret crush on her for three years. She had long black hair and big brown eyes,

He’d been working on a secret weapon for the two of us—bronze chameleon armor, enchanted to blend into the background.

The Ares cabin wouldn’t be slowed down by a little thing like arrows.

“It’s a sign from Hephaestus. Come on!”

Silena appeared out of the woods, her sword drawn. Her Aphrodite armor was pink and red, color coordinated to match her clothes and makeup. She looked like Guerilla Warfare Barbie.

“Percy, in the days before Thalia’s tree—back before the camp had magical boundaries to keep out monsters—the counselors tried all sorts of different ways to protect themselves. The most famous was the bronze dragon. The Hephaestus cabin made it with the blessing of their father. Supposedly it was so fierce and powerful that it kept the camp safe for over a decade. And then . . . about fifteen years ago, it disappeared into the woods.”

“You want to reassemble a haywire metal dragon?”

“Isn’t your mom the goddess of inventors?” I asked. Annabeth glared at me. “Yes, but this is different. I’m good with ideas. Not mechanics.” “If I was going to pick one person in the world to reattach my head,” I said, “I’d pick you.”

Another first: a child of Aphrodite uninterested in jewelry.

I imagined having that bronze dragon in our fight against the Titan lord Kronos. His monsters would think twice about attacking camp if they had to face that thing.

It didn’t seem likely, but this was Annabeth. There was no telling with her. Then she exchanged glances with Silena, and I could tell they were trying not to laugh.

Christmas in the Underworld was NOT my idea.