Prophesied Powder, PJO

1.10

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Chapter 10
The God Who Has Turned

Volume 1: The Lightning Thief

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A coast guard boat picked them up, but they were too busy to keep them for long, or to wonder how five kids in street clothes had gotten out into the middle of the bay.

Los Angeles had been struck with Hades' rage. A horrible earthquake had struck, and now, there was a disaster to mop up. The guards radios were jammed with distress calls.

They dropped them off at the Santa Monica Pier with towels around their shoulders and water bottles that said I'M A JUNIOR COAST GUARD! (Bless Grover for translating) and sped off to save more people.

Their clothes were sopping wet, even Percy's. Percy had given Grover his shoes; better the Coast Guard wonder why one of them was barefoot than wonder why one of them had hooves, he claimed.

After reaching dry land, they stumbled down the beach. LA was burning. Pallas had stopped, which gave the others an excuse to stop walking; they were all exhausted.

"I don't believe it," Annabeth said. "We went all that way—"

"It was a trick," Percy sounded almost as bitter as Pallas' usual speaking voice. "A strategy worthy of Athena."

"Hey," she warned.

"You get it, don't you?"

Her anger faded. "Yeah. I get it."

"Well, I don't!" Grover complained. "Would somebody—"

"Percy..." Annabeth said. "I'm sorry about your mother. I'm so sorry...."

He pretended not to hear her. "The prophecy was right," Percy changed the topic. "'You shall go west and face the god who has turned.' But it wasn't Hades. Hades didn't want war among the Big Three. Someone else pulled off the theft. Someone stole Zeus's master bolt, and Hades's helm, and framed me because I'm Poseidon's kid. Poseidon will get blamed by both sides. By sundown today, there will be a three-way war. And I'll have caused it."

Grover shook his head, mystified. "But who would be that sneaky? Who would want war that bad?"

Percy said, "Gee, let me think."

"Ares," Pallas nudged Pat so he would know, "He is waiting for us."

Pat could already hear him. His motorcycle rumbled so loudly that Pat worried he would cause another earthquake.

"Hey, kid," Ares said, seeming genuinely pleased to see them—or Percy; he spoke directly to Percy. "You were supposed to die."

"You tricked me," Percy was — pardon — pissed off. He accused, "You stole the helm and the master bolt."

Ares grinned his evil smile, "Well, now, I didn't steal them personally. Gods taking each other's symbols of power—that's a big no-no. But you're not the only hero in the world who can run errands."

"Who did you use? Clarisse?" Percy asked, "She was there at the winter solstice."

The idea seemed to amuse him. "Doesn't matter. The point is, kid, you're impeding the war effort. See, you've got to die in the Underworld. Then Old Seaweed will be mad at Hades for killing you. Corpse Breath will have Zeus's master bolt, so Zeus'll be mad at him. And Hades is still looking for this..."