𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 • 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯

A God Tells Me A Story

Percy's Pov:

The thing about flying on a pegasus during the daytime is that if you're not careful, you can cause a serious traffic accident on the Long Island Expressway. I had to keep Blackjack up in the clouds, which were, fortunately, pretty low in the winter. We darted around, trying to keep the white Camp Half-Blood van insight. And if it was cold on the ground, it was seriously cold in the air, with icy rain stinging my skin. 

I was wishing I'd brought some of that Camp Half-Blood orange thermal underwear they sold in the camp store, but after the story about Phoebe and the centaur-blood T-shirt, I wasn't sure I trusted their products anymore. 

We lost the van twice, but I had a pretty good sense that they would go into Manhattan first, so it wasn't too difficult to pick up their trail again. 

Traffic was bad with the holidays and all. It was mid-morning before they got into the city. I landed Blackjack near the top of the Chrysler Building and watched the white camp van, thinking it would pull into the bus station, but it just kept driving. 

"Where's Argus taking them?" I muttered. 

Oh, Argus ain't driving, boss, Blackjack told me. That girl is. 

"Which girl?" 

The Hunter girl. With the silver crown thing in her hair. 

"Zoe?" 

That's the one. Hey, look! There's a donut shop. Can we get something to go?

I tried explaining to Blackjack that taking a flying horse to a donut shop would give every cop in there a heart attack, but he didn't seem to get it. Meanwhile, the van kept snaking its way toward the Lincoln Tunnel. It had never even occurred to me that Zoe could drive. I mean, she didn't look sixteen. Then again, she was immortal. I wondered if she had a New York license, and if so, what her birth date said. 

"Well," I said. "Let's get after them."

We were about to leap off the Chrysler Building when Blackjack whinnied in alarm and almost threw me. Something was curling around my leg like a snake. I reached for my sword, but when I looked down, there was no snake. Vines—grapevines—had sprouted from the cracks between the stones of the building. They were wrapping around Blackjack's legs, lashing down Grayson's and my ankles so we couldn't move. 

"Going somewhere?" Mr. D asked. He was leaning against the building with his feet levitating in the air, his leopard-skin warm-up suit and black hair whipping around in the wind. 

God alert! Blackjack yelled. It's the wine dude! 

Mr. D sighed in exasperation. "The next person, or horse, who calls me the 'wine dude' will end up in a bottle of Merlot!" 

"Mr. D." I tried to keep my voice calm as the grapevines continued to wrap around my legs. "What do you want?" 

"Oh, what do I want? You thought, perhaps, that the immortal, all-powerful director of camp would not notice you leaving without permission?" 

"Well... maybe."

 "I should throw you off this building, minus the flying horse, and see how heroic you sound on the way down." 

I balled my fists. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but Mr. D was about to kill me or haul me back to camp in shame, and I couldn't stand either idea. "Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to you?" 

Purple flames flickered in his eyes. "You're a hero, boy. I need no other reason." 

"We have to go on this quest! We've got to help our friends. That's something you wouldn't understand!"