𐌙/𐌍 Ᏽ𐌵𐌀𐌋𐌄 & 𐌕𐋅𐌄 Ᏽ𐌐𐌄𐌀𐌕 𐌌𐌙𐌕𐋅𐌔 ¹

Chapter 19

19 | Running against the clock, while fighting against shity family members
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A Coast Guard boat picked us up, but they were too busy to keep us for long, or to wonder how four kids in street clothes had gotten out into the middle of the bay. There was a disas-ter to mop up. Their radios were jammed with distress calls.

They dropped us off at the Santa Monica Pier with towels around our soaked shoulders and water bottles that said I'M A JUNIOR COAST GUARD! and sped off to save more people.

After reaching dry land, we stumbled down the beach, watching the city burn against a beautiful sunrise. I felt as if I'd just come back from the dead–which I had.

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

"It was a trick," I said. "A strategy worthy of Athena. We just needed to take the bait."

"Hey," she warned.

"You get it, don't you?"

She dropped her eyes, her anger fading. "Yeah. I get it."

"Well, I don't!" Grover complained. "Would some-body–"

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

"Don't worry. We'll get her back. We'll find the damned hat and send it back to O Dear Uncle," I reassured.

Percy pretended not to hear us. He obviously did not want to talk about it, so I didn't rub any alcohol on the wound.

"The prophecy was right," he said. "“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?"

I stopped in my tracks, looking down the beach. "Lemme try and guess."

There he was, waiting for us, in his black leather duster and his sunglasses, an aluminum baseball bat propped on his shoulder. His motorcycle rumbled beside him, its head-light turning the sand red.

"Hey, kid," Ares said, seeming genuinely pleased to see me. "You were supposed to die."

"You played me," I said. "You got the helm and the master bolt."

Ares grinned. "Well, now, I didn't steal them person-ally. 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? She was there at the win-ter 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 ..."

From his pocket he took out a ski cap–the kind bank robbers wear–and placed it between the handlebars of his bike. Immediately, the cap transformed into an elaborate bronze war helmet.

"The helm of darkness," Grover gasped.

"Exactly," Ares said. "Now where was I? Oh yeah, Hades will be mad at both Zeus and Poseidon, because he doesn't know who took this. Pretty soon, we got a nice lit-tle three-way slugfest going."

"But they're your family!" Annabeth protested.

Ares shrugged. "Best kind of war. Always the blood-iest. Nothing like watching your relatives fight, I always say."