La Vie en Rose // Percy Jackson

viii. heights and i don't agree

We spent two days on the Amtrak train, heading west through hills, over rivers, past amber waves of grain.

We weren't attacked once, but Percy didn't relax. It was like felt that we were traveling around in a display case, being watched from above and maybe from below, that something was waiting for the right opportunity. I only know because I felt the same.

Percy tried to keep a low profile because his name and picture was splattered over the front pages of several East Coast newspapers. The Trenton Register News showed a photo taken by a tourist as Percy got off the Greyhound bus. He had a wild look in his eyes. His sword was a metallic blur in his hands. It might've been a baseball bat or a lacrosse stick.

The picture's caption read:

Twelve-year-old Percy Jackson, wanted for questioning in the Long Island disappearance of his mother two weeks ago, are shown here fleeing from the bus where he accosted several elderly female passengers. The bus exploded on an east New Jersey roadside shortly after the Jacksons fled the scene. Based on eyewitness accounts, police believe the boy may be traveling with three teenage accomplices. His stepfather, Gabe Ugliano, has offered a cash reward for information leading to his capture.

"Don't worry," Annabeth told him. "Mortal police could never find us." But she didn't sound so sure.

The rest of the day Percy spent alternately pacing the length of the train (because he had a really hard time sitting still) or looking out the windows.

Once, Percy spotted a family of centaurs galloping across a wheat field, bows at the ready, as they hunted lunch. The little boy centaur, who was the size of a second-grader on a pony, caught our eye and waved. He looked around the passenger car, but nobody else had noticed. The adult riders all had their faces buried in laptop computers or magazines.

Another time, toward evening, Percy saw something huge moving through the woods. I saw it too, and I could've sworn it was a lion, except that lions don't live wild in America, and this thing was the size of a Hummer. Its fur glinted gold in the evening light. Then it leaped through the trees and was gone.

Our reward money for returning Gladiola the poodle had only been enough to purchase tickets as far as Denver. We couldn't get berths in the sleeper car, so we dozed in our seats. Percy's neck seemed to have gotten stiff. He tried not to drool in my sleep, since I was sitting right next to him. Annabeth sat on his other side. At some point, I realized my head was on Percy's shoulder, but I was too tired to move it. Mother, I ask you to be quiet.

Grover kept snoring and bleating and waking me up. Once, he shuffled around and his fake foot fell off. Annabeth and Percy had to stick it back on before any of the other passengers noticed.

"So," Annabeth asked Percy, once we'd gotten Grover's sneaker readjusted. "Who wants your help?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you were asleep just now, you mumbled, 'I won't help you.' Who were you dreaming about?"

Percy was reluctant to say anything. It was the second time he'd dreamed about the evil voice from the pit. But it bothered him so much he finally told us. What was weird is this time I hadn't dreamt it.

Annabeth was quiet for a long time. "That doesn't sound like Hades. He always appears on a black throne, and he never laughs."

"He offered my mother in trade. Who else could do that?"

"I guess... if he meant, 'Help me rise from the Underworld.' If he wants war with the Olympians. But why ask you to bring him the master bolt if he already has it?"

Percy shook his head, wishing he knew the answer. We thought about what Grover had told us, that the Furies on the bus seemed to have been looking for something.