𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗜𝗘! 𝙥. 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙨𝙤𝙣 ¹

Forget Sheep Taxi, It's All About the Centaur Taxi Now

CHAPTER ELEVEN: LYDIA

"Percy, wake up." Lydia said, her body twisting to shake his shoulders.

In the distance, the sun was setting behind a city skyline. They could see a beachside highway lined with palm trees, storefronts glowing with red and blue neon, a harbor filled with sailboats and cruise ships.

"Miami, probably," Lydia said when he gave her a confused look. "But the hippocampi are acting funny."

They had slowed down and were whinnying and swimming in circles, sniffing the water. They didn't look happy. One of them sneezed.

"This is as far as they'll take us," he said, his voice groggy from sleep. "Too many humans. Too much pollution. We'll have to swim to shore on our own."

"Yay." Lydia deadpanned.

No one was very psyched about that, but they thanked Rainbow and his friends for the ride.

Tyson cried a little. He unfastened the makeshift saddle pack he'd made, which contained his tool kit and a couple of other things he'd salvaged from the Birmingham wreck.

He hugged Rainbow around the neck, gave him a soggy mango he'd picked up on the island, and said good-bye. Once the hippocampi's white manes disappeared into the sea, they swam for shore. The waves pushed them forward, and in no time they were back in the mortal world.

They wandered along the cruise line docks, pushing through crowds of people arriving for vacations. Porters bustled around with carts of luggage. Taxi drivers yelled at each other in Spanish and tried to cut in line for customers. If anybody noticed them—five kids dripping wet and looking like they'd just had a fight with a monster—they didn't let on.

Now that they were back among mortals, Tyson's single eye had blurred from the Mist. Grover had put on his cap and sneakers. Even the Fleece had transformed from a sheepskin to a red-and-gold high school letter jacket with a large glittery Omega on the pocket.

Annabeth ran to the nearest newspaper box and checked the date on the Miami Herald. She cursed.

"June eighteenth! We've been away from camp ten days!"

"That's impossible!" Clarisse said.

"Thalia's tree must be almost dead," Grover wailed. "We have to get the Fleece back tonight."

Lydia sat down on the pavement. "How are we supposed to do that?"

Clarisse slumped down beside her. Her voice trembled. "We're hundreds of miles away. No money. No ride. This is just like the Oracle said. It's your fault, Jackson! If you hadn't interfered—"

"Percy's fault?!" Lydia exploded. "Clarisse, how can you say that? You are the biggest—"

"I agree," Percy said. "But hold on."

Clarisse put her head in hands. Lydia hmph-ed crossing her arms and turning her whole body away from Clarisse.

"Clarisse," Percy continued, "what did the Oracle tell you exactly?"

She looked up. Lydia loosened her arms and turned back towards her.

She took a deep breath and recited her prophecy: "You shall sail the iron ship with warriors of bone, You shall find what you seek and make it your own, But despair for your life entombed within stone, And fail without friends, to fly home alone."

"Ouch," Grover mumbled.

"No," Percy said. "No...wait a minute. I've got it."

Percy searched his pockets for money.