Tori Jackson, the Daughter of Neptune, Book Two

I

Tori's pov

" 'Percy, let me go," Annabeth croaked. "You can't pull me up."

His face was white with effort. I could see in his eyes that he knew it was hopeless.

"Never," he said. He looked up at Nico and I, fifteen feet above. "The other side, Nico! We'll see you there. Understand?"

Nico's eyes widened. "But—"

"Lead them there!" Percy shouted. "Promise me!"

"I—I will."

Below us, the voice laughed in the darkness.

Percy tightened his grip on Annabeth's wrist. His face was gaunt, scraped and bloody, his hair dusted with cobwebs.

"We're staying together," he promised. "You're not away from me. Never again."

I was frozen. I couldn't move. I could only watch what was unraveling before my eyes. Then did I understand what would happen. A oneway trip. A very hard fall.

"As long as we're together," Annabeth said.

Nico and Hazel were still screaming for help.

I finally was able to move my mouth. "But I just found you, fish face." Tears were starting to spill. "I can't let you go again."

Percy looked at Annabeth then at me. "We'll make it out alive, T. We can do it."

"You—You don't know what it's like down there."

"We'll be okay," Percy assured me.

Then—

Wrong part! Wrong part! This is not the beginning.

But I bet you're all wondering how we got here.

Oh, and by the way, I am Tori Jackson, I'm the daughter of the Roman sea god, not the Greek guy Poseidon, whole other dude.

Let's start from the beginning.

Annabeth was pacing the deck of our flying warship, the Argo II, checking and double-checking the ballistae to make sure they were locked down. She confirmed that the white "We come in peace" flag was flying from the mast. She reviewed the plan with the rest of the crew—and the backup plan, and the backup plan for the backup plan.

Most importantly, she pulled aside our war-crazy chaperone, Coach Gleeson Hedge, and encouraged him to take the morning off in his cabin and watch reruns of mixed martial arts championships. The last thing we needed as we flew a magical Greek trireme into a potentially hostile Roman camp was a middle-aged satyr in gym clothes waving a club and yelling "Die!"

Everything seemed to be in order thanks to Annabeth. Even that mysterious chill I'd been feeling since the ship launched had dissipated at least for now.

The warship descended through the clouds, but I couldn't stop second-guessing myself. What if this was a bad idea? What if the Romans panicked and attacked us on sight?

The Argo II definitely did not look friendly. Two hundred feet long, with a bronze-plated hull, mounted repeating crossbows fire and aft, a flaming metal dragon for a figurehead, and two rotating ballistae amidships that could fire explosive bolts powerful enough to blast through concrete...well, it wasn't the most appropriate ride for a meet-and-greet with the neighbors.

We had tried to give the Romans a heads-up. Leo sent one of his special inventions–a holographic scroll—to alert our friends inside the camp. Hopefully the message had gotten through. He had wanted to paint a giant message on the bottom of the hull—WASSUP? with a smiley face—but Annabeth and I vetoed the idea. The Romans don't have that sense of humor.