Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Chalice of the Gods(45)

“Also, the word nectar means overcoming death. Did you know that?”

“I’m going back to sleep.”

“Wait, this is the important part. Juniper said this stuff is so fragrant that one whiff can put a demigod into a coma.”

That got my attention. “Why didn’t Iris mention that?”

“She probably didn’t even consider it,” Annabeth said. “But since we don’t have time to go comatose this morning . . .” She dug around in her backpack and brought out a packet of tissues and a jar of menthol rub. “We plug our noses before we uncork this stuff.”

“Smart,” I said, though I was thinking how great we’d look walking around Greenwich Village with Kleenex tusks sticking out of our nostrils.

“Yeah,” Annabeth agreed. “Crisis averted. Anyway, I owe Juniper a favor now.”

She looked like she was thinking about how to repay her . . . and whether dryads liked cupcakes.

“How’s she doing?” I asked.

Annabeth patted my knee. “You must have given Grover good advice. He apologized to her, spent some quality time with her planting seedlings in the forest. Sounds like they are back on good terms.”

“Hey, when it comes to advice on being the perfect boyfriend—”

She laughed, then glanced at the wall self-consciously. “Too loud? I don’t want to wake Sally and Paul.”

“It’s fine,” I assured her.

The walls in the apartment were surprisingly thick. And if my mom heard Annabeth in my room, the worst consequence would be that she’d offer my girlfriend a cup of tea.

It’s weird what happens when your parents just accept you and support you and assume you will do the right thing. You end up wanting to do the right thing. At least that’s been my experience, and this is me we’re talking about. My mom has more reason to worry than most parents. After years of boarding schools, summers at camp, and months fighting monsters on the road, I still wasn’t used to being at home full-time, but I had to admit that living with my mom and Paul was a pretty sweet gig.

“Second thoughts?” Annabeth asked me.

I realized she’d been reading my expression. “About what?”

“Leaving New York, with the baby coming and all.”

“No. . . . I mean, no. I was just thinking how nice it’s been to live at home for a while. And they looked so happy at dinner. I wonder what it’ll be like for my mom to have a regular kid.”

“I don’t think Sally could ever have a regular kid,” Annabeth said. “Because she’s not regular. Neither is Paul.”

“True. The baby’s probably going to be born like Batman—no superpowers but still a complete beast with six PhDs.”

“Now I’m picturing the kid in a onesie with pointy ears.”

“Grover would be pleased.”

She snorted. “All I’m saying . . . it’s okay if you’re feeling conflicted about leaving—”

I leaned over and kissed her. “No conflict. No second thoughts. I told you. I’m not leaving you ever again.”

“Okay.” She wrinkled her nose. “Although it’s fine if you want to leave for a few minutes to brush your teeth. Your breath is a little . . .”

“Hey, you woke me up.”

“Which reminds me.” She held up her vial of concentrated nectar. “We ought to get going soon.”

“It’s earlier than early—”

“I know,” she said. “But thirty minutes for you to get ready, because you’re slow.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Forty-five minutes to make it to Washington Square Park. Then to do our job and get you back in time for school—”

“Ugh with the math.”

Annabeth has this magic power where she can look into the future and figure out how long it will take to do certain things. She calls her power “scheduling,” which directly overrules my magic power of procrastination.

I went to the bathroom to get ready. Thirty minutes, right. Sure. Quick shower. Grab my clothes. Brush my teeth. Put on my shoes.

It took me thirty-one minutes.

Stupid magical scheduling power.

At five fifteen, we slipped out of the apartment and headed to the train, toward what might be my last chance to find Ganymede’s chalice . . . or maybe we wouldn’t find Gary, and it would turn out to be just another Monday at school. I honestly wasn’t sure which scared me more.





Grover brought mochi donuts.

Bonus points for the G-man.

The three of us stood under the big white archway at Washington Square Park while we munched our sugary breakfast and scanned our surroundings.

I’d never been to the park so early. The sun was just coming up, pouring rosy light through the streets and washing the brick facades of the buildings around the square. In front of us stretched the main plaza—a giant circle of gray stonework radiating from the central fountain. Annabeth said the design reminded her of a sundial or a wheel. To me, being born a New Yorker, it looked like a massive manhole cover.

The fountain itself wasn’t running. In the summertime, it made a great wading pool for kids, but now the basin was dry. I imagined it watching me, thinking, Oh, great. Here’s Percy. Now I’ll have to explode or drown a monster or something. As I may have mentioned, water fixtures don’t tend to like me much.