I made it through the rest of the day. I have to admit I felt refreshed and hydrated. That night, after dinner, I sat in bed talking to Annabeth. She wasn’t actually there—she was across town in her dorm room—but we kept in touch thanks to the cutting-edge technology of Iris-messages.
Demigods don’t use cell phones because they attract monsters. I’ve never quite understood why. It’s just so on-brand for our lives I’ve always accepted it, like, Of course they do. The quickest way to spot a demigod is to hand them a mobile phone. If they’re under the age of eighteen and have no idea what to do with it, they’re probably a demigod. When the monsters show up and eat them, you can be one hundred percent sure.
Instead of a phone, I had a flashlight, a humidifier, and a bowlful of golden drachmas. You shine light through the water vapor to make yourself a rainbow. You throw a coin into it, say a prayer, and voilà—you’ve got a shimmering holographic Annabeth sitting next to you. She had a similar setup on her end, but we could only talk like this when her roommate was out. Annabeth had told her the humidifier was for allergies. What she didn’t say was that it was an allergy to phones.
She was lying on her own bed, propped up on one elbow, a stack of architecture books in front of her. The droplets of water vapor between us glittered like fireworks.
“So tomorrow,” she said. “I have a plan.”
Not a surprise. Annabeth always had a plan. That was a trait she got from Athena, but Annabeth took it to a whole new level. I wasn’t complaining, though. If she wasn’t a planner, I’d be floundering about what to do next year. I’d probably have given up already and gotten a job at Monster Donut.
“Let’s hear it,” I said.
“Well.” She put her dagger across her textbook to mark her spot. I wasn’t sure what her roomie thought about the knife, either. “I was thinking it might be easier if we got someone to introduce us to Iris.”
“But I already know her.”
Annabeth raised an eyebrow. I got her meaning: having met a god before was no guarantee that they would remember you or treat you well. I’d heard gods grumble that all of us mortals kind of blend together for them . . . like a school of sardines.
“Who do you have in mind?” I asked.
“We don’t have a lot of options,” she said, “but I thought a child of Iris.”
“Butch is home in Minnesota. . . .” I ran through the list of demigods I knew from Camp Half-Blood. “And there aren’t any year-rounders in the Iris cabin right now.”
“No,” Annabeth agreed. “But there is a child of Iris who lives locally. Down in Soho.”
A knot formed in the pit of my stomach, and all of Ganymede’s beverage number five started to drain into my legs. “You can’t be serious.”
“She’s already agreed to meet us at the market.”
I wondered how Annabeth had pulled that off. Favors must have been promised. Money. Firstborn children. Something.
“But . . .” I grasped for any idea that might change Annabeth’s mind. “Aren’t most quests supposed to be three people? Wouldn’t a fourth be bad luck?”
“She’s not joining our quest. She’ll just make the introduction to her mom, and hopefully convince Iris to go easy on us when we tell her . . . well, that we suspect her of being a cup thief.”
I shuddered. “Or she could make things worse. You remember what happened at the last campfire?”
Annabeth laughed. “I thought that was kind of funny, actually. Calm down, Seaweed Brain. I’ve got this under control.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t hmm me.” She glanced behind her. “My roommate’s coming. Gotta go. Love you.”
“You too. Don’t love your plan, though.”
“Finish your homework.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She nodded, satisfied, and blew me a kiss. The Iris connection dissipated into random water droplets.
I looked at my pile of weekend homework and groaned. Another English essay to write . . . this time about that guy who liked to open cans. Plus math, science, and two chapters of history. And we had to face Iris and her daughter tomorrow. I wondered if it was too late to apply for the night shift at Monster Donut.
Grover was thrilled.
“Blanche is coming?” He patted his goat horns as if to make sure they weren’t crooked. “Do I look okay?”
He wore cargo shorts with tennis shoes over his hooves—just enough of a disguise so humans would think That kid needs to shave his legsand not That kid is half goat. His top du jour was a hand-knit green sweater-type thing with little tree designs that I was pretty sure the dryads had made him for Arbor Day.