“Hi, Ganymede,” I said.
He sat down across from me, his glass pitcher sweaty with condensation. The liquid inside was orange today—maybe Olympian beverage number six? He was dressed in the same chiton and sandals as before, but he looked more worn with worry. . . . Not older, exactly. Gods don’t get older. But his eyes were ichor-shot with golden veins. His face had an unhealthy sheen, as if he were about to burst into his fiery divine form and vaporize the entire student body into piles of powdered drink mix.
“Please tell me you have news,” he said.
It’s hard to tell a story and eat a lasagna sandwich at the same time. So I prioritized the sandwich. I nodded and ate, watching Ganymede get more and more agitated. I wasn’t sure how he’d take the news. If he vaporized me, I wanted to have eaten a good last meal.
“So,” I said, moving on to the cupcake, “we think the guy who stole your chalice is hanging out in Washington Square Park.”
I told him what we knew, and how we planned to find the thief.
“Nectar,” Ganymede murmured. “That’s good. That could work.”
“Any idea who this Gary could be?” I asked. “You have any enemies by that name?”
He shook his head. “I have so many enemies. Some of them could be named Gary. I don’t know.”
He sounded so miserable I wanted to assure him everything would be okay, but I wasn’t sure I should promise that. If I were a god, and somebody told me my precious chalice was in Washington Square Park, I would zap down there in a cloud of righteous fury and start busting heads and turning out people’s pockets.
But as I’d been told many times before, gods simply didn’t do that sort of thing. It was against the Great Cosmic Rules in Godittude or something. Anybody could steal your divine stuff. Only a hero could get it back for you. And by hero, I mean me, the schmuck who needed recommendation letters.
Also, if Ganymede started tearing up Greenwich Village, I suppose the other gods might have noticed. Then his shame would be revealed to everyone. The video would probably go viral on GodTok or whatever they were using on Mount Olympus these days.
“It would really help,” I said, “if I could figure out why this guy would steal your chalice.”
“Why would anyone?” Ganymede said. “To become immortal? To embarrass me? To become immortal so he can embarrass me forever? I don’t know.”
He leaned across the table and grabbed my wrist, his gold rings digging into my skin. “You must retrieve the goblet soon, Percy Jackson. We’re running out of time. My drink-pouring senses are tingling. Zeus could call for a banquet at any minute!”
“Oh, yeah . . . about that.” I told him what Iris had said about the Epulum Minerva feast a week from Sunday.
Ganymede put his head down. All around us, geysers of juice, soda, and water erupted from people’s cups. Cries of “Whoa!” ricocheted around the room as my classmates leaped out of their seats to escape their suddenly possessed beverages.
Ganymede sighed. “I should probably go refill those. But listen to me, Percy Jackson. Zeus is unpredictable. He may not even wait until the Epulum Minerva feast! As soon as he gets it into his head to toast one of his guests, any time of day or night, I must be there with my chalice in hand. Otherwise . . .”
“You’re toast,” I guessed.
“Very funny,” the god grumbled. “You haven’t lived for millennia dreading the words a toast!Some of my worst nightmares . . .” His voice trailed off. “Never mind. Just don’t fail me.”
Then he got up to distribute Olympian beverage number six to all the thirsty and drink-splattered students.
That afternoon, I did something unusual. I visited the library.
Yeah, I know. I could almost hear that turntable needle scratch in your head as you tried to process that idea. If I told you I fell into Tartarus again, or got swallowed by a giant, or had to go bungee jumping in a volcano, you’d be like, Yeah, that makes sense. But Percy visiting a library? That’s way off brand.
Truth is, I have nothing against libraries. They’re nice quiet places to hang out in, and all the librarians I’ve met are cool people. It’s just that libraries are full of books. Being dyslexic, I tend to think of book as a synonym for migraine headache. Sometimes, though, books are the only place you can find information, so you have to risk the headache. This concludes my TED Talk on the importance of reading.
Anyway, I needed a place to think. I wanted to figure out what I was doing Monday morning against Gary the Goblet Ganker. I tried the library computer first, but as usual, the Internet didn’t help. I guess all the weird stuff I face is so old and bizarre nobody has bothered to make a fan wiki for Stuff that Kills Demigods. If you do find monster info online, it’s usually about how to beat it in some video game. In real life, holding Z while pressing left doesn’t do much.