Dante P.O.V
Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood, I didn't want to be near all-powerful, I didn't want to deal with a psycho girlfr- for fear of my safety, I won't finish that sentence, anyways back on topic I didn't want to be a half-blood.
If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is to close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.
Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways. And if you're not getting killed you're getting fucked over by the gods (fuck you Zeus) or literally fucked by the gods if your unlucky, or lucky if your into that I guess. Anyways, it's not fun.
If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.
But if you recognize yourself in these pages—if you feel something stirring inside—stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
My name is Dante Invierno.
I'm fourteen years old. Until a few months ago, I was a boarding student at YancyAcademy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.
Am I a troubled kid?
Yeah. You could say that.
I am kind of stupid, being held back a year or two. But then again I did do better than Percy... anyways.
I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things started going bad last May when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan— twenty-nine mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.
I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were. And by most, I mean all.
But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes. Even if it was as small as a dime.
Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.
I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I or Percy wouldn't get in trouble.
Boy, was I wrong.
See, bad things happen to me and him on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, We had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. We weren't aiming for the school bus, but of course, we got expelled anyway. Before that, at our fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.
On this trip, I was determined to be good. And Percy? He was in the same boat.
All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac (mood tho) girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich. Very gross. There were a couple of chunks that got in my hair. Honestly, that just pissed me off! Did she not know how long it took to get my hair and how smooth and beautiful it is now? My mother spent so long making sure I had hair products that my hair had its iconic silky smooth feel.
Oh shit, we're going off-topic, Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, more than me because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.
Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, some of it getting in my beautifully put-up white hair, and she knew Percy and I couldn't do anything back to her because we were already on probation. The headmaster had threatened us with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.
"I'm going to kill her," Percy mumbled.
"I think you mean we'll kill her Percy," I spoke up, ignoring the loud Russian anthem playing.
Grover tried to calm us down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter."
"But do you like it with ketchup?" I raised my eyebrows at Grover.
Grover started to say something but had to dodge another piece of Nancy's lunch.
"That's it." Percy started to get up, but Grover pulled him back to his seat.
"You two are already on probation," he reminded us. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."
Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked Nancy Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess I was about to get myself into. Maybe even a curb stomp or two. Would have made everything that was about to happen so worth it.
Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.
He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues, and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.
It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years.
He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about Percy's age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time Percy or I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give us the evil eye.
Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown. Not caused by me.
From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured Percy was a devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at Percy and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew I was going to get after-school detention for a month. Now that's not saying she didn't think I was demon spawn because she definitely thought that. But for some reason unknown to me she was afraid of me.
One time, after she'd made Percy erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, he told Grover and me that he didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. Grover looked at us, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."
Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.
Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and Percy acted before I could, he turned around and said, "Will you shut up?"
It came out louder than he probably wanted it to.
The whole group laughed. Mr. Brunner stopped his story.
"Mr. Jackson," he said, "did you have a comment?"
His face was totally red. He said, "No, sir."
Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"
I looked at the carving, and felt a flush of relief, because I actually recognized it. And if I recognized it there's no doubt Percy did too.
"That's Kronos eating his kids, right?" He said.
"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because ..."
"Well..." I could see the gears turning as fast as they could in Percy's head. "Kronos was the king god, and—"
"God?" Mr. Brunner asked.
"Titan," He corrected himself. "And ... he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"
"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.
"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," He continued, "and the gods won."
Some snickers from the group.
Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"
"Well, it's either that or explain why the hell you were such a bitch during your school years," I whispered under my breath.
"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"
"Busted," Grover muttered.
"Honestly, L. Couldn't be me." I muttered.
"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair.
At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.
Percy thought about his question and shrugged. "I don't know, sir."
"I see." Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"
The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.
Grover, Percy, and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson."
Percy P.O.V
I knew that was coming.
I told Grover and Dante to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?"
Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go— intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.
"You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner told me.
"About the Titans?"
"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."
"Oh."
"What you learn from me," he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson."
I wanted to get angry, this guy pushed me so hard.
I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, which got weird at Oedipus, and what god they worshipped. But Mr. Brunner expected me to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that I have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and I had never made above a C– in my life. No—he didn't expect me to be as good; he expected me to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.
I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.
He told me to go outside and eat my lunch.
Dante P.O.V
The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.
Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, and wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.
Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.
Grover, Percy, and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.
"Detention?" Grover asked.
"Nah," Percy said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius."
Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give Percy some deep philosophical comment to make him feel better, he said, "Can I have y'all's apples?"
I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it. So did Percy.
I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. It was the last time she visited. I wanted so bad to call her and get her to visit me again, I'd have to get in a taxi and go to Percy's Moms apartment in order to get my phone though, so she'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my 8th school in eight years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me. And that's not even accounting for Percy's mom.
Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.
I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.
"Oops." She grinned at Percy and me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.
I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad my mind went blank. My hand felt like it was on fire as I brought it up.
I don't remember what really happened, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, a massive bruise on her face, screaming, "Percy and Dante pushed me!"
Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us. No like actually materialized. Not in the way your parents do at the exact moment you do something wrong but like she was at the top of the staircase just a few seconds ago and now she was next to us kind of materializing.
Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"
"—the water—"
"—his hand—"
"—like it grabbed her—"
"—it was smoking—"
I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that Me and Percy were in trouble again.
As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turned on me and Percy. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes as if We'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"
"I know," Percy grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks."
That wasn't the right thing to say.
"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.
"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed and Punched her."
I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.
She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.
"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.
"But—"
"You—will—stay—here."
Grover looked at me and Percy desperately.
"It's okay, man," Percy told him. "Thanks for trying."
"Yeah man, that was awesome brave of you, but you knew she wouldn't buy it. Thanks nonetheless." I slapped Grover's shoulder lightly and gathered myself for the lecture I was about to hear.
"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at us. "Now."
Nancy Bobofit smirked.
I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me and Percy to come on.
It was just like earlier. But it's probably nothing.
I have moments like that a lot when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.
Then again... I wasn't so sure.
We went after Mrs. Dodds.
Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.
I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.
Okay, I thought. She's going to make me and Percy buy new shirts for Nancy at the gift shop.
But apparently, that wasn't the plan.
We looked at each other and shrugged, following her deeper into the museum. When we finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.
Except for us, the gallery was empty.
Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.
Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being practically alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze as if she wanted to pulverize it...
"You two have been giving us problems, honey," she said.
Despite the urge to correct what she said, I did the safe thing, and so did Percy. We said, "Yes, ma'am."
She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"
The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.
She's a teacher, I thought. It's not like she's going to hurt me. Even then, I'm pretty sure I could take her. She's just a grandma in a leather jacket after all. (And this was a mistake, somehow I didn't realize the number one rule of fiction, never underestimate old people.)
"I'm sorry Ma'am," I said again
Percy, on the other hand, said, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."
Thunder shook the building.
"We are not fools, Percy Jackson, Dante Invierno." Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."
I didn't know what she was talking about.
All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy We'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized Percy got his essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make us read the book. Group punishment was a terrible thing after all. And Mrs. Dodds loves terrible things.
"Well?" she demanded.
"Ma'am, I don't..." Percy tried to stamper out.
"Your time is up," she hissed.
Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me and my best friend into ribbons.
Then things got even stranger.
Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.
"What ho, Percy!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.
Mrs. Dodds lunged at Percy and me.
With a yelp, We dodged as talons slashed the air next to our ears. Me to the right and Percy to the left. He snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit his hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.
I looked towards Mr. Brunner, "You got another one of those?"
Mr. Brunner shook his head sadly.
"Damn alright." I cracked my knuckles and put my fists up. "Please. Let me help Percy." I looked up at a mural of some goddess. And I swear she winked. I felt my hands get heavier and saw some sort of gauntlets covering my hands.
The purple star on the gauntlets glowed with an eerie almost celestial feel.
"That works." I cracked my neck and "reloaded" my fists. "Alright old hag let's do this."
Mrs. Dodds spun toward me with a murderous look in her eyes.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Percy's legs and arms shaking like jelly. knees were jelly.
She snarled, "Die, honey!"
And she flew straight at me.
Absolute terror ran through my body. For a couple of seconds, I regretted everything I said behind her back, and I regretted trying to help, what was I thinking? Percy could handle this! He had a fucking sword!
She got closer. I had to do something or I would die.
What could I do?
What could I do?
What could I do?
What could I do?
What could I do?
What could I do?
I'm not a hero!
I'm not ready for stuff like this!
She's closer. Do something, Dante! Don't be a useless piece of shit! If you don't do something Percy may get hurt.
I did the only thing that came naturally: I reeled back my fist and thrust it forward.
The metal gauntlet hit her face and it caught on fire, a bright blue and black flame melted her skin off, revealing her skull, but she could still move so I ignored the pain in my arms and the fact my hands felt like they were put into an oven and punched her again this time harder.
This punch threw her flaming body towards Percy like a rocket, he raised his sword and brought it down as she flew by slicing straight through her.
Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, and vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.
It was suddenly just me and Percy.
There was a ballpoint pen in his hand. And my wrists now had bracelets on them.
(One on each wrist.)
Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me and Percy.
My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.
Had I imagined the whole thing?
I couldn't of, I looked at Percy and could tell we were thinking the same thing. So no matter what we couldn't have imagined it. There's no way.
We went back outside.
It had started to rain. At least that's better than the sun being out.
Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, she was also holding an ice pack on her cheek, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me and Percy, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."
We looked at each other confused, who's Mrs
Kerr? We looked back at her and said, "Who?"
"Our teacher. Duh!"
I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr.
Percy asked Nancy what she was talking about.
She just rolled her eyes and turned away.
I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.
He said, "Who?"
But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at us, so I thought he was messing with us.
"Not funny, man," Percy told him. "This is serious."
Thunder boomed overhead.
I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book as if he'd never moved.
We went over to him.
He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."
Percy handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized he was still holding it.
"Sir," Percy said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"
He stared at him blankly. "Who?"
"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher."
"The one that took us into the museum to punish us." I tried to remind him of the evil that was Mrs. Dodds.
He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, Dante, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?"
Chapter end brought to you by Percy, Grover, and Dante cooking marshmallows over a certain burning demoness. (Not suggested for at-home consumption)