THE BATTLE OF THE LABYRINTH Percy Jackson ... - No one's invited.

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She faltered, because we’d arrived at a set of metal double doors. Inscribed in the steel, at eye level,
was a large blue Greek ?.
“We’re here,” Rachel announced.“Daedalus’sworkshop.”
***
Annabeth pressed the symbol on the doors and they hissed open.
“So much for ancient architecture,” I said.
Annabeth scowled. Together we walked inside.
The first thing that struck me was the daylight—blazing sun coming through giant windows. Not the kind
of thing you expect in the heart of a dungeon. The workshop was like an artist’s studio, with thirty-foot
ceilings and industrial lighting, polished stone floors, and workbenches along with windows. A spiral
staircase led up to a second-story loft. Half a dozen easels displayed hand-drawn diagrams for buildings
and machines that looked like Leonardoda Vinci sketches. Several laptop computers were scattered
around on the tables. Glass jars of green oil—Greek fire—lined one shelf. There were inventions,
too—weird metal machines I couldn’t make sense of. One was a bronze chair with a bunch of electrical
wires attached to it, like some kind of torture device.In another corner stood a giant metal egg about the
size of a man. There was a grandfather clock that appeared to be made entirely of glass, so you could
see all the gears turning. And hanging on the wall were several sets of bronze and silver wings.
“Diimmortals,”Annabeth muttered. She ran to the nearest easel and looked at the sketch. “He’s a genius.
Look at the curves on this building!”
“And an artist,” Rachel said in amazement. “These wings are amazing!”
The wings looked more advanced than the ones I’d seen in my dreams. The feathers were more tightly
interwoven. Instead of wax seals, self-adhesive strips ran down the sides.
I kept my hand on Riptide. Apparently Daedalus was not at home, but the workshop looked like it had
been recently used. The laptops were running their screen savers. A half-eaten blueberry muffin and a
coffee cup sat on a workbench.
I walked to the window. The view outside was amazing. I recognized the Rocky Mountains in the
distance. We were high up in the foothills, at least five hundred feet, and down below a valley spread out,
filled with a tumbled collection of red mesas and boulders and spires of stone. It looked like some huge
kid had been building a toy city with skyscraper-size blocks, and then decided to knock it over.
“Where are we?” I wondered.
“Colorado Springs,” A voice said behind us.“The Garden of the Gods.”
Standing on the spiral staircase above us, with his weapon drawn, was our missing sword master
Quintus.
***