A 1

with some of the locals and I knew they were speaking English, but every other
sentence seemed to slip into an alternate language – different words, different
pronunciations – and I’d wonder what the heck they were saying. Percy was like
that. He and I almost spoke the same language – magic, monsters, et cetera. But
his vocabulary was completely wrong.
‘No,’ I tried again, halfway up the hill. ‘This monster is a petsuchos – a son of
Sobek.’
‘Who’s Sobek?’ he asked.
‘Lord of crocodiles. Egyptian god.’
That stopped him in his tracks. He stared at me, and I could swear the air
between us turned electric. A voice, very deep in my mind, said: Shut up. Don’t
tell him any more.
Percy glanced at the khopesh I’d retrieved from the river, then the wand in my
belt. ‘Where are you from? Honestly.’
‘Originally?’ I asked. ‘Los Angeles. Now I live in Brooklyn.’
That didn’t seem to make him feel any better. ‘So this monster, this pet-suck-o
or whatever –’
‘Petsuchos,’ I said. ‘It’s a Greek word, but the monster is Egyptian. It was like
the mascot of Sobek’s temple, worshipped as a living god.’
Percy grunted. ‘You sound like Annabeth.’
‘Who?’
‘Nothing. Just skip the history lesson. How do we kill it?’
‘I told you –’
From above came another scream, followed by a loud CRUNCH, like the sound
made by a metal compactor.
We sprinted to the top of the hill, then hopped the fence of somebody’s
backyard and ran into a residential cul-de-sac.
Except for the giant crocodile in the middle of the street, the neighbourhood
could have been Anywhere, USA. Ringing the cul-de-sac were half a dozen
single-storey homes with well-kept front lawns, economy cars in the driveways,
mailboxes at the kerb, flags hanging above the front porches.
Unfortunately, the all-American scene was kind of ruined by the monster, who
was busily eating a green Prius hatchback with a bumper sticker that read MY
POODLE IS SMARTER THAN YOUR HONOUR STUDENT. Maybe the