BLOOD OF OLYMPUS

‘So this is why Annabeth is the brains of the operation, then?’
‘Shut up, Grace.’
They floated through the broken dome and down into shadows.
‘This place seems familiar.’ Percy’s voice became edgy. ‘Almost like I’ve been here –’
The green spotlight flashed directly below them, blinding Jason.
He dropped like a stone, touching down on the smooth marble floor. When his vision cleared, he
saw that they weren’t alone.
Standing before them was a twenty-foot-tall woman in a flowing green dress, cinched at the waist
with a belt of abalone shells. Her skin was as luminous white as the fields of algae. Her hair swayed
and glowed like jellyfish tendrils.
Her face was beautiful but unearthly – her eyes too bright, her features too delicate, her smile too
cold, as if she’d been studying human smiles and hadn’t quite mastered the art.
Her hands rested on a disc of polished green metal about six feet in diameter, sitting on a bronze
tripod. It reminded Jason of a steel drum he’d once seen a street performer play at the Embarcadero
in San Francisco.
The woman turned the metal disc like a steering wheel. A shaft of green light shot upward, churning
the water, shaking the walls of the old palace. Shards from the domed ceiling broke and tumbled
down in slow motion.
‘You’re making the storm,’ Jason said.
‘Indeed I am.’ The woman’s voice was melodic – yet it had a strange resonance, as if it extended
past the human range of hearing. Pressure built between Jason’s eyes. His sinuses felt like they might
explode.
‘Okay, I’ll bite,’ Percy said. ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’
The woman turned towards him. ‘Why, I am your sister, Perseus Jackson. And I wanted to meet you
before you die.’