Annabeth drew her sword.
There on the rocks just above us was a black hound the size of a rhino, with lava-red eyes and fangs like daggers.
It was looking straight at me.
Nobody moved except Annabeth, who yelled, "Percy, run!"
She tried to step in front of me, but the hound was too fast. It leaped over her—an enormous shadow with teeth—and just as it hit me, as I stumbled backward and felt its razor-sharp claws ripping through my armor, there was a cascade of thwacking sounds, like forty pieces of paper being ripped one after the other. From the hound's neck sprouted a cluster of arrows. The monster fell dead at my feet.
By some miracle, I was still alive. I didn't want to look underneath the ruins of my shredded armor. My chest felt warm and wet, and I knew I was badly cut. Another second, and the monster would've turned me into a hundred pounds of delicatessen meat.
Chiron trotted up next to us, a bow in his hand, his face grim.
"Di immortales!" Annabeth said. "That's a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment. They don't…they're not supposed to…"
"Someone summoned it," Chiron said. "Someone inside the camp."
Luke came over, the banner in his hand forgotten, his moment of glory gone.
Clarisse yelled, "It's all Percy's fault! Percy summoned it!"
"Be quiet, child," Chiron told her.
We watched the body of the hellhound melt into shadow, soaking into the ground until it disappeared.
"You're wounded," Annabeth told me. "Quick, Percy, get in the water."
"I'm okay."
"No, you're not," she said. "Chiron, watch this."
I was too tired to argue. I stepped back into the creek, the whole camp gathering around me.
Instantly, I felt better. I could feel the cuts on my chest closing up. Some of the campers gasped.
"Look, I—I don't know why," I said, trying to apologize. "I'm sorry.…"
But they weren't watching my wounds heal. They were staring at something above my head.
"Percy," Annabeth said, pointing. "Um…"
By the time I looked up, the sign was already fading, but I could still make out the hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident.
"Your father," Annabeth murmured. "This is really not good."
"It is determined," Chiron announced.
All around me, campers started kneeling, even the Ares cabin, though they didn't look happy about it.
"My father?" I asked, completely bewildered.
"Poseidon," said Chiron. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses.
Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God."
**
The next morning, Chiron moved me to cabin three.
I didn't have to share with anybody. I had plenty of room for all my stuff:
the Minotaur's horn, one set of spare clothes, and a toiletry bag. I got to sit at
my own dinner table, pick all my own activities, call "lights out" whenever I
felt like it, and not listen to anybody else.
And I was absolutely miserable.
Just when I'd started to feel accepted, to feel I had a home in cabin eleven and I might be a normal kid—or as normal as you can be when you're a half-blood—I'd been separated out as if I had some rare disease.
Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, that I was the son of the Sea God; and two, monsters would stop at nothing to kill me. They could even invade a camp that had always been considered safe.
The other campers steered clear of me as much as possible. Cabin eleven was too nervous to have sword class with me after what I'd done to the Ares folks in the woods, so my lessons with Luke became one-on-one. He pushed me harder than ever, and wasn't afraid to bruise me up in the process.
"You're going to need all the training you can get," he promised, as we were working with swords and flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions."
Annabeth still taught me Greek in the mornings, but she seemed distracted. Every time I said something, she scowled at me, as if I'd just poked her between the eyes.
After lessons, she would walk away muttering to herself: "Quest… Poseidon?…Dirty rotten…Got to make a plan…"
Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill me for breaking her magic spear. I wished she would just yell or punch me or something. I'd rather get into fights every day than be ignored.
I knew somebody at camp resented me, because one night I came into my cabin and found a mortal newspaper dropped inside the doorway, a copy of the New York Daily News, opened to the Metro page. The article took me almost an hour to read, because the angrier I got, the more the words floated around on the page.
BOY AND MOTHER STILL MISSING AFTER FREAK CAR
ACCIDENT
BY EILEEN SMYTHE
Sally Jackson and son Percy are still missing one week after their mysterious disappearance. The family's badly burned '78 Camaro was discovered last Saturday on a north Long Island road with the roof ripped off and the front axle broken. The car had flipped and skidded for several hundred feet before exploding.
Mother and son had gone for a weekend vacation to Montauk, but left hastily, under mysterious circumstances. Small traces of blood were found in the car and near the scene of the wreck, but there were no other signs of the missing Jacksons. Residents in the rural area reported seeing nothing unusual around the time of the accident.
Ms. Jackson's husband, Gabe Ugliano, claims that his stepson, Percy Jackson, is a troubled child who has been kicked out of numerous boarding schools and has expressed violent tendencies in the past.
Police would not say whether son Percy is a suspect in his mother's disappearance, but they have not ruled out foul play.
Below are recent pictures of Sally Jackson and Percy. Police urgeanyone with information to call the following toll-free crime-stoppers hotline.
The phone number was circled in black marker.
I wadded up the paper and threw it away, then flopped down in my bunkbed in the middle of my empty cabin.
"Lights out," I told myself miserably.
That night, I had my worst dream yet. I was running along the beach in a storm. This time, there was a city behind me. Not New York. The sprawl was different: buildings spread farther apart, palm trees and low hills in thedistance.
About a hundred yards down the surf, two men were fighting. They looked like TV wrestlers, muscular, with beards and long hair.