The transition from Camp Half-Blood to the real world was jarring.
One minute, we were in a magical valley where nymphs served barbecue and the air smelled like strawberries. The next, we were standing at the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Manhattan, breathing in exhaust fumes, urine, and desperation.
"I forgot how loud this place is," I muttered, adjusting the guitar case on my back. It held my war hammer, Mjolnir-Lite. To the mortals, thanks to the Mist, it probably looked like a cello case or a bag of golf clubs.
"Keep moving," Annabeth said, checking our tickets. "We need to blend in."
"Blend in?" I snorted. "Annabeth, you're wearing an invisible baseball cap in your pocket. Grover has goat legs hidden under baggy jeans. Percy looks like a fugitive on a wanted poster, and I look like I rob gyms for a living. We don't blend."
We found our Greyhound bus. It was a silver bullet of misery, idling at Gate 24. The destination sign read: WEST.
"Great specific," I noted.
We boarded. The bus smelled of stale corn chips, diesel, and that weird blue chemical liquid they use in portable toilets.
I took a window seat near the back. My knees jammed into the plastic seat in front of me. Being six-foot-nothing at twelve (okay, maybe thirteen now? Time was weird) meant public transit was a torture device.
Percy and Annabeth sat in the row ahead of me. Grover sat next to me, nervously chewing on the corner of his ticket.
"I smell something," Grover whispered, his nose twitching.
"Is it the guy in 4C?" I asked. "Because he definitely hasn't showered since the Reagan administration."
"No," Grover bleated softly. "It smells like... deep underground. Like fur and funeral flowers."
I tensed. I knew that smell.
I stood up, pretending to stretch, and looked down the aisle toward the front.
Three old ladies were boarding. They wore matching velvet hats with lace veils, shapeless dresses that looked like upholstery fabric, and they carried handbags that looked heavy enough to contain bricks.
Mrs. Dodds. And two friends.
The Furies. The Kindly Ones.
"Heads up," I whispered, kicking the back of Percy's seat. "Company."
Percy looked back. "Who?"
"The Granny Squad," I said, my voice low. "Don't look directly at them. The Mist makes them look like retirees, but trust me, they're not here for bingo."
The TransformationThe bus pulled out of the terminal, plunging into the dark Lincoln Tunnel. The lights flickered. The air grew cold.
The three ladies didn't sit down. They stood in the aisle, swaying with the movement of the bus. They were looking at us.
Then, the change happened.
It wasn't like the movies where it's a flashy CGI morph. It was visceral. It was like watching reality curdle.
Their skin didn't just change color; it withered, pulling tight against skulls that were too sharp. Their velvet hats melted into leathery, bat-like wings that sprouted from their backs, shredding their clothes. Their handbags turned into whips made of fire.
The passengers didn't scream. They just stared blankly, their eyes glazed over. The Mist, I realized. They probably see three old ladies having an argument.
"Perseus Jackson!" the middle one—Mrs. Dodds—shrieked. Her voice sounded like a knife scraping against a chalkboard. "You have offended the Lord of the Dead!"
"Annabeth, use the cap!" Percy yelled.
"What about you?" she shouted.
"I'm the target!" Percy uncapped Riptide. The bronze sword sprang into existence, glowing faintly in the gloom of the tunnel.
"And I," I grumbled, standing up in the narrow aisle, "am the bouncer."
The Confined CageFighting in an open field is easy. You have room to swing. Fighting in the aisle of a moving Greyhound bus is a nightmare.
The first Fury—Alecto, I assumed—dove. She moved with impossible speed, a blur of leather and hate.
She aimed for Percy, her talons extended.
I didn't have room to draw my hammer. The aisle was too tight. If I swung it, I'd take out three rows of innocent commuters.
So, I improvised.
I grabbed the headrest of the empty seat in front of me.
"Excuse me!" I shouted.
I didn't pull. I ripped.
I engaged my core, planted my feet, and yanked upward with every ounce of my godly strength. The bolts screaming in protest sounded like gunshots—PING, PING, PING, PING.
The metal frame sheared off the floor. I ripped the entire double-seat unit out of the bus floor.
"Catch!" I roared.
I hurled the chair like a massive, cushioned projectile.
It hit Alecto mid-air.
CRUNCH.
The impact was brutal. The heavy steel frame slammed her backward, pinning her against the roof of the bus. She shrieked—a sound of pure rage—and slashed the vinyl seat cushions to ribbons with her claws.
"Valerius, you're wrecking the bus!" Annabeth screamed.
"I'm redecorating!" I yelled back.
The other two Furies swooped. One went high, crawling along the luggage racks like a giant insect. The other came low, scrambling over the seats, snapping her whip.
"Percy, get the low one!" I ordered. "I got Spiderman!"
I jumped. I grabbed the luggage rail with one hand and swung my legs up. I caught the roof-crawling Fury in the chest with a double-footed dropkick.
We both crashed down onto row 6.
A mortal man in that seat looked up from his newspaper, blinked at the demon landing in his lap, and muttered, "Damn kids," before going back to reading. The Mist was working overtime.
The Fury slashed at me. Her claws were sharper than razors. I felt a sting on my forearm as three lines of red appeared on my jacket.
"That's leather!" I snarled. "Do you know how much this cost?"
I grabbed her wrist. Her skin felt dry and hot, like burning parchment.
I squeezed.
I heard the radius and ulna bones snap. She howled.
I didn't stop. I headbutted her.
THWACK.
My forehead hit her nose. It was like hitting a stone, but I was denser. Her face crunched inward. She dissolved into yellow sulfur dust, coughing all over me.
"One down!" I yelled, spitting out monster dust.
The ClimaxAt the front of the bus, the driver was panicking. He swerved. The bus slammed into the tunnel wall. Sparks showered the windows.
"Percy!" I looked forward.
Percy was struggling. He had slashed one Fury, but Mrs. Dodds had her whip wrapped around his sword arm. She was pulling him closer, her mouth opening to reveal rows of shark-like teeth.
"Hold on!" I shouted.
I couldn't reach them in time. The aisle was blocked by the seat I'd ripped out.
I looked at the emergency exit window next to me.
Plan B: Chaos.
"Everyone, brace for impact!" I bellowed.
I punched the window.
Safety glass is designed to shatter into tiny cubes. When I hit it, the entire pane didn't just shatter; it exploded outward like it had been hit by a cannonball.
The rush of wind into the tunnel was deafening.
"Grover, get the wheel!" I shouted.
Grover scrambled over the driver (who was now trying to hide under the dashboard) and grabbed the steering wheel.
I grabbed my guitar case/hammer from the rack.
"Percy, duck!"
I didn't throw the hammer. I threw myself.
I launched off the armrest, sailing over the ripped-out seat. I tackled Mrs. Dodds mid-air just as she was about to bite Percy's face off.
We crashed into the front windshield.
The glass cracked, spiderwebbing instantly.
"Get off, godling!" she hissed, clawing at my face.
"Get off my bus!" I roared.
I grabbed her by the neck and the wing. I used my momentum to spin. I slammed her through the windshield.
We both went flying out of the front of the bus at sixty miles per hour.
Okay, in hindsight, this was a bad idea.
I hit the asphalt of the Lincoln Tunnel. I tumbled. I rolled. My jacket shredded. My skin scraped raw against the road.
Mrs. Dodds wasn't so lucky. She hit the pavement and didn't roll. She splattered. Another cloud of yellow dust.
The bus behind me screeched, fishtailing. Grover slammed the brakes. The massive vehicle spun 180 degrees, tires smoking, and slammed into the tunnel wall with a metallic groan that shook the ground.
The AftermathI lay on the centerline of the tunnel, staring up at the fluorescent lights zipping by. Everything hurt.
"Valerius!"
Percy and Annabeth scrambled out of the smoking wreck of the bus. They ran toward me.
I sat up, picking a piece of windshield glass out of my shoulder.
"Did we win?" I asked, wincing.
"You're insane," Annabeth said, her eyes wide. She looked at the hole in the windshield, then at the ripped-out seats visible through the side. "You destroyed a Greyhound bus."
"It had bad feng shui," I groaned, letting Percy help me up.
The third Fury was gone—fled or dusted in the crash.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Blue and red lights reflected off the wet tunnel tiles.
"We have to move," Percy said, looking back at the traffic jam we'd just created. "Police are coming."
"My bag," I realized. "My snacks."
"We grabbed them," Grover said, holding up our duffels. "And your hammer."
I took the case. I felt lighter, despite the road rash.
"Welcome to the quest," I said, limping toward the emergency service exit door in the tunnel wall. "Next time, let's take the train."
We vanished into the service corridor just as the NYPD cruisers screeched to a halt at the wreck.