𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 • 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘰𝘯

Luke... Wait! He Goes By Kronos Now?

"We'll make it back to camp," Percy promised.

For a second I saw the worry in his eyes. Then he put on his old confident smile.

"You bet," he said. "Let's go blow Kronos back into a million pieces."

~

Beckendorf led the way. We followed a narrow corridor to the service stairwell, just like we'd practised, but we froze when we heard noises above us.

"I don't care what your nose says!" snarled a half-human, half-dog voice—a telkhine. "The last time you smelled half-blood, it turned out to be a meatloaf sandwich!"

"Meatloaf sandwiches are good!" a second voice snarled. "But this is a half-blood scent, I swear. They are on board!"

"Bah, your brain isn't on board!"

They continued to argue, and Beckendorf pointed downstairs. We descended as quietly as we could. Two floors down, the voices of the telkhines started to fade.

Finally, we came to a metal hatch. Beckendorf mouthed the words "engine room."

It was locked, but Beckendorf pulled some chain cutters out of his bag and split the bolt like it was made of butter.

Inside, a row of yellow turbines the size of grain silos churned and hummed. Pressure gauges and computer terminals lined the opposite wall. A telekhine was hunched over a console, but he was so involved with his work, he didn't notice us. He was about five feet tall, with slick black seal fur and stubby little feet. He had the head of a Doberman, but his clawed hands were almost human. He growled and muttered as he tapped on his keyboard. Maybe he was messaging his friends on uglyface.com.

Percy stepped forward, and he tensed, probably smelling something was wrong. He leapt sideways toward a big red alarm button, but Percy blocked his path. He hissed and lunged at him, but one slice of Riptide and the telekhine exploded into dust. 

"One down," Beckendorf said. "About five thousand to go."

He tossed me a jar of thick green liquid—Greek fire, one of the most dangerous magical substances in the world. Then Grayson threw me another essential tool of demigod heroes—duct tape.

"Slap that one on the console," he said. "I'll get the turbines. Percy, keep guard."

We went to work. The room was hot and humid, and in no time we were drenched in sweat. The boat kept chugging along. 

"Don't ask me how," said Percy, "but I could tell we're at 40.19° North, 71.90° West, making eighteen knots."

I turned to look at him. "Your point?"

 "This means the ship will arrive in New York Harbor by dawn," Percy explained. "This would be our only chance to stop it."

"Then we better move fast," Beckendorf advised.

Grayson and I had just attached the second jar of Greek fire to the control panels when I heard the pounding of feet on metal steps—so many creatures coming down the stairwell I could hear them over the engines. Not a good sign.

Grayson locked eyes with Beckendorf. "How much longer?"

"Too long." He tapped his watch, which was our remote control detonator. "I still have to wire the receiver and prime the charges. Ten more minutes at least."

Judging from the sound of the footsteps, we had about ten seconds.

"We'll distract them," I said. "Meet you at the rendezvous point."

"Y/n—"

"Wish us luck."

He looked like he wanted to argue. The whole idea had been to get in and out without being spotted. But we were going to have to improvise.