House of Cards.

iii. Bullfighting Showdown

"What?!"

"I'm a goat from the waist down."

"You just said it didn't matter!"

"Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you under hoof for such an insult!"

Percy threw his hands up, letting go of the small argument — Until he had to take a moment to backtrack and realize what Grover had just said, "Whoa, whoa — wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?"

Grover seemed annoyed that Percy was just realizing this all now. "Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?"

Percy's jaw dropped. "So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!"

"Of course, there was a Mrs. Dodds!"

"Then why would you and Genna lie —"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover broke in quickly, like it was all obvious and made total sense. (Spoiler: it doesn't make sense!) "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are."

"Who I — Wait a minute, what do you mean?"

Their conversation screeched to a halt when that weird bellowing noise echoed into the stormy night once again. Percy's breath hitched in his throat when he noticed it was a lot closer than it had been before. Whatever was chasing them was still on their trail.

"Percy," his mom spoke up, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."

"Safety from what? Who's after me?"

"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

Percy sat back, trying to wrap his head around what was happening, but it only felt like his skull was on a swivel. Some part of him wanted to still think of this as some drea, but he knew that it wasn't. He had no imagination. He could never dream up something this weird.

He yelped, sliding in his seat, as he mom made a hard left. They swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" he asked, digging his fingers into the faux leather of the Camaro's seats.

"The summer camp I told you about." His mother's voice was tight; she was trying for Percy's sake not to be scared, but he still could hear it. "The place your father wanted to send you."

"The place you didn't want me to go."

"Please, dear," she begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger."

Percy shook his head, the questions rattling around. "Danger? Because some old ladies cut yarn."

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover corrected. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means — the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to —" he stopped, and backtracked "— when someone's about to die."