Deadly Waters | Percy Jackson

5. a Goat, a Horse and a Spy

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, Percy thought, Well, that settles it.

Grover was a satyr. Percy was ready to bet that if he shaved his friend's curly brown hair, he'd find tiny horns on his head. But he was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or even minotaurs. All that meant was his mum really had been squeezed into nothingness, dissolved into yellow light.

Percy was alone. An orphan. He would have to live with . . . Smelly Gabe? No. That would never happen. He would live on the streets first. He would pretend he was seventeen and join the army. He'd do something. Maybe Pez would let him live in her massive penthouse.

. . . no, she'd probably just set on fire for even asking.

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid–poor goat, satyr, whatever-looked as if he expected to be hit.

Percy said, "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you."

"Did my mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least . . . I was."

"But why . . ." Percy suddenly felt dizzy, his vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here." He helped the other boy hold his glass and put the straw to his lips.

Percy recoiled at the taste, because he was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies – his mum's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, his whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. His grief didn't go away, but it felt as if his mum had just brushed her hand against his cheek, given him a cookie the way she used to when he was small, and told him everything was going to be okay.

Before Percy knew it, he had drained the glass. He stared into it, sure he'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asked.

He nodded.

"What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful; Percy felt guilty.

"Sorry," he said. "I should've let you taste."

Grover's eyes got wide. "No! That's not what I meant. I just... wondered."

"Chocolate-chip cookies," Percy replied. "My mom's. Home-made."

The other boy -satyr- sighed. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards."

"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff"

"What do you mean?"

He took the empty glass from Percy gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting."

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse.

His legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but Percy held on to it. He'd paid for that souvenir the hard way. He wasn't going to let it go. As they came around the opposite end of the house, he caught his breath.

They must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, Percy simply couldn't process everything he was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture-an open-air pavilion, an amphitheatre, a circular arena-except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun.