They had been sailing for quite some time now.
Y/N and Annabeth lay at the bottom of the lifeboat, shielding themselves as they could from the sun coming on their left.
Percy kept the boat moving and acted like a GPS—the luck of being the son of the Sea god.
Ethan just snoozed, his face hidden under his banana sunhat. "One sheep . . . two sheep . . . three sheep. . . ."
Suddenly something hit Y/N straight in the face. It was sticky, unpleasant to say the least, and smelly. He touched it carefully, and retched. Bird droppings.
He stuck his head over the boat rail and splashed his face, cleaning it with salt stinging his eyes.
When he turned back to the boat, he saw Annabeth laughing. Immediately he felt his face turn red. He felt ridiculous. And he didn't like that.
"What?" he said firmly, hoping to get that smile off her face.
"Oh, nothing." She giggled again. "Land's near."
Ethan jerked up. "Food?"
"No, goat boy, just land," Annabeth told him.
Sure enough, there was a line of blue and brown in the distance. Another minute and Y/N could make out an island with a small mountain in the center, a dazzling white collection of buildings, a beach dotted with palm trees, and a harbor filled with a strange assortment of boats.
The current was pulling their rowboat toward what looked like a tropical paradise.
"Welcome!" the lady with the clipboard said.
She looked like a flight attendant—blue business suit, perfect makeup, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She shook their hands as they stepped onto the dock. With the dazzling smile she gave them, you would've thought they had just gotten off the Princess Andromeda rather than a banged-up rowboat.
Then again, their rowboat wasn't the weirdest ship in port. Along with a bunch of pleasure yachts, there was a U.S. Navy submarine, several dugout canoes, and an old-fashioned three-masted sailing ship. There was a helipad with a "Channel Five Fort Lauderdale" helicopter on it, and a short runway with a Learjet and a propeller plane that looked like a World War II fighter. Maybe they were replicas for tourists to look at or something.
"Is this your first time with us?" the clipboard lady inquired.
Y/N and Ethan exchanged looks. Ethan said, "Umm. . . ."
"First—time—at—spa," the lady said as she wrote on her clipboard. "Let's see. . . ."
She looked them up and down critically. "Mmm. An herbal wrap to start for the young lady. And of course, a complete makeover for the young gentlemen."
"A what?" Y/N, Ethan and Percy asked in unison.
She was too busy jotting down notes to answer.
"Right!" she said with a breezy smile. "Well, I'm sure C.C. will want to speak with you personally before the luau. Come, please."
Y/N was used to traps, and usually those traps looked good at first. So he expected the clipboard lady to turn into a snake or a demon, or something, any minute. But on the other hand, they had been floating in a rowboat for most of the day. He was hot, tired, and hungry, and when this lady mentioned the luau, his stomach sat up on its hind legs and begged like a dog.
"I guess it couldn't hurt," Annabeth muttered.
Oh yes, it could! Yet they followed the lady anyway. Y/N thrust his hand in his pocket and began rubbing his ring nervously. But the farther they wandered into the resort, the more he forgot about it.
The place was amazing. There was white marble and blue water everywhere he looked. Terraces climbed up the side of the mountain, with swimming pools on every level, connected by waterslides and waterfalls and underwater tubes you could swim through. Fountains sprayed water into the air, forming impossible shapes, like flying eagles and galloping horses.
They passed all kinds of tame animals. A sea turtle napped in a stack of beach towels. A leopard stretched out asleep on the diving board. The resort guests—only young women, as far as he could see—lounged in deck chairs, drinking fruit smoothies or reading magazines while herbal gunk dried on their faces and manicurists in white uniforms did their nails.
As they headed up a staircase toward what looked like the main building, Y/N heard a woman singing. Her voice was drifted through the air like a lullaby. Her words were in some language other than Ancient Greek, but just as old—Minoan, maybe, or something like that. He could understand what she sang about—moonlight in the olive groves, the colors of the sunrise. And magic. Something about magic. Her voice seemed to lift him off the steps and carry him toward her.
They came into a big room where the whole front wall was windows. The back wall was covered in mirrors, so the room seemed to go on forever. There was a bunch of expensive-looking white furniture, and on a table in one corner was a large wire pet cage. The cage seemed out of place, but Y/N didn't think about it too much, because just then he saw the lady who had been singing.
She sat at a loom the size of a big screen TV, her hands weaving colored thread back and forth with amazing skill.
The tapestry shimmered like it was three dimensional—a waterfall scene so real he could see the water moving and clouds drifting across the fabric sky.
Annabeth caught her breath. "It's beautiful."
The woman turned. She was even prettier than her fabric. Her long dark hair was braided with threads of gold. She had piercing green eyes and she wore a silky black dress with shapes that seemed to move in the fabric: animal shadows, black upon black, like deers running through a forest at night.
"You appreciate weaving, my dear?" the woman asked.
"Oh, yes, ma'am!" Annabeth said. "My mother is—"
She stopped herself. You couldn't just go around announcing that your mom was Athena, the goddess who invented the loom. Most people would lock you in a rubber room.
Their hostess just smiled. "You have good taste, my dear. I'm so glad you've come. My name is C.C."
The animals in the corner cage started squealing. They must have been guinea pigs, from the sound of them.
They introduced themselves to C.C. She looked Y/N over with a twinge of disapproval, as if he had failed some kind of test. He felt bad. Was there still some bird droppings in his hair?
"Oh, dears," she sighed. "You do need help."
"Ma'am?" he asked.
C.C. called the lady in the business suit. "Hylla, take Annabeth on a tour, will you? Show her what we have available. The clothing will need to change. And the hair, my goodness. We will do a full image consultation after I've spoken with these young gentlemen."
"But. . . ." Annabeth's voice sounded hurt. "What's wrong with my hair?"
C.C. smiled benevolently. "My dear, you are lovely. Really! But you're not showing off yourself or your talents at all. So much wasted potential!"
"Wasted?"
"Well, surely you're not happy with the way you are! My goodness, there's not a single person who is. But don't worry. We can improve anyone here at the spa. Hylla will show you what I mean. You, my dear, need to unlock your true self!"
Annabeth's eyes glowed with longing. Y/N had never seen her so much a loss for words. "But . . . what about Y/N? And Ethan and Percy?"
"Oh, definitely," C.C. said, giving them a sad look. "They require my personal attention. They need much more work than you."
The guinea pigs squealed like they were hungry.
"Well . . ." Annabeth said, "I suppose. . . ."
"Right this way, dear," Hylla said. And Annabeth allowed herself to be led away into the waterfall-laced gardens of the spa.
C.C. guided Y/N, Ethan and Percy toward the mirrored wall. "You see, boys . . . to unlock your potential, you'll need serious help. The first step is admitting that you're not happy with the way you are."
Y/N looked at his reflection. He didn't really like thinking about his appearance, but just the same way nobody really liked to, right? His hair wasn't looking good at all—doing it was rarely his priority, especially on a quest; needless to say how it looked with remains of bird droppings still there. Ugh. And even if his hair hid them now, he knew there were zits on his forehead—not cool.
Who cares? he thought. But C.C.'s voice made it hard not to see the slightest imperfection—a nose that took too much place on his face, hands that clearly had their place on somebody taller. . . .
He must have been looking for quite some time, because when he glanced around Ethan and Percy were nowhere to be found.
"Wh—?"
"There, there." Looking back at the mirrored wall, he saw C.C. leaning over his shoulder, a consoling smile on her lips. "What are we going to do with you?"
"Where are Ethan and Percy?" Something nagged at the back of his mind. "And where are the other men?"
"Ethan and Percy are with them," she told him with a smile. "You'll join them soon enough. But for now . . . how about we try this?"
She snapped her fingers, and a sky-blue curtain rolled down over the mirror. It shimmered like the fabric on her loom.
First he didn't understand. Then it changed colors. He saw himself—a reflection, but not a reflection. Shimmering there on the cloth was him, but without the zits, with perfectly done hair—the bird droppings had disappeared, of course. He was taller, more athletic, more handsome—you could almost see a ring of light around him. In short, it was him, but way cooler.
He stood speechless.
"Do you want that?" C.C. asked. "Or should we try something different?"
Y/N was completely hypnotized by what he saw. He started to move his jaw. . . .
Suddenly an icy stream ran through him, as if a wave had just hit him head on. A cold shower. He blinked several times. What had just happened?
Looking again at the curtain, he saw nothing, only a sky-blue fabric. But my reflection was there, he thought dimly.
It struck him like a car. He knew what had happened. The same thing that already had, a year ago in the Lotus Casino. Hera had told him about this when he had met her; his ring had given him his lucidity back.
"What is it?" C.C. asked, frowning worryingly. "You don't like it? Maybe this is better."
She waved her hand. The fabric shimmered once more, and a new reflection began to appear under Y/N's eyes.
Cold shower.
Nothing. Just a sky-blue cloth. What was she doing?
Y/N shivered. He closed his eyes for a second. He was in danger. He had to get away. Where were Ethan and Percy? And Annabeth? Was she safe?
"Y/N, is everything okay?" C.C. worried. "Come, I'll give you a tonic."
She stepped over to her wet bar and filled a glass with water. Then she ripped open a drink-mix packet and poured in some red powder. The mixture began to glow. When it faded, the drink looked just like a strawberry milk shake.
"Try the mixture. You'll feel way better after," C.C. assured Y/N.
Everything became blurry around him. He reached out and took the glass.
New cold shower. Everything became clear again just as the glass touched his lips.
He lowered the glass. "What are you doing?"
"What am I doing?" C.C. repeated. "I'm giving you a drink. If you want the perfect you, you need to feel well."
"Why are you confusing my mind?"
Again, he felt all weird; the glass in his hand didn't feel real.
Cold shower.
This woman was dangerous. She tried to put him under a spell, and she tried hard. What did she want, already?
She wanted me to drink, he remembered.
He dropped the glass, which shattered against the marble floor, flooding it with strawberry-red water.
"Stop it!" he blurted out. "Why are you doing this? Who are you?" He put a hand against his forehead—it hurt so badly. He had to struggle not to lose the thread.
Cold shower.
Each time C.C. cast her spell, his ring saved him. But it got him so tired. This ring had been made for a goddess, for someone who didn't know what weariness was. A half-blood like him couldn't take so much.
In front of him, C.C. watched his struggling calmly. "How long do you think you can resist, Y/N? You think the weapons of your mother will be of any use against me? This ring is useless face to my powers. For my mother is Hecate, the goddess of magic."
"I—I don't understand," he mumbled. He staggered.
"Of course you don't understand. No man ever understands. Yet men get all the glory. Why? Look at you, unable to lift a finger against me. Pathetic, like every man. So why is it that the only way to power for women is sorcery? Medea, Calypso, now there were powerful women! And me, of course. The greatest of all."
"You . . . C.C. . . . Circe!"
"Yes, Y/N."
He backed up, and Circe laughed. He had to run away. She was right—he wasn't up to it. She had put spells on countless men for thousands of years before he came here. There had only been Odysseus to win over her, and yet, only with Hermes's help.
Cold shower.
When would it stop? Circe confused his mind continuously. She knew he was giving out, slowly but steadily. He had to do something now, or he would never get out of here.
Was there any chance his mother could help him again? It was a foolish hope, but he had only that. Mother, help me.
"You really think you can hide behind your mother's skirts?" C.C. said. "Here is the only thing men are good at—seeking help somewhere. And yet, you always receive the laurels!"
Cold shower. He knew what to do. But would it work? Was it his mother who had whispered to his mind what to do? Anyway, he had to try. He had nothing else, with his ring that didn't seem willing to transform into his sword. Always doing as it pleased, that ring.
Everything blurred again. He waited. He staggered and caught the corner table to remain on his feet.
New cold shower. The last, he decided.
"Are you ready to give up?" Circe was holding another glass filled with strawberry-red water. "Do you choose to become the perfect you?"
Y/N waved violently his hand at once.
Circe stopped, waiting. But nothing happened. She chuckled and stepped forward. "I supposed that means you give up. That's good. That's what every man should—"
Suddenly the glass she held up went flying at the back of the room, taken away by a gust of wind that had come out of nowhere.
Circe's eyes bulged as she stared down at the shattered glass on the floor.
He didn't wait. He wasn't going to waste the gift his mother had given him.
He waved his hand again, as if to push someone aside, and a new gust of wind threw Circe against the mirrored wall.
Looking around, he saw Percy's bitten-in-half knapsack under the corner table. He fumbled inside it and found what wanted—Hermes's multivitamins. He took one, and immediately felt better. All the weariness on his shoulders went away.
"So, what am I going to do to you, now?" Circe's tone as she stood up was silky—it couldn't have been more threatening if she had yelled. "I think the guinea pigs won't be enough for you."
"That's what you've done to Ethan and Percy?" He glanced at the pet cage where the guinea pigs squealed.
"Maybe a peacock," Circe wondered aloud. "That would be funny. The very first son of Hera, a peacock in my garden."
Blue fire coiled from her fingers, curling like serpents around him.
He watched, horror-struck, but nothing happened. He was still himself, only angrier. "How about turning me into a lion instead? One that has his claws at your throat."
"How!" Circe yelped. She saw the bottle of vitamins in his hand and howled in frustration. "Curse Hermes and his multivitamins! Those are such a fad! They do nothing for you."
"Turn Ethan and Percy back to humans," he ordered.
"I can't!"
"Is that so?" he growled. "Then we're going to do it my way."
Circe's attendants came out of nowhere and stepped forward. He didn't care. Now his ring seemed in a good mood and had transformed into his sword.
But before one of them could get too close, their mistress said, "Get back! He's immune to magic until that cursed vitamin wears off."
An idea popped into his mind. Next second he knocked the top of the guinea pig cage off, and poured the rest of the vitamins inside.
"No!" Circe screamed. "You don't understand! Those are the worst!"
He pointed his sword at her. "You have only yourself to blame."
Bang! The cage exploded. Ethan and Percy were sitting on the floor—in their regular clothes, phew—with six other guys who all looked disoriented, blinking and shaking wood shavings out of their hair.
One of the men stood up—a huge guy with a long tangled pitch-black beard and teeth the same color. He wore mismatched clothes of wool and leather, knee-length boots, and a floppy felt hat. The other men were dressed more simply—in breeches and stained white shirts. All of them were barefoot.
"Argggh!" the big man bellowed. "What's the witch done t'me!"
"No!" Circe moaned.
Y/N gasped. He recognized the man. He had seen him—well, not him, but actors playing him—in too many movies not to. "I recognize you! Y-you're Blackbeard!"
"Aye, wee lad," the big man growled. "Son of Ares! And there's the sorceress what captured us, lads. Run her through, and then I mean to find me a big bowl of celery! Arggggh!"
Circe screamed. She and her attendants ran from the room, chased by pirates.
Y/N helped Ethan and Percy up.
"Thanks," Percy said.
"I'll never drink anything red anymore," Ethan swore.
"Glad you're not guinea pigs," Y/N said.
He was too tired to feel relieved, though. They were not out of that spa yet.
Annabeth's voice called: "Miss C.C.?"
Y/N almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing a sleeveless silk dress like C.C.'s, only white. Her blond hair was newly washed and combed and braided with gold. Worst of all, she was wearing makeup, which he never thought Annabeth would be caught dead in. In short, she was beautiful. He couldn't say anything. He knew he was blushing and hoped everyone would think it due to the effort of fighting against Circe.
Annabeth looked around the room and frowned. "What happened?"
"Let's say we had a problem," Ethan explained. "By the way, it's not 'Miss C.C.' but Circe, now."
"What?" Annabeth blurted out. "The sorceress?"
"Yep," Ethan said. "Lucky Y/N was here and he did . . . things . . . or we would all be guinea pigs."
Annabeth frowned and looked at Y/N from head to toe.
He didn't do anything before Ethan waved his hand in front of his eyes. "Earth to Y/N, hello?"
He shook his head and blushed even more. He really didn't like that. He glared at Ethan, who snickered.
"We have to get away while Circe's distracted," Percy said. "Come on."
They ran down through the terraces, past screaming spa workers and pirates ransacking the resort.
Blackbeard's men broke the tiki torches for the luau, threw herbal wraps into the swimming pool, and kicked over tables of sauna towels.
"Which ship?" Annabeth said as they reached the docks.
"There," Percy said without hesitation. He pointed at the three-mast ship. Painted on its prow was the name: Queen Anne's Revenge.
"Argggh!" Blackbeard yelled somewhere behind them. "Those scalawags are a-boarding me vessel! Get 'em, lads!"
"We'll never get going in time!" Annabeth yelled as they climbed aboard.
"Mizzenmast!" Percy yelled.
Y/N looked at him like he was nuts, but in the next second, the air was filled with whistling sounds of ropes being snapped taut, canvases unfurling, and wooden pulley creaking. A cable that flew over to wrap itself around the bowsprit whipped Y/N's face on its way, leaving him with a nice red mark on his cheek. It was not his day—bird droppings first, now a cable straight in the face.
No sooner had he stood up than the Queen Anne's Revenge lurched away from the dock, and he fell headfirst on the planks. By the time the pirates arrived at the water's edge, they were already underway, sailing into the Sea of Monsters.