the forges every summer, two years older than me, and one of the camp's best

armorsmiths. He made some seriously ingenious mechanical stuff. A month before,

he'd rigged a Greek firebomb in the bathroom of a tour bus that was carrying a

bunch of monsters across country. The explosion took out a whole legion of

Kronos's evil meanies as soon as the first haipy went flush.

 

Beckendorf was dressed for combat. He wore a bronze breastplate and war helm

with black camo pants and a sword strapped to his side. His explosives bag was

slung over his shoulder.

 

"Time?" I asked.

 

He nodded grimly.

 

A clump formed in my throat. I'd known this was coming. We'd been planning for

it for weeks, but I'd half hoped it would never happen.

 

Rachel looked up at Beckendorf. "Hi."

 

"Oh, hey. I'm Beckendorf. You must be Rachel. Percy's told me . . . uh, I mean

he mentioned you."

 

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Really? Good." She glanced at Blackjack, who was

clopping his hooves against the hood of the Prius. "So I guess you guys have to

go save the world now."