The senior counselors had gathered around the Ping-Pong table. Don't ask me why,

but the rec room had become the camp's informal headquarters for war councils.

When Annabeth, Chiron, and I came in, though, it looked more like a shouting

match.

 

Clarisse was still in full battle gear. Her electric spear was strapped to her

back. (Actually, her second electric spear, since I'd broken the first one. She

called the spear "Maimer." Behind her back, everybody else called it "Lamer.")

She had her boar-shaped helmet under one arm and a knife at her belt.

 

She was in the midst of yelling at Michael Yew, the new head counselor for

Apollo, which looked kind of funny since Clarisse was a foot taller. Michael had

taken over the Apollo cabin after Lee Fletcher died in battle last summer.

Michael stood four feet six, with another two feet of attitude. He reminded me

of a ferret, with a pointy nose and scrunched-up features — either because he

scowled so much or because he spent too much time looking down the shaft of an

arrow.

 

"It's our loot!" he yelled, standing on his tiptoes so he could get in

Clarisse's face. "If you don't like it, you can kiss my quiver!"

 

Around the table, people were trying not to laugh — the Stoll brothers, Pollux

from the Dionysus cabin, Katie Gardner from Demeter. Even Jake Mason, the

hastily appointed new counselor from Hephaestus, managed a faint smile. Only