nighttime skyline of Manhattan.

 

The picture she was attacking was a painting of me standing over the giant

Antaeus. Rachel had painted it a couple of months ago. My expression in the

picture was fierce — disturbing, even — so it was hard to tell if I was the good

guy or the bad guy, but Rachel said I'd looked just like that after the battle.

 

"Demigods, " Rachel muttered as she threw another dart at the canvas. "And their

stupid quests."

 

Most of the darts bounced off, but a few stuck. One hung off my chin like a

goatee.

 

Someone pounded on her bedroom door.

 

"Rachel!" a man shouted. "What in the world are you doing? Turn off that — "

 

Rachel scooped up her remote control and shut off the music. "Come in!"

 

Her dad walked in, scowling and blinking from the light. He had rust-colored

hair a little darker than Rachel's. It was smushed on one side like he'd lost a

fight with his pillow. His blue silk pajamas had "WD" monogrammed on the pocket.

Seriously, who has monogrammed pajamas?

 

"What is going on?" he demanded. "It's three in the morning."