WE GET HELP FROM A THIEF

 

Here's my definition of not fun. Fly a pegasus toward an out-of-control

helicopter. If Guido had been any less of a fancy flier, we would've been

chopped to confetti.

 

I could hear Rachel screaming inside. For some reason, she hadn't fallen asleep,

but I could see the pilot slumped over the controls, pitching back and forth as

the helicopter wobbled toward the side of an office building.

 

"Ideas?" I asked Annabeth.

 

"You're going to have to take Guido and get out," she said.

 

"What are you going to do?"

 

In response, she said, "Hyah!" and Guido went into a nosedive.

 

"Duck!" Annabeth yelled.

 

We passed so close to the rotors I felt the force of the blades ripping at my

hair. We zipped along the side of the helicopter, and Annabeth grabbed the door.

 

That's when things went wrong.