Typhon stepped into the Hudson River and barely sank to midcalf.

 

Now, I thought, imploring the image in the smoke. Please, it has to happen now.

 

Like a miracle, a conch horn sounded from the smoky picture. The call of the

ocean. The call of Poseidon.

 

All around Typhon, the Hudson River erupted, churning with forty-foot waves. Out

of the water burst a new chariot — this one pulled by massive hippocampi, who

swam in air as easily as in water. My father, glowing with a blue aura of power,

rode a defiant circle around the giant's legs. Poseidon was no longer an old

man. He looked like himself again — tan and strong with a black beard. As he

swung his trident, the river responded, making a funnel cloud around the

monster.

 

"No!" Kronos bellowed after a moment of stunned silence. "NO!"

 

"NOW, MY BRETHREN!" Poseidon's voice was so loud I wasn't sure if I was hearing

it from the smoke image or from all the way across town. "STRIKE FOR OLYMPUS!"

 

Warriors burst out of the river, riding the waves on huge sharks and dragons and

sea horses. It was a legion of Cyclopes, and leading them into battle was . . .

 

"Tyson!" I yelled.