She stood, still disoriented from her nightmares. Bob started cleaning up, collecting their trash in a little pile, using his squirt bottle to wipe off the altar.

'Where to now?' Annabeth asked.

Percy pointed at the stormy wall of darkness. 'Bob says that way. Apparently the Doors of Death '

'You told him?' Annabeth didn't mean it to come out so harsh, but Percy winced.

'While you were asleep,' he admitted. 'Annabeth, Bob can help. We need a guide.'

'Bob helps!' Bob agreed. 'Into the Dark Lands. The Doors of Death ... hmm, walking straight to them would be bad. Too many monsters gathered there. Even Bob could not sweep that many. They would kill Percy and Annabeth in about two seconds.' The t.i.tan frowned. 'I think seconds. Time is hard in Tartarus.'

'Right,' Annabeth grumbled. 'So is there another way?'

'Hiding,' said Bob. 'The Death Mist could hide you.'

'Oh ...' Annabeth suddenly felt very small in the shadow of the t.i.tan. 'Uh, what is Death Mist?'

'It is dangerous,' Bob said. 'But if the lady will give you Death Mist it might hide you. If we can avoid Night. The lady is very close to Night. That is bad.'

'The lady,' Percy repeated.

'Yes.' Bob pointed ahead of them into the inky blackness. 'We should go.'

Percy glanced at Annabeth, obviously hoping for guidance, but she had none. She was thinking about her nightmare Thalia's tree splintered by lightning, Gaia rising on the hillside and unleashing her monsters on Camp Half-Blood.

'Okay, then,' Percy said. 'I guess we'll see a lady about some Death Mist.'

'Wait,' Annabeth said.

Her mind was buzzing. She thought of her dream about Luke and Thalia. She recalled the stories Luke had told her about his father, Hermes G.o.d of travellers, guide to the spirits of the dead, G.o.d of communication.

She stared at the black altar.

'Annabeth?' Percy sounded concerned.

She walked to the pile of trash and picked out a reasonably clean paper napkin.

She remembered her vision of Reyna, standing in the smoking crevice beneath the ruins of Thalia's pine tree, speaking with the voice of Athena: I must stand here. The Roman must bring me.

Hurry. The message must be sent.

'Bob,' she said, 'offerings burned in the mortal world appear on this altar, right?'

Bob frowned uncomfortably, like he wasn't ready for a pop quiz. 'Yes?'

'So what happens if I burn something on the altar here?'

'Uh ...'

'That's all right,' Annabeth said. 'You don't know. n.o.body knows, because it's never been done.'

There was a chance, she thought, just the slimmest chance that an offering burned on this altar might appear at Camp Half-Blood.

Doubtful, but if it did work ...

'Annabeth?' Percy said again. 'You're planning something. You've got that I'm planning something look.'

'I don't have an I'm planning something look.'

'Yeah, you totally do. Your eyebrows knit and your lips press together and '

'Do you have a pen?' she asked him.

'You're kidding, right?' He brought out Riptide.

'Yes, but can you actually write with it?'

'I I don't know,' he admitted. 'Never tried.'

He uncapped the pen. As usual, it sprang into a full-sized sword. Annabeth had watched him do this hundreds of times. Normally when he fought, Percy simply discarded the cap. It always appeared in his pocket later, as needed. When he touched the cap to the point of the sword, it would turn back into a ballpoint pen.

'What if you touch the cap to the other end of the sword?' Annabeth said. 'Like where you'd put the cap if you were actually going to write with the pen.'

'Uh ...' Percy looked doubtful, but he touched the cap to the hilt of the sword. Riptide shrank back into a ballpoint pen, but now the writing point was exposed.

'May I?' Annabeth plucked it from his hand. She flattened the napkin against the altar and began to write. Riptide's ink glowed Celestial bronze.

'What are you doing?' Percy asked.

'Sending a message,' Annabeth said. 'I just hope Rachel gets it.'

'Rachel?' Percy asked. 'You mean our Rachel? Oracle of Delphi Rachel?'

'That's the one.' Annabeth suppressed a smile.

Whenever she brought up Rachel's name, Percy got nervous. At one point, Rachel had been interested in dating Percy. That was ancient history. Rachel and Annabeth were good friends now. But Annabeth didn't mind making Percy a little uneasy. You had to keep your boyfriend on his toes.

Annabeth finished her note and folded the napkin. On the outside, she wrote: Connor, Give this to Rachel. Not a prank. Don't be a moron.

Love,

Annabeth

She took a deep breath. She was asking Rachel Dare to do something ridiculously dangerous, but it was the only way she could think of to communicate with the Romans the only way that might avoid bloodshed.

'Now I just need to burn it,' she said. 'Anybody got a match?'

The point of Bob's spear shot from his broom handle. It sparked against the altar and erupted in silvery fire.

'Uh, thanks.' Annabeth lit the napkin and set it on the altar. She watched it crumble to ash and wondered if she was crazy. Could the smoke really make it out of Tartarus?

'We should go now,' Bob advised. 'Really, really go. Before we are killed.'

Annabeth stared at the wall of blackness in front of them. Somewhere in there was a lady who dispensed a Death Mist that might hide them from monsters a plan recommended by a t.i.tan, one of their bitterest enemies. Another dose of weirdness to explode her brain.

'Right,' she said. 'I'm ready.'

XXIII.

ANNABETH.

ANNABETH LITERALLY STUMBLED over the second t.i.tan.

After entering the storm front, they plodded on for what seemed like hours, relying on the light of Percy's Celestial bronze blade, and on Bob, who glowed faintly in the dark like some sort of crazy janitor angel.

Annabeth could only see about five feet in front of her. In a strange way, the Dark Lands reminded her of San Francisco, where her dad lived on those summer afternoons when the fog bank rolled in like cold, wet packing material and swallowed Pacific Heights. Except here in Tartarus, the fog was made of ink.

Rocks loomed out of nowhere. Pits appeared at their feet, and Annabeth barely avoided falling in. Monstrous roars echoed in the gloom, but Annabeth couldn't tell where they came from. All she could be certain of was that the terrain was still sloping down.

Down seemed to be the only direction allowed in Tartarus. If Annabeth backtracked even a step, she felt tired and heavy, as if gravity were increasing to discourage her. a.s.suming that the entire pit was the body of Tartarus, Annabeth had a nasty feeling they were marching straight down his throat.

She was so preoccupied with that thought she didn't notice the ledge until it was too late.

Percy yelled, 'Whoa!' He grabbed for her arm, but she was already falling.

Fortunately, it was only a shallow depression. Most of it was filled with a monster blister. She had a soft landing on a warm bouncy surface and was feeling lucky until she opened her eyes and found herself staring through a glowing gold membrane at another, much larger face.

She screamed and flailed, toppling sideways off the mound. Her heart did a hundred jumping jacks.

Percy helped her to her feet. 'You okay?'

She didn't trust herself to answer. If she opened her mouth, she might scream again, and that would be undignified. She was a daughter of Athena, not some shrill girlie victim in a horror movie.

But G.o.ds of Olympus ... Curled in the membrane bubble in front of her was a fully formed t.i.tan in golden armour, his skin the colour of polished pennies. His eyes were closed, but he scowled so deeply he appeared to be on the verge of a bloodcurdling war cry. Even through the blister, Annabeth could feel the heat radiating from his body.

'Hyperion,' Percy said. 'I hate that guy.'

Annabeth's shoulder suddenly ached from an old wound. During the Battle of Manhattan, Percy had fought this t.i.tan at the Reservoir water against fire. It had been the first time Percy had summoned a hurricane which wasn't something Annabeth would ever forget. 'I thought Grover turned this guy into a maple tree.'

'Yeah,' Percy agreed. 'Maybe the maple tree died, and he wound up back here?'

Annabeth remembered how Hyperion had summoned fiery explosions and how many satyrs and nymphs he'd destroyed before Percy and Grover stopped him.

She was about to suggest that they burst Hyperion's bubble before he woke up. He looked ready to pop out at any moment and start charbroiling everything in his path.

Then she glanced at Bob. The silvery t.i.tan was studying Hyperion with a frown of concentration maybe recognition. Their faces looked so much alike ...

Annabeth bit back a curse. Of course they looked alike. Hyperion was his brother. Hyperion was the t.i.tan lord of the east. Iapetus, Bob, was the lord of the west. Take away Bob's broom and his janitor's clothes, put him in armour and cut his hair, change his colour scheme from silver to gold, and Iapetus would have been almost indistinguishable from Hyperion.

'Bob,' she said, 'we should go.'

'Gold, not silver,' Bob murmured. 'But he looks like me.'

'Bob,' Percy said. 'Hey, buddy, over here.'

The t.i.tan reluctantly turned.

'Am I your friend?' Percy asked.

'Yes.' Bob sounded dangerously uncertain. 'We are friends.'

'You know that some monsters are good,' Percy said. 'And some are bad.'

'Hmm,' Bob said. 'Like ... the pretty ghost ladies who serve Persephone are good. Exploding zombies are bad.'

'Right,' Percy said. 'And some mortals are good, and some are bad. Well, the same thing is true for t.i.tans.'

't.i.tans ...' Bob loomed over them, glowering. Annabeth was pretty sure her boyfriend had just made a big mistake.

'That's what you are,' Percy said calmly. 'Bob the t.i.tan. You're good. You're awesome, in fact. But some t.i.tans are not. This guy here, Hyperion, is full-on bad. He tried to kill me ... tried to kill a lot of people.'

Bob blinked his silver eyes. 'But he looks ... his face is so '

'He looks like you,' Percy agreed. 'He's a t.i.tan, like you. But he's not good like you are.'

'Bob is good.' His fingers tightened on his broom handle. 'Yes. There is always at least one good one monsters, t.i.tans, giants.'

'Uh ...' Percy grimaced. 'Well, I'm not sure about the giants.'