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"Try IT Once more," Percy told me. "This time with less dying."

Standing on the yardarm of the USS Constitution, looking downwards at Boston Harbor two hundred anxiety below, I wished I had the natural defenses of a turkey buzzard. Then I could projectile vomit on Percy Jackson and make him get away.

The last time he'd made me try this jump, merely an hour earlier, I'd cleaved every os in my body. My friend Alex Fierro had rushed me back to the Hotel Valhalla simply in time for me to die in my own bed.

Unfortunately, I was an einherji, i of Odin's immortal warriors. I couldn't dice permanently as long as I expired within the boundaries of Valhalla. Thirty minutes afterwards, I woke upwards as practiced as new. At present here I was again, ready for more hurting. Hooray!

"Is this strictly necessary?" I asked.

Percy leaned against the rigging, the wind rippling petty waves through his black hair.

He looked like a normal guy—orangish T-shirt, jeans, battered white leather Reeboks. If y'all saw him walking down the street, y'all wouldn't recall, Hey, look, a demigod son of Poseidon! Praise the Olympians! He didn't have gills or webbed fingers, though his eyes were sea light-green—about the same shade I imagined my face was just then. The only strange affair most Jackson was the tattoo on the inside of his forearm—a trident as dark as seared wood, with a single line underneath and the letters SPQR.

He'd told me the letters stood for Sono Pazzi Quelli Romani—those Romans are crazy. I wasn't sure if he was kidding.

"Expect, Magnus," he told me. "You'll exist sailing across hostile territory. A bunch of sea monsters and sea gods and who-knows-what-else will exist trying to kill you, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

By which I meant: Please don't remind me. Please leave me lonely.

"At some point," said Percy, "you're going to get thrown off the gunkhole, perhaps from as high upwards as this. You'll need to know how to survive the impact, avoid drowning, and get back to the surface set up to fight. That's going to be tough, specially in common cold water."

I knew he was right. From what my cousin Annabeth had told me, Percy had been through even more dangerous adventures than I had. (And I lived in Valhalla. I died at least once a day.) Equally much every bit I appreciated him coming upwardly from New York to offering me heroic aquatic-survival tips, though, I was getting tired of declining.

Yesterday, I'd gotten chomped by a cracking white shark, strangled by a giant squid, and stung by a thousand irate moon jellies. I'd swallowed several gallons of seawater trying to hold my breath, and learned that I was no better at hand-to-mitt gainsay thirty feet down than I was on dry land.

This morning, Percy had walked me around Erstwhile Ironsides, trying to teach me the nuts of sailing and navigation, only I even so couldn't tell the mizzenmast from the poop deck.

Now hither I was: a failure at falling off a pole.

I glanced down, where Annabeth and Alex Fierro were watching us from the deck.

"You got this, Magnus!" Annabeth cheered.

Alex Fierro gave me two thumbs up. At to the lowest degree I remember that was the gesture. It was hard to exist sure from this distance.

Percy took a deep jiff. He'd been patient with me so far, but I could tell the stress of the weekend was starting to become to him, too. Whenever he looked at me, his left center twitched.

"It'south cool, human," he promised. "I'll demonstrate over again, okay? Start in skydiver position, spread-eagle to slow your descent. Then, right earlier you hit the water, straighten like an arrow—head upward, heels down, dorsum straight, butt clenched. That last part is actually important."

"Skydiver," I said. "Eagle. Arrow. Butt."

"Right," Percy said. "Watch me."

He jumped from the yardarm, falling toward the harbor in perfect spread-eagle class. At the terminal moment, he straightened, heels downwardly, and striking the water, disappearing with inappreciably a ripple. A moment later, he surfaced, his palms raised similar See? Nothing to information technology!

Annabeth and Alex applauded.

"Okay, Magnus!" Alex called upwards to me. "Your turn! Exist a man!"

I suppose that was meant to be funny. Most of the fourth dimension, Alex identified as female, but today he was definitely male person. Sometimes I slipped up and used the wrong pronouns for him/her, so Alex liked to render the favor past teasing me mercilessly. Because friendship.

Annabeth hollered, "You got this, cuz!"

Below me, the dark surface of the h2o glinted like a freshly scrubbed waffle iron, ready to squash me flat.

Correct, I muttered to myself.

I jumped.

For half a second, I felt pretty confident. The wind whistled past my ears. I spread my arms and managed not to scream.

Okay, I thought. I can exercise this.

Which was when my sword, Jack, decided to fly upwardly out of nowhere and start a chat.

"Hey, señor!" His runes glowed along his double-edged bract. "Whatcha doing?"

I flailed, trying to turn vertical for impact. "Jack, not at present!"

"Oh, I get it! Y'all're falling! Y'all know, in one case Frey and I were falling—"

Before he could keep his fascinating story, I slammed into the water.

Just every bit Percy had warned, the cold stunned my system. I sank, momentarily paralyzed, the air knocked out of my lungs. My ankles throbbed like I'd bounced off a brick trampoline. Only at least I wasn't dead.

I scanned for major injuries. When you're an einherji, you get pretty good at listening to your own pain. You can stagger around the battlefield in Valhalla, mortally wounded, gasping your terminal breath, and calmly think, Oh, so that'southward what a crushed rib cage feels similar. Interesting!

This time I'd broken my left ankle for certain. The right one was only sprained.

Like shooting fish in a barrel fix. I summoned the power of Frey.

Warmth like summer sunlight spread from my breast into my limbs. The pain subsided. I wasn't as good at healing myself as I was at healing others, only I felt my ankles beginning to mend—as if a swarm of friendly wasps were crawling around within my flesh, mud-daubing the fractures, reknitting the ligaments.

Ah, better, I thought, as I floated through the common cold darkness. At present, there's something else I should be doing….Oh, right. Breathing.

Jack'south hilt nudged against my paw like a dog looking for attention. I wrapped my fingers around his leather grip and he hauled me upwards, launching me out of the harbor like a rocket-powered Lady of the Lake. I landed, gasping and shivering, on the deck of Old Ironsides adjacent to my friends.

"Whoa." Percy stepped back. "That was dissimilar. Y'all okay, Magnus?"

"Fine," I coughed out, sounding like a duck with a breast common cold.

Percy eyed the glowing runes on my weapon. "Where'd the sword come from?"

"Hi, I'thou Jack!" said Jack.

Annabeth stifled a yelp. "It talks?"

"Information technology?" Jack demanded. "Hey, lady, some respect. I'yard Sumarbrander! The Sword of Summer! The weapon of Frey! I've been around for thousands of years! Too, I'm a dude!"

Annabeth frowned. "Magnus, when you told me well-nigh your magic sword, did you lot perhaps fail to mention that information technology—that he can speak?"

"Did I?" Honestly I couldn't recollect.

The past few weeks, Jack had been off on his own, doing whatsoever sentient magic swords did in their gratuitous time. Percy and I had been using standard-issue Hotel Valhalla practice blades for sparring. It hadn't occurred to me that Jack might fly in out of nowhere and introduce himself. Too, the fact that Jack talked was the least weird thing nearly him. The fact that he could sing the entire cast recording of Jersey Boys from retentivity…that was weird.

Alex Fierro looked like he was trying not to laugh. He was wearing pink and green today, as usual, though I'd never seen this par

ticular outfit before: lace-up leather boots, ultra-skinny rose jeans, an untucked lime dress shirt, and a checky skinny tie equally loose as a necklace. With his thick black Ray-Bans and his choppy green hair, he looked like he'd stepped off a New Wave album cover circa 1979.

"Be polite, Magnus," he said. "Introduce your friends to your sword."

"Uh, right," I said. "Jack, this is Percy and Annabeth. They're demigods—the Greek kind."

"Hmm." Jack didn't sound impressed. "I met Hercules in one case."

"Who hasn't?" Annabeth muttered.

"Off-white bespeak," Jack said. "But I suppose if you're friends of Magnus'southward…" He went completely still. His runes faded. And then he leaped out of my mitt and flew toward Annabeth, his blade twitching as if he was sniffing the air. "Where is she? Where are you hiding the babe?"

Annabeth backed toward the rail. "Whoa, there, sword. Personal space!"

"Jack, behave," Alex said. "What are yous doing?"

"She's around hither somewhere," Jack insisted. He flew to Percy. "Aha! What'south in your pocket, sea male child?"

"Alibi me?" Percy looked a bit nervous most the magical sword hovering at his waistline.

Alex lowered his Ray-Bans. "Okay, now I'm curious. What do you accept in your pocket, Percy? Inquiring swords want to know."

Percy pulled a plain-looking ballpoint pen from his jeans. "You mean this?"

"BAM!" Jack said. "Who is this vision of loveliness?"

"Jack," I said. "It'southward a pen."

"No, information technology's not! Prove me! Prove me!"

"Uh…sure." Percy uncapped the pen.

Immediately it transformed into a 3-foot-long sword with a leaf-shaped blade of glowing bronze. Compared to Jack, the weapon looked delicate, almost petite, but from the way Percy wielded it, I had no dubiousness he'd be able to hold his own on the battlefields of Valhalla with that affair.

Jack turned his point toward me, his runes flashing burgundy. "See, Magnus? I told you it wasn't stupid to deport a sword disguised as a pen!"

"Jack, I never said that!" I protested. "You lot did."

Percy raised an eyebrow. "What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," I said hastily. "So I estimate this is the famous Riptide? Annabeth told me near it."

"Her," Jack corrected.

Annabeth frowned. "Percy'south sword is a she?"

Jack laughed. "Well, duh."

Percy studied Riptide, though I could've told him from experience it was almost impossible to tell a sword's gender by looking at it.

"I don't know," he said. "Are you sure—?"

"Percy," said Alex. "Respect the gender."

"Okay, fine," he said. "It'southward just kinda strange that I never knew."

"On the other hand," Annabeth said, "yous didn't know the pen could write until last year."

"That's low, Wise Girl."

"Anyway!" Jack interrupted. "The important thing is Riptide's hither at present, she's beautiful, and she'southward met me! Mayhap the two of us can…y'all know…accept some private time to talk about, er, sword stuff?"

Alex smirked. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. How about nosotros allow the swords get to know each other while the remainder of us take tiffin? Magnus, exercise y'all think you can handle eating falafel without choking?"

Nosotros ATE ON the aft spar deck. (Expect at me with the nautical terms.)

Subsequently a hard forenoon of failing, I felt like I'd actually earned my deep-fried chickpea patties and pita bread, my yogurt and chilled cucumber slices, and my side order of extra-spicy lamb kebabs. Annabeth had arranged our picnic dejeuner. She knew me too well.

My clothes dried quickly in the sunlight. The warm breeze felt proficient on my face up. Sailboats traced their fashion beyond the harbor while airplanes cutting across the blue heaven, heading out from Logan Aerodrome to New York or California or Europe. The whole city of Boston seemed charged with impatient energy, similar a classroom at 2:59 P.M., waiting for the dismissal bong, everybody ready to go out of town for the summer and bask the good weather.

Me, all I wanted to exercise was stay put.

Riptide and Jack stood propped nearby in a coil of rope, their hilts leaning against the gunnery track. Riptide acted like your typical inanimate object, but Jack kept inching closer, chatting her up, his blade glowing the same dark bronze as hers. Fortunately, Jack was used to property one-sided conversations. He joked. He flattered. He proper name-dropped like a bedlamite. "You know, Thor and Odin and I were at this tavern 1 time…"

If Riptide was impressed, she didn't show it.

Percy wadded up his falafel wrapper. Along with beingness a water-sabbatical, the dude also had the ability to inhale food.

"So," he said, "when do you guys sail out?"

Alex raised an countenance at me like Yeah, Magnus. When do we canvas out?

I'd been trying to avoid this topic with Fierro for the past two weeks, without much luck.

"Before long," I said. "We don't exactly know where we're headed, or how long information technology'll have to go at that place—"

"Story of my life," said Percy.

"—only nosotros have to find Loki's big nasty ship of decease earlier it sails at Midsummer. It'south docked somewhere along the border between Niflheim and Jotunheim. We're estimating information technology'll accept a couple of weeks to sail that distance."

"Which means," Alex said, "we actually should've left already. We definitely have to sail by the end of the week, set up or not."

In his nighttime lenses, I saw the reflection of my own worried face up. Nosotros both knew we were as far from ready equally we were from Niflheim.

Annabeth tucked her feet underneath her. Her long blond pilus was tied back in a ponytail. Her dark blueish T-shirt was emblazoned with the yellow words COLLEGE OF Ecology DESIGN, UC BERKELEY.

"Heroes never get to be ready, exercise we?" she said. "Nosotros just exercise the all-time we can."

Percy nodded. "Aye. Usually information technology works out. We haven't died yet."

"Though you lot go along trying." Annabeth elbowed him. Percy put his arm around her. She nestled comfortably against his side. He kissed the blond curls on the top of her head.

This show of amore made my center practice a painful little twist.

I was glad to encounter my cousin so happy, simply it reminded me how much was at stake if I failed to finish Loki.

Alex and I had already died. Nosotros would never age. We'd alive in Valhalla until Doomsday came effectually (unless we got killed outside the hotel before that). The best life nosotros could promise for was training for Ragnarok, postponing that inevitable boxing as many centuries as possible, and and then, ane day, marching out of Valhalla with Odin's army and dying a glorious expiry while the 9 Worlds burned around the states. Fun.

Simply Annabeth and Percy had a chance for a normal life. They'd already fabricated it through high school, which Annabeth told me was the well-nigh dangerous fourth dimension for Greek demigods. In the fall, they'd become off to college on the West Coast. If they made it through that, they had a decent adventure of surviving adulthood. They could live in the mortal earth without monsters attacking them every v minutes.

Unless my friends and I failed to end Loki, in which case the world—all the worlds—would end in a few weeks. Merely, yous know…no force per unit area.

I set downward my pita sandwich. Even falafel could only do and so much to elevator my spirits.

"What about you guys?" I asked. "Directly back to New York today?"

"Yeah," Percy said. "I gotta babysit tonight. I'g psyched!"

"That's correct," I remembered. "Your new baby sister."

Yet another important life hanging in the rest, I thought.

Only I managed a grin. "Congratulations, human. What's her proper name?"

"Estelle. It was my grandmother's name. Um, on my mom's side, patently. Not Poseidon's."

"I approve," Alex said. "Old-fashioned and elegant. Estelle Jackson."

"Well, Estelle Blofis," Per

cy corrected. "My stepdad is Paul Blofis. Not much I can do nigh that surname, simply my little sister is awesome. V fingers. Five toes. 2 optics. She drools a lot."

"Merely like her brother," Annabeth said.

Alex laughed.

I could totally imagine Percy bouncing baby Estelle in his arms, singing "Under the Body of water" from The Little Mermaid. That fabricated me feel even more miserable.

Somehow I had to buy little Estelle enough decades to have a proper life. I had to find Loki'south demonic send full of zombie warriors, finish it from sailing off into battle and triggering Ragnarok, then recapture Loki and put him back in bondage so he couldn't cause any more earth-burning mischief. (Or at least non every bit much world-burning mischief.)

"Hey." Alex threw a slice of pita at me. "Stop looking so glum."

"Sorry." I tried to appear more cheerful. It wasn't as like shooting fish in a barrel every bit mending my ankle by sheer force of will. "I'm looking forward to coming together Estelle someday, when we become back from our quest. And I appreciate you guys coming up to Boston. Really."

Percy glanced over at Jack, who was still chatting upwardly Riptide. "Distressing I couldn't be more help. The sea is"—he shrugged—"kinda unpredictable."

Alex stretched his legs. "At least Magnus fell a lot meliorate the second time. If worse comes to worst, I can e'er turn into a dolphin and save his pitiful barrel."

The corner of Percy's mouth twitched. "You tin can turn into a dolphin?"

"I'yard a child of Loki. Desire to see?"

"No, I believe you." Percy gazed into the distance. "I've got a friend named Frank who'southward a shape-shifter. He does dolphins. Also giant goldfish."

I shuddered, imagining Alex Fierro every bit a giant pink-and-green koi. "We'll make practice. We've got a practiced squad."

"That'south important," Percy agreed. "Probably more than important than having sea skills…" He straightened and furrowed his eyebrows.

Annabeth unfolded herself from his side. "Uh-oh. I know that wait. You've got an idea."

"Something my dad told me…" Percy rose. He walked over to his sword, interrupting Jack in the center of a fascinating tale about the time he'd embroidered a behemothic's bowling handbag. Percy picked up Riptide and studied her blade.

"Hey, human," Jack complained. "Nosotros were but starting to hit it off."

"Sorry, Jack." From his pocket, Percy pulled out his pen cap and touched it to the tip of his sword. With a faint shink, Riptide shrank back into a ballpoint. "Poseidon and I had this conversation about weapons one time. He told me that all sea gods have one thing in common: they're actually vain and possessive when information technology comes to their magic items."

Annabeth rolled her optics. "That sounds like every god nosotros've met."

"True," Percy said. "Merely sea gods even more and then. Triton sleeps with his conch-shell trumpet. Galatea spends most of her time polishing her magic sea-equus caballus saddle. And my dad is super-paranoid about losing his trident."

I idea about my one and only come across with a Norse ocean goddess. It hadn't gone well. Ran had promised to destroy me if I ever sailed into her waters once more. But she had been obsessed with her magical nets and the junk collection that swirled within them. Because of that, I'd been able to flim-flam her into giving me my sword.

"You're maxim I'll have to use their own stuff against them," I guessed.

"Right," Percy confirmed. "Also, what you said nearly having a proficient team—sometimes being the son of a sea god hasn't been enough to salve me, even underwater. One time, my friend Jason and I got pulled to the bottom of the Mediterranean by this storm goddess, Kymopoleia? I was useless. Jason saved my butt by offering to make trading cards and action figures of her."

Alex almost choked on his falafel. "What?"

"The bespeak is," Percy continued, "Jason knew nothing well-nigh the ocean. He saved me anyway. It was kind of embarrassing."

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