"WE'LL NEED SOME of your food." Mia shouldered her way around the old man and snatched stuff off the picnic table — a covered bowl of Thai noodles in mac-and-cheese sauce, and a tubular pastry that looked like a combination burrito and cinnamon roll.

"Come on, guys," she tried keeping the glare off of her face as she led her questmates out of the parking lot. They stopped across the street.

"That man . . ." Hazel smacked the side of a bus-stop bench. "He needs to die. Again."

It was hard to tell in the rain, but she seemed to be blinking back tears. Her long curly hair was plastered down the sides of her face. In the gray light, her gold eyes looked more like tin.

"Hey," Mia muttered to Percy. "Hold these."

He took the food from her, and she wrapped her arms around Hazel, making sure that she didn't hit the bench again. "It's okay. We'll get him."

"Yeah, we will," Percy promised. "He's nothing like you, Hazel. I don't care what he says."

Hazel shook her head. "You don't know the whole story. I should have been sent to Punishment. I — I'm just as bad—"

"No, you're not!" Frank balled his fists. He looked around like he was searching for anybody who might disagree with him — enemies he could hit for Hazel's sake. "She's a good person!" he yelled across the street. A few harpies squawked in the trees, but no one else paid them any attention.

Hazel stared at Frank. She reached out tentatively, as if she wanted to take his hand but was afraid he might evaporate.

"Frank . . ." she stammered. "I — I don't . . ."

Unfortunately, Frank seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts.

He slung his spear off his back and gripped it uneasily.

"I could intimidate that old man," he offered, "maybe scare him—"

"Frank, it's okay," Percy said. "Let's keep that as a backup plan, but I don't think Phineas can be scared into cooperating. Besides, you've only got two more uses out of the spear, right?"

Frank scowled at the dragon's-tooth point, which had grown back completely overnight. "Yeah. I guess . . ."

Mia wasn't sure what the old seer had meant about Frank's family history — his great-grandfather destroying camp, his Argonaut ancestor, and the bit about a burned stick controlling Frank's life. But it had clearly shaken Frank up. She decided not to ask for explanations.

"I've got an idea." Mia nodded toward the street. "The red-feathered harpy went that way. Let's see if we can get her to talk to us."

Hazel looked at the food in Percy's hands. "You're going to use that as bait?"

"More like a peace offering," Mia said, letting go of Hazel and taking the food from Percy. "Come on. Just try to keep the other harpies from stealing this stuff, okay?"

Mia uncovered the Thai noodles and unwrapped the cinnamon burrito. Fragrant steam wafted into the air. They walked down the street, Percy, Hazel, and Frank with their weapons out. The harpies fluttered after them, perching on trees, mailboxes, and flagpoles, following the smell of food.

Mia kept a tight grip on the food. She'd seen how quickly the harpies could snatch things. She didn't want to lose her peace offering before he found the red-feathered harpy.

Finally she spotted her, circling above a stretch of parkland that ran for several blocks between rows of old stone buildings. Paths stretched through the park under huge maple and elm trees, past sculptures and playgrounds and shady benches. The place reminded Mia of Central Park, which made her sad.

They crossed the street and found a bench to sit on, next to a big bronze sculpture of an elephant.

"Looks like Hannibal," Hazel said.

"Except it's Chinese," Frank said. "My grandmother has one of those." He flinched. "I mean, hers isn't twelve feet tall. But she imports stuff . . . from China. We're Chinese." He looked at Mia, Hazel, and Percy, who were trying hard not to laugh. "Could I just die from embarrassment now?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it, man," Percy said. "Let's see if we can make friends with the harpy."

Mia raised the Thai noodles and fanned the smell upward — spicy peppers and cheesy goodness. The red harpy circled lower.

"We won't hurt you," Mia called up in a soothing voice. "We just want to talk. Thai noodles and a cinnamon burrito for a chance to talk, okay?"

The harpy streaked down in a flash of red and landed on the elephant statue.

She was painfully thin. Her feathery legs were like sticks. Her face would have been pretty except for her sunken cheeks. She moved in jerky birdlike twitches, her coffee-brown eyes darting restlessly, her fingers clawing at her plumage, her earlobes, her shaggy red hair.

"Cheese," she muttered, looking sideways. "Ella doesn't like cheese."

"Your name is Ella?" Mia asked gently.

"Ella. Aella. 'Harpy.' In English. In Latin. Ella doesn't like cheese." Ella said all that without taking a breath or making eye contact. Her hands snatched at her hair, her burlap dress, the raindrops, whatever moved.

Quicker than Mia could blink, she lunged, snatched the cinnamon burrito, and appeared atop the elephant again.

"Gods, she's fast!" Hazel said.

"And heavily caffeinated," Frank guessed.

Ella sniffed the burrito. She nibbled at the edge and shuddered from head to foot, cawing like she was dying. "Cinnamon is good," she pronounced. "Good for harpies. Yum."

She started to eat, but the bigger harpies swooped down. Before Mia could react, they began pummeling Ella with their wings, snatching at the burrito.

"Nnnnnnooo." Ella tried to hide under her wings as her sisters ganged up on her, scratching with their claws. "N-no," she stuttered. "N-n-no!"

"Stop it!" Percy yelled. Mia and the others ran to help, but it was too late. A big yellow harpy grabbed the burrito and the whole flock scattered, leaving Ella cowering and shivering on top of the elephant.

Mia touched the harpy's foot. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Ella poked her head out of her wings. She was still trembling. With her shoulders hunched, Mia could see the bleeding gash on her back where Phineas had hit her with the weed whacker. She picked at her feathers, pulling out tufts of plumage. "S-small Ella," she stuttered angrily. "W-weak Ella. No cinnamon for Ella. Only cheese."

Frank glared across the street, where the other harpies were sitting in a maple tree, tearing the burrito to shreds. "We'll get you something else," he promised.

Mia set down the Thai noodles. She realized that Ella was different, even for a harpy. But after watching her get picked on, she was sure of one thing: whatever else happened, she was going to help her.

"Ella," Percy said gently, "we want to be your friends. We can get you more food, but—"

"Friends," Ella said. "'Ten seasons. 1994 to 2004.'" She glanced sideways at Percy, then looked in the air and started reciting to the clouds. "'A half-blood of the eldest gods, shall reach sixteen against all odds.' Sixteen. You're sixteen. Page sixteen, Mastering the Art of French Cooking. 'Ingredients: Bacon, Butter.'"

Mia's mouth went dry. Percy's face went slack. "Ella . . . what was that you said?"

"'Bacon.'" Ella caught a raindrop out of the air. "'Butter.'"

"No, before that. Those lines . . . I know those lines."

Next to Mia, Hazel shivered. "It does sound familiar, like . . . I don't know, like a prophecy. Maybe it's something she heard Phineas say?"

At the name Phineas, Ella squawked in terror and flew away.

"Wait!" Hazel called. "I didn't mean — Oh, gods, I'm stupid."

"It's all right." Frank pointed. "Look."

Ella wasn't moving as quickly now. She flapped her way to the top of a three-story red brick building and scuttled out of sight over the roof. A single red feather fluttered down to the street.

"You think that's her nest?" Frank squinted at the sign on the building. "Multnomah County Library?"

Percy nodded. "Let's see if it's open."

They ran across the street and into the lobby. It was spacious and brightly lit, with big vaulted windows.

Suddenly, Percy froze in his tracks.

"Percy?" Frank asked. "What's wrong?"

He looked anguished, like he was remembering something. Or someone . . . he slammed his fist into the side of a bookshelf.

"Percy?" Hazel asked gently.

"I'm — I'm all right," Percy lied. Even after many months, even if he lost who he was, Mia still knew his expressions well. "Just got dizzy for a sec. Let's find a way to the roof."

It took them a while, but they finally found a stairwell with roof access. At the top was a door with a handle alarm, but someone had propped it open with a copy of War and Peace.

Outside, Ella the harpy huddled in a nest of books under a makeshift cardboard shelter.

Mia and her friends advanced slowly, trying not to scare Ella. She didn't pay them any attention. She picked at her feathers and muttered under her breath, like she was practicing lines for a play.

Percy got within five feet and knelt down. "Hi. Sorry we scared you. Look, I don't have much food, but . . ."

He took some of the macrobiotic jerky out of his pocket. Ella lunged and snatched it immediately. She huddled back in her nest, sniffing the jerky, but sighed and tossed it away. "N-not from his table. Ella cannot eat. Sad. Jerky would be good for harpies."

"Not from . . . Oh, right," Percy said. "That's part of the curse. You can only eat his food."

"There has to be a way," Hazel said.

"'Photosynthesis,'" Ella muttered. "'Noun. Biology. The synthesis of complex organic materials.' 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness . . .'"

"What is she saying?" Frank whispered.

Mia stared at the mound of books around her. They all looked old and mildewed. Some had prices written in marker on the covers, like the library had gotten rid of them in a clearance sale.

"She's quoting books," Mia guessed.

"Farmer's Almanac 1965," Ella said. "'Start breeding animals, January twenty-sixth.'"

"Ella," Mia said, "have you read all of these?"

Ella blinked. "More. More downstairs. Words. Words calm Ella down. Words, words, words."

Mia knelt and picked up a book at random — a tattered copy of A History of Horseracing. "Ella, do you remember the, um, third paragraph on page sixty-two—"

"'Secretariat,'" Ella said instantly, "'favored three to two-in the 1973 Kentucky Derby, finished at standing track record of one fifty-nine and two fifths.'"

Mia closed the book, her mouth dropped open. "Word for word."

"That's amazing," Hazel said.

"She's a genius chicken," Frank agreed.

Mia felt uneasy. She was starting to form a terrible idea about why Phineas wanted to capture Ella, and it wasn't because she'd scratched him. Mia remembered that line from the prophecy that had, inherently, ruined her life, and resisted the urge to shudder.

"Ella," she said, "we're going to find a way to break the curse. Would you like that?"

"'It's Impossible,'" Ella said. "'Recorded in English by Perry Como, 1970.'"

"Nothing's impossible," Mia said, giving her a reassuring smile. "Okay, now, I'm going to say his name. You don't have to run away. We're going to save you from the curse. We just need to figure out a way to beat . . . Phineas."

Mia waited for her to bolt, but she just shook her head vigorously. "N-n-no! No Phineas. Ella is quick. Too quick for him. B-but he wants to ch-chain Ella. He hurts Ella."

She tried to reach the gash on her back.

Mia slowly unslung her backpack and fished in there, but instead of finding nectar, her hand closed around a book.

She took it out and offered it to Ella. "Would you like this book?" she asked. "It's . . . it was a gift from my brother for my birthday." Her smile faded when she thought about Nico, and she missed his company — but she couldn't dwell on that right now. "I went to a school for acting, and we studied a lot of plays. This has a whole bunch of them in there. Can I give you this book, in exchange for healing the cuts on your back?"

Faster than she could blink, Ella snatched the book from her hands and speed reading through it like a demon.

"There you go," Mia searched in her backpack for her flask of nectar, pouring some on Ella's back. The wound began to close.

"See? That's better." Mia felt a small smile pull up on her lips, gently reaching out to stop Ella from reading the book. "Ella, we need to figure out how to trick . . . Phineas. You harpies know him better than anybody. Is there any way we can trick him?"

"N-no," she said. "Tricks are for kids. 50 Tricks to Teach Your Dog, by Sophie Collins, call number six-three-six—"

"Okay, Ella." Mia said soothingly. "But does Phineas have any weaknesses?"

"Blind. He's blind."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Frank roll his eyes, but she continued patiently, "Right. Besides that?"

"Chance," Ella said. "Games of chance. Two to one. Bad odds. Call or fold."

"You mean he's a gambler?" Percy asked.

"Phineas s-sees big things. Prophecies. Fates. God stuff. Not small stuff. Random. Exciting. And he is blind."

Frank rubbed his chin. "Any idea what she means?"

Mia watched the harpy read through the incredibly long book. She felt incredibly sorry for her, but she was starting to realize just how smart she was.

"I get it," Mia said. "Phineas sees the future. He knows tons of important events. But he can't see small things — like random occurrences, spontaneous games of chance. That makes gambling exciting for him. If we can tempt him into making a bet . . ."

Hazel nodded slowly. "You mean if he loses, he has to tell us where Thanatos is. But what do we have to wager? What kind of game do we play?"

"Something simple, with high stakes," Percy said. "Like two choices. One you live, one you die. And the prize has to be something Phineas wants . . . I mean, besides Ella. That's off the table."

"Sight," Ella muttered. "Sight is good for blind men. Healing . . . nope, nope. Gaea won't do that for Phineas. Gaea keeps Phineas b-blind, dependent on Gaea. Yep."

Frank and Percy exchanged a meaningful look. "Gorgon's blood," they said simultaneously.

"What?" Hazel asked.

Frank brought out two ceramic vials. "Ella's a genius," he said. "Unless we die."

"Don't worry about that," Percy said. "I've got a plan."