"WE'LL NEED SOME of your food." Percy shouldered his 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," Percy said. Brooklyn led her allies out of the parking lot.

They stopped across the street. She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. The rain had slowed to a halfhearted drizzle. The cold mist felt good on her face.

"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.

Brooklyn remembered how confident she'd acted when they first met — taking control of the situation with the gorgons and ushering Percy and Brooklyn to safety. Now she wanted to return the favor, but she wasn't sure how. Hazel looked lost, bedraggled, and thoroughly depressed.

Brooklyn wasn't surprised that she had come back from the Underworld. She'd suspected that for a while — the way she avoided talking about her past, the way Nico di Angelo had been so secretive and cautious.

But that didn't change how she saw Hazel. She seemed . . . well, alive, like a regular kid with a good heart, who deserved to grow up and have a future. She wasn't a ghoul like Phineas.

"We'll get him," Brooklyn promised. "He's nothing like you, Hazel. I don't give a shit about what he says, he's got it coming."

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, he 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 . . ."

Brooklyn 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 him up. She decided not to ask for explanations. She didn't care, and she didn't want the big guy reduced to tears, especially in front of her.

"I've got an idea." Brooklyn nodded up 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," Percy said. "Come on. Just try to keep the other harpies from stealing this stuff, okay?"

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

Brooklyn wondered what the mortals saw through the Mist. Maybe they thought the harpies were pigeons and the weapons were baseball bats or something. Maybe they just thought the Thai mac and cheese was so good it needed an armed escort.

Finally Brooklyn spotted the harpy, 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 Brooklyn of . . . some other park. Maybe in her hometown? She couldn't remember, but it made her feel a little homesick.

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 Hazel and Percy, who were trying hard not to laugh, and Brooklyn, who was snickering. "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."

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

"We won't hurt you," Percy called up in a normal voice. "We just want to talk. Thai noodles 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."

Percy hesitated. "Your name is Ella?"

"Ella. Aella. 'Harpy.' In English. In Latin. Ella doesn't like cheese." She 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 Brooklyn could blink, Ella lunged, snatched the cinnamon burrito, and appeared atop the elephant again.

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

"And heavily caffeinated," Brooklyn guessed, because that's how she was when she was heavily caffeinated.

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 Brooklyn 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!" Brooklyn yelled. She and her companions 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.

Hazel 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, Brooklyn 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.

Percy set down the Thai noodles. "Ella," he said, "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.'"

Brooklyn's ears were ringing. Her vision started blurring, and it definitely wasn't the rain.

"Ella . . . what was that you said?" Percy asked.

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

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

Next to Brooklyn, 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 fine." Brooklyn squinted at something in the distance. "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.

A library wouldn't have been Brooklyn's first choice for someplace to visit. With her dyslexia, she had enough trouble reading signs. A whole building full of books? That sounded about as much fun as losing a game.

They were jogging through the lobby when Percy froze in front of her, making her slam into his back and nearly fall over.

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

He stood in the middle of the library for a long moment. Then he slammed his fist into the side of a bookshelf.

"Perce?" Brooklyn grabbed his arm, her hand slipping down it to hold his hand, intertwining their fingers.

"I'm — I'm all right," he lied. Even when she wasn't looking at him, she knew when he was lying. "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.

Brooklyn and her allies 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," Brooklyn pointed out.

"'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.

"She's quoting books," Percy guessed.

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

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

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

Percy 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.'"

Percy closed the book. His hands were shaking. "Word for word."

"That's amazing," Hazel said.

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

She was starting to form a terrible idea about why Phineas wanted to capture Ella, and it wasn't because she'd scratched him. Brooklyn remembered that line Ella had recited, A half-blood of the eldest gods. Brooklyn knew those words. How? She didn't know.

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

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

"Nothing's impossible," Percy said. "Now, look, 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."

Brooklyn waited for Ella 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.

"Frank," Percy said, "you have first-aid supplies?"

"On it." Frank brought out a thermos full of nectar and explained its healing properties to Ella. When he scooted closer, she recoiled and started to shriek. Then Hazel tried, and Ella let her pour some nectar on her back. The wound began to close.

Hazel smiled. "See? That's better."

"Phineas is bad," Ella insisted. "And weed whackers. And cheese."

"I love cheese," Brooklyn muttered under her breath.

"Absolutely," Percy agreed, though whether with her or Ella she didn't know. "We won't let him hurt you again. We need to figure out how to trick him, though. You harpies must know him better than anybody. Is there any way we can trick him?"

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

"Okay, Ella." Hazel spoke in a soothing voice, like she was trying to calm a horse. "But does Phineas have any weaknesses?"

"Blind. He's blind."

Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but Hazel continued patiently, "Right. Besides that?"

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

Percy's face lit up. "You mean he's a gambler?"

"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?"

Brooklyn watched the harpy pick at her burlap dress. She felt incredibly sorry for her, but she was also starting to realize just how smart she was.

"I get it," she 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," Brooklyn 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."

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

"What?" Hazel asked.

Frank brought out the two ceramic vials he'd retrieved from the Little Tiber. "Ella's a genius," he said. "Unless we die."

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