Percy Jackson. Book 1. The Lightning Thief

but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel

“You accept casino debit cards?” Annabeth asked.

He shrugged. “Some of 'em. Same as credit cards. I gotta swipe 'em through first.”

Annabeth handed him her green LotusCash card.

He looked at it skeptically.

“Swipe it,” Annabeth invited.

He did.

His meter machine started rattling. The lights flashed. Finally an infinity symbol came up next to the dollar sign.

The cigar fell out of the driver's mouth. He looked back at us, his eyes wide. “Where to in Los Angeles... uh, Your Highness?”

“The Santa Monica Pier.” Annabeth sat up a little straighter. I could tell she liked the “Your Highness” thing.

“I don't know, but we've got to find Grover.”

We went searching, and found him still playing Virtual Deer Hunter.

“Grover!” we both shouted.

He said, “Die, human! Die, silly polluting nasty person!”

“Grover!”

He turned the plastic gun on me and started clicking, as if I were just another image from the screen.

Suddenly I was nostalgic for something I’d never known.

Inside was a black-and-white bull’s horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood.

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold.

“Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs.

Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?”

My lunch must’ve been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

You must go to Santa Monica! And, Percy, do not trust the gifts. . . .

“Just wanted to say good luck,” Luke told me. “And I thought . . . um, maybe you could use these.”

He handed me the sneakers, which looked pretty normal. They even smelled kind of normal.