The only table that really seemed to be having a good time was the Artemis table. The Hunters drank and ate and laughed like one big happy family. Zoë sat at the head like she was the mama. She didn’t laugh as much as the others, but she did smile from time to time. Her silver lieutenant’s band glittered in the dark braids of her hair. I thought she looked a lot nicer when she smiled. Bianca di Angelo seemed to be having a great time. She was trying to learn how to arm wrestle from the big girl who’d picked a fight with the Ares kid on the basketball court. The bigger girl was beating her every time, but Bianca didn’t seem to mind.

When we’d finished eating, Chiron made the customary toast to the gods and formally welcomed the Hunters of Artemis. The clapping was pretty half hearted. Then he announced the “good will” capture-the-flag game for tomorrow night, which got a lot better reception.

Afterward, we all trailed back to our cabins for an early, winter lights out. I was exhausted, which meant I fell asleep easily. That was the good part. The bad part was, I had a nightmare, and even by my standards it was a whopper.

Annabeth was on a dark hillside, shrouded in fog. It almost seemed like the Underworld, because I immediately felt claustrophobic and I couldn’t see the sky above—just a close, heavy darkness, as if I were in a cave.

Annabeth struggled up the hill. Old broken Greek columns of black marble were scattered around, as though something had blasted a huge building to ruins.

“Thorn!” Annabeth cried. “Where are you? Why did you bring me here?” She scrambled over a section of broken wall and came to the crest of the hill.

She gasped.

There was Luke. And he was in pain.

He was crumpled on the rocky ground, trying to rise. The blackness seemed to be thicker around him, fog swirling hungrily. His clothes were in tatters and his face was scratched and drenched with sweat.

“Annabeth!” he called. “Help me! Please!”

She ran forward.

I tried to cry out: He’s a traitor! Don’t trust him!

But my voice didn’t work in the dream.

Annabeth had tears in her eyes. She reached down like she wanted to touch Luke’s face, but at the last second she hesitated.

“What happened?” she asked.

“They left me here,” Luke groaned. “Please. It’s killing me.”

I couldn’t see what was wrong with him. He seemed to be struggling against some invisible curse, as though the fog were squeezing him to death.

“Why should I trust you?” Annabeth asked. Her voice was filled with hurt.

“You shouldn’t,” Luke said. “I’ve been terrible to you. But if you don’t help me, I’ll die.”

Let him die, I wanted to scream. Luke had tried to kill us in cold blood too many times. He didn’t deserve anything from Annabeth.

Then the darkness above Luke began to crumble, like a cavern roof in an earthquake. Huge chunks of black rock began falling. Annabeth rushed in just as a crack appeared, and the whole ceiling dropped. She held it somehow—tons of rock. She kept it from collapsing on her and Luke just with her own strength. It was impossible. She shouldn’t have been able to do that.

Luke rolled free, gasping. “Thanks,” he managed.

“Help me hold it,” Annabeth groaned.

Luke caught his breath. His face was covered in grime and sweat. He rose unsteadily.

“I knew I could count on you.” He began to walk away as the trembling blackness threatened to crush Annabeth.

“HELP ME!” she pleaded.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Luke said. “Your help is on the way. It’s all part of the plan. In the meantime, try not to die.”

The ceiling of darkness began to crumble again, pushing Annabeth against the ground.

I sat bolt upright in bed, clawing at the sheets. There was no sound in my cabin except the gurgle of the saltwater spring. The clock on my nightstand read just after midnight.

Only a dream, but I was sure of two things: Annabeth was in terrible danger. And Luke was responsible.

SIX

AN OLD DEAD FRIEND COMES TO VISIT

The next morning after breakfast, I told Grover about my dream. We sat in the meadow watching the satyrs chase the wood nymphs through the snow. The nymphs had promised to kiss the satyrs if they got caught, but they hardly ever did. Usually the nymph would let the satyr get up a full head of steam, then she’d turn into a snow-covered tree and the poor satyr would slam into it headfirst and get a pile of snow dumped on him.

When I told Grover my nightmare, he started twirling his finger in his shaggy leg fur.

“A cave ceiling collapsed on her?” he asked.

“Yeah. What the heck does that mean?”

Grover shook his head. “I don’t know. But after what Zoë dreamed—”

“Whoa. What do you mean? Zoë had a dream like that?”

“I . . . I don’t know, exactly. About three in the morning she came to the Big House and demanded to talk to Chiron. She looked really panicked.”

“Wait, how do you know this?”

Grover blushed. “I was sort of camped outside the Artemis cabin.”

“What for?”

“Just to be, you know, near them.”

“You’re a stalker with hooves.”

“I am not! Anyway, I followed her to the Big House and hid in a bush and watched the whole thing. She got real upset when Argus wouldn’t let her in. It was kind of a dangerous scene.”

I tried to imagine that. Argus was the head of security for camp—a big blond dude with eyes all over his body. He rarely showed himself unless something serious was going on. I wouldn’t want to place bets on a fight between him and Zoë Nightshade.

“What did she say?” I asked.

Grover grimaced. “Well, she starts talking really old-fashioned when she gets upset, so it was kind of hard to understand. But something about Artemis being in trouble and needing the Hunters. And then she called Argus a boil-brained lout . . . I think that’s a bad thing. And then he called her—”

“Whoa, wait. How could Artemis be in trouble?”

“I . . . well, finally Chiron came out in his pajamas and his horse tail in curlers and—”

“He wears curlers in his tail?”

Grover covered his mouth.

“Sorry,” I said. “Go on.”

“Well, Zoë said she needed permission to leave camp immediately. Chiron refused. He reminded Zoë that the Hunters were supposed to stay here until they received orders from Artemis. And she said . . .” Grover gulped. “She said ‘How are we to get orders from Artemis if Artemis is lost?’”

“What do you mean lost? Like she needs directions?”

“No. I think she meant gone. Taken. Kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” I tried to get my mind around that idea. “How would you kidnap an immortal goddess? Is that even possible?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it happened to Persephone.”

“But she was like, the goddess of flowers.”

Grover looked offended. “Springtime.”

“Whatever. Artemis is a lot more powerful than that. Who could kidnap her? And why?”

Grover shook his head miserably. “I don’t know. Kronos?”

“He can’t be that powerful already. Can he?”

The last time we’d seen Kronos, he’d been in tiny pieces. Well . . . we hadn’t actually seen him. Thousands of years ago, after the big Titan–God war, the gods had sliced him to bits with his own scythe and scattered his remains in Tartarus, which is like the gods’ bottomless recycling bin for their enemies. Two summers ago, Kronos had tricked us to the very edge of the pit and almost pulled us in. Then last summer, on board Luke’s demon cruise ship, we’d seen a golden coffin, where Luke claimed he was summoning the Titan Lord out of the abyss, bit by bit, every time someone new joined their cause. Kronos could influence people with dreams and trick them, but I didn’t see how he could physically overcome Artemis if he was still like a pile of evil bark mulch.