Disclaimer: I don't own PJO

Chapter One

The Dangers of Beach (Canni)Balls

My nightmare started like this.

I was standing on a deserted street in some little beach town. It was the middle of the night. A storm was blowing. Wind and rain ripped at the palm trees along the sidewalk. Pink and yellow stucco buildings lined the street, their windows boarded up. A block away, past a line of hibiscus bushes, the ocean churned.

Florida, I thought. Though I wasn't sure how I knew that. I'd never been to Florida, nor did I particularly want to go. Too far from New York, meaning too far from safety for my taste.

Then I heard hooves clattering against the pavement. I turned and saw my friend Grover running for his life. I was instantly worried, because I hadn't seen him since last July, when he set off alone on a dangerous quest, a quest that no satyr had ever returned from.

Anyway, in my dream, Grover was running as fast as he could, holding his human shoes in his hands the way he only does when he needs to move fast. He clopped past the little tourist shops and surfboard rental places. The wind bent the palm trees almost to the ground.

I could tell that Grover was terrified of something behind him. He must have just come from the beach. Wet sand was caked in his fur. He'd escaped from somewhere. He was trying to get away from … something.

A bone-rattling growl cut through the storm. Behind Grover, at the far end of the block, a shadowy figure loomed. It swatted aside a street lamp, which burst in a shower of sparks.

Grover stumbled, whimpering in fear. "Have to get away," he muttered urgently to himself. "Have to warn them!"

I couldn't see what was chasing him, but I could hear it muttering and cursing. The ground shook as it got closer. Grover dashed around a street corner and faltered. He'd run straight into a dead-end courtyard full of shops. No time to back up. The nearest door had been blown open by the storm.

The sign above the darkened display window read: ST. AUGUSTINE BRIDAL BOUTIQUE. Grover dashed inside and dove behind a rack of wedding dresses.

The monster's shadow passed in front of the shop. I could smell the thing—a sickening combination of wet sheep wool and rotten meat and that weird sour body odour only monsters have, utterly indescribable and disgusting.

Grover trembled behind the wedding dresses. The monster's shadow passed on.

Silence except for the rain. Grover took a deep breath. Maybe the thing was gone.

Then lightning flashed. The entire front of the store exploded, and a monstrous voice bellowed: "MIIIIINE!"

I sat bolt upright, shivering in my bed.

There was no storm. No monster.

Morning sunlight filtered through the cabin window.

I thought I saw a shadow flicker across the glass—a humanlike shape. But I blinked and the shadow at the window disappeared.

It must've been my imagination. Despite that, I stood and opened the window to stick my head outside briefly. Once I had assured myself that I was, in fact, imagining the shadow, I pulled the window firmly closed and locked it. Just in case. Then I went to the kitchen to make breakfast for myself and Tyson.

I tried not to think about my nightmare or monsters or the shadow at my window, focusing instead on the rhythmic actions involved in cooking. I liked cooking. There were never any threats of dying when I was preparing my own food. Granted, my paranoia had grown over the past year, so I might, might, admit that I hadn't eaten I hadn't personally prepared since last summer in case someone I (or my father) had pissed off decided to see if poison would work where swords and monsters wouldn't. Possibly, at any rate.

Despite my best intentions, however, Grover's words insisted on echoing in my thoughts. Have to get away. Have to warn them!

What had he meant? Who did he have to warn? Did he mean the camp?

I made a three-fingered claw over my heart and pushed outward—an ancient gesture Grover had once taught me for warding off evil.

If it were a year ago, I would've been able to convince myself that the dream couldn't have been real. But that was before learning of my heritage. Before learning about a half-blood's ability to see the past and the present in their sleep. What if I had dreamed about something that was happening to Grover right now? What if one of my best friends was in mortal danger, and I was in a cabin at Montauk, making pancakes?
I bit my lip and added a bunch of blueberry juice to turn them blue.

And the message I had received last night from Chiron, telling me there were problems at Camp and I should delay my return for a while. It all added up to a lethal picture, and I would put money on Annabeth and Ethan's involvement.

I was broken from my increasingly grim thoughts by Tyson entering the room.

Tyson was the reason I hadn't returned to Camp for the past two and a half months, despite my friends and Chiron's increasing hints. At least, they had been hinting until last night. See, I wasn't exactly sure how to admit to them that I'd been letting a Cyclops sleep in my house.

Honestly, though, if it wasn't for the fact that he only had one big brown eye, right in the centre of his forehead, you'd never know that he was a monster.

He was six-foot-three and built like the Abominable Snowman, but he cried a lot and was scared of just about everything, including his own reflection. His face was kind of misshapen and brutal-looking, with crooked teeth. His voice was deep, but he talked funny, like a much younger kid. I guess maybe Cyclopses had a longer developmental period than humans do, or something. He could just be slow.

He wore tattered jeans, grimy size-twenty sneakers, and a plaid flannel shirt with holes in it. And no matter what I did, he always smelled like a New York City alleyway. Seriously, I could literally dump in a vat of perfume, and he would still smell the same way. It was infuriating!

But anyway, the first time we met, I had wandered out of camp and I was wandering to my cabin when I tripped over him. It took me a bit to realize that the reason I couldn't make myself look past his teeth was because of the Mist. And by then, he was just too sweet and babyish for me to kill. But I doubted Luke, who had a fierce grudge against Cyclopses for a reason he hadn't told me, would accept that excuse.

So, I had stayed at Montauk with Tyson, avoiding Chiron and the other's pointed comments about how long I'd been outside its' safe borders (and neglecting my studies), as well as suffering through an occasional attack. It had surprised me that the number was so low, considering that before finding Tyson it was close to three or four attacks per week whenever I left the wards.

Then I realized that every time I was attacked, Tyson wasn't with me, so it was pretty easy to understand that he was intimidating the rest of the monsters away. Even if I found it hard to believe that anyone or thing could be afraid of such a sweet kid. And believe me, Tyson was definitely a kid in Cyclops' years. Exhibit A, this morning:

"Ana!" He squealed on entering the kitchen and spotting me. He clapped his hands together hard enough to make the wall next to him shake. "Pancakes?" he asked me, eyes wide and a hopeful tone in his voice.

I softened instantly, a smile growing on my face as I temporarily pushed away my crippling fears over what was happening to Grover and at Camp.

"Yes, Baby," I answered affectionately. It was out of character for me to be so, coo-y, for lack of a better word, but little kids tend to bring out that side of me. "And then we're going out to the beach," I added cheerfully, making Tyson clap his hands excitedly again.

The two of us went about eating our breakfast and getting ready. I could almost forget my worry for Grover and my friends at camp, but not quite. Luckily, Tyson didn't notice the strain on my face as we headed out to the beach.

Tyson went to work building what was doubtlessly going to be a legendary sandcastle, while I sat twisting my hairpin-disguised sword in my hands and brooding over what I should do. I wanted to rush straight to Camp Half-Blood and help with whatever was threatening my home as well as find Grover, but I couldn't just abandon Tyson. And bringing a Cyclops to Camp Half-Blood of all places seemed like a disaster in the making. They would scare him, and no doubt the campers would all freak over the whole monster thing.

I noticed a bunch of ridiculously buff guys playing ball near by and frowned at them. My senses tingled in warning, and my grip tightened automatically on my pin. I bit my lip and turned away from them. I didn't need to get in a fight if I could avoid it.

"Scared," Tyson mumbled. "Smell funny."

I looked at him. "What smells funny?"

"Them." Tyson pointed at the boys. "Smell funny."

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. I didn't know a lot about Cyclops physiology, but it made sense that they'd be able to smell other monsters. Grover could, after all.

"Stay away from them," I ordered him softly. "Just build your castle."

He nodded, going back to the castle, which was now to about my hip while standing, with wings, windows, a moat and all. It really was a masterpiece.

A few minutes later, though, I could see that they were definitely looking at me. I stood, determined to get the hell out of the open, and called to Tyson.

"Tyson," I said. "Let's g—"

A ball slammed into my side. I collapsed to the ground, knowing from experience the feeling of multiple broken ribs and cursing my stupidity for not leaving earlier. The monsters exploded in laughter.

My eyesight was fuzzy as I struggled to rise. My sword had flown out of my hands and I couldn't see. It felt like I'd just gotten the Heimlich maneuver from a gorilla. I couldn't believe anybody could throw that hard, monster or not.

Tyson yelled, "Ana, duck!" It was sound advice, so I followed the suggestion.

I sent a silent thanks to the gods that at least there didn't seem to be any mortals around because the ball players were growing in size. They were no longer kids. They were eight-foot-tall giants with wild eyes, pointy teeth, and hairy arms tattooed with snakes and hula women and Valentine hearts.

I scrambled around in my brain for an identification and, more importantly, a weakness, but I couldn't. I decided to go to Plan B instead. Hack at them with my sword and hope for the best.

The one who seemed like the leader (in that he was the biggest and ugliest of the lot) growled at me. He had a tattoo on his biceps that said: JB luvs Babycakes. I wondered briefly who Babycakes was, and if she (or he, I don't judge) was blind and unable to smell.

"Now, Daughter of the Sea God. We Laistrygonians aren't just playing for your death. We want lunch!"

He waved his hand and a new batch of beach balls appeared, but these balls weren't made of red rubber. They were bronze, the size of cannon balls, perforated like wiffle balls with fire bubbling out the holes. They must've been searing hot, but the giants picked them up with their bare hands.

Another fireball came streaking toward me. Tyson pushed me out of the way before I could do something stupid, but the explosion still blew me head over heels.

I found myself sprawled on the ground, dazed from smoke, my pretty spliced tunic peppered with sizzling holes. I cursed, silently swearing vengeance for my lovely top. It was my favourite one, damnit!

Just across from me, two hungry giants were glaring down at me.

"Flesh!" they bellowed. "Hero flesh for lunch!" They both took aim.

"Ana needs help!" Tyson yelled, and he jumped in front of me just as they threw their balls.

"Tyson!" I screamed, but it was too late.

Both balls slammed into him … but no … he'd caught them. Thank the gods for Cyclops fire immunity, a fact my concussed mind had just remembered.

He sent them hurtling back toward their surprised owners, who screamed, "BAAAAAD!" as the bronze spheres exploded against their chests.

The giants disintegrated in twin columns of flame, a sure sign they were monsters, as if I had actually needed one.

"My brothers!" JB the Cannibal wailed. He flexed his muscles and his Babycakes tattoo rippled. "You will pay for their destruction!"

"Tyson!" I cried in warning. "Look out!"

Another comet hurtled toward us. Tyson just had time to swat it aside. It flew into the sea, causing a large, watery, explosion. To my dread, I heard one of my least favourite sounds in the distance. The sound of sirens.

"Victory will be ours!" roared JB the Cannibal. "We will feast on your bones!"

I wanted to tell him that he seriously needed to smoke some weed to relax or something, but before I could, he hefted another ball. The other three giants followed his lead.

I knew we were dead. My ribs were too damaged for me to be able to fight properly and Tyson couldn't deflect all those balls at once.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore gave me a crazy idea. So, basically the same as all of my ideas really. (Hey, gimme a break, why don't'cha? At least I can acknowledge my insanity.)

I closed my eyes, buried my face in the sand and concentrated on the place in my stomach that always tugged when I used my powers. Then I reached out to the ocean mentally, and pulled.

There was a loud roar as I dragged as much water as I could out of the sea and flung it forcefully at the cannibals. The monsters' screams turned to an awful gurgling sound before disappearing. When I looked up, they were gone and Tyson was soaked, a bewildered look on his face.

"Really Ariel?" A familiar voice called from the rocks above. "Do you have to be so ostentatious, Babe?"

I sighed, and flopped over onto my back to give him my worst glare. To his credit, he knew better than to keep smiling when I wore that particular look, forcing a fake-serious expression on to cover his smug grin.

"Hey, Luke," I greeted him grumpily.