Percy Jackson & The Olympians: The Demigod Files

power of the ocean all around me again, hundreds of gallons of salt water, thousands of fish trying to get my attention. I wasn’t at camp. This was an illusion. Phobos was showing me my deepest fear.
    I blinked and saw Phobos’s blade coming down toward my head. I raised Riptide and blocked the blow just before it cut me in two.
    I counterattacked and stabbed Phobos in the arm.
    Golden ichor, the blood of the gods, soaked through his shirt.
    Phobos growled and slashed at me. I parried easily. Without his power of fear, Phobos was nothing. He wasn’t even a decent fighter. I pressed him back, swiped at his face, and gave him a cut across the cheek. The angrier he was, the clumsier he got. I couldn’t kill him. He was immortal. But you wouldn’t have known that from his expression. The fear god looked afraid.
    Finally I kicked him backward against the water fountain. His sword skittered into the ladies room. I grabbed the straps of his armor and pulled him up to face me.
    “You’re going to disappear now,” I told him. “You’re going to stay out of Clarisse’s way. And if I see you again, I’m going to give you a bigger scar in a much more painful place!”
    He gulped. “There will be a next time, Jackson!”
    And he dissolved into yellow vapor.
    I turned toward the fish exhibits. “Thanks, guys.”
    Then I looked at Ares’s motorcycle. I’d never ridden an all-powerful Harley-Davidson war chariot before, but how hard could it be? I hopped on, started the ignition, and rode out of the aquarium to help Clarisse.
    I had no trouble finding her. I just followed the path of destruction. Fences were knocked down. Animals were running free. Badgers and lemurs were checking out the popcorn machine. A fat-looking leopard was lounging on a park bench with a bunch of pigeon feathers around him.
    I parked the motorcycle next to the petting zoo, and there were Deimos and Clarisse in the goat area. Clarisse was on her knees. I ran forward but stopped suddenly when I saw how Deimos had changed form. He was Ares now— the tall god of war, dressed in black leather and sunglasses, his whole body smoking with anger as he raised his fist over Clarisse.
    “You failed me again!” the war god bellowed. “I told you what would happen!”
    He tried to strike her, but Clarisse scrambled away, shrieking, “No! Please!”
    “Foolish girl!”
    “Clarisse!” I yelled. “It’s an illusion. Stand up to him!”
    Deimos’s form flickered. “I am Ares!” he insisted. “And you are a worthless girl! I knew you would fail me. Now you will suffer my wrath.”
    I wanted to charge in and fight Deimos, but somehow I knew it wouldn’t help. Clarisse had to do it. This was her worst fear. She had to overcome it for herself.
    “Clarisse!” I said. She glanced over, and I tried to hold her eyes. “Stand up to him!” I said. “He’s all talk. Get up!”
    “I . . . I can’t.”
    “Yes, you can. You’re a warrior. Get up!”
    She hesitated. Then she began to stand.
    “What are you doing?” Ares bellowed. “Grovel for mercy, girl!”
    Clarisse took a shaky breath. Very quietly, she said, “No.”
    “WHAT?”
    She raised her sword. “I’m tired of being scared of you.”
    Deimos struck, but Clarisse deflected the blow. She staggered but didn’t fall.
    “You’re not Ares,” Clarisse said. “You’re not even a good fighter.”
    Deimos growled in frustration. When he struck again, Clarisse was ready. She disarmed him and stabbed him in the shoulder—not deep, but enough to hurt even a godling.
    He yowled in pain and began to glow.
    “Look away!” I told Clarisse.
    We averted our eyes as Deimos exploded into golden light—his true godly form—and disappeared.
    We were alone except for the petting zoo goats, which were tugging at our clothes, looking for snacks.
    The motorcycle had turned back into a horse-drawn chariot.
    Clarisse looked at me cautiously. She wiped the straw and sweat off her face. “You didn’t see that. You didn’t see any of that.”
    I grinned. “You did good.”
    She glanced at the sky, which was turning red behind the trees.
    “Get in the chariot,” Clarisse said. “We’ve still got a long ride to make.”
    A few minutes later we reached the Staten Island Ferry and remembered something obvious: we were on an island. The ferry didn’t take cars. Or chariots. Or motorcycles.
    “Great,” Clarisse mumbled. “What do we do now? Ride this thing across the Verrazano Bridge?”
    We both