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The Last Olympian

The Last Olympian

Titel: The Last Olympian
Autoren: Rick Riordan
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said she had to get to camp.”

TWENTY-TWO

I AM DUMPED
    Nobody steals my pegasus. Not even Rachel. I wasn’t sure if I was more angry or amazed or worried.
    “What was she thinking?” Annabeth said as we ran for the river. Unfortunately, I had a pretty good idea, and it filled me with dread.
    The traffic was horrible. Everybody was out on the streets gawking at the war zone damage. Police sirens wailed on every block. There was no possibility of catching a cab, and the pegasi had flown away. I would’ve settled for some Party Ponies, but they had disappeared along with most of the root beer in Midtown. So we ran, pushing through mobs of dazed mortals that clogged the sidewalks.
    “She’ll never get through the defenses,” Annabeth said. “Peleus will eat her.”
    I hadn’t considered that. The Mist wouldn’t fool Rachel like it would most people. She’d be able to find the camp no problem, but I’d been hoping the magical boundaries would just keep her out like a force field. It hadn’t occurred to me that Peleus might attack.
    “We’ve got to hurry.” I glanced at Nico. “I don’t suppose you could conjure up some skeleton horses.”
    He wheezed as he ran. “So tired . . . couldn’t summon a dog bone.”
    Finally we scrambled over the embankment to the shore, and I let out a loud whistle. I hated doing it. Even with the sand dollar I’d given the East River for a magic cleaning, the water here was pretty polluted. I didn’t want to make any sea animals sick, but they came to my call.
    Three wake lines appeared in the gray water, and a pod of hippocampi broke the surface. They whinnied unhappily, shaking the river muck from their manes. They were beautiful creatures, with multicolored fishtails, and the heads and forelegs of white stallions. The hippocampus in front was much bigger than the others—a ride fit for a Cyclops.
    “Rainbow!” I called. “How’s it going, buddy?”
    He neighed a complaint.
    “Yeah, I’m sorry,” I said. “But it’s an emergency. We need to get to camp.”
    He snorted.
    “Tyson?” I said. “Tyson is fine! I’m sorry he’s not here. He’s a big general now in the Cyclops army.”
    “NEEEEIGGGGH!”
    “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll still bring you apples. Now, about that ride . . .”
    In no time, Annabeth, Nico, and I were zipping up the East River faster than Jet Skis. We sped under the Throgs Neck Bridge and headed for Long Island Sound.
    It seemed like forever until we saw the beach at camp. We thanked the hippocampi and waded ashore, only to find Argus waiting for us. He stood in the sand with his arms crossed, his hundred eyes glaring at us.
    “Is she here?” I asked.
    He nodded grimly.
    “Is everything okay?” Annabeth said.
    Argus shook his head.
    We followed him up the trail. It was surreal being back at camp, because everything looked so peaceful: no burning buildings, no wounded fighters. The cabins were bright in the sunshine, and the fields glittered with dew. But the place was mostly empty.
    Up at the Big House, something was definitely wrong. Green light was shooting out all the windows, just like I’d seen in my dream about May Castellan. Mist—the magical kind—swirled around the yard. Chiron lay on a horse-size stretcher by the volleyball pit, a bunch of satyrs standing around him. Blackjack cantered nervously in the grass.
    Don’t blame me, boss! he pleaded when he saw me. The weird girl made me do it!
    Rachel Elizabeth Dare stood at the bottom of the porch steps. Her arms were raised like she was waiting for someone inside the house to throw her a ball.
    “What’s she doing?” Annabeth demanded. “How did she get past the barriers?”
    “She flew,” one of the satyrs said, looking accusingly at Blackjack. “Right past the dragon, right through the magic boundaries.”
    “Rachel!” I called, but the satyrs stopped me when I tried to go any closer.
    “Percy, don’t,” Chiron warned. He winced as he tried to move. His left arm was in a sling, his two back legs were in splints, and his head was wrapped in bandages. “You can’t interrupt.”
    “I thought you explained things to her!”
    “I did. And I invited her here.”
    I stared at him in disbelief. “You said you’d never let anyone try again! You said—”
    “I know what I said, Percy. But I was wrong. Rachel had a vision about the curse of Hades. She believes it may be lifted now. She convinced me she deserves a chance.”
    “And if the curse isn’t
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