The Lost Hero by Rick Riordan Read Free Book Online Page B

to the Apollo kids on the court, “Medic! I need some help over here!”
    “No, it’s—it’s okay,” Piper managed.
    “You sure?”
    “Yeah. I just …” She had to control herself. With trembling fingers, she picked up the dagger. “I just got overwhelmed. So much happening today. But … I want to keep the dagger, if that’s okay.”
    Annabeth hesitated. Then she waved off the Apollo kids. “Okay, if you’re sure. You turned really pale, there. I thought you were having a seizure or something.”
    “I’m fine,” Piper promised, though her heart was still racing. “Is there … um, a phone at camp? Can I call my dad?”
    Annabeth’s gray eyes were almost as unnerving as the dagger blade. She seemed to be calculating a million possibilities, trying to read Piper’s thoughts.
    “We aren’t allowed phones,” she said. “Most demigods, if they use a cell phone, it’s like sending up a signal, letting monsters know where you are. But … I’ve got one.” She slipped it out of her pocket. “Kind of against the rules, but if it can be our secret …”
    Piper took it gratefully, trying not to let her hands shake. She stepped away from Annabeth and turned to face the commons area.
    She called her dad’s private line, even though she knew what would happen. Voice mail. She’d been trying for three days, ever since the dream. Wilderness School only allowed phone privileges once a day, but she’d called every evening, and gotten nowhere.
    Reluctantly she dialed the other number. Her dad’s personal assistant answered immediately. “Mr. McLean’s office.”
    “Jane,” Piper said, gritting her teeth. “Where’s my dad?”
    Jane was silent for a moment, probably wondering if she could get away with hanging up. “Piper, I thought you weren’t supposed to call from school.”
    “Maybe I’m not at school,” Piper said. “Maybe I ran away to live among the woodland creatures.”
    “Mmm.” Jane didn’t sound concerned. “Well, I’ll tell him you called.”
    “Where is he?”
    “Out.”
    “You don’t know, do you?” Piper lowered her voice, hoping Annabeth was too nice to eavesdrop. “When are you going to call the police, Jane? He could be in trouble.”
    “Piper, we are not going to turn this into a media circus. I’m sure he’s fine. He does take off occasionally. He always comes back.”
    “So it’s true. You don’t know—”
    “I have to go, Piper,” Jane snapped. “Enjoy school.”
    The line went dead. Piper cursed. She walked back to Annabeth and handed her the phone.
    “No luck?” Annabeth asked.
    Piper didn’t answer. She didn’t trust herself not to start crying again.
    Annabeth glanced at the phone display and hesitated. “Your last name is McLean? Sorry, it’s not my business. But that sounds really familiar.”
    “Common name.”
    “Yeah, I guess. What does your dad do?”
    “He’s got a degree in the arts,” Piper said automatically. “He’s a Cherokee artist.”
    Her standard response. Not a lie, just not the whole truth. Most people, when they heard that, figured her dad sold Indian souvenirs at a roadside stand on a reservation. Sitting Bull bobble-heads, wampum necklaces, Big Chief tablets—that kind of thing.
    “Oh.” Annabeth didn’t look convinced, but she put the phone away. “You feeling okay? Want to keep going?”
    Piper fastened her new dagger to her belt and promised herself that later, when she was alone, she’d figure out how it worked. “Sure,” she said. “I want to see everything.”
    All the cabins were cool, but none of them struck Piper as hers . No burning signs—wombats or otherwise—appeared over her head.
    Cabin Eight was entirely silver and glowed like moonlight.
    “Artemis?” Piper guessed.
    “You know Greek mythology,” Annabeth said.
    “I did some reading when my dad was working on a project last year.”
    “I thought he did Cherokee art.”
    Piper bit back a curse. “Oh, right. But—you know, he does other