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Riptide, how out of practice I was.
    I lunged but Bull Number Two blew flames at me. I rolled aside as the air turned to pure heat. All the oxygen was sucked out of my lungs. My foot caught on something—a tree root, maybe—and pain shot up my ankle. Still, I managed to slash with my sword and lop off part of the monster’s snout. It galloped away, wild and disoriented. But before I could feel too good about that, I tried to stand, and my left leg buckled underneath me. My ankle was sprained, maybe broken.
    Bull Number One charged straight toward me. No way could I crawl out of its path.
    Annabeth shouted: “Tyson, help him!”
    Somewhere near, toward the crest of the hill, Tyson wailed, “Can’t—get—through!”
    “I, Annabeth Chase, give you permission to enter camp!”
    Thunder shook the hillside. Suddenly Tyson was there, barreling toward me, yelling: “Percy needs help!”
    Before I could tell him no, he dove between me and the bull just as it unleashed a nuclear firestorm.
    “Tyson!” I yelled.
    The blast swirled around him like a red tornado. I could only see the black silhouette of his body. I knew with horrible certainty that my friend had just been turned into a column of ashes.
    But when the fire died, Tyson was still standing there, completely unharmed. Not even his grungy clothes were scorched. The bull must’ve been as surprised as I was, because before it could unleash a second blast, Tyson balled his fists and slammed them into the bull’s face. “BAD COW!”
    His fists made a crater where the bronze bull’s snout used to be. Two small columns of flame shot out of its ears. Tyson hit it again, and the bronze crumpled under his hands like aluminum foil. The bull’s face now looked like a sock puppet pulled inside out.
    “Down!” Tyson yelled.
    The bull staggered and fell on its back. Its legs moved feebly in the air, steam coming out of its ruined head in odd places.
    Annabeth ran over to check on me.
    My ankle felt like it was filled with acid, but she gave me some Olympian nectar to drink from her canteen, and I immediately started to feel better. There was a burning smell that I later learned was me. The hair on my arms had been completely singed off.
    “The other bull?” I asked.
    Annabeth pointed down the hill. Clarisse had taken care of Bad Cow Number Two. She’d impaled it through the back leg with a celestial bronze spear. Now, with its snout half gone and a huge gash in its side, it was trying to run in slow motion, going in circles like some kind of merry-goround animal.
    Clarisse pulled off her helmet and marched toward us. A strand of her stringy brown hair was smoldering, but she didn’t seem to notice. “You—ruin—everything!” she yelled at me. “I had it under control!”
    I was too stunned to answer. Annabeth grumbled, “Good to see you too, Clarisse.”
    “Argh!” Clarisse screamed. “Don’t ever, EVER try saving me again!”
    “Clarisse,” Annabeth said, “you’ve got wounded campers.”
    That sobered her up. Even Clarisse cared about the soldiers under her command.
    “I’ll be back,” she growled, then trudged off to assess the damage.
    I stared at Tyson. “You didn’t die.”
    Tyson looked down like he was embarrassed. “I am sorry. Came to help. Disobeyed you.”
    “My fault,” Annabeth said. “I had no choice. I had to let Tyson cross the boundary line to save you. Otherwise, you would’ve died.”
    “ Let him cross the boundary line?’” I asked. “But—”
    “Percy,” she said, “have you ever looked at Tyson closely? I mean . . . in the face. Ignore the Mist, and really look at him.”
    The Mist makes humans see only what their brains can process . . . I knew it could fool demigods too, but . . .
    I looked Tyson in the face. It wasn’t easy. I’d always had trouble looking directly at him, though I’d never quite understood why. I’d thought it was just because he always had peanut butter in his crooked teeth. I forced myself