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I was a bag of dirty laundry she’d been sent to fetch.
    â€œCome with me,” she said. “Lady Artemis wishes to speak with thee.”
    * * *
    Zoë led me to the last tent, which looked no different from the others, and waved me inside. Bianca di Angelo was seated next to the auburn-haired girl, who I still had trouble thinking of as Artemis.
    The inside of the tent was warm and comfortable. Silk rugs and pillows covered the floor. In the center, a golden brazier of fire seemed to burn without fuel or smoke. Behind the goddess, on a polished oak display stand, was her huge silver bow, carved to resemble gazelle horns. The walls were hung with animal pelts: black bear, tiger, and several others I didn’t recognize. I figured an animal rights activist would’ve had a heart attack looking at all those rare skins, but maybe since Artemis was the goddess of the hunt, she could replenish whatever she shot. I thought she had another animal pelt lying next to her, and then I realized it was a live animal—a deer with glittering fur and silver horns, its head resting contentedly in Artemis’s lap.
    â€œJoin us, Percy Jackson,” the goddess said.
    I sat across from her on the tent floor. The goddess studied me, which made me uncomfortable. She had such old eyes for a young girl.
    â€œAre you surprised by my age?” she asked.
    â€œUh . . . a little.”
    â€œI could appear as a grown woman, or a blazing fire, or anything else I want, but this is what I prefer. This is the average age of my Hunters, and all young maidens for whom I am patron, before they go astray.”
    â€œGo astray?” I asked.
    â€œGrow up. Become smitten with boys. Become silly, preoccupied, insecure. Forget themselves.”
    â€œOh.”
    Zoë sat down at Artemis’s right. She glared at me as if all the stuff Artemis had just said was my fault, like I’d invented the idea of being a guy.
    â€œYou must forgive my Hunters if they do not welcome you,” Artemis said. “It is very rare that we would have boys in this camp. Boys are usually forbidden to have any contact with the Hunters. The last one to see this camp . . .” She looked at Zoë. “Which one was it?”
    â€œThat boy in Colorado,” Zoë said. “You turned him into a jackalope.”
    â€œAh, yes.” Artemis nodded, satisfied. “I enjoy making jackalopes. At any rate, Percy, I’ve asked you here so that you might tell me more of the manticore. Bianca has reported some of the . . . mmm, disturbing things the monster said. But she may not have understood them. I’d like to hear them from you.”
    And so I told her.
    When I was done, Artemis put her hand thoughtfully on her silver bow. “I feared this was the answer.”
    Zoë sat forward. “The scent, my lady?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat scent?” I asked.
    â€œThings are stirring that I have not hunted in millennia,” Artemis murmured. “Prey so old I have nearly forgotten.”
    She stared at me intently. “We came here tonight sensing the manticore, but he was not the one I seek. Tell me again, exactly what Dr. Thorn said.”
    â€œUm, ‘I hate middle school dances.’”
    â€œNo, no. After that.”
    â€œHe said somebody called the General was going to explain things to me.” Zoë’s face paled. She turned to Artemis and started to say something, but Artemis raised her hand. “Go on, Percy,” the goddess said. “Well, then Thorn was talking about the Great Stir Pot—”
    â€œStirring,” Bianca corrected. “Yeah. And he said, ‘Soon we shall have the most important monster of all—the one that shall bring about the downfall of Olympus.’” The goddess was so still she could’ve been a statue. “Maybe he was lying,” I said. Artemis shook her head. “No. He was not. I’ve been too slow to see the signs.