Page 17 of The Chalice of the Gods

“Steal the chalice,” she finished.

Annabeth shook her head. “We’re not implying—”

“You think I stole it! You came here to accuse me!”

“Not entirely!” Grover yelped. “I—I came here for the licorice!”

Hebe stood. Her dress swirled with pink-and-blue paisley light. “Heroes accusingmeof theft! The only thing I’ve ever stolen is time from the Fates so mortals could enjoy longer lives! I care nothing for that... thatusurper’scup! Do you think I would want my old job back, waiting tables on Mount Olympus, when I have my own establishment right here with all the pizza, karaoke, and bumper cars I could ever desire?”

That sounded like another trick question. Stupidly, I tried to answer it.

“You’re right,” I said. “Of course that’s silly. But maybe you know someone else who could’ve stolen it? Or if you’d let us look around so we can report back that it definitely isn’t here—”

“ENOUGH!” Hebe roared. She spread her hands. “What did you say earlier, Percy Jackson?Getting older is part of life?Well, perhaps you should start that process over again. Maybe you’ll do itrightthis time and learn some manners!”

The goddess burst into a storm of rainbow glitter that knocked me right out of my chair.

If nostalgia was the door back to youth, I felt like Hebe had opened that door and drop-kicked me through it.

My entire body hurt. Muscles ached in my gut and back where I didn’t even know I had muscles. My brain throbbed like it was too big for my skull.

I lay flat on the floor, the carpet sticky and bristly against my arms. When I sat up, I felt both sluggish and too light, as if someone had given me a transfusion of liquid helium. Annabeth was lying on my left, just starting to stir. Grover was facedown a few feet away, snoring into the rug.

We were alive. We had not been turned into glitter or arcade tickets. Hebe had vanished. Something was wrong, though. My hands felt stubby. My pant legs were too long. The cuffs pooled around my ankles.

I didn’t really understand what had happened until Annabeth groaned and sat up. She, too, was swimming in her too-big clothes. Her face... well, look, I would know Annabeth’s face anywhere. I love her face. But this was a version of her I’d never seen before—except in a few old pictures and dream visions.

This was Annabeth the way she’d looked soon after she’d arrived at Camp Half-Blood. She’d regressed to about eight years old.

She rubbed her head and stared at me, her eyes going wide, then let out a curse that sounded strange coming from the mouth of a third grader. “Hebeyoungedus.”

“BLAAAAAHHHH!” Grover sat up and rubbed his head.

His horns had shrunk to tiny stubs. His goatee was now a gone-tee. His fake feet and shoes had rolled away from his suddenly baby-size hooves, and his shirt was so big it looked like a nightgown.

“I don’t feel so good.” He picked a string of cheese off his face, then looked at his hooves and moaned. “Oh, no. I don’t want to be a kid again!”

I didn’t know if he meant the human kind or the goat kind... probably both. Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, I remembered Grover telling me. Which meant... multiply by two, carry the one, divide by... Nope, never mind. I’d save the math for my homework. If I ever got home again.

“Maybe we’ll change back if we leave the building?” I suggested.

Annabeth stood up shakily. It was strange seeing her as a younger girl. I had an irrational fear that she would yell,Gross! Boy cooties!and run away from me.

Instead, she said doubtfully, “Worth a try.”

We made our way back through the amusement center. When we passed the coop, the chickens looked at us with renewed interest. I didn’t even know chickenscouldlook interested, but they cocked their heads and clucked and flapped their wings. One of the chicks in particular, which had pink fluff around its eyes and beak, followed us along the fence, strutting and peeping.

“Wow, rude,” Grover said.

“What?”

“She’s threatening to tear the flesh from our bones.”

I glanced nervously at the chick. “Okay, li’l killer. Calm down. We’re leaving.”

Suddenly, Grover rounded on me, lowered his head, and butted me in the chest hard enough to push me back a step.

“Ow!” I complained. “Dude, why?”

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