Another harpy circled higher than the rest. She looked younger and smaller than the others, with bright-red feathers.
She watched carefully for an opening, and when the old man’s back was turned, she made a wild dive for the table. She grabbed a burrito in her clawed feet, but before she could escape, the blind man swung his weed whacker and smacked her in the back so hard, Percy winced. The harpy yelped, dropped the burrito, and flew off.
“Hey, stop it!” Percy yelled.
The harpies took that the wrong way. They glanced over at the three demigods and immediately fled. Most of them fluttered away and perched in the trees around the square, staring dejectedly at the picnic table. The red-feathered one with the hurt back flew unsteadily down Glisan Street and out of sight.
“Ha!” The blind man yelled in triumph and killed the power on his weed whacker. He grinned vacantly in Percy’s direction. “Thank you, strangers! Your help is most appreciated.”
Percy bit back his anger. He hadn’t meant to help the old man, but he remembered that they needed information from him.
“Uh, whatever.” He approached the old guy, keeping one eye on the weed whacker. “I’m Percy Jackson. This is—”
“Demigods!” the old man said. “I can always smell demigods.”
Hazel frowned. “Do we smell that bad?”
The old man laughed. “Of course not, my dear. But you’d be surprised how sharp my other senses became once I was blinded. I’m Phineas. And you—wait, don’t tell me—”
He reached for Percy’s face and poked him in the eyes.
“Ow!” Percy complained.
“Son of Neptune!” Phineas exclaimed. “I thought I smelled the ocean on you, Percy Jackson. I’m also a son of Neptune, you know.”
“Hey…yeah. Okay.” Percy rubbed his eyes. Just his luck he was related to this grubby old dude. He hoped all sons of Neptune didn’t share the same fate. First, you start carrying a man satchel. Next thing you know, you’re running around in a bathrobe and pink bunny slippers, chasing chickens with a weed whacker.
Phineas turned to Hazel. “And here…Oh my, the smell of gold and deep earth. Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto. And next to you—the son of Mars. But there’s more to your story, Frank Zhang—”
“Ancient blood,” Frank muttered. “Prince of Pylos. Blah, blah, blah.”
“Periclymenus, exactly! Oh, he was a nice fellow. I loved the Argonauts!”
Frank’s mouth fell open. “W-wait. Perry who?”
Phineas grinned. “Don’t worry. I know about your family. That story about your great-grandfather? He didn’t reallydestroy the camp. Now, what an interesting group. Are you hungry?”
Frank looked like he’d been run over by a truck, but Phineas had already moved on to other matters. He waved his hand at the picnic table. In the nearby trees, the harpies shrieked miserably. As hungry as Percy was, he couldn’t stand to think about eating with those poor bird ladies watching him.
“Look, I’m confused,” Percy said. “We need some information. We were told—”
“—that the harpies were keeping my food away from me,” Phineas finished, “and if you helped me, I’d help you.”
“Something like that,” Percy admitted.
Phineas laughed. “That’s old news. Do I look like I’m missing any meals?”
He patted his belly, which was the size of an overinflated basketball.
“Um ... no,” Percy said.
Phineas waved his weed whacker in an expansive gesture. All three of them ducked.
“Things have changed, my friends!” he said. “When I first got the gift of prophecy, eons ago, it’s true Jupiter cursed me. He sent the harpies to steal my food. You see, I had a bit of a big mouth. I gave away too many secrets that the gods wanted kept.” He turned to Hazel. “For instance, you’re supposed to be dead. And you—” He turned to Frank. “Your life depends on a burned stick.”
Percy frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Hazel blinked like she’d been slapped. Frank looked like the truck had backed up and run over him again.
“And you,” Phineas turned to Percy, “well now, you don’t even know who you are! I could tell you, of course, but…ha! What fun would that be? And Brigid O’Shaughnessy shot Miles Archer in The Maltese Falcon. And Darth Vader is actually Luke’s father. And the winner of the next Super Bowl will be—”
“Got it,” Frank muttered.
Hazel gripped her sword like she was tempted to pommel-whip the old man. “So you talked too much, and the gods cursed you. Why did they stop?”
“Oh, they didn’t!” The old man arched his bushy eyebrows like, Can you believe it? “I had to make a deal with the Argonauts. They wanted information too, you see. I told them to kill the harpies, and I’d cooperate. Well, they drove those nasty creatures away, but Iris wouldn’t let them kill the harpies. An outrage! So this time, when my patron brought me back to life—”
“Your patron?” Frank asked.
Phineas gave him a wicked grin. “Why, Gaea, of course.