THE STAFF of SERAPIS . as if someone had opened a locker full of spoiled lunches. Others fainted onto . If the monster turned into a complete three- headed. Riordan, Rick = The Staff of Serapis - Crossover. READ. Show more documents Throne of Fire Event - Rick Riordan. Rick Riordan. A 1. Read More. Read "The Staff of Serapis A Disney Hyperion Short Story - Read by the Staff of Serapis, The ebook by Rick Riordan . The Complete Kane Chronicles.

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Seven Wonders Journals: The Orphan. I Am Number Four: The Lost Files: Five's Betrayal. Dragon Captives. Return to Paradise. Prisoners Wing of Fire: Winglets 1. The Royal Ranger: The Red Fox Clan. Island of Graves. Time Jumpers. Spirit Animals Book 5: Against the Tide. Assassin Wings of Fire: Winglets 2. Wings of Fire Book Five: The Brightest Night. The Ghostfaces. Dragon Bones. Death Weavers.

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The Queen. Kiera Cass. Rick Riordan. The Trials of Apollo, Book Three: The Burning Maze. The Trials of Apollo, Book Two: Dark Prophecy. Percy Jackson and the Olympians: Books I-III. The Kane Chronicles, Book Three: The Serpent's Shadow. Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book 2: The Hammer of Thor.

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book 1: The Sword of Summer. The Son of Sobek. The Trials of Apollo, Book One: The Hidden Oracle. Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book 3: The Ship of the Dead. The Complete Kane Chronicles. Percy Jackson and the Singer of Apollo. Percy Jackson's Greek Gods. Serpent's Shadow: The Graphic Novel. Others fainted onto the floor. Annabeth felt so queasy she wanted to retreat, but the fishhook sensation kept tugging at her navel, reeling her towards the monster.

The train rattled into the Fulton Street station. As soon as the doors opened, every commuter who was still conscious stumbled out. The monster let the woman go. Both sets of eyes fixed on Annabeth as if thinking, Do you have a death wish?

Then it threw back its heads and roared in harmony. The sound hit Annabeth like an ice pick between the eyes. The windows of the train shattered. Mortals who had passed out were startled back to consciousness. Some managed to crawl out of the doors.

Others tumbled through broken windows. Through blurred vision, Annabeth saw the monster crouched on its mismatched forearms, ready to pounce. Time slowed. She was dimly aware of the shattered doors closing, the now-empty train pulling out of the station. Had the conductor not realized what was happening? Was the train running on autopilot?

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Only ten feet away from it now, Annabeth noticed new details about the monster. Its red aura seemed brightest along the seam in its shell. Glowing Greek letters and Egyptian hieroglyphs spewed out like volcanic gas from a deep-sea fissure. Annabeth gripped the strap of her backpack. Instead, she relied on her usual tactic when facing a stronger enemy. She started talking. You were an artefact in a museum.

Maybe the Met? And you, Mr Wolf … that sticker on your ear … you were for sale in some antiques shop?

Meanwhile, the train kept tunnelling under the East River. All her instincts told her to run, but her joints felt as if they were dissolving. A wave of red energy rippled through the car. Annabeth had to fight to stay conscious.

Crabby stepped closer. Its shell expanded, the fissure down the centre burning like molten iron. A third head? Its eyes glinted warily, as if to say, Have you been reading my diary? Finally she was getting the measure of her enemy. When it came to mythical beings, three was sort of a magic number. It made sense that this monster would have another head. Crabby had been some kind of statue, divided into pieces. Now something had awakened it. It was trying to put itself back together.

It bared its fangs and prepared to spring. Annabeth feigned a look of shock. How can you say that about Mr Wolf?

The wolf glanced at the lion and snarled suspiciously. The monster staggered as its forearms went in different directions. She considered getting behind it, maybe trying to break its shell, but before she could the train slowed. They pulled into the High Street station, the first Brooklyn stop. A young blonde girl in white clothes was swinging a wooden staff, trying to hit a strange animal that weaved around her legs, barking angrily.

From the shoulders up, the creature looked like a black Labrador retriever, but its back end was nothing but a rough tapered point, like a calcified tadpole tail. Annabeth had time to think: The third piece. Then the blonde girl whacked the dog across its snout.

The blonde girl followed it. She leaped in through the closing doors just as the train pulled out of the station. For a moment they all just stood there — two girls and two monsters. Annabeth studied the other girl at the opposite end of the car, trying to assess her threat level. The newcomer wore white linen trousers and a matching blouse, kind of like a karate uniform.

Her steel-tipped combat boots looked like they could inflict damage in a fight. Slung over her left shoulder was a blue nylon backpack with a curved ivory stick — a boomerang? Her long blonde hair was streaked with purple highlights.

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She looked very much like a child of Athena — ready for combat, quick and alert and fearless. Annabeth felt as if she were seeing herself from four years ago, around the time she first met Percy Jackson. Then Karate Girl spoke and shattered the illusion. The dog-tadpole and Crabby had been standing in the centre of the car, about fifteen feet apart, staring at each other in amazement. Now they overcame their shock.

The dog howled — a triumphant cry, like I found you! And the lion-wolf-crab lunged to meet it. Annabeth struggled to keep Crabby down, but the beast was twice her weight. It pushed up on its forelegs, trying to throw her. Both heads turned to snap at her face. She managed to keep her balance while slipping off her backpack. Meanwhile, the train burst into the sunlight. They rattled along the elevated rails of Queens, fresh air blowing through the broken windows and glittering bits of glass dancing across the seats.

Out of the corner of her eye, Annabeth saw the black dog shake off its fit of retching. It lunged at Karate Girl, who whipped out her ivory boomerang and blasted the monster with another golden flash. Annabeth wished she could summon golden flashes.

All she had was a stupid backpack. Her head felt stuffed with cotton. Her stomach twisted. She lost track of time as she wrestled the creature. If the monster turned into a complete three-headed whatever-it-was, it might be impossible to stop. The dog lunged again at Karate Girl. This time it knocked her down. Annabeth, distracted, lost her grip on the crab monster, and it threw her off — slamming her head into the edge of a seat. Her ears rang as the creature roared in triumph.

A wave of red-hot energy rippled through the car. The train pitched sideways, and Annabeth went weightless. The world was spinning. Emergency sirens wailed in the distance. She was lying flat on her back in some prickly weeds. The blonde girl from the train leaned over her, tugging on her arm. Annabeth managed to sit up. She felt as if someone was hammering hot nails into her rib cage. As her vision cleared, she realized she was lucky to be alive. About fifty yards away, the subway train had toppled off the track.

She spotted no wounded mortals. But still — what a disaster. Annabeth recognized where she was: Rockaway Beach. A few hundred feet to the left, vacant plots and bent chain-link fences gave way to a yellow sand beach dotted with tar and trash. The sea churned under a cloudy sky. Behind her on the broken tarmac, the black Labrador monster flopped like a fish out of water, its muzzle and paws bound in glowing golden rope.

Annabeth stared at the younger girl. Round her neck glinted a chain with a silver amulet — a symbol like an Egyptian ankh crossed with a gingerbread man. At her side lay her staff and her ivory boomerang — both carved with hieroglyphs and pictures of strange, very un-Greek monsters. Magical vulnerabilities and all that. But I have to respect someone who fights a two-headed monster with nothing but a rucksack.

Within minutes, emergency vehicles had surrounded the train wreck, and a crowd of spectators gathered from the nearby apartment buildings. Annabeth felt more nauseous than ever. Red spots danced before her eyes, but she helped Sadie drag the dog creature backwards by its tail into the sand dunes.

Sadie seemed to take pleasure in pulling the monster over as many rocks and broken bottles as she could find. The beast snarled and wriggled. Its red aura glowed more brightly, while the golden rope dimmed. Normally Annabeth liked walking on the beach. The ocean reminded her of Percy. But today she was hungry and exhausted. Also, Rockaway Beach was a dismal place. A massive hurricane had blown through more than a year ago, and the damage was still obvious. Some of the apartment buildings in the distance had been reduced to shells, their boarded-up windows and breeze-block walls covered in graffiti.

Rotted timber, chunks of tarmac and twisted metal littered the beach. The pylons of a destroyed pier jutted up out of the water. I can always come back and finish the job. Finally they reached a derelict ice-cream truck half sunken in the dunes.

Sadie sat cross-legged, facing her. She rummaged around in her own backpack and brought out a cork-stoppered ceramic vial. It felt heavy and warm, as if it were full of hot coffee. A friend of mine, Jaz, brews the best in the world. Usually they tasted like pond-scum soup, but at least they were made to work on demigods.

Usually we fight with staff and wand. You wrestled a monster. You survived that train wreck. A demon god? My mother is a Greek goddess, Athena. A Greek goddess. Or London. Or Los Angeles. A few months ago my mum gave me a warning. She told me to beware of other gods and other types of magic.

You mentioned Isis. Isis is the goddess of Egyptian magic. She uncorked the potion and drank it down. Instantly, her vision cleared. Her stomach settled.

Egyptian magic. Another magician?

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Apparently this kid used hieroglyphs to cast spells. He helped Percy battle a big crocodile monster. She feared those glowing angry hieroglyphs might explode. But first tell me everything — about yourself, demigods, Greeks and whatever it might have to do with our evil canine friend here. Annabeth described Camp Half-Blood. She recounted some of her adventures battling gods and giants and Titans. She looked as if she might start yelling or crying.

Instead, she broke down in a fit of the giggles. Annabeth frowned. At least I know the full extent of it. First, I find out my brother and I are descended from the pharaohs and have magic powers.

All right. No problem. Then I find out my dead father has merged his soul with Osiris and become the lord of the dead. Why not? Then my uncle takes over the House of Life and oversees hundreds of magicians around the world. Keep calm and carry on! And then you come along on a random Thursday, la-di-da, and say, Oh, by the way, Egyptian gods are just one small part of the cosmic absurdity.

If Greek gods can stick around all these millennia, why not the Egyptians?

The Staff of

The next minute it comes to life and breaks out of Brooklyn House. Forget I asked. Red Greek letters and hieroglyphs swirled around it as if trying to form new symbols — a message Annabeth could almost read.