"Mom, seriously! We'll be fine. Come on, guys."
She looked a little hurt, and I was sorry about that, but I was ready to be out of that car. If my mom told one more story about how cute I looked in the bathtub when I was three years old, I was going to burrow into the snow and freeze myself to death.
Annabeth and Thalia followed me outside. The wind blew straight through my coat like ice daggers.
Once my mother's car was out of sight, Thalia said, "Your mom is so cool, Percy."
"She's pretty okay," I admitted. "What about you? You ever get in touch with your mom?"
As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn't. Thalia was great at giving evil looks, what with the punk clothes she always wears—the ripped-up army jacket, black leather pants and chain jewelry, the black eyeliner and those intense blue eyes. But the look she gave me now was a perfect evil "ten."
"If that was any of your business, Percy—"
"We'd better get inside," Annabeth interrupted. "Grover will be waiting."
Thalia looked at the castle and shivered. "You're right. I wonder what he found here that made him send the distress call."
I stared up at the dark towers of Westover Hall. "Nothing good," I guessed.
The oak doors groaned open, and the three of us stepped into the entry hall in a swirl of snow.
All I could say was, "Whoa."
