Medusa yelled, her snake-hair hissing and spitting.
    Right next to me, Annabeth's voice said, "Percy!"
    I jumped so high my feet nearly cleared a garden gnome. "Jeez! Don't do that!"
    Annabeth took off her Yankees cap and became visible. "You have to cut her head off."
    "What? Are you crazy? Let's get out of here."
    "Medusa is a menace. She's evil. I'd kill her myself, but..." Annabeth swallowed, as if she were about to make a difficult admission. "But you've got the better weapon. Besides, I'd never get close to her. She'd slice me to bits because of my mother. You — you've got a chance."
    "What? I can't—"
    Annabeth came up next to me, her eyes fixed on the sky. She was holding Medusa's black veil. She said, "Don't move."
    Very carefully, without looking down, she knelt and draped the monster's head in black cloth, then picked it up. It was still dripping green juice.
    "Are you okay?" she asked me, her voice trembling.
    "Yeah," I decided, though I felt like throwing up my double cheeseburger. "Why didn't ... why didn't the head evaporate?"
    "Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," she said. "Same as your minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you."