Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i. Scrapper (2023), dir. Charlotte Regan  /  ii. Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost  /  iii. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010), dir. Edgar Wright  /  iv. La La Land (2016), dir. Damien Chazelle  /  v. Gwen Benaway, Holy Wild  /  vi. Alejandra Pizarnik, Extracting the Stone of Madness  /  vii. The Apartment (1960), dir. Billy Wilder

POCKET FULL OF POSIES!
(  ❝ i'm not delicate like a flower. ❞  )
PLUCK PETALS UNTIL THEY ROT!
(  ❝ but you should be cherished like one. ❞  )

━━━━━  JOSEPHINE PASCUAL was everything she wasn't supposed to be, and nothing she wished she could be. She had never felt like more of an outsider inside the gleaming, golden walls of Cabin Seven.

        Being born with ichor in her blood didn't give her a sense of normalcy. She never had a chance at normalcy, not with a god for a father. If anything, with ichor flowing in her blood, Josephine was destined for a life of tragedy and a death worthy of being told — two things the Greeks were known for; two things they had invented and written into every great myth. (Every great myth that is still known, and told, by the modern world to this day, thousands of years later.)

        With a god for a father, Josephine always wondered if the gods were able to love — or if it was just her father, Apollo, who showed no love. She still wasn't sure, not even these years later. The gods were a race that was supposed to represent humans, but despite that, it seemed the gods had this complete … absence of mortality; a complete absence of humanity. The complete absence of mortality meant the complete loss of humanity. How human could the gods ever truly be if they couldn’t even look upon what they were supposed to represent and feel any connection? Any familiarity? How human could the gods truly be if they never experienced love? How human could any immortal be if they never love their children, innocent people destined to die cruel deaths at the hands of Fate? How human could they be if they never had the chance to experience human life?

        How human could they be, even unable to love children that seemed nothing more than a mishap? A cruel joke of Fate?

        Beau Pascual was a struggling artist in a sea of struggling artists. What was special about him? Maybe it was his aloof attitude to the man that shone brighter than the sun. Perhaps that aloof attitude made the man who had never been denied anything (besides the chance of being human) curious. It was only natural, of course — to be attracted to the one thing that seemed just out of your reach.

        But, however unfortunate for Beau Pascual, nothing was ever truly out of reach for Apollo. The sun saw all; the sun knew all.

        But a love that was destined never to last was already in the making. Apollo could never stay for long, and Beau Pascual was never the type to stay rooted, either. They seemed to be the perfect match (as perfect a match as a god and a mortal could ever be), but the prospect of a child never once crossed Beau's mind. But how could it? He was a man, and so was this man who was oddly named Apollo (you didn’t come across many people named after Greek gods, after all).

        The thought never crossed his mind — that is, until a child in a golden cradle appeared on his doorstep on April 13th, 1994 in D.C., only a week after Beau’s lover had left. No note; no nothing. Just Apollo's style.

        Beau Pascual was never made to be a father, no matter what the Fates had decided for him.

        It was already too late, however, Josephine Pascual was born. She was born into a world destined to hurt her; a world full of danger and monsters, both human and not. A parent's love should've been able to do a lot of things, a lot of wonderful things, but protecting Josephine from fate wasn't one of them. (And it wasn't like Beau was any version of fatherly, let alone being very loving.)

        As the years went by, the Fates caught up with Josephine, breaking down any sort of hope she had for the future. Strange things always happened around her, with her unable to explain them to Beau (who never wanted to believe her anyway) — a psychotic music teacher, a gym coach with furry legs and hooves for feet, and the late nights when her father would be possessed by spirits that were so unlike his own. It all became too much for her after one particularly bad night, and Josephine ran away.

        Camp Half-Blood was a home for kids who didn't have a safe one in the mortal world. Josephine had to do it by herself — no father, no godly father (as she would learn a month later), no Mrs. Hall (not anymore, at least), and no aunt and uncle (though they had already been cut from her life many years before). She was all alone, something that was so uncommon for her. That never made it any easier. Crossing the unknown — realizing the world was a place full of real Greek gods and monsters — and into foreign lands — a camp designed to help kids like her (kids with a godly parent) — wasn’t an easy feat. But Josephine had no other choice. She had to make it to Camp Half-Blood, otherwise, she feared her dreams would not only haunt her in her dreams, but find her out in the mortal world. She feared those visions she saw would become a reality. 

        The dreams were helpful at times, too. They were the reason she found Camp Half-Blood — visions of golden trails along paths, visions of a blond man with a bow telling her she was doing the right things, the visions of what looked like battles, with people screaming at her that she had to keep moving forward, otherwise they would all die. And somehow, she made it. She was quickly whisked away without many questions about how she had made it there all by herself at the age of ten. They couldn’t waste much time on making her a valuable weapon for the gods, of course.

        It took longer than any other child of Apollo, but she was claimed — a month to be exact. And as a daughter of Apollo, Josephine should've been everything her siblings were; everything her father was. She was supposed to be full of warmth, happiness, and cheeriness. But Josephine just ... wasn't. There was no reason behind it, at least, no reason she ever knew of.

        And it wasn't even that, either; she was horrible with a bow — her father's very own weapon! Horrible at archery; caused more injuries than she ever healed; and even snapped the strings to Michael's lyre one time. (And he was pissed. Josephine thought she was genuinely going to lose her life that day.) The only thing she ever showed any promise in was poetry, and she hated poetry!

        It was beyond embarrassing. It was beyond depressing. Disheartening. Whatever other word that could've been used. Josephine was nothing more than a disgrace to Cabin Seven, to Apollo, and to her siblings. She was someone who made a mistake at every turn.

        Instead of being a beacon of light, as every child of Apollo should be, it was like Josephine Pascual sucked away any happiness the sun provided.

PLUCK MY HEART LIKE A FLOWER ...

JOSEPHINE  ❛POSIE❜  PASCUAL
━━━━━━━━━ olivia rodrigo!

☀️  daughter of apollo, god of the sun and light!

PERCY JACKSON
━━━ as described!

🔱  son of poseidon, god of the sea and earthquakes!

AND TELL ME  IF  YOU LOVE ME OR NOT!

peyton jackson!  . . .   wyatt fitzgerald!
zuri reed!  . . .   annabeth chase!
as described!  . . .   grover underwood!
austin north!  . . .   luke castellan!
kristine froseth!  . . .   rose ashford!
max barczak!  . . .   lee fletcher!
as described!  . . .   michael yew!
young!skandar keynes!  . . .   nico di angelo!
as described!  . . .   will solace!
as described!  . . .   thalia grace!
isabelle furhman!  . . .  bianca di angelo!
as described!  . . .   zoë nightshade!
as described!  . . .   rachel dare!
malina weissman!  . . .  silena beauregard!
as described!  . . .   clarisse la rue!

i. disclaimers! i own nothing in the percy jackson and the olympians universe besides josephine pascual, her story, and any other characters i have made. everything else you see in this book that is not original to this fanfiction belongs to rick riordan. all rights go to him, besides josephine pascual and any other characters i have made.
        any gifs used in the book do not belong to me, they belong to the original creators. i have simply edited the size of them to fit what i want. the graphics, although, do belong to me.

ii. trigger warnings! this book will talk about and/or include cussing, the neglection of a child, mental illness (depression, anxiety, ptsd, etc.), death of a parent(s), death, gore, physical illnesses and sickness (cancer), daddy issues (kinda a joke, but not ... really?), apollo (as hot as he is, he deserves a trigger warning), and the regular percy jackson and the olympians themes that are present in the books.
        do not read this book if any of that is triggering to you. reading this is not — and never will be — more important than you and your mental health!

iii. other things! if i get anything incorrect or come off as insensitive, please tell me and i'll absolutely fix my mistake!
        also, don't steal! that's not cool. i'll find out and i'll make you ... take it down or something.

iv. other notes! this plot was a reskin (i guess that's the best way to put it -) of this heroes of olympus plot i had (that i didn't take anywhere) (which kinda sucks because it's a really good plot tbh)
        super excited to write PFOP because i think it's a really cool plot and i love posie <3 she's so slay
        though i'll admit i am a bit scared to write it bc it does get kinda fucked up here and there but you know - this is my therapy (and because of that, all of my ocs need therapy desperately)
        and yes, this is now edited/currently being edited (as of oct. 8th, 2024) and hopefully, it turns out good LMAO

Chapter Text

prologue
❛ mind-killer ❜

━━━━━  THEY SAY FEAR is a mind-killer. Unfortunately, Josephine had to agree. Fear was the shadow that crept into each and every corner; the spaces nothing else could reach; the space no sunlight could touch to take it away. The cold whispers at night, the heavy breaths crawled down your neck and made your hair rise on end. It was the serpent that coiled itself around the person who feared. It coiled around the person, binding and tightening. Fear coiled around that person’s throat, constricting airflow to their brain — stopping the reason and thoughts that told them that their fears were unfounded. 

        At least, people say fear is unfounded. That, Josephine couldn’t agree with. She saw those shadows in the corners of rooms. She heard the cold whispers at night; she felt the cold, breath-like breezes creep down her neck. She felt the serpent coil around her — binding her legs, tying her arms to her side, and eventually around her neck to the point she couldn’t breathe. The fear slithered in just as the sun was always setting through the window of her bedroom that faced west. As the sun set, and the room became cold, Josephine knew the snake would slither out.

        It knew. Somehow. Even with changing seasons and the lengthening days, it knew. The moment the sky started to change to rich-colored golds and deep crimsons, it knew Josephine would be terrified — practically waiting for it to paralyze her with fear. But instead of the snake lying in wait in the grass, it was a snake lying in wait in the shadowy corners of her dark bedroom —

        She couldn’t breathe. The heavy weight of fear on her chest, and the competing, quickening heartbeats against her ribs. Her body knew — the danger of darkness and snakes. An instinctual fear. The way people know to fear drowning, to fear heights, falling — anything that can bring harm or even death.

        And who doesn’t fear death?

        Perhaps people who have their affairs in order do not. Or perhaps the people who have made peace with death, even on friendly terms. But Josephine didn’t understand how they could be — how can you not fear the unknown?

        Somehow, breathing became harder. Tears pricked behind her eyes, and she fought every instinctual urge to look down at her feet — where she was certain she felt the cold scales of a snake slithering. The feeling sent shockwaves up her legs, pounding in her chest. She could feel her heart in her chest, each anxious beat rattling her ribs, which felt ready to crack. She had heard the phrase Die of fright, and part of Josephine wondered if that’s how her sad and short life would end up — a girl so afraid of her own imagination, her father would find her dead in her bed the next morning. (That’s if it would be her father, he hardly cared enough to even make sure she was awake …)

        But Josephine was so sure of snakes in the shadows. Not even in just her bedroom, but in every shadow — in her classrooms, in the parks, Mrs. Hall’s apartment. They were everywhere. She was sure of it. She heard the hissing; the odd sounds of things falling over; the glimpses of something from the corner of her eye — Josephine was certain she was haunted by snakes. And the rare moments they weren’t waiting in shadows, watching for the perfect moment to slither forth and terrify her to death, their presence still lingered. It was this unsettling sensation. The snake’s existence had been there, and that made Josephine terrified. It was the mere possibility of the snake’s existence, and even worse, when it would come back. She knew it would. Now, it was just a matter of waiting.

        No one ever believed her when she talked about the snakes. They all chalked it up to a child-like imagination — even Mrs. Hall. No matter how much Josephine pleaded and cried, they all still thought her claims were just nightmares. You just have an overactive imagination, Mrs. Hall would tell her, trying to soothe Josephine. There are no snakes in your room. There are no snakes hunting you — snakes don’t like humans, either, Posie.

        And that’s precisely why they hunted Josephine. They didn’t like her. She just knew they didn’t. They didn’t have to speak English to tell her; the slithering and the hisses were enough. And she didn’t need people telling her about their own fears — spiders, needles, flying, public speaking — because this wasn’t just a fear of Josephine’s. Snakes petrified her (along with a million other things …), but snakes also haunted her. She swore they were everywhere she looked, and every time, they seemed to be closer, little by little. 

        Josephine couldn’t help it; she was terrified of everything, and that fear was killing her own mind. If she could choose to be brave, wouldn’t she have already? Instead of cowering in the corner of her bed, she would heroically swing out and confront the snake — until it bit her in the face and she was rushed to the E.R. to suck the poison out of the bite wounds. 

        She couldn’t help that fear controlled her. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop being petrified — not even just by snakes, but of everything. She had so many fears: snakes, darkness, pain, disease. She feared fear. Every time she came across something (something that could mildly go wrong), her palms would sweat and her breathing would quicken. And then there was this … prick. A prick she couldn’t describe, but a prick that hurt — a burn beneath her skin; a tinge that seemed to numb her skin and her nerves.

        She also feared sleeping. She feared the nightmares that also seemed to haunt her, just like snakes do. They changed over the years, just like her fears did; they also became worse, just like her fears did. And no matter how much she avoided or how much running she did, the dreams persisted, like an everlasting god. They didn’t let her forget. They wouldn’t let her forget the things she had tried to leave behind back in D.C.

        Beau, her father, shivered in front of her, kneeling on the white tile of their kitchen floor. He clutched his head, his dark hair sticking on end, as if he had just experienced an electric shock. He started to pull at the shirt on his back, clawing at the blue fabric like it was burning his skin. He was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, his knees tucked into his chest. He looked like a madman — no, he was. Beau Pascual, for as long as Josephine could remember, had suffered nightly terrors — nightly terrors that caused him to act irrationally. But by the next morning, just as the sun was rising above the eastern horizon, he was back to normal (as “normal” as Beau ever was, that is).

        Josephine shivered, goosebumps trailing across her arms. She knew what was about to happen. She had lived through this, many nights, only she had hoped could leave it behind, but the dreams followed her like a dark cloud.

        "Dad ...?" she said hesitantly, stepping closer. She was tentative, not only for this being a dream, but also aware of the last times she had tried to speak to her father like this, how he had lashed out. People said dreams can’t hurt, but Josephine was certain she could feel the sting of Beau’s fingers as he gripped her by the arms. She wasn’t sure how to describe it, or how it was even possible, but the sting reminded her of the prick — this burning feeling beneath her skin, the tinge of pain that continued so much it made her skin and nerves in her hands numb. At first, she thought it was a medical issue, but every doctor Mrs. Hall took her to said she was fine — no issues with her nervous system, her skin looked perfectly fine, and even her blood work came back clean and normal. And now, that pain — the sting and pricking sensation — would show up in the nightmares of her father. 

        Part of her worried she had made it all up — the snakes, the dreams, the stinging feeling. She had been so certain of everything, hardly doubting herself when people would say she was just letting fear take over her mind. But as the years wore on, and as people kept insisting it was all just irrational fears, she slowly started to believe them — until she was attacked by a lady with a forked tongue, like a snake, and a rabid dog-turned-giant beast. Either Josephine really was crazy, or (as her dreams led her to believe), something bigger was at play — something to do with the Greek myths she so easily brushed off as people’s explanations for the unknown thousands of years ago.

        The cold tile floor of the Pascual kitchen sent shockwaves up Josephine’s body. She pressed forward, despite every inch of her body wanting to cower away. It was a dream, she told herself. She’s dealt with them before; she’s dealt with this dream before. It was routine, and Josephine liked routines — she knew what to expect, and she didn’t have to fear the next moves as she had played them before already. Her body felt like it was on fire; her skin bristled and quivered, as if her muscles knew something she didn’t — but she pressed forward. She knew how this would play out. And the only way to get out was to play along.

        Beau cradled his head, his fingers dug so deeply into his scalp that she saw pricks of blood form. He shivered, large goosebumps raised all along his arms and legs. His shirt was stretched, and it looked to have been plucked at by a chicken — small tears where his nails had managed to rip through the fabric where his skin was exposed underneath, and there, you could see his irritated skin from all the clawing, red and raised. He was barefoot, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he muttered under his breath. He would have these … episodes all throughout Josephine’s life, but they were often sporadic and short. Then, as she became older, they became more abundant — and for longer periods of time. She never knew what caused them (besides, as silly as it sounds, the sun setting in the west), and she had always been too afraid to tell anyone — Would she be taken away from Beau? Besides an aunt, who she didn’t even talk to anymore, Josephine had no other relatives to take her in. And Mrs. Hall was too sickly and old to legally take Josephine in (even if she was more of a mother to her). 

        She stood behind him, the cool tiles making her dance slightly from foot to foot. “Dad,” she spoke up. It was a dream, but she had to play it through. “You need to go to sleep.”

        "Nine," Beau croaked.

        Josephine paused for a moment. Every memory she had of one of Beau’s episodes, she had never remembered him saying anything about nine. “But … it’s not nine o’clock,” she quietly protested. “It’s eleven. I have school tomorrow. You have work. C’mon —”

        "No, nine,” he insisted, his voice nothing but a distant whisper; he hardly sounded like his voice anymore. His voice would change, but never this much. The prickle of fear started to dance around Josephine’s palms. She wiped them along her sleeping shorts. “Not eleven, Josephine — nine.”

        “Al-alright.” Her voice quivered, and she quickly cleared her throat. She could try and correct her father, but she had learned to never argue too much — it made him angrier, more unpredictable. “It’s nine, Dad.”

        “The ground." Beau started to pull at his shirt again, blood caked underneath his short fingernails. He looked up suddenly, his face reflected in the glass of their small oven. Josephine swallowed nervously, taking small steps back. This wasn’t normal — or even less normal for Beau. “Sun. Darkness. Death. Plagues.”

        “Dad —” Josephine’s voice broke. Tears of fear started to pool in her eyes, and she quickly blinked them away. "C’mon, Dad, you need to sleep."

        It seemed to be as quick as light — Beau stood up, swirled around, and grabbed Josephine by the upper arm. His fingers, calloused from years of playing guitar, dug into her skin as she gasped loudly. His dark eyes were wild, like a cornered animal’s. All the work she had done, blinking away her tears from earlier, meant nothing as they quickly filled again — tears of terror and pain. Beau squeezed her arm tightly, grabbing the other one. 

        He was bent at the waist, so his and Josephine’s faces were leveled. In the cool moonlight streaming in, his face looked almost gaunt with … death. "Plagues," he insisted. "Sickness. Darkness. Death. It will infect. Josephine, do you hear me? You must stay wary. Do not let your guard down. You will suffer! It's prophesied — it is a part of her bigger plan!"

        He squeezed her arms tighter, his voice growing louder and louder. The tears that had been pooling in her eyes started to fall down her face and onto her shirt. She tried pulling out of his grip, but now, his fingernails were digging into her skin. The prickling beneath her skin was worsening — the pain was growing. His yelling grew louder and louder, becoming more and more incoherent — like a thousand voices mixing together, all trying to tell her a million things.

        "Josephine!" a voice shouted to her. A voice that definitely didn’t belong to Beau. "Hey — Josephine! C'mon, wake up! You’re lightin’ up the whole cabin, here!"

        Her eyes snapped open, and she found about six different faces peering over her. They were all yelling — something about brightness. It sounded like a hundred voices, now, and they were all complaining about the lights being turned back on.

        “Josephine!” a blond boy shouted at her. "Hey— Oh, good. You’re awake."

        “Finally …” grumbled a brunette girl beside him. 

        The blond was Luke Castellan, Cabin Eleven's Head Counselor. The brunette was his younger sister, Rose Ashford. 

        "What the hell, Josephine?" one of the other faces that had been leaning over her demanded. One of the Stoll brothers (or were they twins? She could never quite remember …) “Lights out, don’t you know?!”

        Josephine sat up in her sleeping bag, rubbing her watery eyes. "I’m sorry. I don’t — I didn’t ....” She mouthed incoherently, trying to find the words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she admitted quietly. Her voice was raw with emotion.

        Wyatt Fitzgerald, one of the last faces leaning over her, told her, “Look around. That’s what they’re all complaining about.”

        She finally took a good look around Cabin Eleven. It was incredibly — almost stupidly — bright inside the run-down. That shouldn't have been possible. It was the dead of night. It had only been a month into Josephine’s stay at Camp Half-Blood, but that was still a month to learn that lights out meant lights out. No more overhead lights, no more lamps on side tables, no more nightlights for the kids reading — no lights at all, besides the pale light given by the moon. Despite that strict rule, shadows danced around the cabin — it was almost like the sun was hovering above them all, as if it was in the room with them.

        Before she could ask what was going on, the door to Cabin Eleven slammed open. It quivered on its old hinges as an upset voice demanded, "Luke, it was your idea for the no-lights rule past curfew! Turn that damn light out!"

        Luke took in a deep breath through his nose, turning around to face the open door. “Lee,” he said calmly,” you’ll want to see this.”

        “What?” The Lee boy scoffed, rolling his eyes. The back of his blond hair was standing on end, as if he had just gotten out of bed (which, by how annoyed he was, he had). “Just turn that light out!”

        “No, you need to see this,” insisted Luke, taking a step toward Lee.

        “So I can see some stupid prank your siblings got up to?” snapped Lee. “No, thanks. Just — turn it out before the harpies come.”

        The word harpies sent a jolt down Josephine’s spine. She’s heard of harpies before, and they sounded absolutely horrible. “Harpies?” she asked, her voice croaky. She stood up quickly, tripping over her sleeping bag on Cabin Eleven’s old floorboards. “You have harpies here?”

        Luke looked back at his, his brows knitted together. “Josephine —”

        However, Lee, a blond boy with blue eyes and a striking tan, narrowed his eyes on her. Then, his eyes flickered up — to something above Josephine’s head. His brows unfurrowed as his eyes widened. “You —”

        Luke looked at Lee pointedly. “Told you — you want to see this.”

        Josephine looked all around the cabin — the light (she still wasn’t quite sure where it was coming from) was still burning brightly, everyone was shielding their eyes with their hands or pillows over their heads, but everyone was looking at her. “I … I don’t get it,” she admitted. Her ears started to burn as she picked at the skin around her fingers. “See what?”

        The only thing Luke did was point above her head. Josephine looked up, feeling that familiar pain of looking too closely at the sun. But she shielded her eyes, anyway. Above her, basking the entirety of Cabin Eleven in this golden glow, was this rotating … holograph. She wasn’t sure how else to describe it. It was like a miniature sun — golden in color, the edges of the circle pointed like a cartoonish drawing, and inside the circle, the outline of a lyre. The hologram was circling slowly, and as Josephine moved, it bobbed up and down with her.

        “Josephine.” Luke started to step away from Lee, but the boy in the doorway (who had only been angry a minute prior), was grinning from ear to ear.

        “Hush, Luke,” Lee quickly broke in. His mood had shifted dramatically in a matter of seconds. “She’s my sister —” He crossed half the cabin in what felt like record time, stepping over campers still in sleeping bags, other campers sitting up and trying to understand where the light was coming from. He grabbed Josephine by the shoulders, saying, “You’ve been claimed. You know what that means, right?”

        Josephine shifted, unable to ignore the sense of déjà vu that washed over her — the way Beau grabbed her by the arm in her nightmare and how Lee was doing so now. “Uh … sort of. I know it means that a god is claiming you as their kid.”

        “Right.” Lee nodded. He pointed above her head and at the spinning golden lyre, adding, “And that symbol’s for Apollo.” He let go of her arms, instead, draping his own arm over her shoulders. Hail Josephine Pascual. Daughter of Apollo. God of the Sun, Light, Archery, Music —”

        “And a billion other things,” snapped the other Stoll brother. (Was it Travis or Connor?) “We get it, Lee.”

        Lee glared at the boy. “... Poetry, and Prophecy,” he made out through gritted teeth. “It was only two more words, you couldn’t let me finish, Travis?”

        Josephine shivered, feeling a wave of coldness wash over her — a wave of uncertainty. Archery? Poetry? Prophecy? She was horrible at archery; poetry made really no sense at all to her; and prophecy — She’s heard all about prophetic people in the past, including the ways they were treated. Her father was the god of all of those things? It was a mistake. This couldn't be right. How could her father be a god of all these things? 

        Lee didn’t seem to notice, squeezing her shoulder. He gave her a blinding smile. "I'll take you to Cabin Seven, lil’ sis. We can tell Chiron about it in the morning —”

        “No. I mean —” She stopped short, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all. She didn’t know how to explain. And with all the eyes on her, finding the words became even harder. “I mean … I — I dunno. I just can’t be … Apollo’s daughter. It has to be a mistake.”

        Lee frowned. He gave her a stupefied look. "What do you mean? This can't be a mistake!"

        Josephine’s eyes flickered around Cabin Eleven. The kids who tried ignoring everything to continue sleeping gave up by now, watching the situation through the fading golden light of the lyre. “Forget it,” she said. 

        But Lee watched her closely. “Oh …” He nodded to himself. “You don’t think this is right because you didn’t do so well in archery practice. That’s fine! Austin — he just came to Camp a month before you — is more the music type! Maybe you are — or maybe you like poetry more!”

        Josephine knew, despite what Lee was suggesting, that she wasn’t either of those. And in front of the eyes of Cabin Eleven, she wasn’t going to make any more protests than she already had. Besides, maybe she could talk about it with Chiron. He would know what to do! (She hoped …) 

        And what Lee said — about Apollo being the God of Prophecy. She knew it was crazy to think this way, but her dreams — She knew dreams were supposed to be messages. They were to deliver information that would be helpful. And over her month-long stay at Camp Half-Blood, Josephine learned that dreams aren’t just anything for demigods. They were a very vital tool, sending messages, warnings for the future. 

        But to dream of the past? Of things that had already transpired? Josephine wasn't sure what that meant, for her or of what she was dreaming about. Beau Pascual told her that she would suffer, that it was a part of the bigger plans, and that it was prophesied. 

        It was only that Josephine didn’t want to be the “prophecy type.” Everything she’s ever read when it came to those who prophesied — Cassandra, Proteus, Tiresias, Calchas — always had a catch to the gift. No one would believe you, you would have to be captured and bound, or would be blind in exchange for the “gift,” or could die of sheer shame after a contest of your ability. She feared, if this was her “type,” what her setbacks would be. It was a scale; there had to be balance.

Chapter Text

━━━━ Why don't you correct
us  when  we  call you  POSIE?

act one!  ━━━━━━
❝ the lightning thief! ❞

━━━━ If I can call you SEAWEED
BRAIN, I guess you can call me Posie.

Starting now!
melpomelody  © 2023

Chapter Text

chapter one
❛ the minotaur slayer ❜

━━━━━  THE WHISPERS OF a boy who had managed to kill the Minotaur was the only thing Josephine heard the morning after, and of course, she already knew that — she saw flashes of the fight in her dreams. She saw the lightning, the explosion of a red car, three figures (one limping along as they leaned on another) as they climbed Half-Blood Hill, one figure melting into a shimmering golden form until they disappeared into nothing, and the Minotaur's horn being snapped right off the top of his head. The nasty crunch! was the thing to wake Josephine up, and she had been so certain that she could hear it echo across the valley; however, from her dream to her reality, it went from nighttime to daytime. The sun was starting to rise, and Josephine swore she had already started hearing the whispers of the boy who killed the Minotaur.

        But perhaps that could have just been her whispers; whispers under her breath as she started getting ready in her cabin to head for the dining pavilion. It all seemed to be her whispers, in the beginning at least. Straight from Cabin Six’s, Athena’s cabin, mouth (dining pavilion neighbors of Cabin Seven), Josephine heard from Malcolm that Annabeth had gone to speak with Chiron about the weird things happening (to demand a quest, if Josephine knew Annabeth at least a little bit — which she did) the night before, and as she was pleading with Chiron, there was a thump! on the front porch and when they rushed out there — there was the boy Chiron had been sent to New York City for and the satyr who had found the boy, Grover Underwood. The boy (his name was something along the lines of … Percy Jackson) and Grover were both lying on the front porch of the Big House, and then — they passed out.

        At least, that was the story Josephine heard from Malcolm, who had heard it all from Annabeth, a daughter of Athena and Head Counselor for Cabin Six. Josephine couldn’t vex the story by Grover's keen senses as he was currently getting grilled by the Council of Cloven Elders (and if Josephine heard the rumors correctly, Grover had already had one hoof out the door). 

        And Josephine soon learned that the mighty killer of the Minotaur was a rather scrawny-looking twelve-year-old boy. And that he also drooled in his sleep — a lot, at that.

        Beyond the vague visions and the sliver of information she had gotten out of Malcolm, that’s all Josephine knew — his name was Percy, he killed the Minotaur, he was scrawny, and he drooled in his sleep. He also had messy black hair, which was curly now as it had dried from the rain last night. He still had mud streaking his clothes and face, and Josephine could see cuts and blood staining his pale face. His eyebrows were pinched together in his sleep, and she figured he was having a bad dream — typical for half-bloods.

        He really did drool in his sleep. Josephine was almost a little disgusted by it.

        Josephine had been placed on infirmary duty. Regardless, it hardly mattered as Annabeth practically haunted the place like a ghost, waiting for the moment this Percy boy would wake up. That was how Annabeth always was whenever there was any new kid who showed even a bit of promise at Camp Half-Blood. She was even like this with Josephine for a time — until Josephine was claimed by Apollo and not by Zeus (not that she was complaining, learning what happened to the last daughter of Zeus …). In fact, she was almost glad Annabeth was there. It meant Josephine didn’t have to feed the drooling boy some mashed ambrosia. 

        However, as she watched Annabeth, she started to hear Michael and Lee, her older brothers, in her head. She’s not doing it properly! She knew Michael would bemoan. You have to be gentle with the patients. It was ironic that Michael ever thought that way, considering just how much of a hot-head he was in every other aspect. Lee would try and gently correct Annabeth, not counting the fact that Annabeth rarely ever took criticism well (a con of being the daughter of Athena and Head Counselor of Cabin Six only at age twelve). 

        “Um … Annabeth?” Josephine started, her eyes flickering between the daughter of Athena and the boy lying in the infirmary. “You’re gonna kill him.”

        Annabeth threw her a nasty look. However, she rolled her eyes and blew a couple of blonde braids out of her face. "Am not. But if you really think so, why don’t you do it?”

        Josephine looked at the boy anxiously for a second. For a split second, she swore something flashed across her vision — something golden, like swords crossing — but when she blinked again, it was gone. “Um … no.” She laughed nervously, the sound rippling out from her throat. “Definitely no. I’d somehow hurt him more than he is already.”

        Annabeth stared at her for a moment. Then she huffed loudly, turning back around. "Posie,” Josephine quickly looked at her for the use of the nickname, “I know you're not a great healer and all, but feeding him some ambrosia isn't going to kill him."

        But Josephine eyed the boy. Dreams were something she was used to — but not dreams in the typical demigod fashion. No, she had dreams about the past and future; cryptic dreams that she was never sure what they were supposed to mean. Dreams that scared her. She supposed that made them nightmares, then. But what scared her more was that flash — Was it swords crossing? — as something like that; a vision while awake; had never happened before. And she had no idea how to tell Annabeth/ She had never tried telling anyone before, too scared of how they’d react to Josephine’s claims that she could see the past and future in her dreams. 

        So, she only shook her head. “Uh … no. I’d kill him — somehow.” 

        Annabeth frowned at the daughter of Apollo, her expression miffed at her apprehension. But she turned around, no longer arguing (though it looked like she still wanted to, as Annabeth always felt the strong desire to have the last word). 

        The odd thing was, the longer Josephine watched Percy Jackson drool in his sleep, the more encompassing this sense of déjà vu became. She racked her brain, trying to figure out why he was so familiar, then — Fires; bloodbaths; green eyes; yellow eyes; slowing of time; a golden knife. Flashes of a dream she had the first night she stayed in Cabin Eleven two years ago. She had long forgotten about the dream, but she felt a shiver crawl up her spine.

        Annabeth didn’t notice, spooning some ambrosia into Percy’s mouth. That little bit seemed to do the trick as the next moment, his eyelids fluttered. Both girls went rigid, with Annabeth leaning back in her chair, as Percy Jackson woke up in a daze. They stared like deer caught in headlights as Percy’s eyes fluttered for a moment longer — until they opened fully, and Josephine saw sea-green eyes. She winced silently, moving to cradle the bridge of her nose as she felt jabbing pains behind her eyes. 

        Percy looked between the two, confusion written clearly across his face. “W-what?” he croaked, his voice hardly louder than a whisper.

        Annabeth quickly recovered from her shock, dropping the spoon on his sheets and the cup of ambrosia on the bedside table. She leaned forward, nearly knocking her head with his, demanding, "What's going on? What's going to happen at the Summer Solstice?"

        "Annabeth!" Josephine groaned, her voice exasperated. She reached forward, trying to pull Annabeth back into her seat; however, the daughter of Athena only shook her off. "He won't know anything!"

        "You don't know that!" Annabeth bit back, turning back around in her seat to face Percy. She started peppering him with questions again as he blinked slowly: "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!”

        "I'm — I’m sorry," the boy mumbled. He shook his head slightly, paling drastically. "I don't ..."

        Suddenly, someone knocked on the door to the infirmary, causing both girls to jump out of their skin. Quickly, Annabeth picked up the spoon and cup, shoving a spoonful of ambrosia in Percy’s mouth. Josephine was worried he was going to choke; however, just as he finished that bite, he fell asleep. 

        Josephine looked over, ready to fuss at Annabeth for what she had just done, when Lee Fletcher strolled inside. He was Josephine’s older brother and her Head Counselor for Cabin Seven. He grinned at her and Annabeth. "Archery practice, Posie," he told her. Then, he looked at Annabeth, asking, "Posie's okay to leave, right?"

        Annabeth stared at the son of Apollo for a moment, looking almost worried that he had heard her grilling the unconscious boy. However, when Lee did not do such a thing, she looked at Percy with a sour expression, miffed her all her questions had gotten her nowhere. She scooped up another spoonful of ambrosia, shifting in her seat. “Yeah, sure. Posie’s fine to leave."

        Lee slung his arm over Josephine's shoulder, guiding her outside of the infirmary. "What d'you reckon Michael's already at practice?" he asked her with a grin.

        Josephine tried for a smile. "And you know he’s going to be upset if we’re any later than we already are.”

        “Well …” Lee shrugged. “I’m Head Counselor and he’s not, so there’s not much he can do ‘bout it.” He glanced back at the infirmary. "Did the boy say anything? Percy, was it?"

        Josephine gave her brother an odd, betrayed look — it wasn’t entirely a betrayed look, but it was almost disbelief that her brother was giving in to the rumors about the boy like all the other campers. "Not you too! You don't really believe those rumors, do you? About him being the one? Annabeth’s been on about that since I came to Camp.”

        (She was never going to admit aloud as to why she believed the rumors. She couldn’t imagine the teasing she’d get from Michael and Austin if they heard her talking about seeing Percy in some dreams.)

        "I mean ..." Lee trailed off, shrugging lightly. "Weird things are happening, Posie. It's possible."

        Josephine didn't respond after that. She didn’t know what to say to him. Part of her wondered if she finally had a good time to tell Lee about the dreams that had been following her for her whole life. But she knew he would start prodding, asking more and more questions, and she didn’t want to think about it too much. 

        Lee always suggested she was the poetry or music type, but … 

        Josephine loved music; she had also tried her hand at poetry; however, those things never stuck to her the way dreams did. And there was a time when she wished to have something connecting her to her father. Some small connection that would make her feel like she was the same as everyone else. Something to make her feel like she wasn't some mistake Apollo didn't want to think about. Now, she was realizing just how wrong she had been to wish for such a thing.

✿

"But, Chiron!" Josephine protested, her hands jutting out as she gave him a shocked look. "That doesn't make any sense!"

        The centaur gave her a warning look for the loudness and tone. "You and Annabeth have been elected to help Mr. Jackson settle into Camp."

        Josephine looked around the Big House porch, her expression painted with disbelief and absurdity. Mr. D (short for Dionysus) didn’t care, not that she was surprised at all — he never cared about anything (except for his two demigod sons, when he could have his next Diet Coke, and the next round of pinochle with Chiron). Annabeth, however, had her arms crossed over her chest, her eyebrows pinched together as she watched. When Josephine locked eyes with the daughter of Athena, she only shrugged as if to say in pity for Josephine, the look reading, What can you do about it?

        It had been a few days since she and Annabeth had been in the infirmary, and now, it was only a couple of days before June. With the return of summer, Camp Half-Blood was filled with many more campers; no longer was it just the year-rounders anymore. The sword arena, Canoe Lake, lava wall, and even Arts & Craft Center were no longer empty — now, they, plus the woods and surrounding fields, were buzzing with life and energy. Josephine often forgot how much she loved summer until it was fall and winter; however, then she often forgot how she loved being alone until there were no empty spaces to find during the summer session of Camp Half-Blood, especially from the Ares Cabin. They were always picking fights with people, especially from her cabin, Cabin Seven, since they were neighbors. 

        She had only lived at Camp for two years, but she had never felt at home in any other place (not that this was saying much since she had only ever lived in D.C.). She had no idea what the people in her odd life were up to — Beau, Mrs. Hall, even her aunt (who Beau had cut off years and years ago), and Josephine could never bring herself to write a letter to send to them. She was too afraid either way — if they would respond and what they would respond with, and if they never replied … and what that meant. Did it mean they hated her? Had they finally figured out that a life without Josephine was better than a life with her? Or, as she always silently worried (but never had the guts to utter aloud), that they were dead?

        She figured she would always be too afraid ever to reach out to those people. Too afraid to try and open the door to any communication with the mortal world. That doesn’t mean she never wondered — about everything. Why did Apollo ever look at Beau in the first place? Why did Apollo decide that Beau should have a demigod kid? Why did Mrs. Hall agree to practically take Josephine in and become a surrogate mother? Why did Beau cut off Josephine’s aunt when Sylvia was agreeing to take Josephine in for him? And Josephine didn’t know a lot of what she once knew. Whether Beau and Mrs. Hall were still in D.C. (more so, though she never dwelled on it too much, whether either of them was still alive), if Sylvia even cared about Josephine anymore, or if Sylvia and Beau still had bad blood between them. She always wondered if her father, Beau, managed to move on. Did he finally get with someone and have a couple of kids? She wondered if he finally had the family he had always denied the two of them having. 

        Josephine frowned to herself, looking between the three people on the wooden porch once more. However, she only huffed quietly and leaned against the railing of the Big House. The Long Island Sound sprawled out before her, glittering brightly in the sunlight. “This isn’t fair …” she muttered under her breath, glaring down at the Canoe Lake.

        That morning at breakfast, with many of the tables still whispering about the boy with the Minotaur horn, Josephine had been called to the Big House porch by Chiron. She already had a bad feeling about the command. It was always a bad thing to be singled out; it never meant anything good — you were in trouble, there was something only you could do, or it was the gods meddling in your business (something they were prone to do), and it now became a mess for you to clean up.

        But what Chiron asked her to do was something anybody could do — give Percy Jackson a customary tour of Camp Half-Blood by a fellow camper. Hades, even Annabeth Chase was doing it! Why did two campers have to help give the tour? It just didn’t make sense. Annabeth was already going to give the tour to Percy. It wasn’t like Josephine helped him any in the infirmary, as both Annabeth and Josephine were honest about who gave Percy the ambrosia. And it wasn’t like Josephine went out of her way to be friendly with people (if anything, she was the recluse of Cabin Seven; the recluse of the whole of Camp). 

        Annabeth leaned her back against the railing, crossing only one leg over the other. She nudged Josephine with her elbow. "It’s better than me having to do it all by myself."

        Josephine’s frown twisted a little more, her expression clear that she didn’t agree. “Did you tell him to do this?” she asked, despite knowing how far-fetched the accusation was. “Why?”

        The daughter of Athena shrugged. "Better than picking strawberries right now, isn't it?"

        Josephine only rolled her eyes at the non-answer answer. The morning chore for Cabin Seven that day was picking strawberries from the patches. In all honesty, she would've preferred to have done that. It would have been far better of a morning than having to constantly look at the face of a boy she had weird dreams of.

        She looked toward the rest of Camp Half-Blood before her. They were on the north shore of Long Island, with the valley Camp Half-Blood was built upon marching all the way up to the Long Island Sound, which glittered for about a mile in the distance. The landscape was dotted with buildings that were built to replicate ancient Greek architecture — an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, and a circular arena. However, instead of having that worn-down look way over in Greece, all of the buildings here were pristine, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen campers and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across the small Canoe Lake. Kids in bright orange Camp T-shirts were chasing each other around the cluster of twelve cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and some flew overhead with pegasi. Over in the strawberry fields, Josephine caught sight of her half-siblings; Austin caught sight of her, and he gave a grand wave over the top of his head before being rushed back to work by Michael.

        At the card table on the porch, Chiron and Mr. D sat on opposite sides, in the middle of a game of pinochle.

        Dionysus, or Mr. D as he went by for the campers (and yes, he really was the God of Wine), had light stubble on his chin. Deep-set in his narrow face, purple eyes glinted in the sunlight. His black hair curled around his face as he frowned down at his cards. He always tried to pretend he was the better player between him and Chiron, but everyone knew he really wasn’t. It wasn’t typical to have a god at Camp, especially a god who lived there full time; however, Mr. D had gotten in trouble with Zeus for chasing some off-limit nymph and was sacked from Mount Olympus to measly old Camp Half-Blood, where he became Camp Director for his stay (not that he directed anything). 

        Chiron smiled pleasantly down at his cards. He currently sat in a motorized wheelchair, hiding his lower horse half. He had thinning brown hair and a scruffy beard. And he had on his favorite coffee-scented, frayed tweed jacket despite the radiating heat of the May summer day.

        "Mr. Brunner!" a voice cried out, breaking the weird silence.

        Josephine turned to look for the source. She found Percy Jackson, no longer passed out and drooling, hobbling his way toward them. Grover Underwood, the satyr who had found the boy in New York City, was trailing just a few steps behind. Percy still looked sickly, but not nearly as bad as before. Now that he was awake, any evidence of drooling was gone. He stood at her height roughly, with a change of clothes — cargo shorts and a T-shirt from a camper long ago, with odd stains and old nicks from the previous owner. His hair was even messier than before, which Josephine found impossible — but here it was. The hair on the back of his head stuck straight out, and the front pieces looked like he had tried to lay them down (but they only lay awkwardly into his eyes). In his hands, the Minotaur's horn was held tightly, held in front of his stomach as if afraid he would somehow lose it.

        Chiron looked up from his pinochle cards, smiling at Percy. His eyes were mischievous as they were framed by smile wrinkles. "Ah, good, Percy," he greeted, setting the cards down (though careful to set them face down from Mr. D’s wandering eye). "Now we have four for pinochle."

        The centaur offered Percy a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at him with bloodshot eyes. When Percy stalled, his jaw dipping slightly at the sight of the god, and Mr. D heaved a great sigh as he noticed. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There.” He waved his hand lazily at Percy, who glanced at Grover and Chiron. “Now don't expect me to be glad to see you."

        "Uh … thanks." Percy slowly slid into the open seat, keeping a close eye on the god. As subtly as he could, he tried to scoot the chair away, but he only ended up making a huge ruckus in the settling silence. 

        "Annabeth, Josephine?" Chiron called to them.

        Josephine didn’t step forward immediately; however, Annabeth clamped her arm with hers, their inner elbows locking together. Josephine’s feet dragged along the old boards as Annabeth pulled her along. Chiron acted as if he hadn’t seen the small scuffle, turning back to Percy, who watched them like they were two-headed monsters. "These young ladies nursed you back to health, Percy. Annabeth, Josephine — why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in Cabin Eleven for now."

        Josephine tried to hide her grimace. She really didn't want to spend any time with Percy if possible. The brief flashes of an old dream scared her more than she knew at the time. As she stewed on the flash, the more her fear grew. Nothing like that had ever happened before, and she didn’t want to know what it meant that her dreams and reality were starting to blur. 

        Annabeth didn’t seem to notice Josephine’s apprehension, nodding to the centaur. "Sure, Chiron,” she agreed. But perhaps she didn’t notice Josephine’s feelings on the matter because she was too busy eyeing the black-and-white horn clutched in Percy’s hands — the Minotaur horn. It had a jagged base and a bloody tip, like Percy had ripped the horn right off the Minotaur’s head and stabbed him with it (which, from her dreams, wasn’t too far from the truth — if her dreams were real, that is …). 

        Annabeth looked up from the Minotaur horn, her grey eyes locking on Percy’s face. She opened her mouth and declared, "You drool when you sleep."

        After that riveting declaration, the daughter of Athena practically jumped down the steps up to the porch, her braided hair flying behind her in a ponytail as she started to run across the grass and toward the cluster of cabins. 

        Josephine's eyes widened as Annabeth ran off; Percy had gone redder than anyone she had ever seen before. “Um …” She glanced off after Annabeth. “It’s nice to me you,” she half-lied. “I’m Josephine!” She waved hurriedly, running after the daughter of Athena. 

✿

Josephine ran across the grass, her feet keeping in time with the girl in front of her by some feet. "Annabeth!" she shouted angrily as they ran past the Camp Forges, which had smoke billowing out of some smokestacks, and the armory. She could see the twelve cabins coming closer, all lined up in an odd U shape.

        The twelve cabins — for the twelve Olympians — were nestled in the woods by the Canoe Lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five on either side. For first-time viewers, they definitely had to be the most bizarre collection of buildings. The only thing every cabin had in common was a bronze number nailed above each door (with odd numbers on the left, those were for the gods; the cabins with even numbers were set on the right side, for the goddesses). Number nine — the cabin for Hephaestus — had smokestacks like a tiny factory, and the inside was decked out with all kinds of technology built by the inhabitants. Number four, Demeter’s cabin, had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Cabin Seven, Josephine's cabin, appeared to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight that it was almost impossible to look at. Every cabin faced a common area about the size of a soccer field, and the open areas were dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops. And in the center of the field was a huge stone-lined fire pit. A hearth modeled after Hestia's hearth up on Olympus; it was in honor of her. Despite the warm afternoon, the hearth still smoldered.

        The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums — big white marble boxes with heavy Ionic-style columns in front. Cabin One was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered something like a holograph, so that from different angles, lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin Two was more graceful in an odd way, with slimmer columns that were decorated with pomegranates and flowers from top to bottom, woven around the marble-white columns. The walls of the cabin were carved with images of peacocks.

        Cabins for Zeus and Hera, respectively. 

        And then there was Cabin Three, the cabin for Poseidon. It was long, low, and solid. The outer walls were of rough grey stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been brought straight from the bottom of the ocean floor and left on land to dry out and make walls with. Number five, Ares Cabin, was bright red — a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists (and maybe some body slams as well, by the looks of it). The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, right above the tacked-on bronze 5. 

        Josephine stopped right before the door of Cabin Eleven, the Hermes Cabin, placing her hands on her hips. Despite not having stayed in the cabin for two years now, she spent a lot of time there because of Wyatt and Rose, two of her friends. Wyatt was a son of Dike, Goddess of Justice, and because his mother didn’t have a cabin, he was shuffled inside Cabin Eleven, along with all the other children of minor gods, or the unclaimed half-bloods, Ethan Nakamura included, one of Wyatt’s best friends (besides Josephine, that is). Rose was a daughter of Hermes, so she fit inside the cabin perfectly, causing mayhem and trouble for everyone else with a big smile on her face (problems her older brother Luke, or even Chiron, would have to clean up).

        Annabeth had swung the old door open, strolling inside. She often spent a lot of time at Cabin Eleven as well, just for Luke Castellan, Rose’s older half-brother and Head Counselor of Cabin Eleven. Josephine didn’t have all the details, but she didn’t need them to know Annabeth and Luke were especially close. She also didn’t need to know that Annabeth had an almost embarrassing crush on Luke, either (feelings that the son of Hermes clearly didn’t reciprocate). 

        Josephine stalled at the door, seeing no sign of Wyatt, Rose, or even Luke. It was odd that she saw no signs of Luke, considering that when the cabin had any downtime in their schedule, he spent most of it in the cabin (or in the Sword Fighting Arena). But the Head Counselor’s absence wasn’t felt too much as it was still bustling with other campers (but … perhaps his absence was felt because Luke always tried his best to keep the cabin in line — but his efforts were often in vain). Cabin Eleven was the most cabin-esque of all the cabins. It had peeling brown paint, and some of the wooden boards were rotting from age. Over the door, a caduceus was nailed to the wall, and a bronze 11 was crooked above the caduceus as a nail started to come loose.

        With no Luke in sight, Annabeth went to the campers who were considered second-in-command — the Stoll brothers. "Seriously, Travis," the daughter of Athena sighed, rolling her eyes. "Sleeping bag. You know where one is?”

        Admittedly, Josephine still had a lot of trouble telling the Stoll brothers apart — Travis and Connor. She knew Travis was the older brother (there was something, like, eighteen months between them — that was if they weren’t pulling her leg when they told her that, of course), and she knew one of them was a little taller than the other with a couple more freckles along the face. However, unless you had them back-to-back, comparing where their heads stopped, she couldn’t tell them apart. How Annabeth did it, Josephine had no idea.

        This one was seemingly Travis, and he shrugged lazily. He was spindly, with a mop of curly brown hair that hung into his gleaming blue eyes. He had elfish features, like most of his siblings — upturned eyebrows, a sarcastic smile, and a gleam in his eyes. "Sorry, Annie —" he started to say.

        "Don't call me that,” Annabeth cut in, her tone short.

        "— I dunno where one's is." He shrugged again, tucking his hands into his cargo pants pockets.

        Josephine sighed and walked inside, careful where she stepped as Hermes’s kids were notorious for being a mess. "Do you know where Luke's at, then?"

        Travis shook his head. "Luke's busy, Posie."

        Her brows knitted at the nickname. "Can you not call me that?" she asked. "You know I hate it."

        Travis shrugged again, his lips pulling down in a sorry-but-not-sorry manner. "Lee calls you Posie all the time," he pointed out. "Anyway, Cecil nearly got his hand chopped off. Ares Cabin. He pissed one of them off."

        Josephine shared a look with Annabeth. "Sherman?" the blonde asked, tilting her head to one side slightly.

        Travis nodded. "Probably," he agreed.

        "So … you,” Annabeth jabbed the son of Hermes in the chest, though he hardly staggered, “can't go and get supplies?"

        The boy rolled his eyes, but he relented with a, "... Fine. I'll do it. I'll get the stupid supplies." Everyone knew how relentless Annabeth was when she wanted something.

        Annabeth watched the son of Hermes leave the cabin with her keen, grey eyes. When Travis was out of sight, heading in the direction of the Camp Store, she turned to Josephine. "Someone’s gonna have to check that stuff before Percy gets it," she told the daughter of Apollo.

        Josephine stared at where Travis had just been. “Yeah,” she agreed, but added, “but I think shaving cream or a bunch of glitter in a sleeping bag is better than — I dunno — Clarisse's version of camp initiation."

        Josephine picked at the skin around her fingernails, waiting for Chiron and Percy to arrive at Cabin Eleven. She and Annabeth sat on the front porch of the cabin, their backs to the wall and knees up to their chest as they waited. Annabeth was talking brightly about some blueprints she had recently created. Her love for architecture wasn't too shocking considering her mother — Athena, the Goddess of Arts. Josephine learned it was a common thing for Athena’s children to love architecture. The cabin was practically filled to the brim with blueprints upon blueprints; they had desks for even individual bunk beds so the inhabitants could work on whatever they were mapping out at that time. The dedication wasn’t too shocking, she supposes, considering the state of Cabin Seven — music stands everywhere, cases for instruments, old sheet music, crumpled papers filled with half-written poetry, or even rolls of medical tape or bottles of some kind of healing ointment. It was common for demigods to take on attributes of their godly parents (which made Josephine so butt hurt by what she seemingly took on from Apollo). 

        Annabeth grinned brightly at Josephine, her grey eyes gleaning against her dark skin. She had recently braided her hair, deciding to mix in some blonde for something new. It was Silena Beauregard's idea, Josephine was pretty sure. Either way, she thought the blonde complimented Annabeth nicely. "I think I perfected it this time, Posie," said Annabeth. She brushed some braids back, continuing, "Last time, the model wasn't sturdy and would shake anytime I moved it. It would wobble even when someone walked next to it. But I put more supports this go around and —"

        But her face dropped, making Josephine turn her head out to the front of them. Walking toward them were Chiron and Percy. Annabeth quickly stood up, pulling Josephine to her feet by the arm, who made an audible noise that was an odd mix of a groan and a grunt. Percy was eyeing them, as if waiting for Annabeth to make another snide remark and run off somewhere. Chiron was out of his wheelchair now; apparently, he decided Percy could handle the fact that he was a centaur and not wheelchair-bound.

        "Girls," Chiron greeted as he and Percy stopped in front of Cabin Eleven. "I have a master's archery class at noon. Would you take Percy from here?"

        Josephine faltered. "But, sir, you have it with my cabin —"

        Chiron smiled, raising his hand for her to pause. "I'll tell Lee where you are, Josephine," he promised.

        Annabeth nodded. "We will, sir."

        "Then … Cabin Eleven," said Chiron, his upper body turning to look down at Percy. He gestured towards the doorway with one hand, his other on Percy’s shoulder in what Josephine assumed was supposed to be a comforting manner. "Make yourself at home," he told Percy.

        Josephine tried to hide another grimace. The inside of Cabin Eleven wasn’t a pretty sight. As they stepped through the door, she saw Percy’s face drop as he saw just how crowded it was. There weren’t enough bunks for the number of campers, and so, most of them found a spot on the floor with rolled-out sleeping bags. That was the thing, the Hermes Cabin didn’t just take Hermes’s kids, but every demigod without a cabin — unclaimed demigods, or children of minor gods and goddesses. And, well, there were a lot of those; there was one too many. 

        The door was too low for Chiron to enter, but the campers all stood and bowed when they spotted him. (Though, a couple of kids had to be smacked on the back of the head to even look.)

        "Well, then," he said, his chest rising and falling as he sighed. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner." Then, he galloped away, towards the archery range. Josephine frowned as she watched him head down the slope, wishing she could struggle through a lesson of archery rather than this.

        Annabeth had slipped inside the cabin before Percy, and Josephine stood a little behind the boy awkwardly, her head peering around the door frame he stood in. Percy was frozen in the doorway, staring back at all the kids looking at him. The campers weren’t bowing anymore. Now, they were staring at him, sizing him up; they wanted to know if he would be an easy target.

        Josephine gave him a quick, hopefully encouraging smile before quickly nudging him inside with her hand on his back. She knew what it was like to be the new kid at Camp. How scary and alone you felt in a place where it seemed that everyone already had their friends and cliques.

        However, her kind gesture sent Percy sprawling onto the creaky floorboards. It wasn’t entirely her fault — the loose floorboard and Percy’s weird step were really to blame — but she still winced silently with guilt and awkwardness. At least her first introduction to Cabin Eleven hadn't been like that — just an awkward Hi on her end as everyone stared at her like she had antennas for ears. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything as Percy jumped back onto his feet, his face flushed with embarrassment.

        Annabeth shook her head slightly, annoyed at the boy. But she took a deep breath and announced, “Percy Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven.”

        "Regular or undetermined?" someone Josephine couldn’t see asked from the back.

        "He's undetermined," she answered.

        A loud groan rippled throughout the cabin. Josephine saw a look of hurt flash across Percy’s face. But someone held up his hand, stepping past one of the younger campers of Cabin Eleven. As people spotted him, they quieted down with their complaints, turning to their neighbors to grumble under their breath. The older teenager said with a gentle, but firm, voice: "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy.” He gave the black-haired boy a smile. “You can have that spot on the floor — that one, right there.”

        That was Luke Castellan, the nineteen-year-old son of Hermes. He had a particularly charming look about him, even despite the crooked and mischievous smile. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy blond hair. Despite the charmingness to him, Josephine was never quite sure how genuine it all was; she often felt she should be checking over her shoulder or patting down her pockets while around him. He wore an orange Camp shirt with the sleeves cut off, some worn-down sandals, and a leather necklace with the same number of beads as Annabeth’s — five. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw.

        Annabeth simply glowed at the sight of him. She quickly hid a smile and cleared her throat loudly, nodding to him. "This is Luke," she told Percy, her voice taking on a different edge. "He's your counselor for now."

        Percy frowned at her. "For now?" he repeated.

        "You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin Eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the God of Travelers."

        Josephine looked at the inhabitants of Cabin Eleven as Percy made his way over to the small spot Luke had claimed for him. She hated her time in Cabin Eleven; she didn't miss it at all. She never exactly felt like a daughter of Apollo, but she was glad her father still had claimed her. That was better than some — there were one too many who never got claimed at all.

        Percy was looking at his new cabinmates. His hand stayed tightly clenched around the Minotaur horn. "How long will I be here?" he asked, looking back at Luke.

        "Good question," the son of Hermes admitted. "Until you're determined."

        "How long will that take?"

        The campers all laughed. But the laughs weren't humorous; they were cynical and mocking.

        Josephine could see the embarrassment and, now, anger spreading across Percy’s face again. He frowned at the people laughing at him, looking at a loss for words. “Hey, Percy, want to see the volleyball court?”

        "I've already seen it," he informed her, frowning at what he must assume to be a ridiculous question.

        "Well." She grabbed him by the wrist to pull him along behind her. "You can see it a second time. To make sure you know where it is."

        She dragged Percy out the door behind her. And just before Annabeth closed the door, Josephine could already hear the loud laughter raging inside Cabin Eleven.

Chapter Text

chapter two
❛ downsides of godliness ❜

━━━━━  THE SILENCE WAS already suffocating, and Josephine, Annabeth, and Percy had only walked a few feet away from Cabin Eleven. Josephine was shoved between the other two, her shoulders hunched as she tried not to bump into either (and so she wouldn’t have to say anything to them, too). She wanted to break the silence; however, every time she tried, one of them would huff — Annabeth was miffed and annoyed, while Percy was confused and angry. 

        Josephine glanced between them, her fingers getting caught up in the end of her shirt as she fiddled with it nervously. She knew Annabeth was holding out hope that Percy was “the one” she had been waiting years for; however, she had never seen Annabeth treat any new campers like this — like they were something so bothersome. Maybe it was just her disappointment finally boiling over after so many years. 

        Eventually, she hit her own personal breaking point, the silence growing too suffocating. She opened her mouth, no longer worried about what words she would say, just to have any words break the silence — but then, Annabeth beat her to the punch with a snappy opener of: "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

        Josephine pursed her lips, staying silent and looking off. 

        Percy gave Annabeth an offended look, his frown deepening. "What?"

        The daughter of Athena rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one ..."

        "What's your problem?" Percy demanded, the frown turning into a deep scowl as his eyes narrowed in on Annabeth (though she stood taller than both him and Josephine, so the glare wasn't that intimidating as he had hoped). "All I know is, I kill some bull guy —"

        "The Minotaur," Josephine corrected quickly. "You killed the Minotaur."

        "Whatever,” Percy snapped, glaring at her. “Minotaur, bull guy — same difference!"

        "Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told him with a harsh tone. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

        "Oh." Percy scoffed incredulously and rolled his eyes. "To get killed? What an honor, Annabeth."

        "To fight the Minotaur!” she hissed back, stomping her foot. “What do you think we train for?"

        "To not get killed …" Josephine muttered, her arms crossing over her chest defeatedly. Some tour this was turning out to be …

        Suddenly, Percy stopped dead in his tracks, leaving Annabeth and Josephine to both skid to stop in front of him. The daughter of Apollo spun around, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion; however, Percy still had his eyes narrowed on Annabeth, his anger slowly melting into what looked like disbelief. He shook his head, saying, "Look, if the thing I fought really was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories ..."

        "It was." Josephine nodded, starting to grow a little impatient. "Yes."

        "Then there's only one."

        "Also yes."

        "And he died — like — a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So ..."

        Josephine frowned slightly. "Monsters don't die, Percy. Not like us, at least. They can get killed, but they don’t stay dead — unfortunately for us.”

        Percy’s face twisted at her words. "Oh, thanks," he said sarcastically. "That really clears it up for me."

        Josephine’s frown deepened, unhappy with the way Percy responded to her. "They don't have souls. Not the way we do. So, when you kill them, you can dispel them — hopefully, for a long time, too. Maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they’re primal forces; archetypes. You can kill a monster, but eventually, it’ll re-form. They always do.”

        Percy chewed on his bottom lip, quiet for a long moment. "So … you mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword —"

        "The Fu —" Annabeth suddenly stopped, correcting herself, "I mean, your math teacher. That's right.” She nodded, placing her hands on her hips. “She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

        Percy narrowed his eyes on Annabeth again. "How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

        Josephine shared a quick glance with Annabeth. “... You talk in your sleep,” she admitted, suddenly aware of how weird it sounded. She wasn't going to tell him about everything she had learned in those few moments she was in the infirmary — Percy had a math teacher, named Mrs. Dodds, who had attacked him; how he managed to kill her with a sword that Chiron had given him in the heat of the moment; that his mother had vanished at the hands of the Minotaur shortly before Percy managed to kill the monster (admittedly, that part Josephine learned from her dreams the night of).

        "Annabeth almost called her something," Percy noticed, snapping his finger as he tried to remember. "A Fury? They're Hades's torturers, right?"

        Josephine winced at the name. "Be careful with names, Percy," she advised. "Especially those names. Here we call them the Kindly Ones — if we have to speak about them at all."

        Percy’s stare went flat as he scoffed quietly. "Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" he demanded, sounding whiny. His hand flung back towards the smaller figure of the Hermes Cabin. "Why do I have to stay in Cabin Eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there." He pointed to the first few cabins: the cabins for Zeus, Hera, and Poseidon.

        Annabeth’s expression turned a little nervous. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy,” she tried to explain. “It depends on who your parents are. Or ... your parent."

        Percy stared at the two blankly. He seemingly knew they were waiting for a certain answer, but he gritted his teeth. "My mom is Sally Jackson," he informed them. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least … she used to.”

        Josephine and Annabeth shared another quick look, and even Annabeth’s steely stare faltered for a moment. Both knew Percy had lost his mom in the fight, and neither knew how to comfort him about it. Josephine licked her lips. "I'm sorry about your mom, Percy,” she started, her voice as gentle as she could muster, “but … that’s not what Annabeth means. She’s talking about your other parent.”

        "He's dead.” Percy shrugged, though it was clear his shoulders tensed. “I never knew him."

        Josephine didn’t want to pry too much, but …

        Annabeth beat her to the punch. "Your father’s not dead, Percy.” With such a blunt tone, it was clear this was not Annabeth’s first time “bursting the bubble,” so to speak.

        Percy immediately went on the defense. “How can you say that? You know him or something?”

        “No, of course not.” Annabeth rolled her eyes, like the answer was obvious.

        "Then how can you say —?"

        "Because I know you. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t one of us."

        "You don't know anything about me," Percy snapped angrily.

        “No?” The daughter of Athena raised an eyebrow at him, a not-so-subtle challenge on her knowledge. “I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them.”

        Percy’s face flushed in an instant. “How —?"

        "Diagnosed with dyslexia." Annabeth started listing it off on her fingers.  "Probably ADHD, too."

        Percy swallowed harshly and flexed his jaw. "What does that have to do with anything?"

        "It has to do with everything," Josephine broke in, hoping a gentler approach would work better. “It’s not bad, it’s just … trademarks, I s’pose. Those are all sure signs. Letters float off the page when you read, right? ‘Cause your brain is hardwired for Ancient Greek, not any modern language like English. And the ADHD — you're impulsive, can't sit still. That's all battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive.” She crossed her arms over her chest, self-conscious about the way Percy glared at her. “As for the attention problems — you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. ‘Course the teachers want you medicated. Most of ‘em are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are — most of us are good at seeing those kinds of patterns with the ADHD."

        Percy pursed his lips. "You sound like ..." He looked between her and Annabeth. "You sound like you went through the same thing?"

        "Most of us did,” Josephine replied with a nod. "I mean — Think about it, Percy, if you weren’t like us, there’s no way you could’ve survived, much less have killed, the Minotaur. And that’s not even talking about ambrosia and nectar — those burn up any mortal when they get even a sliver of it."

        "Ambrosia and nectar."

        "The food and drink we were giving you to make you better," answered Annabeth. "Posie’s right, that stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand — you'd be dead. Face it, Percy. You're a half-blood."

        He repeated the word half-blood to himself quietly, looking down at his feet as his brows furrowed. Josephine watched him carefully, feeling for him. She knew all the questions that had to be storming his mind. She had no idea how to help the kid who just had his entire life flipped on its head. 

        Suddenly, a husky voice yelled, "Well! A newbie!"

        Josephine nearly groaned at the voice, recognizing it — Clarisse La Rue, the daughter of Ares. She was the Head Counselor for Cabin Five, Ares’s cabin, and most of his children took after the God of War, Clarisse included. She was tall, mean, loud, and competitive with a vicious tongue when she wanted (which was a majority of the time). She marched for the three with a little group of her own — three of her half-sisters behind her — dressed in her combat boots, ripped and dirty jeans, and a leather jacket with a red bandanna tied back her brown hair.

        Annabeth’s teeth ground together as she glared at the daughter of Ares. "Clarisse," she grumbled, her anger unmistakable. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

        Clarisse grinned wickedly. "Sure, Miss Princess. So I can run you through with it Friday night."

        With the mention of Capture the Flag, Josephine’s stomach somehow dropped even more. If there was anything she wasn’t (and there were a lot of those “wasn’t”), competitive was one of them. She just … didn’t care about winning. And that was how everyone knew she certainly wasn’t a daughter of Ares.

        However, the mention of Capture the Flag seemed to rile Annabeth up. She spat, "Errete es korakas!" She jabbed a finger at Clarisse, who only rolled her eyes. "You don't stand a chance."

        "We'll pulverize you," Clarisse sneered, but her left eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned to face Percy, deciding who to pick on next, asking, "Who's this little runt?”

        "This is Percy Jackson," Josephine introduced, gesturing between him and Clarisse. "Um … Percy, this is Clarisse La Rue. She's a daughter of Ares." She tried not to sound salty. That was never a good tone to take with first introductions.

        The green-eyed boy blinked up at the daughter of war. "Like ... the War God?"

        Clarisse sneered. "You got a problem with that?"

        "No," he said quickly. "It explains the bad smell."

        Josephine pursed her lips, unsure if it was to stop a bubble of laughter from coming out or to stop from sighing tiredly. 

        Clarisse scowled at him, her fingers digging into the palms of her hands. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."

        "Percy."

        "Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

        A prickle of fear started to build in Josephine’s stomach. She knew exactly what Clarisse was talking about when she mentioned this initiation ceremony, and she was worried about Percy. “C’mon, Clarisse, you can’t —”

        "Stay out of it, Posie."

        "It’s not Posie!" The daughter of Apollo stamped her foot, not caring how childish it was.

        She didn't want to just let Clarisse have Percy, but she also knew there wasn’t much she could do without it resulting in her suffering Clarisse’s initiation ceremony as well. Percy handed Josephine his Minotaur horn and stubbornly stepped forward. He ignored the clear head shakes from her and the winces from Annabeth, getting ready for what he thought was just another schoolyard fight. 

        Clarisse had other plans. In seconds, she had Percy by the neck and was dragging him towards the communal bathrooms.

        Percy was struggling — he was kicking and punching, attempting to fight back — but he was no match for the daughter of Ares, who had many years of training under her belt. Clarisse hardly even listened as Percy shouted insult after insult at her (though, really, the insults sounded quite pathetic now that he was being held by the scruff of his neck), continuing to drag Percy into the girls' bathroom. There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls on the other.

        Josephine knew that if the kid who somehow managed to kill the Minotaur couldn’t shake Clarisse off, she stood no chance in Hades. She followed behind, practically peeking through her fingers. 

        Clarisse continued to pull Percy toward one of the stalls, her siblings all laughing and sniggering behind her. "Like he's 'Big Three' material," she snickered to her sisters from over her shoulders. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, he was so stupid-looking."

        She shoved Percy toward a toilet, kicking him in the back of his knees so she could start shoving his head toward the toilet. Josephine winced, making a small, audible sound as Percy continued to struggle. She had slipped into the bathroom, right beside Annabeth, next to the open door; outside, people had started to gather, seeing and hearing all of the commotion. 

        At first, Josephine didn’t hear the odd sounds — sounds like the pipes shuddering inside the cement walls and under cement floors. Frankly, she was too busy watching between her fingers and grimacing to herself to pay any attention to the rumbles — until she couldn’t not pay attention when water suddenly (and aggressively) shot out of the toilet bowl.

        Clarisse and her sisters didn’t seem to hear the rumbles either, too busy laughing with one another as she pushed Percy’s head closer and closer to the water (which had yet to explode). Percy didn’t seem to notice either, trying to fight his imminent doom at Clarisse’s initiation ceremony. Vaguely, Josephine started to feel the wall behind her, and the floor began to shake.

        And that’s when water erupted from the toilet bowl.

        Josephine lurched back, her shoulders slamming into the cement wall roughly, as an entire geyser of toilet water made an arc straight over Percy’s head — slamming right into Clarisse’s face. The impact sent both Clarisse and Percy skidding out of the stall and into the open; her siblings tried scrambling away, but the water was already rushing over the floor, and they all started tripping over one another. 

        The second round was somehow just as sudden — another arc of water erupted out of the toilet again. Again, Clarisse was struck, and she was hit so hard she was sent sprawling to the ground (in the process, getting an entire mouthful of toilet water). The daughter of Ares yelled, holding her hands up so they covered her face — but the water didn’t care, targeting her like a spray from a fire hose, until she was pushed into a shower stall. 

        In the chaos of it, Annabeth had managed to escape between the first and second rounds; however, Josephine wasn’t so lucky. The daughter of Apollo was doused as each and every shower stall and toilet bowl exploded into one, unanimous, furious geyser. She was drenched from head to toe, but couldn’t find it in herself to move. She was too shocked, ending up in complete silence as the sisters from Cabin Five shrieked and stumbled over each other.

        But they didn’t have to fight too hard to escape as the water soon was pushing them out — they spun and screeched, being pushed by the plumbing water until they were all sprawled out onto the grass outside. 

        As soon as they were out the door, the water shut off — like a switch had been flicked. There was a slow drip-drop of some shower stalls, but the flood had stopped. And now the entire bathroom was flooded, and Percy sat in the very center of it — and completely dry. Josephine stared at him, almost too afraid to open her mouth. What if more water started coming? half of her brain thought.

        With the sound of rushing water gone, Annabeth appeared in the doorway, her hands slowly dropping from her head. She stared at the scene, looking at a loss for words (which was very unlike the daughter of Athena). 

        Eventually, Percy stood up on shaky legs. He stared at his perfectly dry clothes, a dumbfounded look on his face. 

        Josephine pushed her wet hair off her face. “How … What was that?”

        Percy swallowed harshly. He picked at his dry shirt. “I …” He looked between Annabeth and Josephine. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

        “You don’t?” she asked, disbelief embedded in her words.

        When he didn’t answer, she had no other choice but to walk out. Horrifyingly enough, her shoes squeaked with every step, and she shuddered at the feeling of wet socks; she grimaced as she felt just how wet her clothes were when she moved. Outside, Clarisse and her siblings were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk and laugh. 

        Clarisse had flushed a deep shade of red as she noticed all the onlookers. Her hair was flattened across her face, and her camouflage jacket was sopping, and she smelled like sewage. She gave Percy a look of absolute hatred. "You are dead, new boy. You're totally fucking dead!"

        The threat didn’t do too much to sway Percy. "You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse?" he taunted, sneering at her. "Close your fucking mouth, then."

        The daughter of Ares's sisters had to hold her back. Clarisse was dragged back towards Cabin Five, kicking and screaming the whole way — reminiscent of how Percy had been dragged towards the bathroom. As the daughters of Ares got near, campers backed away to avoid Clarisse’s flailing feet (and the stench of sewage).

        Josephine watched with dismay and disgust as she squeezed out her hair, watching as toilet water made a small waterfall from her brown hair. She wanted to curse (especially as she had just washed her hair the night before), but couldn’t. She was still too shocked, unable to find any reasonable answer as to how Percy had become one with the plumbing water. 

        Annabeth stared at Percy, an odd mix of a frown and her thinking face. He frowned back at her, demanding, “What are you thinking?”

        "I'm thinking," she spoke up, her grey eyes swirling with ideas, "that I want you on my team for Capture the Flag."

        Josephine’s eyes snapped over to the daughter of Athena. “That’s what you care about? I smell like sewage!”

        Annabeth rolled her eyes, scoffing. “S’not my fault. Blame Jackson over there.”

        The boy flushed. “I didn’t mean to, Posie!”

        “It’s Josephine!” she shrieked, stamping her foot (which gave a horrible squelching noise). 

✿

Unfortunately, word always spread quickly at Camp Half-Blood. It’s inevitable when you have an enclosed space crammed with teenagers. The whispers started at the communal bathrooms, spreading in waves as kids whispered and snickered amongst each other — and just like that, word of the bathroom incident started spreading like a tidal wave. It also didn’t help that Josephine looked like she had decided to take a spontaneous dip in the Canoe Lake (but smelled like she had just waded through some sewage pipes). Wherever they went, campers were pointing and murmuring — either at Percy or at Josephine, but most likely both. 

        Josephine did her best to swallow her disgust. If Percy was serious about not knowing, it wouldn't be right to hate him. But despite what she tried so hard to convince herself of, she couldn't help but glare at the boy. Out of all things, toilet water? And did Percy really not know how it happened?

        Much more than reluctantly, Josephine and Annabeth did what Chiron assigned them to do — show Percy places inside Camp Half-Blood. The Camp Forge (where some of Hephaestus’s kids were forging their own weapons), the Arts & Crafts Center (where satyrs were sandblasting a giant marble statue of Pan, God of the Wild), and the climbing wall, which actually consisted of two facing walls that shook violently, dropped boulders, sprayed lava, and clashed together if you didn't get to the top fast enough.

        Percy stopped in his tracks, staring up at the wall. “It has lava pouring down it,” he noticed dryly.

        Josephine had her arms crossed over her chest. “Yeah. So it doesn’t become too easy.”

        "Too easy."

        Her eyes flickered toward him at Percy’s abundant use of sarcasm. It seemed to be his response to everything. “Once you do it enough times, it’ll become easy.” She looked at him again. “For some, at least.”

        At last (and too long for Josephine’s liking), they finally looped their way back to the Canoe Lake. The dirt trail leading to and from marked the way back to the twelve cabins. 

        "I've got training to do," Annabeth said flatly, looking away from Percy in a very obvious manner. "Dinner's at seven-thirty. Just follow your cabin to the mess hall." She looked at Josephine, hinting heavily, "And Posie’s got masters’ archery."

        For a moment, Josephine stared at Annabeth; however, she made a small O with her mouth. “Oh, uh — yeah. I mean, no, yes, I have masters’ archery. With my cabin. And with Chiron.” Admittedly, she would have given anything to have a chance to skip archery lessons; however, any situation but this one.  She looked between Percy and Annabeth, awkwardly waiting for a moment for either to speak. When she had deemed enough seconds to have passed, she started to turn —

        “Posie,” Percy blurted. “I’m sorry about the toilets.”

        Josephine stopped mid-turn, staring at him like he had grown a second head. But she pursed her lips and shrugged, muttering, “S’alright … I s’pose.” She had hoped her tone would come out light and airy; however, she sounded as croaky as a frog, like she was on the verge of tears. She quickly looked out at the Canoe Lake. 

        “It wasn’t my fault,” Percy added.

        That made Josephine pause entirely. Both she and Annabeth stared at him, skepticism written all across their faces. It was his fault; his fault entirely. She didn’t understand why he was trying to deny it, even if he didn’t understand how it happened, he (somehow) had been the one to cause water to shoot out of the bathroom fixtures. In a way Josephine couldn’t comprehend, Percy had become one with the plumbing.

        With how both stared at him, Percy flushed red. He realized how crazy he sounded trying to deny something that could only be his fault.

        Annabeth walked onto the wooden deck above the Canoe Lake. Still with a small squeak to her step, Josephine followed the daughter of Athena; Percy wasn’t far behind them. Annabeth stared out at the lake, her eyebrows pinched together closely. "You need to talk to the Oracle," she suddenly declared.

        "... Who?"

        Josephine shook her head slightly. “You don’t want to know …” She had never met the Oracle personally, but she’s heard tales (and seen glimpses in dreams). She heard stories about former campers going to see the Oracle with lost minds — they would go insane, lose themselves to insanity, and never be the same. It was all because of the horror-filled futures the Oracle would show them, as was the Oracle’s job. Their minds couldn't handle it; the small snippets of the future they witnessed drove them to madness.

        Annabeth looked at Josephine sharply. "Not who. What,” she corrected Percy. “The Oracle. I'll ask Chiron."

        Percy got a faraway look in his eyes as they drifted over to the lake below them. Logically, Josephine knew that going to the Oracle in this situation was for the best. The Oracle was meant to give information that the gods and Chiron couldn’t. The Oracle could show things the others were bound by Olympian laws not to. The gods weren’t supposed to meddle in demigod business (though they often did despite that rule), so they — Apollo, really — used the Oracle as their vessel around those rules.

        The thing was about this Oracle … Well, by the glimpses Josephine’s seen, she’s been on the job a long, long time. 

        Josephine’s brows furrowed as her mind wandered to a dream she had tried her best to forget — a glimpse of a young, blonde woman climbing into the Big House attic to visit the Oracle. She didn’t remember most of her dreams, and if she remembered anything, it was only glimpses — and this dream wasn’t so different. However, she tried so hard to forget because of … the screams. She remembered the screams very clearly; they were the clearest thing she recalled, everything else was like trying to look through heavy fog. It was like a film covered her mind and prevented her from viewing what had been shown to her during sleep.

        Josephine stared into the Canoe Lake, her eyes drawing down to see two teenage girls sitting cross-legged at the base of the pier, about five meters below them. The girls wore blue jeans and shimmering green T-shirts, and their brown hair floated loose around their shoulders as minnows darted in and out. They smiled and waved at Percy as if he were a long-lost friend they were greeting after a long time. 

        Josephine only shook her head slightly when he waved back at them. She leaned against the wooden railing, her arms crossed over her chest. “Don’t encourage them,” she warned Percy. “Naiads are terrible flirts. Even Cabin 10 would agree.”

        Percy looked at her, an odd glint in his eyes. He looked on the verge of tears. "Naiads …" he repeated dimly. "That's it. I want to go home now."

        Josephine frowned back at him. Normally, the mention and sight of naiads wasn't what the newcomers' breaking point was. Typically, when campers hit their breaking points, either before even reaching Camp or when they saw Chiron while he wasn’t compacted into his wheelchair (or, at least, seeing Chiron’s horse legs was Josephine’s breaking point).

        Annabeth shook her head slightly. "Don't you get it, Percy? You are home. This is the only safe place on earth for kids like us."

        "You mean, mentally disturbed kids?"

        "I mean not human,” she shot back. “Not totally human, anyway. Half-human."

        "Half-human and half-what?" Percy demanded, looking between Annabeth and Josephine.

        Josephine shared a quick look with Annabeth. “I think you know what, Percy,” she told him as gently as she could.

        The angry fire in Percy's eyes and the scowl on his lips slowly died. He looked between the two once before his eyes slowly drifted back to the naiads in the Lake. “God.” His voice was croaky. “Half- … god.”

        Annabeth nodded. "Your father isn't dead. Percy. He's one of the Olympians."

        "That's …” He shook his head, but the denial didn’t seem strong, “crazy."

        "Is it?” Josephine cocked her head at him. “Chiron was your Latin teacher, right? He taught you about all those old stories of the gods, I hope. What’s the thing they did the most?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer, continuing, “Running around and having kids with humans. Do you really think they’ve changed their habits in the last few millennia?”

        "But those are just —" Percy stopped himself, but Josephine knew what would be the next work to tumble out of his mouth: Myths. The gods didn't like being called myths. "But if all the kids here are half-gods —?"

        "Demigods," Josephine supplied the correction. "That's the official term. But half-blood is used a lot, too."

        "Then who's your dad?"

        Josephine frowned, unhappy with the assumption her godly parent had to be a god (even if it was true). "My mortal or godly dad?" she posed, tilting her head at him again. 

        Leaning against the railing, Annabeth snickered quietly as Percy paled considerably. It wasn’t the first time it had happened. In fact, when she first arrived at Camp, saying she had a mortal father, everyone jumped to her godly parent being a goddess — until Apollo claimed her a month into her stay. Too shocked in the moment, she hadn’t questioned it — until she did, and then Lee had to explain to her that … well, the gods could practically do whatever they wanted; have kids with whoever they desired. Though, admittedly, Josephine never went out of her way to understand the process of her … birth (and she wasn’t even sure if birth was the right term). 

        Percy looked her over once, then twice. It was as if he was checking to make sure she was as human as she looked. Josephine practically saw the gears churning in his head, too. She knew what question he would ask next. "... But —"

        "They're gods, Percy," she cut him off, her arms crossing over her chest. "They can do whatever they want, really. But my godly parent is Apollo, God of the Sun — and all that."

        Percy’s eyes flickered over to Annabeth, though he looked a bit afraid to ask the question of who her godly parent was. The daughter of Athena’s hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her skin. "My dad is a professor at West Point," she answered. "I haven't seen him since I was very small. He teaches American history."

        Percy glanced at Josephine, who only shrugged. "Who's your, um …” he shuffled on his feet, the grooves of his shoes dragging against the wood of the deck, “godly parent, then?"

        "Cabin Six."

        The boy blinked. "Meaning?"

        Annabeth straightened. (She always became this way when talking about her mother.) "Athena. Goddess of Wisdom and Battle."

        "And my dad?" he asked.

        "We don’t know,” admitted Josephine. “You’re undetermined. So … nobody knows."

        "Except my mother," Percy insisted. "She knew."

        Josephine looked off to the side. She knew it was possible that the mortal parent could know about their godly lover being — well — a god. But that wasn't often, nor common. Only mortals who could see past the Mist could figure it out; even then, that mortal may not truly realize exactly who their lover was, just that something was “different” about that person they met. However, Josephine knew that Percy was grieving and that he didn't want to admit that his father may not care.

        "It's … possible, Percy," she tried to placate him. "But gods don't typically reveal their identities."

        "My dad would have. He loved her."

        Josephine shared a cautious look with Annabeth. Percy's “bubble of bliss” (as was coined by many of the Head Counselors for the cabins, who were often the ones to break the news to new campers about their godly heritage) was nearly at the point of bursting, and he didn't want it to. No one wanted their bubble of bliss to burst. 

        "Maybe you're right," Josephine half-heartedly agreed, though her tone wasn’t convincing. "Maybe your dad will send a sign. That's the only way to know for sure — your father has to send you a sign claiming you as his son. Sometimes it happens."

        "Sometimes?” repeated Percy, and Josephine winced at her choice of words. “You mean sometimes it doesn't?"

        Annabeth turned so she could run her palm along the railing. "The gods are busy. They have a lot of kids and they don't always ... Well, sometimes they don't care about us, Percy. They ignore us."

        The Hermes Cabin was a prime example of godly parenting — or lack thereof. It was filled wall to wall with kids waiting to be claimed by their parents, waiting to receive the love and attention they so desperately sought after. It was depressing. Josephine had only stayed a month in the cabin as an unclaimed kid, but she could never imagine doing it for the rest of her life. She didn't feel like a daughter of Apollo, and yet, that feeling of outcast was better than having no sense of identity.

        "So I'm stuck here," Percy muttered, clearly disheartened by the realization. "That's it? For the rest of my life?"

        "It depends," admitted Annabeth. "Some campers only stay the summer. For the lucky ones, the monsters might just ignore them, so they can get by with a few months of summer training and go out and live in the mortal world the rest of the year. But for some of us, it's too dangerous to leave. We're year-rounders. In the mortal world, we attract monsters. They sense us. They come to challenge us. Most of the time, they'll ignore us until we're old enough to cause trouble — about ten or eleven years old — but after that, most demigods either make their way here, or they get killed off. A few manage to survive in the outside world and become famous. Believe me, if I told you the names, you'd know them. Some don't even realize they're demigods. But very, very few are like that."

        "So monsters can't get in here?"

        Josephine shook her head. "Not unless they're intentionally stocked in the woods or specially summoned by somebody on the inside."

        "Why would anybody want to summon a monster?"

        "To practice fighting real monsters. Or practical jokes.” She shrugged, arms crossed over her chest. “It just depends."

        "Practical jokes?"

        "Sherman Yang thinks it's funny to scare new campers with monsters," she told him. She shook her head sadly. "He's gotten in trouble so many times, but he still keeps doing it."

        "Point is," interrupted Annabeth, "the borders are sealed to keep mortals and monsters out. From the outside, mortals look into the valley and see nothing unusual — just a normal strawberry farm."

        "So ... you're both year-rounders?"

        Josephine pulled out the leather necklace tied around her neck. There were only two beads on there, and a golden charm that would look like it would go on a charm bracelet instead of a leather necklace; it was in the shape of a sixteenth note. "I've been here since I was ten," she said. "I get my third this August."

        The daughter of Athena nodded. From under the collar of her T-shirt, she pulled a leather necklace with five clay beads of different colors. It was just like Luke's, except Annabeth's also had a big gold ring strung on it, like a college ring. "I've been here since I was seven," she explained. "Every August, on the last day of summer session, you get a bead for surviving another year. I've been here longer than most of the counselors, and they're all in college."

        Percy's brows furrowed. "Why come here so young?"

        Annabeth twisted the ring on her necklace. "None of your business."

        Josephine glanced between Annabeth and Percy. Annabeth never talked about her past, the past before Camp Half-Blood. She dropped her necklace, saying carefully, "Not everyone comes here at the exact same age. Most times, though, half-bloods are typically eleven or twelve when they get here. We just happened to be seven and ten."

        "So ..." Percy looked around, examining the line of tall trees surrounding them, "I could just walk out of here right now if I wanted to?"

        "It would be suicide, but you could — with Mr. D's or Chiron's permission, though,” answered Annabeth. “But they wouldn't give permission until the end of the summer session unless ..." She trailed off, her expression turning stormy.

        Percy noticed the shift. "Unless?"

        "Unless you were granted a quest. But that hardly ever happens. The last time ..." Annabeth hesitated again, looking out to the Canoe Lake. The last time was Luke's quest, and it hadn't gone well. Josephine didn’t know how Luke got the quest, but she had been at Camp for a few weeks by the time he returned — with a new facial scar and the shame of failing his quest. And from what people whispered (because no one ever spoke loudly about the quest), the Luke that had returned to Camp had not been the one to leave.

        Percy walked to the edge of the pier, looking down at the water. "Back in the sick room," he started, "when Annabeth was feeding me that stuff —"

        "Ambrosia,” Annabeth quickly corrected.

        "Yeah, that. You asked me something about the Summer Solstice."

        Annabeth's shoulders tensed, but Josephine glared at her. (She knew it was a bad idea to say anything to him, half-conscious or not!) "So you do know something?" the daughter of Athena pried.

        "Well ... no. But back at my old school, I overheard Grover and Chiron talking about it. Grover mentioned the Summer Solstice then. He said something like … ‘We didn't have much time, because of the deadline.’ What did that mean?"

        Josephine's eyebrows knitted together. Truthfully, she didn’t exactly know. She knew something — something important — had been stolen, and with as much ruckus as it was causing up with the gods, she knew it had to be important. And there were only so many items that could cause this much trouble among the gods. She looked at Annabeth, who had that analytical look in her eyes. Josephine knew exactly what Annabeth was trying to do — gather every piece of information she could and figure out everything all on her own.

        "I … don't know what that means, Percy," admitted Josephine. "But I know Chiron and the satyrs do — just that they're not saying. But everyone knows something is wrong up on Olympus  — something major. But ... the last time we were there, everything seemed normal."

        Percy took a second glance at her. "Wait — you've been to Olympus?"

        She nodded, shrugging. "Yeah. Some of us year-rounders — me, Annabeth, Luke, Clarisse, and a few others — take a field trip during the Winter Solstice. That's when the gods have their big annual council."

        Percy frowned at her. "But ... how did you get there?"

        She frowned back. "They told me you were from New York. It’s how you get to the Empire State Building — Long Island Railroad, get off at Penn Station, and you’re there. Only you take the elevator to the sixth-hundredth floor.”

        He stared at her like she had grown a second head. “Posie —”

        “Josephine.”

        “— there is no six-hundredth floor,” he continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “You’d be floating up into the sky if there was.”

        “Well … yeah.” She nodded. “There is. How else can you get to Olympus?”

        "Right after we visited," Annabeth continued as if Percy hadn’t picked an argument, "the weather got weird, as if the gods had started fighting. A couple of times since, I've overheard satyrs talking. The best I can figure out is that something important was stolen. And if it isn't returned by the Summer Solstice, there's going to be trouble. When you came, I was hoping …” She flushed, arms crossing over her chest. “I mean — Athena can get along with just about anybody, except for Ares. And, 'course, she's got the rivalry with Poseidon. But — I mean — aside from that, I thought we could work together. I thought you might know something."

        Percy shook his head, silently squashing all of Annabeth's hopes before they even really had a chance to build.

        "I've got to get a quest," Annabeth muttered to herself, looking disappointed. "I'm not too young. If they would just tell me the problem ..."

        Just vaguely, Josephine could smell the barbecue smoke coming from the pavilion. And not so vaguely, she could hear Percy's stomach growling. She placed a hand on his shoulder, jarring his attention to her. "Hey, you go ahead and get back to Cabin Eleven. You know the way now?"

        Percy nodded. And as reluctant as someone could look, he left the two on the pier. Josephine watched and waited until his back disappeared down the path before looking at Annabeth. The daughter of Athena was tracing her finger across the rail, as if drawing a battle plan of how she could find the stolen item.

        “I gotta go,” she told Annabeth. “Get this …” she glanced down at her nearly dried clothes, “stink off me.”

        Annabeth glanced up at her. “Yeah, sure, go ahead. By the way, don’t forget about Capture the Flag this Friday!”

        The daughter of Apollo fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Oh, how could I?”

✿

Fortunately for Josephine’s ego, she had missed all of Cabin Seven’s masters’ archery. Even more fortunately for her ears, Michael couldn’t fuss at her because she had a very good reason for missing — giving Percy Jackson a camper-guided tour of Camp Half-Blood.

        However, he still made a fuss over the smell of sewage. 

        She swung open the door to Cabin Seven, kicking off her wet shoes and socks before even taking a step inside. But she couldn’t take a step inside, not with Michael standing in front of her, a white towel in hand. 

        He tossed her the towel, quickly kicking her socks and shoes outside so hard they bounced down the few steps leading up to the cabin. "Don't get toilet water on anything," he commanded her.

        Josephine shook her head silently, but replied, “Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

        Michael scowled at her for the sarcasm. However, Lee grinned from one of the wooden desks lined along the wall. "Go ahead and take a shower, Posie."

        Josephine was happy to listen. She showered and changed, coming back to Cabin Seven. The cabin had bunk beds, all lined across the walls, their footboards facing the middle of the cabin. In between each bunk was space — room for a desk, music stands, or instrument cases; whatever the camper needed or wanted there. There was a cot in the middle of the cabin for the injured, though most of Josephine’s siblings just used it as a lounge when not for the injured. With rough cedar beams that ribbed the ceiling overhead, and white plaster walls that were bare except for a few hooks for coats and weapons, Cabin Seven always smelled of clean linen and dried sage. The cabin was filled with the things the campers of Cabin Seven got up to — music sheets, cases for instruments, rolls of gauze, half-used vials of some healing ointment, abandoned bows and quivers of arrows. 

        Lee did his best to keep the cabin clean; however, with five inhabitants (plus two with older campers visiting for the summer), it was a struggle at times — mostly because of Michael and Austin. He was constantly fussing at Austin, Josephine’s younger half-brother, for his messes — all his different instruments he wouldn’t put up properly, or leaving the cases in the middle of the floor, or playing some piece at all odd hours. The only personalizations Lee allowed were flowerpots on the windowsills, filled with yellow blooms from Delos, the island that Apollo and Artemis were born on.

        "How'd the tour go?" Lee asked, scribbling out a line of music. He had one leg tucked under him, the other slowly rotating in a circle. 

        "It went … fine." Josephine shrugged. "Not sure why Chiron even wanted me to give him a tour, anyway."

        Lee stopped writing on the sheet, glancing at her. "I suggested it," he said casually, turning around in his chair to face her. "You should be more involved with Camp, Posie."

        Josephine gave him an unbelievable look. "I am involved with Camp," she argued. "I — I train and stuff."

        Michael snorted to himself. “Real involved …”

        Lee gave the boy a warning look. “You avoid everyone at Camp — besides us.” Lee swung his finger around the cabin, where he, Michael, and Austin were all sitting inside. "You need to talk to other people."

        "Yeah," agreed Austin, turning in his bunk so he could watch. "You need to talk to people who aren't in this cabin."

        Josephine scowled at her brother. For arriving only that March, he talked like he knew the place inside and out. "Real funny, Austin,” she snapped, turning back to Lee. "So what if I’m not super social?”

        Michael’s small, amused grin fell. He frowned at her, sitting up in his bunk. "This is beyond just not being too social, Posie. You're anti-social."

        "I’m not anti-social.” Josephine rolled her eyes. "I just like … being myself. Is that such a bad thing?”

        Maybe you like being by yourself so you don’t mess anything else up, a mean voice hissed in her mind. The sudden voice shocked her for a moment, but she couldn’t do anything yet — not with the cabin’s eyes on her. She only swallowed the bile in her throat, staring at Lee like a deer caught in headlights.

        "That's fine, Posie," Lee said. But with the way he shifted in his seat, his brows knitting together, she could tell he didn’t believe her. "I just worry that you don't talk to enough people. I won't do it again if you don't want me to, but I worry."

        She knew Lee wanted what was best for her, and she was grateful for that, but Josephine hated how it made her feel. It didn’t help that she was one of two girls in the cabin, but Josephine felt like the outlier in everything they did. Lee was phenomenal at poetry (something she was only okay at); Michael was amazing at archery; Austin was quickly proving himself a skilled musician. But what did Josephine have?

        No one had ever said anything to her over the years, but she knew her brothers were expectantly waiting for her to find her … “thing.” But she hadn’t in the nearly three years she had been at Camp. Or, at least, she had never confirmed was her “thing” was — dreams and visions.

Chapter Text

chapter three
❛ the forbidden son ❜

━━━━━  THE DREAMS WERE becoming worse. Josephine didn’t believe it to be possible, and yet, she was waking up in a film of sweat and rapid breathing every morning just as the sun started to rise. She was used to it — but not every day. Those kinds of dreams would happen maybe twice a week, but hardly even once; maybe even a couple times a month. But the volume of dreams dramatically increased, starting from the night Percy Jackson fought the Minotaur. Starting from that night, she’s had a dream every time she has lain her head down to sleep.

        And the dreams were changing, too. She often dreamt of the past — Beau Pascual, those fitful nights with him, or some twisted version of the very last night in D.C.. The night Josephine received horrible news of Mrs. Hall. She would even dream of past demigods; of the daughter of Zeus who had the remaining amount of her lifeforce woven into a pine tree (though Josephine never brought that dream up, especially not around Annabeth or Luke). 

        Now, her dreams were conjuring up places that didn’t physically exist. She wasn’t dreaming of the past, hardly dreaming of the present, and now was dreaming of … she didn’t know what.

        Josephine’s throat was tight tears tears. "I — I don't understand.”

        Admittedly, she hadn’t expected a response. However, a cold voice drawled, In time.

        Every inch of her skin prickled with unease. This voice, the one speaking to her in this dream, was different from the one who spoke in her mind as she spoke with her half-brothers. Maybe you like being by yourself so you don’t mess anything else up, that voice (the one while she was awake) had told her. Unfortunately, that second voice wasn’t wrong. Josephine never told anyone about the dreams; she was too afraid of what they would say or think. She knew the way people who were honest about their dreams had been treated — Cassandra, a woman cursed by Apollo to never be believed because she rejected him. Josephine was afraid of what speaking out would do to her — Would she never be believed the way Cassandra wasn’t? Or would Josephine be forced to become blind in exchange for the gift, like Tiresias?

        She looked around wildly. Everything around her was dead — wilted plants, perishing trees, crushed flowerbeds, and a crumbling house. It was like the scene was falling apart around her. Even if she hadn't seen herself do it, Josephine knew she was at fault. She just knew. That prickle underneath her skin, that burn at her fingertips — like something was boiling, shimmering underneath her skin.

        Her voice wavered, but Josephine managed to ask, "In time what?"

        In time, the cold voice repeated. In time, you will understand.

        Josephine looked around, looking over each shoulder. However, nothing was behind her. “I … I don’t —"

        The more she looked around, the colder it became. It was her own imagination, of course, but she started to recognize everything — the street that was barren, the cracked sidewalks, the houses lined side-by-side. It was her old neighborhood, the small suburb she lived in with Beau just outside of D.C., where Mrs. Hall was only a couple of houses down. And the house in front of her, the one that looked the most dilapidated, was the Pascual home. Josephine’s childhood home was built on the outskirts of Washington D.C. On the rotting front porch were the wilted yellow blooms she remembered her father trying so hard for years to keep alive. It felt like the thing he cared about most — those stupid little yellow flowers. He even cared more for them than his music. Josephine could see the yellow petals curling into themselves.

        She felt the fight-or-flight phenomenon kick in as the front door to the Pascual home started to creak open. Unfortunately, people forget about the third instinct — freeze. That’s what Josephine felt. Every part of her body was screaming to do anything — anything but freeze. However, she stood, staring at the wooden door in horror as a gaunt figure appeared in the doorway. She couldn’t see the face, only the outline, but she didn’t have to see it to know that it was dead. 

        She took a step back, the dead grass crunching under her feet, and the empty eye sockets locked on her. Josephine froze again. "It will infect," the figure wailed in a desperate voice. Just from the shadowy glimpses of it, this thing shouldn’t have been able to speak. However, it was. And Josephine recognized the voice — Beau Pascual’s voice, incredibly weathered and aged by what sounded like decades. 

        Before she could do anything — maybe scream in horror and turn and run — the ground opened beneath Josephine's feet, and she fell into total darkness.

        The feeling of falling is what caused Josephine to snap awake. She jumped, still in her bunk, staring up at the top bunk’s wooden frame. She was shivering, bathed in a cold sweat. Outside the windows that were facing east, she could see the smallest amounts of sun rays poking out — oranges, yellows, and pinks blending together as Apollo started on his path in the sky. The small circular sphere that glowed like the sun spun slowly around its wooden base. It had taken months to convince Lee to let Cabin Nine make that night light, and Josephine was now glad her brother had given in. She let out a small burst of air, watching the mini-sun replicate spin slowly in a circle on its wooden base. 

        Eventually, she turned onto her back, covering her eyes with each hand. That nightmare played over in her mind, over and over. In time, that cold voice told her. In time, you will understand.

        But Josephine had zero idea of what she was supposed to understand. Was that voice trying to tell her about what was stolen? Or was that voice related to something completely different?

✿

Josephine was suffering from the constant feeling of running out of time. Every hour seemed to pass by in a blink, and she was constantly on edge — worried about what she would see next when she fell asleep, worried someone would ask how she was doing (when she would subsequently burst into tears), or having to deal with Percy Jackson, the boy she had decided was making her nightmares worse. (And he was also the boy who had killed the Minotaur, sure.)

        That perceived connection (though Josephine was certain there was) only became more frustrating as Percy seemed to start seeking her out from everybody else inside Camp Half-Blood’s protective, magical walls. She only noticed it after Percy’s first archery lesson with Chiron (and Cabin Seven). The whole time, he stayed glued to her side — at least, that’s what it felt like. Anytime one of her brothers or Chiron would say something he didn’t know, Percy would look at her, as if expecting an explanation. Unfortunately for Percy, it seemed Josephine’s bad archery skills had bled over to him. Somehow, he was even worse at archery than she, and that was a feat in itself.

        As every new camper does, Percy rotated through the outdoor activities that Camp Half-Blood had — archery, foot racing, wrestling, canoeing, pegasus riding, and sword fighting. Having tried his hand at a couple by the morning of the first day, Percy sucked at all of them. Archery was no good. Foot racing was quickly ruled out. The wood-nymph instructors left him in the dust. Josephine tried to tell Percy it was going to be fine, but he wasn’t having it. ("They've had centuries of running away from lovesick gods, Percy!" she told him with a smile. 

        "I'm slower than a tree, Posie. That's humiliating," the boy replied dryly, trying to brush leaves out of his hair. 

        Her smile faded. "Well ... you'll get better in time!")

        And he had absolutely no chance at wrestling, not with Clarisse offering to be his opponent every time. ("There's more where that came from, punk," Clarisse would threaten him as Percy bruised a sore ego.) The only thing Percy excelled at was canoeing, which wasn't exactly the most ... heroic thing. It wasn't what Josephine expected from the boy who managed to defeat the Minotaur.

        She knew the senior campers and counselors were watching Percy like a hawk, trying to decide who his dad was, but it seemed impossible to decide. He wasn't as strong as the Ares kids, or as good at archery as Josephine's siblings. He didn't have Hephaestus's skill with metalwork or Dionysus's way with vine plants. Josephine was sympathetic to him, offering help when she could, but there wasn't much she could do. She could offer sympathy and extend a branch of pity, telling Percy all about her struggles with feeling different and struggling to find her way as a daughter of Apollo; however, that would be admitting to all her insecurities, and that wasn’t exactly on her bucket list.

        However, seeing how in the dumps he was as she led him toward the sword-fighting arena for his first lesson, she decided it wouldn’t hurt to try. "It's okay, Percy," she tried to tell him, nudging him with her shoulder. "We'll figure it out. We’ll find out who your dad is."

        The boy sent her a look. "I know you're trying to make me feel better," he kicked a rock out of their way to the sword-fighting arena, "but it's not okay."

        She frowned, keeping in step with him. "A lot of kids struggle in the beginning," she told him. "I did."

        He glanced at her, the ends of his black hair hanging in his eyes. "You did?" he asked her, brushing the hair out of his face.

        Josephine nodded. "Most kids here feel out of place in the beginning. It's all so … different than how we were raised. Or it was for me, at least. I mean, I grew up with only my dad, and then to find out I had a ton of siblings — it was jarring. Not mentioning the godly parent part, or that my godly parent is a god and not a goddess."

        "Your dad didn't ever remarry?" Percy asked.

        She was silent for a moment. “Uh, no. No, he never remarried. It wasn’t in the cards for him, I guess.”

        "Do you still talk to your dad? Either of them?" Percy pried.

        Josephine’s steps faltered for a moment. “No. I don’t,” she answered, her voice suddenly a lot colder. “Like Annabeth said, they’re busy.”

        And they don't care about you. Either of them, that cruel voice reminded her. They didn't want you. A burden.

        She tried to ignore the voice, smiling at Percy. "Don't worry about sword fighting.” She did her best to change the topic. “They're not gonna put against Clarisse with real weapons."

        Percy paled at the idea, suddenly looking ahead at the slowly approaching sword arena. "It's not with your cabin, right? Just Cabin Eleven?”

        She hummed in agreement. “What? You want me to leave?” she asked, half-hoping he would agree. When he only shrugged, she fought the urge to scowl. “I mean … you’re worried, aren’t you?”

        He flushed. “No.”

        She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “You’re a lousy liar,” she told him bluntly. “Every new camper is worried — about everything. It’s ‘cause it’s all new. And it’s the nerves, which are probably making you do worse at things than you normally would. No one is bad at everything.”

        “Wouldn’t it be better to say Everyone has something they’re good at?” offered Percy.

        “No. I meant No one is bad at everything.” Josephine shook her head. “It’s a balance. If you were perfect at everything, what’s there to work for?”

        “Oh.” Percy walked for a couple more steps. “Than … what are you perfect at? Like, as Apollo’s daughter?”

        For a moment, Josephine had no idea how to answer. “Well, Lee’s really good at poetry. Michael’s awesome at archery. Austin — the newest camper in my cabin — is amazing at trumpet, and he’s learning saxophone now. With my dad being the god of so many things, the cabin kinda turns into a jack-of-all-trades. Lee told me older campers would sometimes make bets on what they thought their younger siblings … like, thing would be. Preston and Darcy, have you met them? They technically don’t go here anymore, but they’ll visit every so often. Make sure Michael and Lee haven’t burned down the cabin yet — or that’s what Darcy told me.”

        Percy’s brows furrowed as he listened to Josephine talk. “... Okay,” he finally said with a nod. “But … what are you good at? Are you good at poetry, too? Archery?”

        “Oh.” Josephine chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m okay at poetry. S’not my favorite thing. Archery is …” She grimaced. “I — I guess I also haven’t found my thing just yet, either.”

        “Well …” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “Maybe we’ll find our thing together.”

        She gave him a look. “This is your sword fighting lesson, remember?”

        He rolled his eyes lightly. “Whatever you say, Posie.”

        “Josephine!” she corrected shrilly.

        The feeling of running out of time still hadn’t gone away, and with Percy gravitating toward her now, she feared her dreams were becoming worse. However, Josephine had no idea what to do. She also had no idea what to say to Percy. She wanted to avoid him, having the idea that he was making the dreams worse, but she didn’t want to leave him high and dry. Beyond Grover (who was still busy with damage control of the Cloven Elders), Annabeth scowled at Percy every time she saw him, most campers were ignoring Percy and whispering behind his back, and Luke was pushing him hard, trying to find what he was good idea. She could tell he just wanted space to be … nothing, only she wished he would go somewhere else and do that.

        She already had enough on her plate besides trying to help Percy with his. With her dreams and silence from Apollo, she could hardly find it within herself to help Percy with his silence from his own father. It wasn’t surprising for gods to ignore their children. But sometimes they would send something; anything. However, Apollo ignored Josephine entirely. Ever since that night that he claimed her, Apollo had never shown another sign. No thunder when she prayed to him; no sign at the brazier every time she tossed in food for him. Nothing.

        She didn't want to hate Apollo, but to be treated so blatantly differently than her other siblings made Josephine want to stomp her way up to Olympus and give the Sun God a piece of her mind.

        However, Josephine knew she would never be brave enough to do it.

✿

It was Percy's first sword-fighting lesson. Everybody from Cabin Eleven gathered in the big circular arena, where Luke would be their instructor. Josephine hung toward the back of the crowd, giving Percy a thumbs-up.

        Wyatt Fitzgerald, the son of Dike, nudged her in the side. "What's got you over here?"

        Josephine nodded. "Percy. I wanna see how he is with a sword."

        He frowned at her. He had dark skin and coily hair that was cut close to his head. He always had a serious and tough expression, fit to match his tall posture. "Why?"

        She shrugged, not entirely sure herself. "He was bad with a bow, so I'm hoping he's good with a sword."

        "Like you?" asked Wyatt.

        She frowned to herself, shooting him a quick, nasty look. She never liked bringing up the things she was bad at — no one does — but she did it for Percy because she could see how he was struggling. Instead of snapping, she gave a simple reply of; "I guess so."

        They started with basics — stabbing and slashing, using some straw-stuffed dummies in Greek armor. Percy did alright, but he kept looking over at Josephine as if he were looking for reassurance. She didn't know what to do for him. Tell him he was holding the sword all wrong? That would embarrass him in front of the entirety of Cabin Eleven, especially considering he had trouble with Luke finding a blade that fit him. Instead, she gave him a tight-lipped smile and a thumbs-up.

        After focusing on the stabbing and slashing, they moved on to dueling in pairs. Luke announced he would be Percy's partner, especially since this was his first time.

        Wyatt raised his eyebrows. He leaned over to Percy and whispered, “Good luck.” Percy’s relieved smile dropped as his head snapped over to face Wyatt. "Luke's the best swordsman in the last three hundred years."

        "He'll go easy on you," Josephine quickly promised, leaning toward Percy to lay a hand on his shoulder. 

        Wyatt didn’t help by snorting loudly. "Yeah, sure. Easy."

        Luke showed Percy thrusts and parries and shield blocks — only the hard way. With every swipe, Percy became a little more battered and bruised. Soon enough, he was completely out of breath, and Josephine could hear it all the way on the sidelines. "Keep your guard up, Percy," Luke would say — then hit him in the ribs with the flat of his blade. "No, not that far up!" Whap! "Lunge!" Whap! "Now, back!" Whap!

        By the time Luke called for a break, Percy was completely soaked with sweat. Everybody swarmed the drinks cooler. Josephine tentatively approached Percy as he poked at a bruise on his arm. "You said he'd go easy on me," he grumbled, grabbing a cup of water.

        "... I should’ve added a maybe in there," she admitted plainly.

        Percy shot her a nasty look; however, Luke pouring a cup of ice water over his head also caught his attention. For a split second, Percy looked at his water — which he had barely taken a sip of — and quickly raised it over his head before turning the entire cup upside down. 

        As the water splashed over Percy, Josephine made a disgusted noise and took steps back. "What was that for?" she demanded, frowning at him.

        He shrugged, looking at the empty. "Saw Luke do it."

        The daughter of Apollo rolled her eyes. "Well — do you feel better?" she asked sarcastically.

        "Yeah, actually, I do." Percy nodded, getting himself another cup of water. She watched him carefully, making sure he wasn't going to dump anymore. "Hey — why do you use a dagger?"

        Josephine straightened. She had managed to dance around answering about her lack of archery skills earlier, and she hadn’t expected Percy to just ask straight out. "Uh … can't rely solely on bows, don't you think?" she replied as casually as she could, placing her hand on the hilt of one of her Celestial bronze daggers.

        Percy watched her for a moment, and then he shrugged. "Guess you're right."

        "Okay, everybody, circle up!" Luke ordered, bringing the attention back to him. "If Percy doesn't mind, I want to give you a little demo."

        Josephine nudged Percy in the side. "Maybe this time, he'll go easier."

        "You don't believe that," he grumbled to her.

        "Hm, not at all."

        They all gathered around, most of them suppressing smiles. Josephine elbowed Wyatt as she noticed him trying to cover one; Rose, however, snickered loudly, and no amount of glaring from Josephine would change that. Luke told everybody he was going to demonstrate a disarming technique: how to twist the enemy's blade with the flat of your own sword so that the enemy had no choice but to drop his weapon.

        "This is difficult," the son of Hermes stressed to them all. "I've had it used against me. No laughing at Percy, now. Most swordsmen have to work for years to master this technique."

        Luke demonstrated the move on Percy in slow motion. Sure enough, the sword clattered out of Percy's hand.

        "Now in real-time," Luke said after Percy retrieved his weapon. "We keep sparring until one of us pulls it off. Ready, Percy?"

        Percy nodded, and Luke came after him. He clearly wasn’t as ready as he had nodded to be, gasping as Luke came after him. He flung himself back, raising his sword — somehow, he kept Luke from getting to the hilt of his sword. Josephine didn’t know what had gotten into him, but Percy managed to counter every attack Luke made. This must’ve given Percy the confidence he didn’t have before, trying for an attack of his own — but Luke easily deflected it. The son of Hermes clearly noticed the change, and his eyes narrowed on Percy, and he started pressing harder.

        Just when Josephine thought Percy was going to crumble, he did something very unexpected — he tried the disarming move Luke had demonstrated. His blade hit the base of Luke's, and he twisted, putting his whole weight into a downward thrust —

        Clang!

        Luke's sword clattered against the stones of the arena floor. Percy lifted up his blade, his eyes widening as he spotted the tip of the sword at Luke’s undefended chest.

        The other campers were silent.

        Percy lowered his sword, his face becoming flushed. "Shit. Um — sorry."

        For a moment, Luke was too stunned to speak. But then, his face broke out into a wide grin. "Sorry?" He chuckled, picking up his sword. "By the gods, Percy, why are you sorry? Show me that again!"

        Percy seemed hesitant, but eventually agreed. Josephine was surprised, but impressed. There was no one she knew who could've done that disarming move on their first day, especially against Luke Castellan. The second time, there was no contest. The moment their swords connected, Luke hit Percy's hilt and sent his weapon skidding across the floor. The amazing skills Percy had moments prior were long gone now.

        After a long pause, Rose offered in her normal loud voice, "Beginner's luck?"

        Josephine elbowed her friend. "Don't say that!"

        Luke wiped the sweat off his brow. He appraised Percy with an entirely fresh, new interest. "Maybe," he said. "But I wonder what Percy could do with a balanced sword ..."

✿

The Friday dinners before a game of Capture the Flag were always filled with more excited buzzing than on any other nights. When the plates were cleared away, the conch horn sounded, and everyone stood at their tables. Campers yelled and cheered loudly as Annabeth and two of her siblings ran into the pavilion carrying a silk banner. It was about ten feet long, painted this glistening grey, and with a painting of a barn owl above an olive tree. From the opposite side of the pavilion, Clarisse and her siblings ran in with another banner of identical size, but a gaudy red and painted with a bloody spear and a boar's head.

        That’s typically how it went — Athena and Ares cabins having a banner each, and they would go out making alliances with other cabins for that Friday game. This week, Cabin Six had made alliances with Josephine’s cabin and Cabin Eleven, the two biggest cabins. It especially helped that Preston and Darcy were visiting for the summer, both similar in age to Luke. The red team — the Ares Cabin — had allied with Dionysus, Demeter, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus, and they were clearly aiming for intimidation. She knew why Lee had agreed when Annabeth came to him last Sunday with the alliance offer — he wanted to win. And everyone knew that Annabeth was a thorough planner and a scary enemy to have. But Josephine wondered why Cabin Eleven would agree — maybe it was only because Luke had a soft spot for Annabeth.

        Chiron hammered his hoof on the marble. "Heroes!" he announced, and the prickle of anxiety started to worsen. She really hated Capture the Flag, mostly for the nerves of it all. "You know the rules. The creek is the boundary line. The entire forest is fair game. All magic items are allowed. The banner must be prominently displayed and have no more than two guards. Prisoners may be disarmed, but may not be bound or gagged. No killing or maiming is allowed. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. Arm yourselves!"

        He spread his hands, and the tables were suddenly covered with equipment: helmets, bronze swords, spears, and oxhide shields coated in metal. Josephine made sure her Celestial bronze acinaces daggers were strapped to her waist, and then she picked up a Celestial bronze double-edged sword from the table. 

        Across the table, Michael tossed her a chest plate, giving her a crafty look. "You know Annabeth's plan?" he asked.

        "'Course," she answered, sliding a breastplate over her head. "I've heard it a million times from Annabeth since I got doused with toilet water — Do we really have to use him as bait?"

        "He'll be fine." Michael waved his hand. "Just as long as we win. I'd hate to see what would happen to him when Clarisse and an angry Annabeth get to him."

        Josephine sighed, but she didn't argue further. She put on the rest of her armor, pulling on her blue horsehair helmet over her head. She strapped the sword to the other side of her waist, catching Percy's wary eyes. His hands seemed to fidget around all the weapons, like he was afraid of accidentally stabbing himself.

        The prickle of anxiety started to turn more into guilt. She knew Annabeth’s plan would work, but that didn’t make it fair.

        Suddenly, Annabeth yelled, "Blue team, forward!"

        Cheers rose up around Josephine as the Apollo and Hermes cabins followed after Cabin Six, heading south towards the woods. She hurried past the cheering blue team, who were all shaking their swords and shields, to catch up with Annabeth, who was leading. It was loud all around them as the blue team tried to drown out the red team’s taunts as they headed north into the woods.

        Josephine opened her mouth to say something to Annabeth when Percy appeared behind them. He was struggling to hold up his shield, and his armor was on crooked. “Hey,” he greeted, moving his helmet so he could see better.

        Annabeth glanced at him, but she kept marching forward. Josephine gave Percy a sheepish look as she started to hang back. She moved to wave, but Annabeth’s plan (and Josephine’s soon involvement) flashed across her mind, and she stopped. 

        Fortunately, Percy hadn’t noticed, trying to keep up with Annabeth. "So what's the plan?" he asked. "Either of you got any magic items you can loan me?"

        Josephine couldn’t hide her reaction this time, grimacing to herself at the idea. Apollo would never give her something like that. He didn't even acknowledge her existence anymore.

        Annabeth's hand drifted towards her pocket, where her Yankees baseball cap was stored at the moment. It was a gift from Athena, and it made anyone who wore it turn invisible. Her hand froze over her pocket, forcing her hand away. "Just watch Clarisse's spear," she advised. "You don't want that thing touching you. Otherwise, don't worry. We'll take the banner from Ares. Has Luke given you your job?"

        "Border patrol. Whatever that means."

        "It's easy. Stand by the creek, keep the reds away. Leave the rest to me. Athena always has a plan." Annabeth pushed ahead, leaving Percy in the dust — literally. 

        Josephine lagged behind, telling him, "Don't worry, Percy. I'll be posted close to you. Just shout if you get overwhelmed."

        It wasn’t entirely a lie, just not entirely the truth — according to Rose, that was the best kind of lie.

        "Did I do anything to her?" Percy asked, jabbing his thumb in the direction Annabeth walked off in. "I swear she hates me.”

        "It's not that," Josephine quickly said. "Annabeth's just ... been through a lot. It takes her a while to warm up to people."

        “How long is a while?”

        “Well …” she trailed off, “I dunno.”

        Not that Josephine blamed Annabeth for the slow welcoming. Watching her friend sacrifice herself and get turned into a tree would traumatize anyone. It wasn't just a horrible fate that caused Thalia to get turned into a tree. The Big Three — Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades — all made an oath on the River Styx to never have children again. But it didn't last very long — Zeus had a daughter named Thalia seventeen years earlier.

        The Lord of the Sky got off easy as an immortal god, however, Thalia was hunted like prey. Hades wasn't happy that Zeus didn't hold up his end of the oath. But the Lord of the Dead couldn't do anything to the God of the Skys himself, so he targeted the next best thing — Thalia. Hades sent hordes of monsters after Thalia, Annabeth, Luke, and Grover. They nearly made it to Camp Half-Blood when the worst monsters from Tartarus got closer. But the daughter of Zeus didn't want to live as a hunted animal and decided she would take her fate into her own hands. Thalia made her last stand on Half-Blood Hill. Her sacrifice allowed Annabeth and Luke, who were being led by Grover, to make it to Camp Half-Blood safely.

        Josephine knew the story of Thalia, Daughter of Zeus, before anyone ever had a chance to tell her. She saw the lightning flash and thunder roll as a tree grew nearly in an instant in her dreams. That was why she had so much respect for Luke and Annabeth, the two who had made it to Camp with Thalia.

        Thalia's tree, a great and tall pine tree, served as a border to keep the camp safe from any monsters that managed to find them. The last of Thalia's life force powered the tree, keeping the magical borders in place and all demigods inside safe.

        Percy's voice shook Josephine out of her stupor. She had completely missed what he said to her. "I'm sorry — what d'you say?"

        "Your knives," he said again. "Why'd you use those instead of a bow?"

        "Daggers," she corrected. "And" — she took a breath — "I like daggers more than bows. I feel like I have more control."

        Because of your complete lack of capabilities with a bow. How embarrassing, said that mean voice, reminding her.

        "Oh." Percy frowned. "I thought you'd like bows more since Apollo uses them a lot."

        Josephine gave him a tense smile. "I just like my daggers over bows. Nothing crazy."

        She tried helping Percy feel better earlier by telling him that no one is good at everything, the only thing she hadn’t said was that she seemed to be good at nothing Apollo was the god of. Well, horrible at everything except the one thing she wished she wasn't capable of — foresight was proving a much worse gift than Josephine ever had the foresight to predict, ironically enough.

✿

It was a warm, sticky night. The woods were dark, with fireflies popping in and out of view. Annabeth stationed Percy next to a little creek that gurgled over some rocks, and then she and the rest of the blue team scattered into the trees. Josephine reminded him one last time she would be posted nearby, before ducking into the bushes and finding a tall tree to climb. She grabbed a lower branch of an oak tree and pulled herself onto the branch, climbing a branch higher. She braced her back against the tree, keeping a close eye on Percy.

        That was what she was meant to do — keep a close eye on Percy. She was there to make sure Clarisse didn't take things too far (as the daughter of Ares always did). Annabeth had buttered her up when she came to her with the rough plan. Oh, but you’re so good with your daggers, Posie! Annabeth had said, trying to convince the girl who had been doused by toilet water the day before to watch over the boy who had been the one to douse her with toilet water. (Being drenched with toilet water wasn’t exactly the warm welcome Percy wanted to make if he wanted to be friends with Josephine.) 

        Unfortunately for Josephine, she struggled to tell people No, especially if they started complimenting her. (Can you really blame her? Everyone enjoys compliments!)

        She was sure Percy knew she was around. He kept glancing in her direction, but he never did anything that would make her believe that he could see her way up in the oak tree. Josephine stretched out a crick in her neck, looking up at the sky above. The night sky was cloudless that night, and the stars burned brightly overhead. She always found the night pretty — when it wasn't completely dark, that is. As silly and cliché as it was, she hated darkness and couldn't stand to be surrounded by it. Maybe that's why she found the moon and stars so pretty. It was easy to see them in the dark sky, and they lit up the land on Earth, so it wasn't total darkness.

        Far away, the conch horn blew. Josephine heard whoops and yells in the woods, the clanking of metal — campers fighting. Josephine's fingers rested impatiently on the double-edged sword, her blood burned with anticipation. As horrible as she was with a bow, she had worked hard to be decent with swords and daggers. Those didn’t come naturally to her, either, but compared to archery, she showed a little promise — and Josephine grabbed that small hope and held on. It was a slap in the face every time she tried to use a bow, but it was fuel to make her become better with swords and daggers. She desired anything to be good at, even if it was something her father had no control over.

        Josephine grinned when she spotted Preston and Michael running by Percy, leaping through the creek and into enemy territory. Preston caught her eye briefly and winked before disappearing into the trees.

        As her half-brothers disappeared into the woods on the other side, Percy's face fell. With a loud and heavy sigh, he stuck his bronze sword into the ground. This was the moment he realized just how boring border patrol was.

        Josephine shifted, grabbing the branch above her head. She winced when a small section of it gave a sharp and quick snap! Percy whirled around, his green eyes landing on Josephine, who was trying to regain her balance. "So that's where you are!" he said loudly.

        "Don't be so loud!" she chided him. "I told you I was going to be posted nearby."

        "I didn't think you meant this close. Why?"

        "I told you," she insisted. "Make sure you don't get overwhelmed. That's all."

        Percy’s eyes narrowed on her, and she could tell he doubted her. "Why?" he demanded again.

        "Do you not understand?" Josephine asked, frowning down at him.

        He frowned back. "I do —" 

        However, a low canine growl cut him off — a chilling sound that made goosebumps rise along Josephine’s arms. She tensed at the sound, her eyes scanning the place wildly. It came from a line of trees near the two. Percy raised his shield instinctively, staring at the line of trees with wide eyes. The sound of Josephine pulling out a dagger was almost deafening in her ears.

        But the growling stopped as quickly as it had started.

        Josephine's eyebrows furrowed, part of her tempted to go after the noise to find out what it was. However, as she looked back to Percy, opening her mouth to say something, the underbrush of on the other side of the creek seemed to explode — five of Ares’s kids raced out, all yelling and screaming. And they were running right for Percy.

        The plan — Annabeth's plan — had finally come to fruition.

        "Cream the punk!" Clarisse screamed, pointing her spear right at Percy.

        Her pig eyes glared through the slits of her helmet. She brandished a six-foot spear, its barbed metal tip flickering with red light. Her siblings had only the standard-issue bronze swords — the problem was that they knew how to use the weapons well and Percy was brand-new.

        They charged across the stream. Josephine jumped in shock and started climbing down from her post in the oak tree. Percy managed to sidestep the first kid's swing, but they still managed to surround him, and Clarisse jabbed at Percy with her spear. His shield deflected the point with some sparks, but Josephine knew he was feeling the electricity from the spear by the way he gasped and his knees nearly buckled. 

        As she was halfway down the tree, one of Clarisse's siblings, Sherman, slammed him in the chest with the butt of his sword and Percy hit the dirt — hard. Josephine grabbed a dagger from her waist as the Ares kids laughed and taunted Percy.

        "Give him a haircut," Clarisse chortled. "Grab his hair."

        Percy managed to climb to his feet and raised his sword, however, Clarisse slammed it aside with her spear as sparks flew. "Oh, wow." The daughter of Ares snickered, sharing amused glances with her siblings. "I'm scared of this guy. Really scared."

        "The flag is that way," Percy croaked, his voice weak and embarrassed. He seemed like he was trying to sound angry, but the way his voice squeaked made it a dead giveaway that he was scared.

        "Yeah," one of Clarisse's siblings scoffed. "But see, we don't care about the flag. We care about a guy who made our cabin look stupid."

        "You do that without my help," Percy told them.

        That definitely wasn't the right thing to say. They all scowled at him, and two lunged for him at once. Josephine gritted her teeth, trying to find the branch below her with only her foot. She swore the branches weren’t this far apart when she was climbing up! Percy stumbled back words the creek, forcing his shield up to cover his chest; however, Clarisse was faster. Her spear struck Percy in the ribs, and he yelped loudly as electricity shot through his body. Taking a chance while he was shocked, one of Clarisse’s brother slashed their sword across Percy’s raised arm.

        If he hadn't been wearing the armor breastplate, he would've been skewered straight through. Josephine gritted her teeth, her foot grazing the branch below her — she dropped, her eyes widening as she saw the amount of blood already on his armor. She gripped her dagger tightly, raising it over her head.

        "No maiming," Percy croaked, staring at the kids from Cabin Five.

        "Oops," the guy said. He shrugged, giving all of his siblings amused grins. "Guess I lost my dessert privilege."

        Crouching on the branch lowest to the ground, Josephine drew back her arm and threw the dagger — it managed to pierce the son of Ares in the shoulder of his arm. He gasped, grabbing the hilt. "I guess I lost mine, too," Josephine hissed. (Admittedly, though, she didn’t know how she had done it. Those daggers weren’t for throwing, and her aim was terrible.)

        And it didn't help Percy either, but it made Josephine feel better. Clarisse glowered at the daughter of Apollo resentfully. However, Clarisse and her other brother backed Percy further into the creek. Josephine climbed down the tree to keep the three in her line of sight. However, by the time she made it out of the tree, another of Clarisse's brothers was lying down in the creek with dazed eyes.

        That sight didn't deter Clarisse. She kept charging for Percy, the point of her electric spear crackling with energy. As soon as she made an attack, he caught the shaft between the edge of his shield and sword and twisted — the shaft of the spear snapped like a twig.

        Clarisse stumbled back, her eyes widening as she saw her ruined spear. Then, she screamed — loudly. "You idiot! You asshole! You corpse-breath worm!"

        There were certainly worse insults that would've come, however, Percy smacked the daughter of Ares between the eyes with the butt of his sword — Clarisse was sent stumbling even father, and she stumbled out of the creek, clutching her head.

        Then Josephine heard yelling — elated screams — and she spotted Luke racing towards the boundary line with the red team's banner lifted high. He was flanked by some of his siblings, who were covering his retreat, and some of Josephine's siblings, who were fighting off some of Hephaestus's kids.

        Clarisse and her siblings got up. The Head Counselor of Cabin Five got to her feet, fury written across her face. "A trick!" she shouted. "It was a trick."

        She tried to stagger after Luke, but it was too late. Everybody converged on the creek as the son of Hermes ran across into friendly territory, and as his feet landed on friendly territory — the blue team exploded into cheers. The red banner shimmered and turned silver. The boar and spear were replaced with a huge caduceus, the symbol of Hermes. Everybody on the blue team picked up Luke and started carrying him around on their shoulders. Chiron cantered out of the woods and blew the conch horn — the game was over, and the blue team won.

        Josephine walked over to Percy, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You alright?"

        "You couldn't have stepped in sooner?" he asked bitterly, shaking off her hold.

        She flushed, her ears burning. "I was climbing out of a tree! I couldn’t find my footing, okay?" she defended herself shrilly. "Besides, you held your own against them. That’s awesome! It wasn’t just beginner’s luck with Luke, you see?"

        "It wasn't bad at all," Annabeth's voice agreed. Percy jumped at the sound of her voice, whirling around. Behind him, the daughter of Athena shimmered into view. She held her Yankees cap tightly, analyzing Percy with new interest. 

        He started to frown at Annabeth. "You set me up," he declared, sounding sure of himself. "You put me here because you knew Clarisse would come after me, while you sent Luke around the flank. You had it all figured out."

        Annabeth shrugged. She tucked the navy blue cap into her pants pocket. "I told you. Athena always, always has a plan."

        "A plan to get me pulverized," Percy snapped.

        "That's why we posted Posie near you," explained Annabeth, looking at the daughter of Apollo. Josephine frowned at the use of the nickname, but she didn’t have room to correct it. "She's amazing with daggers and swords. And I would've helped, too, but ..." she shrugged, "you didn't need my help."

        Josephine tried to give him a smile, but her eyes traveled down to where Clarisse had cut him. Her eyes widened suddenly as she saw it — the gash along Percy's forearm, and from the blood that had been coming out of his arm. It was nearly gone now. Some of her siblings were amazing at healing, but even they couldn’t have healed a deep gash this quickly.

        "Percy," she said urgently, "what's happening to that cut?"

        The boy stared at her. "What do you mean? It's a sword cut. You saw it happen."

        "No, it was a sword cut." Josephine shook her head, pointing to his arm. "Look at it now."

        The blood was gone completely. And where the cut had been, there was a long, thin white scratch — a scar. But even that was fading, and fast. As Josephine watched, even the small scar eventually disappeared, like it had never happened in the first place. A heavy feeling settled in her gut. She was quickly learning why there was a reason she kept having dreams about storms and sea-green eyes.

        Percy’s anger was gone. He glanced up at Josephine and Annabeth. "I — I don't get it."

        Annabeth’s eyebrows were knitted together by now. She was thinking hard, her grey eyes swirling like storm clouds. The daughter of Athena looked down at Percy's feet, then at Clarisse's broken spear, and her eyes widened just a bit. "Step out of the water, Percy."

        "What —?"

        "Just do it."

        He obliged, but as soon as his feet were out of the water, his knees buckled underneath him. Josephine caught his arm, keeping him steady. She looked at where the cut had been, before quickly whipping her head over to Annabeth.

        Annabeth got an answer, but the one she didn’t want, it seemed. She stepped back, fear painting her face. "Oh, Styx," she cursed. "This is not good. I didn't want ... I assumed it would be Zeus ..."

        Percy frowned, ready to ask a question when a low growl filled Josephine's ears. It was the same growl as before. It made her skin crawl, and a chill shot up her spine. Everyone fell silent, their cheering halting as they all heard the growl, too. Even the air seemed to turn cold. Chiron shouted in Ancient Greek, "Stand ready! My bow!"

        Josephine kept one hand on Percy, using her other hand to pull out her other dagger. Annabeth drew her sword. However, she gasped loudly as she saw it, and felt silly for even grabbing just one measly dagger. On the rocks, just above them, was a dog the size of a rhino. Josephine's breath hitched in her throat as she caught a glimpse of its chilling red eyes and its dagger-like fangs — a hellhound. But it was only looking at Percy, who she was standing in front of.

        (See? This is where participating in more Camp activities and talking to more campers got her. In between an angry hellhound and a boy she was starting to learn wasn’t supposed to be alive.)

        Nobody moved except Annabeth, who yelled, "Percy, run!" Josephine tried to raise her dagger, but the hellhound sailed over her with ease. Percy tried to stumble backwards, back into the creek, but the monster was too fast — it dove right on top of him, its dagger-sized claws ripping through his armor.

        There was a cascade of thwacking sounds, like forty pieces of paper being ripped one after another — and from the hellhound's neck sprouted a large cluster of arrow shafts. The monster fell at Percy's feet, dead.

        Josephine hurried over to Percy again. Chiron trotted up to them, a bow in his hand. His face was more grim than she had ever seen it before.

        "Di immortales," Annabeth swore. "That's a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment. They don't — they're not supposed to ..."

        "Someone summoned it," Chiron said. "Someone inside the camp."

        Josephine frowned. She had told Percy that sometimes people summoned monsters as practical jokes, but never to actually take the life of another camper — and never a monster like a hellhound, either. 

        Luke came over, the banner in his hand forgotten, his moment of glory long forgotten by now. Clarisse glanced around at all the shocked faces. Then, she yelled, "It's all Percy's fault! Percy summoned it!"

        "Clarisse, are you an idiot?" Josephine demanded angrily, glaring at the daughter of Ares. "You think Percy would summon a hellhound that would try and kill him?"

        Chiron raised his hand. "Be quiet, children," he ordered them.

        Everyone watched in silence as the body of the hellhound melted into the dark creek shore, as if the thing were truly made of nothing but shadows.

        Suddenly, Annabeth looked at Percy. "You're wounded," she told him, trying to usher him into the creek behind them. "Quick, Percy, get in the water."

        "I'm okay," he tried to say.

        "No, you're not," she insisted. She looked over her shoulder, glancing at the centaur with a bow still clutching in his hands. "Chiron, watch this."

        Percy seemed to decide there was no use in arguing. He stepped back into the creek, and the wounds on his chest began healing instantly. Josephine watched in silent horror, connecting the dots of everything odd that had happened around the boy who killed the Minotaur. Her dreams; the angry storms; the gods becoming quieter; again, her dreams.

        She winced and narrowed her eyes at the sudden bright, green light overhead. She put her hand above her eyes, struggling to look upwards. Floating above Percy's head, much like a hologram, spinning and gleaming in the dark night — a three-tipped spear. A trident.

        Percy had been claimed. Only by Poseidon, who wasn't ever supposed to have half-blood children again. A few campers gasped, and Percy started apologizing. "Look,” he glanced around at everyone, noticing the sudden shift and light, “I — I don't know why. I'm sorry ..."

        But he trailed off as he spotted Josephine's face — the shock and fear written across her face. He followed her lead and looked above his head, however, the hologram was already fading by the time he looked. But he saw just enough to make it out, and his green eyes widened as he realized it meant claiming.

        "Your father," Annabeth murmured, wringing her Yankees cap in her hands. "This is really not good."

        "It is determined," Chiron announced.

        Annabeth was the first to kneel, and she quickly looked at Josephine. The daughter of Apollo glanced once more at Percy, but followed Annabeth’s lead — she kneeled, her head bowing down towards the earth. That seemed to set off a chain reaction — campers started kneeling, even the Ares Cabin (though they didn't look happy about it).

        "My father?" Percy asked, sounding completely bewildered.

        "Poseidon," said Chiron. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God."

Chapter Text

chapter four
❛ four for a quest ❜

━━━━━  IT WAS UNBELIEVABLY bad that Percy Jackson was the son of Poseidon. Josephine feared the ramifications that would soon be pouring down from the sky and crawling from the fissures of the earth. She knew Zeus and Hades were not pleased. She knew what Thalia, a daughter of Zeus, had faced as a result of her father's infidelity. She had seen it in flashes of lightning in a dream years ago. Josephine knew what the daughter of the sky had lived through, as Hades or Poseidon could never express anger at their brother. Josephine was terrified for Percy and what it meant for him if he ever set even a singular foot outside of Camp Half-Blood's borders — especially with the things already getting past the camp's magical borders.

        Admittedly, Josephine felt like an idiot for not noticing sooner. (And here, she had been assuming she had the “gift” of foresight — which maybe, most likely, she did. And if she didn’t, she didn’t want to know what else was wrong with her.) She should’ve seen it. Managing to flood the girls’ bathroom? Being healed by water alone? She should’ve seen it, but she just … didn’t want to believe it. Poseidon was never supposed to have children again, and as far as everyone knew, he held up his end of the bargain — until he claimed Percy Jackson, of course.

        But what was more unbelievably bad: a quest would be given. The first quest since Luke Castellan's disastrous, failed quest. And it seemed Percy would be receiving the task of venturing outside of Camp Half-Blood's borders (where all the bloodthirsty monsters would be roaming free, mind you).

        Josephine wasn't supposed to know, but her dreams informed her (well … the best that dreams could at least; things had to be cryptic and odd, of course, that’s the nature of dreams). She was standing on a beach, with a raging storm coming closer and closer to shore. She had seen this before, quickly being swallowed by the sea before anything could happen. But something about this felt different — it felt more violent, more angry, more resentful. Like the storm had worked up enough magnitude, and could no longer hold back. Her heels were dug into the sand; she was fighting to keep herself rooted to the ground. Her hands were covering her face, fighting to block the sand swirling around her like a tornado.

        Instead of her, all alone on this beach, now there were two men. Two men, both with long beards and heads full of dark hair. They both wore flowing Greek tunics — one trimmed in an orderly blue, and the other trimmed with a dark, stormy sea green. These men grappled with each other; they wrestled, kicked, and even head-butted each other. They were fighting like wild, barbaric animals. Every time they connected — lightning flashed, the sky grew darker, and the wind grew even more raging.

        Josephine dug her heels in further, moving to dig her fingers into the sand in front of her. With winds this furious, there was no stopping sand from getting into her eyes, and she could no longer keep her footing with just her feet. She squinted at the two figures before her. "Stop!" she cried out. Her voice was carried uselessly away by the wind.

        Over the roar of the storm, she could hear the blue-robbed one yell to the one robed in green, "Give it back! Give it back! You took it with that blasted son of yours!"

        The waves grew right before her eyes. They crashed into the sea bank, and from the force, they reached twenty feet over the sand, spraying the three with salty ocean water. However, that didn’t stop these men. Nothing around these fighting men was going to disturb them — no wind, no waves, no Josephine. They were like squabbling children, fighting over the last slice of cake. (But the thing was, when the gods squabbled, everyone knew, and everyone suffered the consequences — not just the gods.)

        She wiped the hair plastered to her face out of her eyes, struggling to keep herself from flying into the air. "Stop!" she tried pleading with them again. She yelled so loud, loud enough that she knew she had to be heard over the thunderous winds and raging waves.

        However, the men kept fighting — the lightning and water continued to fight too, the bolts of energy crashed into the water, with the waves continuing as if nothing had happened. And with her yells, the only thing Josephine seemed to wake was a deep, grumbling voice beneath the earth. The ground shook with deep, mighty laughter. It came from beneath her feet — under the earth, not in the earth. The laughter made her blood chill; a shudder ran up her spine.

        The voice was crooning, "Little hero ... you will fall. Even if I have to make you. In time …"

        Then, without warning, the sand beneath her feet split wide open — a fissure spread along the beach, engulfing sand down to the center of the earth. Josephine fell on her back, digging her fingers into the sand behind her. She tried to climb away from the crevice but she was too trapped in the sand around her — and she slid into the fissure, the two men continuing the fight, as if nothing else was happening around them.

        Josephine woke with a start. The sound of her breathing was the only thing in Cabin Seven. The sun was starting to rise — she could see the pink rays peaking past the white blinds. However, the pink rays were dampened by a real storm brewing right outside of Camp Half-Blood. Josephine hadn't just dreamt that — the storm was real, and so too must be the men fighting (and the man laughing beneath the earth).

        She sat up quickly, avoiding hitting her head on the bed above her. She kicked off her white blanket that was embroidered with yellow suns and golden lyres.

        Give it back, the one robed in blue demanded. He said it like something had been stolen. Something stolen. Josephine found herself shivering at the thought. For months, she had been hearing whispers in her dreams, ever since the Winter Solstice at that. As the months wore on, she started hearing whispers outside her dreams — satyrs and nymphs whispering to one another, thinking no campers could hear them. Hearing the one-off whispers, things didn’t make sense; however, as Josephine strung her dreams and all those whispers together … things still didn’t really make sense. Only, she was more scared, and had a sliver of an idea of what was going on — something had been stolen from the gods. Something powerful enough to cause crazy storms over the past few months.

        With the morning sun rays starting to peak in, the rest of Cabin Seven was starting to stir. Across the cabin, in another bottom bunk, Lee sat up in his bed. His blond hair stood on end, and he kept one eye closed as he yawned. "You okay?" he asked her, his eyes narrowing as he saw her shadowy figure.

        Josephine swung her legs over her bed, shivering at the coldness. "Fine,” she replied.

        No, you're not, that cruel voice chided her. She hated how she was starting to recognize it, even expecting it over the past few weeks. No one like you is fine. You know this. Foresight is not a gift, it is a curse; a plague.

        She ignored the voice, digging underneath her bunk and pulling out her shoes. "I just need to talk to Chiron, Lee. That's all. I have to go — now."

✿

The pink and orange hues were growing, slowly spreading across Camp Half-Blood — from east to west. Unfortunately for Josephine, the sun took its time so early in the morning, and fighting against the raging storm at Camp Half-Blood’s borders, it had to work even harder. Apollo seemed in no mood to hurry up, either. 

        She hugged herself for warmth, finding it impossible to find any as the wind whipped around her. Her sleeping shorts and shirt weren't providing any heat, either. She tucked her hands underneath her arms as she hurried across Camp Half-Blood's grounds. She trekked up the hill toward the Big House, cringing as the wet grass tickled against her ankles and the water started to soak through her shoes and into her socks. The door to the Big House creaked loudly, but she ignored it, following the floor further inside.

        She walked along the halls until she reached Chiron’s door. She knocked on the door with her knuckles, practically resting her ear against the wood. However, instead of waiting for a response, she swung the door open. "Chiron," she started, pausing in the doorway, "I need to — uh — tell you … something."

        The centaur looked up at her, pausing in the middle of a task — shuffling through a tall stack of papers. He gently set the stack of reports back on his oak desk. "Yes, Josephine?"

        "I need to tell you something," she repeated, forcing her feet to walk herself further inside.

        Admittedly, Josephine had never been inside his office much. Most times, campers were in this office when they were getting into trouble and receiving some sort of punishment from the centaur. Chiron’s office has a record player and a full-screen TV (where they would show new campers the orientation film; fortunately, she had never watched it, but had heard tales from kids who had watched it). There was also a computer and a boombox with tapes of music that could even scare the dead (Chiron’s … taste in music was certainly something in Josephine’s opinion). The entire room had a bronze shield due to the whole technology-and-demigods-do-not-mix ordeal — or, at least, that was the explanation Josephine had received when she asked.

        Chiron motioned to a chair in front of his desk, inviting her to sit. "What do you need to tell me?" he prodded, the invitation for her to continue.

        Josephine sat down quickly in the overly plush chair. She thumbed the edge of her shorts, finding it hard to look at the centaur. "I …” She was quickly losing her nerve, but she tried to steel them. (It wasn’t working. Currently, her knees felt like jelly, and her stomach felt lodged in her throat.) “You know I struggle to do a lot of the things Apollo is the god of." She glanced up at Chiron, who was watching her with a keen eye. "And that I … prefer to keep to myself." 

        Chiron hummed in understanding (and that stung a little bit; she hadn’t expected him to agree with her). She just needed to rip the band-aid off. There was no other way of doing it. "Well — I think I have the gift of foresight," she said quickly, the words tumbling out of her mouth in a rushed confession. She rocked slightly back and forth in the chair, wiping her hands on the fabric of her shorts. "It doesn’t feel like a gift, but —”

        Chiron held up a hand, saying plainly, "Apollo has informed me of this, as well." He scanned her face for a second, continuing, "He knows that you struggle in archery and the like, but he has told me of what he believes you have — ah … inherited from him."

        There was silence for a moment as Josephine stared. "... He's talked to you?” Her eyebrows raised into her hairline. “About me?"

        Chiron nodded in agreement. "Not too long after you were claimed. As a favor for teaching me so long ago, Apollo wanted me to keep a close eye on you."

        A favor. That’s what she was worth. Her stomach churned, and she felt like she was going to be sick. But the sickness was more — it was anger, betrayal, bitterness. All horrible feelings that she wanted to wring out of her body that very instant. Never had Apollo acknowledged her beyond claiming her, but he took it upon himself to go to Chiron personally and ask for a favor. That’s what she was worth? A favor? He talked to Chiron about something she had never told a soul, not in her two years at Camp — but Apollo told. He told Chiron for her; he gave her no other option. She never told a soul, far too afraid of how they would react; how they would treat her once they learned what she bore.

        Apollo knew that she was struggling under the weight of foresight, and he never helped her — not once. Going to Chiron didn’t help her; it hasn’t helped her. And it must mean that the god has heard every time she cried about her nightmares, all the times she silently prayed to him for answers — Why her? Why this? Why now?

        Why her?

        Why did it have to be her, Josephine Pascual, who struggled? Why did it have to be her who felt like she was drowning under the weight of foresight? Why did it have to be her to be oh-so-horribly different than the rest of her siblings? He must've heard every single prayer, every single question, every single offering to him — and Apollo never once answered anything. But he talked to Chiron. He asked the centaur for a favor — watch over Josephine Pascual, the odd daughter of Cabin Seven. That must count for something, right?

        She wanted to scream. At her fathers, at Chiron, at every single god that let their children struggle the way Apollo let Josephine struggle.

        Josephine licked her lips. "... He told you." She tried to keep her voice steady, however it still wavered. "And you've just been …” she shrugged, “sitting with this information? For two years? You were never going to tell me you knew? You were going to let me suffer for however long I have left to live?"

        Chiron sighed, and his face fell like this had been the very conversation he had been dreading for those two years. "Apollo told me I had to wait until you told me. I wanted to talk to you as soon as he spoke to me — but your father insisted. He said it was what needed to be done. It was fate, he told me. I'm sure you know what happens to people who fight against fate, Josephine."

        She shivered, tucking her unbrushed hair behind her ears. Sure, she did. She knew what happened to people who fought against fate. She had seen countless people try and do the impossible in her dreams — it always ended horribly. It always ended in madness and death. Not just for the person who fought against fate, but for every person the fighter came across; for every person who was caught in the path of the fighter. It was like some horrible ripple effect, only the ripple effect was more of a tidal wave effect.

        "What made you want to tell me about this now, Josephine?" Chiron asked.

        She kept her eyes trained on the desk, shrugging. "I've been having more and more dreams since the Winter Solstice. But they’ve seriously ramped up after Percy arrived. I mean, I even had a dream of him fighting the Minotaur the night he arrived. And — and my last one ... I think I was dreaming of Zeus and Poseidon. They were fighting, but not about Percy being Poseidon's son. But about giving something back — like it was stolen." Her eyes snapped up to Chiron’s, trying to read his ancient eyes. She soon found out that was almost impossible. "I've been hearing whispers about something being stolen since the Solstice."

        Chiron watched her. After thousands of years, his poker face was perfect — nearly. If you watched closely enough, you could read some emotions. But you had to watch as he’s had thousands of years to master and perfect a poker face. "... Yes,” he finally answered. “Something has been stolen."

        "What is it?" she pried.

        "I think it's better if we wait to tell you. Percy is being summoned to the Big House later this morning." He looked aside, his eyes traveling up the wall to the analog clock hanging. "Not too long, now. Grover will bring him here. I will tell Grover to get you from Cabin Seven when it is time."

        "I'll stay here," Josephine offered. "I mean, that dream is — like — just a coincidence, is it? It can't be —"

        The centaur's eyes crinkled as he started to smile. "Miss Pascual, you are wearing your sleeping clothes. I suggest you go and get changed and go about your regular day until it is time. I will tell Grover to get you when it is time for Percy to be informed."

        She started to stand up, pausing long enough to ask, "Percy's gonna be offered a quest, isn't he?"

        "Mr. D is offering another option for Percy."

        "What? Getting turned into an animal?" She rolled her eyes slightly. "That's what he threatens everyone with."

        "This time he's offering that he could have Mr. Jackson's molecules erupt in flames," admitted Chiron, sighing slightly. "But, Mr. Jackson is needed alive to go on a quest."

        This might be a way to fix all her nightmares. If Percy finds whatever was stolen (admittedly, Josephine has some idea what was stolen), this might set the gods and their stormy moods straight. It might just fix her mind and set all her dreams right. It might just ease the burden of the inheritance Apollo had been so kind to bestow upon her.

        No, not might. It had to. Percy finding what was stolen and returning it would ease the dreams. She couldn’t live like this for the rest of her demigod life.

✿

It was official: Josephine hated waiting. It was nearly worse than getting spontaneously attacked by vicious, bloodthirsty monsters. (Something she had also experienced.)

        It had been a few days since Percy was claimed by the Sea God, and in those few days, things at Camp seemed to become more alarming — and not at a steady pace, not in the slightest. Percy moved into Cabin Three, Poseidon's cabin, and had essentially gone radio silent with Josephine. She was more hurt than she realized. It wasn’t her fault Clarisse wanted to pulverize him, and she had no idea it would be a thousand times harder climbing out of a tree than into it! Besides, Percy had held his own against those from Cabin Five. And in the end, his father claimed him (even if it was a god who was never supposed to have half-blood children again …) She wanted to tell him that Annabeth didn’t go through with plans unless she knew they would work, and she wanted to tell him that if things had turned out worse, Josephine would’ve stepped in sooner — but she couldn’t. Ever since Percy entered Cabin Three, it was like he had completely disappeared from Camp Half-Blood.

        However, she supposed it didn’t help that she avoided Cabin Three (or anything to do with it) like the plague, either …

        But everyone else had gone radio silent with Percy, too. He didn’t need help shutting out the world as everyone at Camp seemed happy to do so, as well. No one spoke to Percy unless they had to, and it was like some bubble formed around him; a bubble that no one tried to burst, or seemingly even try to if they even could. From what Annabeth ranted to Josephine about, Percy had one-on-one sword lessons with Luke, Annabeth still taught him Ancient Greek in the mornings (something she was deeply upset about), and Grover was trying to talk to the son of Poseidon more and more. And the number of people who spoke to Percy face-to-face paled in comparison to the number of people who talked about him behind his back. Admittedly, there was a lot to whisper and speculate about — the Minotaur attack, the bathroom incident, the hellhound, and most importantly, who Percy's father was.

        As much pity as Josephine felt for him, her apprehension and disdain of waiting were overriding that. There would be a quest, that much she was sure of, and that quest would be to find the stolen item. The stolen item was causing discourse among the gods, which was perhaps the reason her dreams were becoming worse (and the reason that mean voice was starting to speak more and more). If Percy could find the stolen item and return it (in the process, placating Zeus and Hades about the whole … Poseidon’s son deal; she didn’t want to know what the Sea God would turn Percy into if it came to that), she had her hopes it would calm the gods enough that her dreams would calm down.

        And that the mean voice would leave her alone, too. She hadn’t realized just how much she was hearing it as the days wore on.

        Over Long Island Sound, the sky looked like ink soup coming to a boil just about the water. A hazy curtain of rain was barreling straight for Camp Half-Blood, its sights set with vicious determination. Josephine watched it nervously on the front steps of Cabin Seven, tearing her eyes from the storm to the end of the cabins. She was looking for any sign of Grover, impatiently waiting to see if she could head to the Big House soon.

        There wasn’t relief when she spotted the satyr. If anything, her stomach lurched even more — becoming a tight ball of anxiety as she saw him clopping closer. He was lanky, with extremely curly black hair and dark skin that was littered with acne and a wispy beard on his chin. He had wide, dark brown eyes with heavy eyebags underneath them (though she speculated that those eyebags had to do with worry for Percy more than anything else). For once, since he didn't have to hide his less human attributes, she could see his small, wimpy horns sprouting out of his head and his brown goat legs.

        She stood up suddenly, her legs feeling like mush as all the worries started to become real. She wasn’t waiting anymore; Percy was going to receive the quest offer (although it hardly counted as an offer) — however, that also meant she had to wait anxiously to see if Percy could even find the stolen item, or if the gods would take it back and calm down — 

        No, they would. And her dreams would do the same. Even that stupid voice would leave her alone. (That stupid voice had to leave her alone after this.)

        The satyr stalled long enough, looking at Josephine. She asked, "Mr. D's not mad enough to kill Percy, right?" She knew the answer without even having to ask, she was just hoping Mr. D would be in a better mood than normal.

        Somehow, Grover's face dropped even more. "I dunno …" he admitted, but the way his voice trembled, she knew what the real answer was. "Chiron's pretty adamant that Percy will take the quest."

        "Annabeth's already offered to go?" asked Josephine.

        Grover’s would-be smile was twisted in an odd manner. "As soon as she heard the word quest."

        Not that Josephine was surprised, of course. Everyone knew Annabeth would jump at the chance to leave Camp and finally see the mortal world after so many years (and please her mother on top of that). It seemed to be Annabeth's very greatest goal — making Athena proud, that is. Josephine understood, of course — to do anything that would please the parent who did so little to show any sort of affection. It was like some sick drug. Not the kind of drug that made you feel better; the kind that sent you in circles, doing more and more stupid things to get a higher high. The only reason Josephine knew … Well, after all, she wanted the same thing as Annabeth. She wanted nothing more than to become something Apollo would be proud to talk about. However, all she’s accomplished in her twelve years as to be something Apollo warned others about; something he had to go around asking favors for.

        At the volleyball pit, Josephine caught a glimpse of her brothers playing a not-so-friendly game with some kids from the Ares Cabin. (From what she understood, Michael had made some snarky remark to Sherman Yang, one of Clarisse’s brothers, about getting a dagger to the shoulder — the dagger Josephine threw during the latest game of Capture the Flag. No surprise, Sherman was angry; his ego was bruised, and his shoulder was in pain.) Pollux and Castor Winward, the twin sons of Dionysus, were walking around the strawberry fields — all around them, the strawberry vines grew like crazy, looking as if they were reaching out for the twin boys. It seemed everybody was going about a normal schedule, like it was just a normal day at Camp; however, everyone looked tense. All eyes were on the massive, murky storm on the horizon.

        And the storm only seemed to be growing. Josephine’s skin prickled at the memory of her dream — the men fighting, the raging storm, and her being swallowed by the earth.

        “Little hero ... you will fall. Even if I have to make you. In time …” the voice had said. This voice — the one from her dreams of the fighting gods — was different. It was older, more ancient. Colder, even. The other voice — the one who whispered to her like a devil on her shoulder — sounded more … crooked; more youthful, in a way. And the things they said were different, too. The older-sounding man didn’t insult her. Despite what felt like taunts from both, the one who sounded younger seemed to know all the things Josephine was insecure about — and he pointed out every single one, using them to his advantage to get under her skin. The other, older man didn’t — he stuck to dreams and cryptic sayings. 

        Josephine had enough fixes for cryptic, with the whole “gift of foresight” business and all (that she was now confirmed about). 

        She made her way up the creaky stairs to the Big House porch. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in a well-cut, silk maroon shirt. He had on loose, black dress pants, and spotless, shiny black shoes. With one long leg crossed over the other, he gave the daughter of Apollo an icy stare.

        She gave a tight-lipped smile. "You're dressed nicely."

        The God of Wine was short with her, his eyebrows knitting together. "'Course I am. I'm a god. Would you like to play a round?" He held out the back of his cards to her, obviously not letting her see the cards he had pulled for that play.

        The daughter of Apollo looked at Chiron for a quick moment. The centaur sat across the table from the god in his fake wheelchair, a blue blanket laid over his fake human legs. He sighed quietly, looking down at his personal set of cards. She then looked at the other two floating sets of cards; the god and centaur had two invisible opponents. "Uh … sure, Mr. D," she said tentatively.

        Mr. D nodded, like her answer was the only appropriate answer. He started shuffling his cards as Josephine slid into one of the open chairs, grabbing the set of cards floating in front of her. She wasn’t much of a pinochle player, but saying No to Mr. D (especially when he was already in a foul mood) wasn’t … the smartest move to make. She shuffled through the cards in her stack, trying to remember which card did what when —

        "Well, well," the God of Wine sneered, his voice scathing in tone. "Our little celebrity."

        Josephine looked up — Percy and Grover were walking up the stairs and across the Big House front porch, all the way over to the end where the pinochle table was. If possible, Grover looked even greener in the face; Percy didn’t look too different, his eyes nervously glancing between her, Chiron, and Mr. D. He slowed down as he got closer to the table.

        Mr. D noticed, his lips curling into a small sneer. "Come closer.” He waved his hand impatiently. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle Beard is your father."

        A net of lightning flashed across the clouds; thunder shook the windows of the house. Josephine took a deep breath, watching the god from the right side of her vision.

        Dionysus rolled his eyes. "Blah, blah, blah." Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards; Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth; Josephine shuffled her cards nervously. "If I had my way," continued the God of Wine, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm."

        "Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron reminded, looking over his cards at the god.

        "Nonsense." Dionysus shook his head dismissively. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself. I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father."

        "Mr. D —" Chiron warned.

        "Oh, all right," Dionysus relented, his shoulder slumping as his sneer turned into some odd expression of godly pouting. "There's one more option — but it's deadly foolishness." He rose, and the last invisible player's cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose.” He looked at Percy pointedly, who had started to pale. “Do you understand? Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do."

        The God of Madness picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle — a clean-cut security pass. He snapped his fingers, and the air seemed to fold and bend around him, and it seemed to start to pull things towards him before, including the discarded sets of cards on the table — he became a holograph; then a gust of wind; then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering in his wake.

        Chiron smiled at Percy, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, Percy, please. And Grover."

        Percy sat opposite Josephine, and Grover sat where Dionysus once was. Chiron laid his cards on the table — a winning hand, but a winning hand he would never get to use. Josephine laid her set on the table, resting her hands on her lap. (She did not have a winning hand.)

        Chiron invited the conversation: "Tell me, Percy. What did you make of the hellhound?"

        The son of Poseidon was staring down at the four sets of cards. His eyebrows were knitted together as he thought over his answer. "It … scared me," he finally admitted. "If you hadn't shot it, I'd be dead."

        "You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done."

        Josephine looked at the centaur quickly. If Chiron’s end goal was to scare Percy enough that he wouldn't take the quest, it was going to work. (And she couldn’t let that happen — the stolen item had to be returned. Her dreams would drive her mad if it weren’t.)

        "Done ... with what?" Percy asked quietly.

        "Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?"

        Percy glanced at Grover and Josephine. The satyr had his fingers crossed, and he looked as if he was mouthing a small prayer. However, Josephine carefully avoided looking at him; she didn’t know what her face would say.

        "Um … sir," started Percy, shifting in his seat, "you haven't told me what it is yet."

        Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part — the details."

        A bolt of lightning arched across the sky, and in its wake, thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as Josephine could see, the sky and sea were boiling together, creating a dangerous concoction of nature.

        Percy swallowed nervously as he watched the storm. "Poseidon and Zeus." He turned back around in his chair. "They're fighting over something valuable ... something that was stolen, aren't they?"

        Josephine looked at Chiron again; he didn’t look at her. He carefully crossed his fingers, sitting forward in his wheelchair. "How do you know this?" he pried from Percy.

        The tips of Percy's ears grew a violent shade of red. "The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Josephine and Annabeth,” the daughter of Apollo sank in her seat slightly as her name was uttered, “and they said they overheard something about a theft. And ... I've also been having these dreams."

        "I knew it," Grover murmured, his eyes slitting like goats.

        Josephine glanced up, sitting forward so her elbows rested on the wood. "Dreams?" she asked quickly, making Percy look at her oddly. "What kind of —?"

        "Quiet, Miss Pascual," Chiron ordered.

        "But, Chiron!" she protested, looking at him in shock. "That means it’s his quest! Just like I told you —!"

        Chiron raised a hand, telling her once more to be quiet. Her lips clamped shut, and she sat back in her seat. "Only the Oracle can determine," he reminded her, his tone brisk. "Nevertheless, Percy … you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise — a lightning bolt."

        Josephine’s stomach lurched, and she took a sharp breath. She had ideas about what was stolen, but she never expected to be right — or incredibly close, that is. She knew it had to be one of the gods’ weapons, and it had to be Zeus's or Poseidon’s, but to steal Zeus’s … Whoever it was, they had a death wish.

        Percy laughed nervously, looking between Grover and Josephine. His nervous laugh stopped abruptly when neither of them laughed with him. "A ... what?" He looked back at Chiron, his eyebrows raising into his hairline. 

        "Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives."

        "Oh."

        "Zeus's Master Bolt," said Chiron. He seemed to be growing restless in his wheelchair. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the Bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the Master Bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers."

        "And it's missing?" asked Percy.

        "Stolen," corrected Chiron.

        "By who?"

        "By whom," Chiron corrected once more. "By you."

        Percy's mouth fell open. He started to protest, but Chiron held up his hand again. "At least," the centaur continued, "that's what Zeus thinks. During the Winter Solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best,' 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his Master Bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly — that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it."

        Percy protested, "But I didn't —"

        "Patience and listen, child," Chiron insisted, his voice tight. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the Master Bolt and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the Bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son. You are in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief."

        "But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!"

        Anxiously, Josephine glanced at the boiling sky on the shores of Camp Half-Blood. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around them, as they always had before. They were rolling straight over the valley they sat in, sealing them in like a dark coffin lid. "Uh … Percy?" she spoke up. "We don't insult the gods — especially, Zeus, or any of the twelve Olympians for that matter."

        "Perhaps, paranoid would be a better choice of words," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam ..."

        He looked at Percy expectantly. Josephine assumed it was some question Chiron had given Percy and his class before the son of Poseidon ever learned of his godly heritage. However, Percy was staring at the centaur incredulously. "Something about a golden net?" he asked. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods ... they — like — trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler, right?"

        "Correct." Chiron nodded. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the Master Bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you've come along — the proverbial last straw."

        "But I'm just a kid!"

        "Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, that he's fathered a new mortal hero who might be used as a weapon against you ... Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?"

        "No, it wouldn’t put a twist in my toga, Grover,” snapped Percy, his eyebrows knitting together. “I didn't do anything. Poseidon — my dad …” He paused, looking between the three at the table. “He didn't really have this Master Bolt stolen, did he? Zeus, I mean."

        Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the Bolt by the Summer Solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the Master Bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the Solstice — there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Percy?"

        "Bad?" he guessed meekly.

        "More like completely and utterly hopeless," Josephine proposed.

        "Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight."

        Percy paled. "Hopeless, yeah."

        "And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath."

        It started to rain — it started to pour, really. The players on the volleyball field stopped mid-game and stared up at the sky in stunned silence. Percy was staring at the heavy rain with a pallid face. "So I have to find this stupid bolt," he muttered, "and return it to Zeus."

        "Don’t call it stupid, either …" Josephine corrected under her breath.

        "What better peace offering," continued Chiron, as if she had never chimed in, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?"

        "If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?"

        "I believe I know." The centaur’s expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago ... Well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle."

        "Why can't you tell me where the Bolt is beforehand?"

        "Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge.”

        “Oh … Good reason."

        "You agree, then?" Chiron raised his bushy eyebrows.

        Josephine gave Percy an optimistic smile (though, perhaps she just looked nauseous). Grover was nodding at him encouragingly. "All right," he relented, sliding his chair away from the table. "It's better than being turned into a dolphin — or whatever Mr. D said …"

        "Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron advised. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more."

        Josephine watched him walk away with a heavy feeling growing in the bottom of her stomach. She knew without a doubt that Percy would receive a prophecy from the Oracle of Delphi. Granted, she wasn't sure how encouraged that made her feel, considering what the Oracle of Delphi was like. She feared what the Oracle would say to Percy. Prophecies never foretold good things.

        You didn’t need to be warned about good things, agreed that cruel voice.

        Josephine squeezed her eyes shut. Shut up, she snapped at it. What do you even know about prophecies?

        And what do you know about prophecies? it countered. You are the daughter Apollo warns others about.

✿

It was ten minutes. Ten long minutes. Ten minutes Josephine hated sitting through, watching and waiting anxiously to see if Percy would come back alive — or even sane — from his visit with the Oracle. 

        And he did. However, he looked as sick as Josephine felt. 

        Chiron looked at him expectantly. "Well?" he prompted.

        Percy slumped into a chair at the pinochle table, his face white as a ghost. "She said I would retrieve what was stolen …" he said slowly.

        Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on his last bite of the aluminum can. "That's great!"

        "What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "That is important."

        "She ..." He took a shaky breath. "She said I would go west and face a god who had turned. I would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned."

        "I knew it!" Grover grinned.

        "Anything else?" Chiron asked.

        Percy licked his lips. "Something about one looking for wanted answers and meeting an enemy turned."

        Josephine shivered, goosebumps rising along her arms. Answers, that cruel voice rang in her head. Answers, don't you want them? Answers as to why you have dreams? As to why you feel so different from your siblings? Why Apollo ignores you?

        "And ..." Chiron prompted.

        Percy's jaw grew tense. "She — the Oracle — said something about four going and ... I thought — Well, I know there's something special about numbers —"

        Josephine sat forward, quickly pushing the cruel voice to the back of her mind. "Three and seven," she answered quickly. "Those numbers are considered lucky in —"

        "Hush, my child," said Chiron, holding his hand out to the daughter of Apollo. He looked at Percy, prodding further; "Anything else?"

        Somehow, if it was even possible, the son of Poseidon paled even more. "No," he said, just a little too quickly. "That's about it."

        Chiron studied Percy's face. "Very well, Percy,” he agreed, but he watched the boy like he knew Percy was lying. “But know this — the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass."

        Josephine sat back in her seat, her back digging into the wood. She knew that the last comment had to be for her, as well. Dreams and foresight can always seem to tell you one thing, and then it turns out to be something completely else.

        "Okay." Percy sounded anxious. "So, where do I go? Who's this god in the west?"

        "Ah, think Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?"

        "Somebody else who wants to take over?" he guessed.

        "Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken."

        The shiver crawled up Josephine’s spine again. She rubbed her right arm slowly, looking at the table. She thought about the dream, about the voice, and the ground swallowing her whole. “Little hero ... you will fall. Even if I have to make you. In time …”

        Percy curled his top lip. "Hades."

        She frowned, looking up from the table. "But … I mean — sure — he doesn't like Zeus or Poseidon — or any of their kids, for that matter — but he's never been outright ... confrontational? Not like that."

        However, Chiron seemed to agree with Percy. "Who else, Josephine? The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility."

        Josephine didn't have an answer for him. Her knowledge of Greek mythology was extensive, yes, but it had its limits. And trying to find a god who would dare challenge both Zeus and Poseidon was one of those limits.

        A scrap of aluminum fell from Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait — What?" he squeaked.

        "A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded the satyr. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades."

        "Yes, but — but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon ..."

        "A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within Camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-blood before he can take on the quest."

        "Great …" Percy muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me."

        "But a quest to ..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the Master Bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year."

        "Grover, be serious!" Josephine hissed, frowning at him. "The prophecy said west, is Maine west of here?"

        "Maine is west of somewhere, Posie!"

        "Hades sent a minion to steal the Master Bolt," Chiron insisted, ignoring the bickering between Josephine and the satyr. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain — Percy must go to the Underworld, find the Master Bolt, and reveal the truth."

        Grover was trembling. He started eating the pinochle cards like they were potato chips. Josephine regarded the satyr, carefully keeping her cards in her hands and her fingers out of the satyr's eating path. She knew of Grover's situation; he was on his last hoof. He had gotten in trouble with the Cloven Elders one too many times. Percy was his last chance of getting his searcher's license, which would allow him to look for Pan, and hopefully be the first satyr to ever succeed.

        Percy was silent for a moment, snapping back to reality to say, "Look, if we know it's Hades, why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads or something."

        "Suspecting and knowing are not the same." Chiron shook his head. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades — and I imagine Poseidon does — they couldn't retrieve the Bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone — as long as they're bold and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?"

        "You're saying I'm being used."

        Josephine raised her eyebrows silently. Percy wasn't wrong. That was the very thing gods were greatest at, besides becoming jealous and scorned when any mortal dared to test them. The gods were great at only talking to their children when they needed something done.

        "I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon has claimed you now," replied Chiron. "It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs you."

        Percy looked at Chiron. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?”

        "I have my suspicions. As I said ... I've spoken to the Oracle, too."

        "So, let me get this straight," Percy started, sitting up straighter in his seat. "I'm supposed to go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead."

        "Yes," Chiron agreed.

        "Find the most powerful weapon in the universe."

        "Yes."

        "And get it back to Olympus before the Summer Solstice — which is in ten days."

        "That also sounds correct.”

        Josephine looked at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts. "Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year …?" the satyr tried again, his voice weak.

        Even with the harsh atmosphere, Josephine started to smile grimly. Percy frowned at his friend. "You don't have to go," he told Grover. "I can't ask that of you."

        "Oh ..." Grover shifted his hooves, with them clopping loudly against the wood floors. "No — it's just that satyrs and the underground places ... well ..." He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt. "You saved my life, Percy. If — if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down."

        A grateful smile made its way onto Percy's face. "All the way, G-man." He turned to Chiron. "So where do we go? The Oracle just said to go west."

        "The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America."

        "Where?"

        Chiron looked surprised at Percy’s cluelessness. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles."

        "Oh ..." Percy shook his head, as if to say Weird. "Naturally, I s’pose. So we just get on a plane —"

        "No!" Grover suddenly shrieked, his head shaking rapidly. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?"

        The son of Poseidon shook his head slowly, an embarrassed blush creeping along his neck and up to his ears.

        "Percy, think," implored Chiron, his torso leaning forward. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again — not alive."

        Josephine flinched when lightning crackled loudly overhead. She licked her lips nervously as thunder boomed and rolled along the campgrounds.

        "Okay," Percy said. His eyes stayed glued to the three in front of him. "So, I'll travel overland."

        "That's right." Chiron nodded. "Three companions may accompany you. Grover is one. Josephine —" the centaur nodded at her, and her jaw dropped dramatically, "would be a wise second choice. And you have a third volunteer, as well, if you will accept the two's help."

        "Gee ..." said Percy with mocking surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?"

        The air shimmered behind Chiron. Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap in her back pocket. "I've been waiting a long time for a quest, Percy," she admitted, her voice miffed as she turned her nose upwards at him. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing things up. And where Josephine goes,” she glanced at Josephine, like she had regretted saying it before, even finishing, “I go."

        Josephine gave the daughter of Athena a bewildered look. They weren't close. Not in Josephine’s opinion, at least. She thought they were not close enough for a comment like that, especially. 

        Percy looked over to Josephine, his eyes scanning her up and down with a questioning look. "Why would you volunteer for a quest like this, then?"

        "Well, I — I didn't," she admitted, her eyes snapping over to Chiron. "I didn't. Offer to go, I mean.”

        "But you've dreamt of Zeus and Poseidon fighting," Chiron explained calmly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It isn't a coincidence, you don't think?"

        Josephine frowned at him. He was using her own words against her. "But —"

        "Dreams are a vital tool," Chiron explained further. "Vital to help you in the future. You wouldn't receive a dream like that if it weren't for a reason. I believe it's very likely you have a role to play in this prophecy."

        Josephine stared at him, fighting the very strong urge to scream in the centaur's face. She didn't want to go on this quest; she shouldn't be going on this quest. She didn’t have what it takes for a quest. If all she offered were dreams, then she would only hold the others back. Dreams were only vital if you understood them — Josephine didn't!

        Percy frowned at her. "Well, Posie? Going or not?"

        Josephine scowled to herself, glaring resentfully, her eyes flickering between Chiron and the son of Poseidon. “It doesn’t sound like I even have a choice, does it?"

        Annabeth gritted her teeth. "Do you want our help or not?"

        Percy didn't make another sarcastic retort. "A group of four — just like the ..." he trailed off, his eyes carefully scanning the wooden table. "That'll work."

        "Excellent." Chiron pursed his lips, nodding curtly. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own."

        "Great ..." Josephine mumbled quietly. "But no pressure."

        Suddenly, lightning flashed, and rain poured down on the meadows — in such violent force that she could hardly see five feet from the front porch. Camp Half-Blood, to her knowledge, had never seen weather like this before.

        "No time to waste," prompted Chiron, turning the wheelchair around to face the rain. "I think you should all get packing."

Chapter Text

chapter five
❛ furies greyhound rage ❜

━━━━━  JOSEPHINE DIDN’T NEED to be “gifted” with foresight to predict what her brother would do — try and convince her not to go on the quest to retrieve Zeus’s stolen Master Bolt.

        It seemed Lee didn't need any sort of foresight to know that there was no changing Josephine's mind, either. He stood at the end of her bed, with arms crossed and a deeply etched crease between his brows. Everyone else in Cabin Seven was avoiding the two — even Michael, knowing better than to talk to an upset Lee Fletcher. Maybe Lee was as laid-back as Apollo, but Lee also had Apollo's scorching anger.

        Josephine stuffed her extra change of pants further into the bag, zipping it closed quickly. "Lee, you've been trying since I got back — I haven't changed my mind! And it's a little late to back out now, we leave in — like — an hour."

        Truly, she hadn’t changed her mind — her mind saying, I don’t want to go on this quest! But no matter how much of a fit she pitched to Chiron, he only told her that dreams sent messages. Her dreams were sending a message that she had some involvement. The messages said to her that Zeus and Poseidon were fighting, not that she would be of any use on this quest. (Admittedly, she also had no idea how to take the whole sand-splitting-in-half-and-her-falling-in ordeal …)

        But one thing was for certain: Josephine never wanted to rip her brain out more.

        Lee's fingers tensed over his tanned arm, as if he were drawing back a bowstring. "You're twelve, Josephine" — that's when she knew he was definitely agitated; he never called her Josephine — "you shouldn't be going on a quest. Michael or I should be going! Hell, even Preston or Darcy — and they’re not even campers anymore."

        The daughter of Apollo sighed. Her eyes danced nervously around the cabin as she tried to find the right words. "Look … Chiron thinks I have some role to play in this quest. I — I don't know how," (that was a small lie, the answer was nightmares), "but he says I do. Take it up with him."

        Lee looked convinced, but now his expression turned into apprehension. "You? You specifically? Josephine Pascual? My Posie?"

        She shrugged, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. "That's what he says."

        "Well — that's even worse!" her brother argued, nearly stomping his foot on the floor. "I don't want you to go on this quest!”

        "You think I do?” She gave her brother a hard look, her voice taking on a harsher tone than she originally intended. She slid off her bottom bunk, grabbing her bag by the shoulder strap and slinging it on her back. “But I don't have a choice. Either I go and play whatever role I have or they — you know, Annabeth, Percy, Grover? — die. Or worse."

        Much, much worse than them just dying, added that cruel voice. Gods, it sounded so brittle and distant, almost to a comical degree. End of the world as we know it. Nature fighting a war against itself.

        Shut up, she snapped at the voice.

        Ah … starting to talk back now?

        I just want you out of my head, Josephine replied. I already have enough problems, I don't need to hear voices that aren't real on top of it.

        But I am not just a voice, and I am —

        Before the voice (which was starting to become louder and more prominent as the days passed) could talk any longer, she shoved the voice out of her mind for the time being. She didn’t need any more problems than the ones she already had — being a half-blood, having the “gift” of foresight, and for that “gift” being forced to go on a quest to the Underworld to retrieve Zeus’s Master Bolt with Poseidon’s son (who wasn’t supposed to exist, mind you!) Frankly, it was all too much. And Josephine didn’t know how foresight and two measly daggers were supposed to help. (She really didn’t think she was that good with daggers anyway — no matter what Annabeth said.)

        Lee sighed, his shoulders sagging. He seemed to have finally accepted that there was no way Josephine was getting out of this (no matter how much she wanted to). "You'll be back by Summer Solstice?" he asked, and she nodded in reply. "Finish the quest — with all limbs attached, too?"

        "And my life," she promised.

        Hopefully, that cruel voice reminded her.

        "Packed ambrosia?" asked Lee. "Nectar?"

        Josephine stopped at the door to Cabin Seven, just before she pushed it open, trekking down the steps. “I thought Chiron would give us some," she replied, her legs feeling like jelly the further she walked. 

        She patted down her waist, making sure both of her daggers were present. She shouldered her backpack again, going over her mental checklist of items. As far as she was aware, everything she could need on a quest was in her bag. A change of clothes, general hygiene products (if they would even have a chance to use them), and — of course — weapons. Both of her Celestial bronze acinaces daggers were hanging from her waist, gleaming in the sunlight.

        Out of some odd instinct, Josephine looked up to the sun. She covered her eyes with her free hand, her eyes narrowing at the brightness and frowning at the reminder of her godly father. She wondered if Apollo was watching her now, now that she was going on a quest. She wondered if he was dreading this quest as much as she was, hoping that she wouldn’t make a fool of the Sun God’s name as she (most likely) royally messed something up. The longer she looked, the more confusing her emotions became. Part of Josephine wanted to curse at the sun, and another part of her wanted to sit down and cry. She didn't want to make her father proud anymore; she just wanted her nightmares and odd, mean voices to go away.

        The Camp store loaned the questers one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. The drachmas were coins that were as big as Girl Scout cookies and had images of various Greek gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. The ancient mortal drachmas had been silver at one point (according to Chiron, and considering he was alive during that time, Josephine was inclined to believe him), but the Olympians never used anything less than pure gold. The coins would be useful in non-mortal transactions, but the way the centaur worded it sent a little jolt of anxiety through Josephine's heart. Then, he gave each of the half-bloods a flask of nectar and an airtight bag full of ambrosia squares — to be used only in emergencies, he reminded the four, if any of them were seriously hurt. Ambrosia could heal almost any injury, but it was lethal to mortals. However, if half-bloods took too much, even they would become extremely feverish. And if a demigod too way too much, they would burn from the inside out.

        Annabeth was bringing her magical Yankees cap, which was a twelfth birthday present from Athena. It was tucked in the back pocket of her blue jean shorts. A hardcover book on famous classical architecture was in her arms, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and her Celestial bronze knife was hidden in the sleeve of her Camp T-shirt. She nodded to Josephine when she spotted the daughter of Apollo, returning to rummaging through her backpack as she went over her mental checklist of things (probably for the tenth time, if she knew Annabeth at all).

        Grover wore his fake feet and his trousers to pass as human. He wore a Greek rasta-style cap, as when it rained, his curly hair would flatten and they could see just the tops of his horns — just barely, but just enough some mortal might see it. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him. Josephine thought it was a shame the satyr only knew two songs all the way through: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's 'So Yesterday.' (It was a bigger shame that both of those songs sounded really bad when he played, too …)

        Out of all of them, Percy seemed to be traveling the lightest, probably because he didn't have many possessions at Camp to take with him. He had simply packed clothes, a toothbrush, and very few other small items. Josephine eyed the backpack, knowing that Percy was still without a weapon he could work with. She hoped Chiron had something to give the boy before they left for the mortal world.

        Lee grabbed the back of Josephine's shirt to pull her into a hug. She hugged him tightly, blinking back a set of tears. Even Michael looked upset, giving him one of his “pep talks” (that often ended up with him encouraging some violent behavior; behavior Lee would always have to discourage from), and even Preston and Darcy stayed long enough to see Josephine go. Both of them were technically no longer campers, but out of college for their summer breaks, they took breaks long enough from their newfound mortal lives to visit. 

        Darcy’s blue eyes were watery. "You’ll do great, okay? Don’t forget all of your training in the heat of the moment, either!"

        With a stiff nod, Josephine promised to do her best not to forget all of her Camp Half-Blood training. From the small cluster of campers from Cabin Eleven, Wyatt managed to elbow his way out. Few of the campers paid mind, but Josephine went rigid as she realized he was heading straight for the small huddle of Cabin Seven’s inhabitants. She wanted to turn and bolt, maybe down the Hill toward the Camp Half-Blood van that would be taking them into the city; however, she didn’t have enough time to consider a second option as Wyatt grabbed her by the upper arm tightly.

        "You never told me you were going on this quest," he said.

        Any lame excuse she was trying to come up with seemed to seep out of her brain and from her ears. She blanked, her mind quietly panicking as she realized how close Wyatt was. She didn't like it. Well — she didn't dislike it, it was just ... different. Did Wyatt always smell like lemons? Josephine didn't like lemons, but now she was starting to reconsider.

        "Well, yeah — I mean, no. Yeah, no.” She winced as Rose appeared beside Wyatt, the brunette bouncing on the balls of her feet. Even Lee cringed just a bit, taking a step back. “I just … didn’t have time. The quest was given this morning, I was trying to figure out what to take. It all just happened so fast —”

        Rose grinned crookedly, and her blue eyes crinkled with humor as she looked between Josephine and Wyatt. “Hey, just don’t forget to kill some monsters!” The daughter of Hermes fit in perfectly with her siblings. She was scrawny and thin, with limbs impossibly far too long for her body. Her brown hair just reached a little past her shoulders, curling the slightest amount.

        “And,” added Wyatt, frowning at Rose the tiniest amount, “make it back with your life, too.”

        Josephine nodded, a stupor fogging her brain. Her ears burned hotly. Her face felt like the sun was boiling beneath her skin. "Yeah, I will," she agreed. “Uh … to both of those things.”

        Waving goodbye to the other campers, and taking one last look at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, Josephine hiked up Half-Blood Hill with the other questers. They made it all the way to the tall pine tree — the tree that used to be Thalia, Daughter of Zeus. At the base of the tree, Chiron was waiting for them, his horse half tucked away inside the wheelchair. Next to him stood Argus, head of Camp Half-Blood's security. Today, he was wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so Josephine could only see extra eyes on Argus's hands, face, and neck.

        It was noticeable when Percy slowed down as he saw Argus. Faintly, the Head of Security blushed a little, the extra eyes darting away as he noticed it, too. "This is Argus," Chiron explained to Percy, gesturing to the many-eyed man. "He will drive you into the city, and — er — well … keep an eye on things."

        Percy watched Argus with a dubious expression. “Oh, I’m sure he will.”

        Josephine looked over, ready to fuss at Percy for the not-so-hidden snarky comment, when she heard footsteps rapidly behind them. She turned — Luke was running up the hill, carrying a pair of … basketball shoes. He reached them, panting heavily. "Hey!" he greeted, looking between them all. "Glad I caught you."

        Annabeth flushed, untucking braids of hair from behind her ears. Silently, Grover shook his head slightly, as if to say Honestly … She always became like this when Luke was around. The son of Hermes acted like he hadn’t seen a thing, looking pointedly at Percy. "Just wanted to say good luck," he told the black-haired boy. "And I thought ... um, maybe you could use these."

        In his hands were what looked to be some ordinary sneakers — an orangey-red color, with white laces and a slightly worn look to them. Percy’s brows knitted as he took the shoes. It was like he was trying to find a nice way to say What the hell are these? 

        Luke noticed, his eyebrows raising slightly. "Maia!" he said.

        Suddenly, white bird-like wings sprouted from the back of the shoes. It startled Percy so much that he dropped them. However, the wings on the shoes really did work — the sneakers flapped across the ground for a few seconds until the wings were tucked away until they completely disappeared. The shoes dropped with two dull thuds! on the grassy earth.

        "Awesome!" Grover gasped, looking amazed.

        Luke grinned. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad.” His brows knitted, and he swallowed before adding; “‘Course, I don't use them much these days ..." Somehow, his expression turned even more bleak as he trailed off. Josephine watched Luke closely, trying to read into the blond's facial expressions. She knew this quest couldn't be easy for the son of Hermes to handle. It had to throw salt into the wound of his failed quest. Even if the scar on his face had technically “healed,” the wound of failure was always going to be a wound that lingered around just enough to sting at times like this.

        Percy looked startled at the kind gesture, so much so that the tips of his ears turned red. "Hey, man," he started awkwardly, reaching down to pick up the shoes. "I mean ... thanks."

        Luke’s expression turned uncomfortable as he looked at the shoes. "Listen, Percy ..." he started, his voice oddly slow. "A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just ... fuck up some monsters for me, ’kay?"

        Percy nodded, shifting around so he could hold the shoes with his left hand. He and Luke shook hands; Luke patted Grover's head between his horns; he patted Josephine on the shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze; then, he gave Annabeth a goodbye hug. The daughter of Athena looked like she was ready to pass out, and Josephine swore she saw Annabeth’s eyes glazing over.

        Luke turned and started his way back to Cabin Eleven, far off in the distance. When he was far enough, Percy turned to Annabeth, declaring, "You're hyperventilating."

        The wistful look on the daughter of Athena's face melted quickly. She scowled at Percy, snapping, "Am not."

        "You let him capture the flag instead of you, didn't you?"

        "Shut up," the blonde snapped. "Oh — why in Hades would I want to go anywhere with,” she looked him up and down, sneering, “you?"

        And with those scathing words to leave behind, Annabeth stomped down the other side of the hill, where a white SUV waited on the shoulder of the road. It was the Camp’s van — it was used to take campers into the city or for older campers to steal and take joyrides in (though, that wasn’t supposed to happen — but it did, just ask any camper over the age of sixteen, especially any of Hermes's kids). Argus followed after Annabeth, jingling the car keys loudly on his way down the hill. 

        Josephine looked at the flying shoes in Percy’s hands. She had the sudden realization that he wouldn't be able to use them, not as a Poseidon’s son. Even at such a low height that the shoes could fly him at, with Zeus so on edge, it still wouldn’t be wise.

        Percy suddenly turned to face Chiron. "I won't be able to use them, will I?" he guessed.

        The centaur shook his head. "Luke meant well, Percy. But taking to the air ... that would not be wise for you."

        Percy glanced down at the shoes, turning them over in his hands. His lips pursed as he thought — but his head snapped up, and his eyes locked on his satyr friend. "Hey, Grover. You want a magic item?"

        Grover’s brown eyes lit up. "Me?"

        Josephine caught on, starting to smile. "You can be the world's first flying satyr!"

        It was a harder task than she realized, trying to help Grover get Luke’s old shoes on. With hooves for feet, his balance was pretty horrible — especially as he tried to balance on one hoof, the other lifted into the air. He ended up using Josephine as a balance. He clung to her shoulders, one hand each, as Percy kneeled down and slipped the shoes on (and struggling to tie them; he had to use the bunny ear method). 

        When Percy had tied them both on, Grover scooted back, glancing down at the shoes. He looked pleased. “Maia!" he suddenly shouted.

        The pleased smile started to wane as his hooves lifted off the ground. His arms extended outwards as he tried to keep balance, and for a few moments, he seemed to be doing alright — until he fell over sideways, his hooves in the air, and he was dragged through the grass, his head and backpack knocking together as he went. The winged shoes kept bucking up and down like broncos. The satyr was screaming, the sound fading ever so slightly as the shoes turned him around and shot down the hill like a possessed lawn mower. He was heading straight for the van.

        Chiron winced, his eyebrows creasing together. "Practice!" he called after Grover. "You just need practice!"

        Josephine grimaced as she watched. "I just hope he won’t slam into the van …”

        She started to move for the van, but Chiron’s hand on her shoulder made her stop. The centaur was looking at Percy. "I should have trained you better, Percy," he admitted. "And Josephine — you just need more confidence in yourself. You must take it into your own hands if you want to grow. If only I had more time …” He frowned, looking off. “Hercules, Jason — they all got more training."

        "That's okay," Percy answered for them both. However, he looked uncomfortable at the comparison of legendary Greek heroes. "I just wish —" But he stopped himself. He frowned, carefully avoiding Chiron’s ancient eyes.

        Josephine looked off, glancing down the hill and to the white van. Unlike Percy, she’s had time to train. Since she was ten, day in and day out, she had trained. For two years, she had trained and trained. That was more than she could say for Percy, who had been at Camp for two weeks. And yet, two years felt like nothing now that it was real — leaving Camp and back out in the mortal world. Her stomach was in knots at just the idea. How much had changed in those years? How many more monsters were roaming around now? The older half-bloods get, the easier it is for monsters to find them (especially when it's a whole group of demigods — and a satyr, too).

        "What am I thinking?" Chiron suddenly blurted, snapping Josephine out of her thoughts. "I can't let you get away without this." He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and handed it to Percy. It was a normal-looking pen — a disposable ballpoint pen with black ink and a removable cap. It couldn’t cost more than thirty cents. 

        Percy took the pen, his brows furrowing. "Gee …" His tone was clearly unimpressed. "Thanks."

        "Percy, that's a gift from your father," explained Chiron. "I've kept it for years, now knowing you were who I was waiting for. But the prophecy is clear to me now. You are the one."

        Silently, Josephine glanced at Percy. For the two years she had lived at Camp, she had heard many whispers — whispers of this Great Prophecy and what it contained. Admittedly, she had never heard the prophecy herself, but she had ideas from what she heard in whispers and dreams. Ideas she wished she didn’t have. If Chiron thought Percy was the one the Great Prophecy was about …

        A shiver ran up her spine. She rubbed her right arm, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

        Percy didn’t acknowledge what Chiron said, turning the pen over in his fingers. He took the black cap off — in a golden shimmer, the pen grew longer and longer. In half a second, he was holding a bronze sword that was shaped with a double-edged blade, a leather-bound grip, and a hilt riveted with gold studs.

        Chiron watched the sword for a moment. "The sword has a long and tragic history that we need not go into," he started. "But its name is Anaklusmos."

        "Riptide," Percy translated. Even he sounded shocked with himself at his quick translation.

        "Use it only for emergencies," Chiron advised, "and only against monsters. No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely necessary, of course, but this sword wouldn't harm them in any case."

        Percy turned the sword over in his hands. The sharp blade glinted in the sun, the bronze reflecting the sunlight. "What do you mean it wouldn't harm mortals? How could it not?" he asked, looking up at the centaur.

        "The sword is Celestial bronze. Forged by the Cyclopes, tempered in the heart of Mount Etna, cooled in the River Lethe. It's deadly to monsters, to any creature from the Underworld — provided they don't kill you first, of course. But the blade will pass through mortals like an illusion. Mortals — they simply are not important enough for the blade to kill. And I should warn you: as a demigod, you can be killed by either celestial or normal weapons. You are twice as vulnerable."

        “Oh. Great.” Percy frowned, looking at Josephine. "What about Josephine's daggers? Are they also made out of this Celestial bronze stuff?"

        "No. Pure gold," she said dryly.

        Percy's eyes widened. "Really?"

        She fought the urge to shake her head. He didn’t know, she had to remind herself. “No,” she told him. “Pure gold would mold too easily for weapons. They’re made out of Celestial bronze, like that sword."

        Chiron ignored the girl's comments. "Percy, now recap the pen."

        The son of Poseidon touched the plastic pen cap to the sword’s tip — instantly, Riptide shrank to a ballpoint pen again. He tucked it inside his shorts pocket, patting the pocket nervously.

        "You can't," said Chiron.

        Percy frowned. "Can't what?"

        "Lose the pen," explained the centaur. "It is enchanted. It will always reappear in your pockets. Try it."

        He looked wary, but he took the pen out of his pocket. He reeled back his arm, throwing the pen as far as he could down Half-Blood Hill. Josephine watched it disappear into the grass with a small, confused frown. She had never heard of weapons magically reappearing in pockets before. (Unless it was some secret that Hecate’s kids were keeping from her.)

        "It may take a few moments," Chiron warned Percy. "Now check your pocket."

        Percy slipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out the ballpoint pen.

        Josephine raised her eyebrows, her expression impressed. "That is really cool,” she admitted.

        "That's extremely cool," Percy corrected. "But what if a mortal sees me pulling out a sword?"

        It was Chiron’s turn to smile. "Mist is a powerful thing, Percy."

        The black-haired boy frowned. "Mist? Like … fog?"

        "Yes, Mist. No, not like fog.” Chiron shook his head at the comparison. “Read The Iliad. It's full of references to the stuff. Whenever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things just as they are, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths to which humans will go to fit things into their visions of reality."

        It was remarkable, but it was also envious. How nice it must've been, to not even be aware of how many dangerous things were out there looking for blood. She had been trying to ignore the realization, but it was becoming harder. The quest was starting to feel real. Josephine was actually leaving Half-Blood Hill — leaving Camp Half-Blood. She was heading west for a quest, with no adult supervision, no backup plan, and not even a cell phone. (Cellphones were traceable by monsters; if a half-blood used one, it would be worse than sending up a flare. She always thought it was super unfair.) It was just three pre-teens demigods and one scaredy-cat satyr who were put in charge of stopping a civil war by reaching the Land of the Dead.

        "Chiron ..." said Percy, his voice taking on a nervous tilt. "When you say the gods are immortal ... I mean, there was a time before them, right?"

        "Four ages before them, actually. The Time of the Titans was the Fourth Age, sometimes called the Golden Age, which is definitely a misnomer. This, the time of Western civilization and the rule of Zeus — this is the Fifth Age."

        "So what was it like? Before the gods, I mean."

        Chiron pursed his lips. "Even I am not old enough to remember that, child, but I know it was a time of darkness and savagery for mortals. Kronos, the Lord of the Titans, called his reign the Golden Age because men lived innocently and free of all knowledge. But that was mere propaganda. The Titan King cared nothing for your kind — except as appetizers or a source of cheap entertainment. It was only in the early reign of Lord Zeus, when Prometheus the good Titan brought fire to mankind, that your species began to progress, and even then Prometheus was branded a radical thinker. Zeus punished him severely, as you may recall. Of course, eventually, the gods warmed to humans, and Western civilization was born."

        "But the gods can't die now, right? I mean, as long as Western civilization is alive, they're alive. So …” Percy frowned, seemingly trying to find the right words, “even if I failed, nothing could happen so bad it would mess up everything, right?"

        Josephine tried not to think of what would happen if they did fail.

        Chiron gave him a melancholy smile. "No one knows how long the Age of the West will last, Percy. The gods are immortal, yes. But then, so were the Titans. They still exist, locked away in their various prisons, forced to endure endless pain and punishment, reduced in power, but still very much alive. May the Fates forbid that the gods should ever suffer such a doom, or that we should ever return to the darkness and chaos of the past …” He trailed off, looking down Half-Blood Hill and to the van. “All we can do, child, is follow our destiny."

        "Our destiny ... assuming we know what that is."

        "Relax," Chiron told Percy. "Keep a clear head. And remember, you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history."

        Percy shrugged, though it looked like an electric shock coursed through his body. "I'm very relaxed.”

        Josephine shook her head. She grabbed him by the arm, wheeling him around to face the white van. "You sure sound relaxed," she said. She started the step trek down the hill, assuming Percy would follow her.

        He did, but with an attitude. "So do you," he snapped back, scoffing lightly. "It's not like we're trying to stop another civil war from blowing up the universe here."

        "It's not gonna blow up the universe," she argued, rolling her eyes. "Just the entirety of the United States — plus, maybe Canada and South America, along with it."

        "That makes me feel a lot better, Posie,” he scoffed.

        "Josephine, not Posie!”

        “But everyone calls you Posie!”

        Josephine started to scowl, stomping further down the hill. In the beginning, she had tried to give Percy the benefit of the doubt (as she did with everyone) — he had just lost his mother, fought the Minotaur (and lived), and had his entire world turned upside down. That being said, now that he was talking more … he really knew how to get under her skin. She didn’t know if it stemmed from being doused with toilet water or the massive influx of dreams — but the more Percy came out of his shell, the more his sarcasm got on her nerves.

        "Hey," he spoke up as they got closer to the white van. "I saw you talking to that Wesley guy, from Cabin Eleven."

        "Wesley?" Josephine's eyebrows furrowed. "You mean Wyatt?"

        "Oh, sure. Wyatt." He shrugged. "I didn't think you two knew each other."

        "Yeah, ‘course I know him," she replied with a shrug. "I mean, I stayed in Cabin Eleven for a month before I got claimed. He helped me around. He's nice."

        "Oh." Percy's face blanked. "Isn't he older than us?"

        "By — like — a year or so. So what?"

        He didn’t reply for a moment. Then, out of the blue, he blurted, "You have a crush on him, don't you? You blushed when he talked to you."

        The daughter of Apollo nearly tripped over her own feet. "Wha — Shut up!" she clamored. "I did not blush!"

        The two had made it to Camp Half-Blood’s van at the bottom of Half-Blood Hill. Josephine looked back, glaring at Percy. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, Chiron was now standing in full horseman form, holding his bow high in salute. A typical summer camp send-off.

        The son of Poseidon grinned, opening the van door. "You totally do have a crush on him."

        Her face burned hot, embarrassment boiling underneath her skin. "You're ridiculous, you know that?"

✿

Argus drove the four questers out of the countryside and into western Long Island. It felt weird to be in the mortal world after so much time at Camp Half-Blood. Annabeth was sitting up front, while Grover sat behind the driver’s seat, Percy in the middle, and Josephine sat behind the passenger seat in the back. It was as if they were normal carpoolers. The further they drove, the more bizarre the feeling became. After two years of her life spent at Camp Half-Blood, the real world became like some sort of fantasy in her mind. Josephine found herself staring at every McDonald's building, at every kid in the back seat of their parents' car, and at every billboard and shopping mall.

        "So far, so good," Percy said suddenly. "Ten miles and not a single monster."

        Annabeth turned in her seat to give him an irritated look. "It's bad luck to talk that way, Seaweed Brain."

        "Like it's bad luck to walk with one shoe on," added Josephine, looking out the window at all the scenery passing by. "Or to break a mirror."

        Or perhaps you are the bad luck? that voice offered. She did her best to ignore it.

        "It's bad luck to walk with one shoe on?" Grover asked, leaning around Percy to look at Josephine.

        She shrugged. "It's what my dad always said. I think he just didn't want me walking around the house with shoes on."

        Percy narrowed his eyes at Annabeth, frowning. "Remind me again — why do you hate me so much?"

        She turned back around in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "I don't hate you."

        "Could've fooled me."

        She folded the visor of her cap of invisibility. "Look ... we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals."

        Percy’s brows knitted. "Why?"

        Annabeth sighed, tucking some blonde braids behind her ear. "How many reasons do you want? One time, my mom caught Poseidon in Athena's temple with a woman — hugely disrespectful, by the way. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god of the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her."

        "They must really like olives," the son of Poseidon responded.

        She rolled her eyes. "Oh — forget it."

        "Now, if she'd invented pizza — that I’d understand."

        "I said, forget it!"

        Josephine raised her eyebrows, meeting Annabeth's eyes in the rearview mirror. The daughter of Athena didn't say anything more, snapping her book open and starting to read.

        Percy turned to Josephine next. "You don't hate me, do you?"

        She blinked at him. "... No."

        He frowned. "That sounds like you do."

        "No, I don't!" she replied hotly, becoming offended at the assumption. "I don't hate you — but if you keep bothering me, I just might."

        Percy crossed his arms. "I don't bother people."

        She stared at him for a moment before replying, "Could've fooled me." She did her best to mimic Percy, but it sounded pretty horrible. 

✿

Argus dropped them off at the Greyhound Station on the Upper East Side. The head of security unloaded their bags, made sure they got their bus tickets, and then drove away, the eyes on the back of his hands opening to watch them as he pulled out of the parking lot.

        The rain kept coming down in sheets. Eventually, the four campers became restless waiting for the bus. They decided to play some Hacky Sack with one of Grover’s apples from his backpack. Unsurprisingly, Annabeth was unbelievable. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. Percy wasn't too bad himself. Josephine was … fine, but nothing spectacular. That sting came back; of course, she wasn't good. The game only ended, not when the bus arrived; however, when Percy tossed the apple toward Grover, it got too close to his mouth. In one mega bite, their hacky sack disappeared — core, stem, and all. Grover blushed like crazy. He tried to apologize, but the others were too busy laughing to care.

        Finally, the bus came. As they stood in line to board, Grover started looking around, sniffing the air.

        Josephine peered at the satyr. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

        "I dunno …" he said tensely. "Maybe it's nothing."

        She frowned. Grover was just as bad a liar as she was (which is to say: horrible). There was no way it was nothing. She started looking around herself, looking for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. She was almost relieved when they finally got on board and found four seats together in the back of the bus. They stowed their backpacks away as quickly as they could, claiming the cluster of seats for themselves. 

        As they waited, Annabeth kept slapping her Yankees cap against her thigh nervously. The sound only made Josephine more anxious. As the last passenger got on, she noticed the way Percy tensed up, sucking air in through his teeth. It was an elderly lady, one who wore a crumpled velvet dress, lace gloves, and a shapeless orange-knit hat that shadowed her face. She carried a big paisley purse. When she tilted her head up, her eyes — they were black and they glittered like black marble.

        Josephine wasn't sure what monster was standing at the front of the bus, but she was certain it was a monster. It rolled off the old lady in waves, like I'm looking for half-bloods to munch on! Percy hunched down into his seat, his shoulders rising as he tried to lower his head. He knew this lady, clearly. Behind the first old lady came two more old ladies — one in a green hat and one in a purple hat. Besides that, they looked exactly like the first old lady — the same gnarled hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dresses. They were triplet monster grandmothers.

        They sat in the front row, right behind the driver. The two on the aisle side crossed their legs over the walkway, making an X. It was casual enough, but it sent a clear message — nobody leaves. The bus pulled out of the station, and they headed through the overcast streets of Manhattan. 

        Percy leaned towards Josephine. "She didn't stay dead long," he whispered hotly. "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime."

        Josephine swallowed nervously, shrinking in her seat slightly. There was no doubt: these were monsters. "I also said, If you’re lucky,” she reminded him in a weak voice. “Which, clearly, you’re not.”

        “All three of them …”  Grover's teeth were nearly chattering together. "Di immortales!"

        "It's okay," Annabeth said, her face scrunched up as ideas were churning in her head. "The Furies. The three worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the window."

        "They don't open," Grover moaned.

        "A back exit?" she suggested.

        Josephine looked over her shoulder, looking to the back of the bus. There was no back door on the bus. "No …" she whispered.

        Even if there had been one, it wouldn't have helped. By that time, they were on Ninth Avenue, heading for the Lincoln Tunnel.

        "They won't attack us with witnesses around," said Percy, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. "Will they?"

        "Mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth reminded him. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist."

        "They'll see three old ladies killing us, won't they?"

        "Possibly,” replied Josephine. “They could also see the four of us murdering them. It's all hard to predict."

        With your luck, that would be the case, that voice sneered at her.

        You're not helping, she hissed back.

        "Maybe there's an emergency exit on the roof ..." Annabeth trailed off, looking up.

        Too late. They hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus went dark except for the running lights down the aisle. It was eerily quiet without the sound of the rain beating down. None of the other mortals seemed to be paying attention, all too busy with phones, books, or whatever. 

        The first old lady got up. Her name was Mrs. Dodds, or that was her mortal name. In a flat voice, as if she'd rehearsed it, she announced to the whole bus: "I need to use the restroom."

        "So do I," said the second sister.

        "So do I," agreed the third sister.

        The other two stood up in unison, and then — all three started coming down the aisle. Josephine’s stomach lurched, and she hunkered down in her seat more. They hadn’t even made it out of New York, and they were already being attacked by monsters.

        "I've got it," Annabeth blurted suddenly, leaning forward in her seat. "Percy, take my hat."

        He frowned. "What?"

        "You're the one they want,” she said. “Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away."

        Percy started to shake his head. "But you guys —"

        "There's a small chance they might not notice us," said Annabeth. (But even Josephine didn’t fully believe that.) "You're a son of one of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering."

        "I can't just leave you.”

        "Don't worry about us," said Grover. "Go!"

        Josephine glanced back at the three Furies — they were a lot closer now. Percy looked between the three with him, not reaching for Annabeth’s cap. Suddenly, she ripped the cap out of Annabeth’s hand, shoving the fabric over Percy’s head — he disappeared from view. Despite that, she could still feel Percy brush past her, his shoulder brushing against hers like a small gust of wind. And, then — he was gone.

        Josephine only hoped that Annabeth was right, that the monsters wouldn’t notice the rest of them. Feeling sweat form on the back of her neck, she watched as the Furies made their way down the aisle toward them. She reached for one of her daggers, finding odd comfort in the leather-wrapped hilt. Suddenly, Mrs. Dodds stopped. Her nose tilted upwards as she started sniffing the air. Then, her head snapped over to an empty seat about ten rows ahead of the three questers. Finally, after an agonizing moment, she kept going.

        They were almost through the Lincoln Tunnel by now. But just as Josephine started to have hope, the old ladies were not old ladies anymore. Their faces were still the same (it wasn't like they could get any uglier), but their bodies — they had shriveled into leathery brown hag bodies with bat wings and hands and feet like gargoyle claws. And their handbags? They were fiery whips, now, steaming and hissing. Before she knew what was happening, the Furies had cornered her, Annabeth, and Grover against the wall. They lashed their whips, making Josephine wince. "Where is it? Where?" they were all hissing. The mortals on the bus were screaming, cowering in their seats. They saw something, even past the Mist, that was horrifying enough.

        "He's not here!" Annabeth yelled at the monsters. "He's gone!"

        The Furies raised the whips. Josephine pulled out the dagger from her waist, brandishing it in front of her to keep the Furies from coming too close. Annabeth drew her bronze knife, and Grover grabbed a tin can from his snack bag and prepared to throw it. Josephine nearly quivered under the burning stare of one of the Furies. She raised the dagger, pulling out her second one. Her breathing had turned uneven. She didn't want to fight the Furies. Hell, she had no idea how to fight monsters like this —

        The metal frame of the bus creaked loudly as it jerked left. Everyone screamed as they were thrown to the right. The three Furies smashed against the windows as Annabeth, Grover, and Josephine dodged out of the way. The daughter of Apollo flung herself over the seat into an empty row, clinging onto the fabric to stop from sliding across the floor.

        "Hey!" the driver yelled loudly from the front. "Hey — Whoa!" The driver was wrestling for the wheel with an invisible force. Josephine knew it had to be Percy's fault. The bus slammed against the side of the tunnel — metal grinded against the tunnel wall and sparks flew, flying off for a mile behind them.

        They careened out of the Lincoln Tunnel and back into the rainstorm. People and monsters alike were tossed around the bus; cars were plowed aside like bowling pins as other drivers honked like crazy. Somehow, the driver found an exit. They shot off the highway, through half a dozen traffic lights, and ended up barreling down one of those New Jersey rural roads that are just across the river from New York. There were woods to their left, the Hudson River to their right, and the driver seemed to be veering right towards the river.

        The bus wailed, spun a full circle on the wet tar, and crashed into the trees — windows smashing into pieces, bags flying out of overhead compartments, and emergency sounds blaring loudly. The emergency lights came on, and the door flew open. The bus driver was the first one off the bus, with the passengers yelling as they stampeded after him — now, it was just the four questers inside.

        The Furies regained their balance. They lashed their whips at the two girls; Annabeth waved her knife, yelling curses in Ancient Greek. Grover threw tin cans, but they didn’t do too much besides bouncing off the monsters (and making them angrier than they already were). Josephine backed away slightly, her hands starting to tremble. How was she supposed to fight when she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking?

        The air shimmered behind them. Percy appeared at the front of the bus. "Hey!"

        The Furies turned around wildly, baring their yellow fangs at him. Mrs. Dodds stalked up the aisle. Every time she flicked her whip, red flames danced along the barbed leather and steam hissed into the air. Her two ugly sisters hopped on top of the seats on either side of her and crawled toward Percy like huge, nasty lizards.

        "Perseus Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said, in a deep, southern accent. "You have offended the gods. You shall die."

        "I liked you better as a math teacher," Percy snapped back.

        The Fury growled, baring her yellow teeth.

        Annabeth and Grover moved up behind the Furies cautiously, looking for an opening. Josephine’s eyes scanned the bus, looking for any sort of escape. Percy took the ballpoint pen out of his pocket — Riptide elongated into a shimmering double-edged sword right before their eyes. That made the monsters hesitate.

        Mrs. Dodds eyed the sword with special hatred. "Submit now," she hissed. "And you will not suffer eternal torment."

        "Nice try."

        Annabeth must've seen something Josephine didn't, calling out loudly, "Percy, look out!"

        All of a sudden, Dodds lashed her whip around Percy's sword hand. All the while, the other Furies on either side lunged at him. Josephine wasn’t sure how he did it, but Percy managed to keep ahold of Riptide as he struck the Fury on the left with the hilt. That Fury toppled backward into a seat, her claws ripping the seat into shreds as she tried to hold on. Percy spun around and sliced the Fury on the right, and as soon as the bronze made contact with her neck — she screamed and exploded into golden, monster dust. 

        Mrs. Dodds was stalking closer to Percy, trying to find a way to attack without touching the sword.

        Josephine did it without thinking, and that was a dangerous thing for half-bloods. She quickly tucked away her second dagger, jumping onto Mrs. Dodds’ back, who screeched loudly and tripped to rip her off. Josephine clung like a koala — wrapping legs around the monster's torso, her arms cocooning around Dodds’ neck, and she plunged her dagger into Dodds’ left shoulder. The Fury howled in pain, stumbling backward as she tried to pull Josephine over her head. 

        During all of this, Grover grabbed Mrs. Dodds’ whip. "Ow!" he yelped loudly. "Ow! Hot! Hot!"

        The Fury that Percy had hilt-slammed came at him again, talons ready; however, Annabeth managed to throw her knife so perfectly that it hit the Fury between the shoulder blades. The monster exploded like a piñata.

        Mrs. Dodds screamed loudly, still trying to rip Josephine off her back. The daughter of Apollo clung on for life, her fingernails digging into the Fury’s skin for good measure. Grover got Mrs. Dodds' legs tied up with her own whip, and Josephine detangled herself, stumbling backward after grabbing her dagger from the monster’s shoulder. Grover managed to shove Mrs. Dodds further back onto the bus as she yelled and howled insults at them. 

        The Fury tried to get up, but she didn't have room to flap her bat wings, so she kept falling down. "Zeus will destroy you!" she promised, her face contorted with rage. "Hades will have your soul!"

        "Braccas means vescimini!" Percy yelled in Latin.

        Josephine frowned, trying to ignore the dull pounding in the back of her skull. She wasn't sure where the Latin had come from since Percy had never had a lesson in Latin back at Camp. Admittedly, her Latin was terrible at best, but she was pretty sure it meant, “Eat my pants!” She wiped off her dagger, tucking it away, making sure her other one hadn’t fallen away in the skirmish. Her entire body trembled, and she tried catching her breath — it wasn’t working. Her chest shuddered as she looked at the aftermath.

        Suddenly, thunder shook the bus. The hair rose on Josephine's arms.

        Annabeth’s eyes widened. She looked at everyone else on the bus, yelling, "Get out! Now!"

        The others didn’t need to be told twice. The questers rushed outside, finding the mortal passengers wandering around in some daze. They were all arguing with one another, and even some were running around in circles, yelling, "We're going to die!" A Hawaiian-shirted tourist with a camera snapped a picture of Riptide before Percy could recap his sword.

        "Our bags!" Grover realized. "We left our —"

        There was a gigantic boom behind them. It rattled every bone inside Josephine’s body. The windows of the bus exploded and the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof; however, an angry wail from inside told Josephine that Mrs. Dodds was still very much alive.

        "Run!" Annabeth said. "She's calling for reinforcements! We have to get out of here!"

        With no other choice, the four plunged into the woods as the rain poured down from the sky, the bus in flames behind them — nothing but darkness ahead.

Chapter Text

chapter six
❛ engraved grudges ❜

━━━━━  IT WAS ALL Apollo’s fault.

        Sort of.

        Okay, not really. But if Josephine squinted at it just the right way, it was his fault!

        She always tried to look for the good in any and all situations. She tried to counteract the constant pessimist thoughts and feelings, and to try and make herself feel better about her many shortcomings. (And add onto the list: the mean, cruel voice that liked to whisper like a devil on her shoulder about all her shortcomings. But that was hard to counter-act with simply positive thoughts.) However, that being said, it really was nice to know there was a reason for all her shortcomings and crappy predicaments — Apollo, God of the Sun. Josephine could easily blame him for all the wrongs in her life.

        Naturally, she did just that.

        Sure, Apollo hadn't been the one to cause the explosion on the bus, but it led back to him in a long, confusing, twisting way of fate. If he had never sent Josephine to Beau Pascual on April 13th, 1994, in a cradle carved from gold — well, Josephine would never have been in the mess she is today. In some odd, strange way, it was nice to know there were Greek gods out there because then, she had someone to blame when things started to go wrong. For instance, when a Greyhound bus has just been attacked by three monster hags and blown up by lightning — and it's raining on top of everything else. Most people would just think bad luck had really been on their side; however, being a half-blood, Josephine knew better. She knew that some divine forces were really trying to mess with her day. (As if receiving the news she would be forced to go on a quest that morning and shipped off that afternoon wasn’t already a day-ruiner before.)

        It was also Josephine's incredibly horrible bad luck; however, she also just blamed that all on her father, Apollo, too. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, but the Sun God had become her scapegoat. If he hadn't created her from the mortal genuity of Beau Pascual and the godly genuity of himself, Josephine Pascual wouldn't be here. Meaning she wouldn’t be on a quest, chased down by monsters, and forced to help find Zeus’s stolen Master Bolt and return it in ten days.

        So there they were, her, Annabeth, Percy, and Grover, walking through the woods on the New Jersey riverbank, the glow of New York City making the night sky yellow behind them, and the smell of the Hudson River reeking in their nose.

        Grover was shivering and braying nervously. His big goat eyes turned slit-pupilled and full of terror. "Three Kindly Ones. All three at once."

        Josephine was still in shock. The explosion still rang in her ears. The adrenaline rush was crashing; her head was pounding, her arms sore with cuts from Dodds’ claws, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. However, Annabeth kept pushing them along, urging, "Come on! The further away we get, the better."

        "All our money was back there," Percy reminded her in a short tone. "Our food and clothes. Everything."

        The daughter of Athena glared at him. "Well, maybe if you hadn't jumped into the fight —"

        "What did you want me to do? Let you guys get yourself killed?"

        "We would've been fine,” she snapped, scowling at him. “You don't have to protect us. I don’t need protecting."

        "Sliced like sandwich bread," Grover added, "but fine."

        "Shut up, Goat Boy," snapped Annabeth.

        Grover brayed mournfully. "Tin cans ... A perfectly good bag of tin cans."

        They sloshed across some mushy ground, through nasty twisted trees that smelled like sour laundry. It reminded Josephine of how Beau would let the Pascual house fall into messy chaos — like he was a twenty-something college student. However, he wasn’t. He was some washed-up, wannabe musician in D.C. with an unwanted daughter. 

        After a few minutes, she fell in step beside Percy. "Thanks for not leaving, though," she told him. "Back on the bus. You could have left, but you didn't. It was really brave."

        "Well, we're a team, right?" said Percy. He shrugged, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. "We're in this together."

        Josephine nodded. "And we'll get back Zeus's Master Bolt. And we’ll see it returned."

        She saw Percy nod in the darkness silently. She let the silence exist for a few moments, trying to find the right words. "I'm … I’m sorry about your mom, Percy. And if there's any way we can save her ..."

        "That was really cool, what you did," Percy started, changing the topic. She understood the obvious hint, pursing her lips. "Jumping on Dodds’ back, I mean. And the dagger.”

        Josephine gave him a hesitant, tight-lipped smile. "I didn't know what else to do,” she admitted. “You were busy with the other one, and Dodds was sneaking up on you.” She shrugged. “I did the first thing I thought of.”

        "Well, it worked," said Percy. "You haven't named the daggers anything? You have two of them, right?"

        “No — I mean, yeah, there’s two. But no, I haven’t named them. There’s no need to.”

        "Wouldn’t it be cooler for them to have names?" Percy posed the question, shrugging as they made their way through the trees.

        Josephine frowned a bit, taking steps away from Percy as a tree split the space between them. “Cooler?” she repeated. “What would I even name them?"

        "I dunno …” He shrugged. “Killer and Striker?"

        "That's stupid."

        Percy flushed. "Okay, fine. You name them!"

        Josephine rolled her eyes. "I don't want to."

        "Fine — I'll name them, then.” He sighed, acting as if she were forcing him to do this. “Just give me a few days."

        If you even have that long, that cruel voice reminded her.

        Again — shut up, Josephine snapped back.

        The thunderstorm had finally let up. The glow of the city faded behind them, leaving them in almost total darkness. Josephine couldn't see anything except for Percy's intense sea-green eyes. She swallowed the sense of déjà vu washing over her. She had just started to forget about the flashes of fires, bloodbaths, and yellow and green eyes the day she was supposed to feed ambrosia to Percy in the infirmary. "Okay, then,” she agreed. “A few days. And it better not be as stupid as Killer and Striker!"

        Percy grinned at her. "Can't promise anything."

        She rolled her eyes lightly, stepping faster to walk ahead of Percy, when he asked, “So … you've been at Camp since you were ten?"

        She slowed down, her eyes narrowing as she looked at him in the dark. "Two years, yeah. My dad — mortal dad — uh, didn't — He, uh … ” She frowned, trying to find the best words. “I decided it was best if I left."

        After he started predicting that you would suffer, that voice reminded her. 

        She pushed the voice aside and continued. "We don't talk much anymore. Me and my moral dad."

        Or, not at all, that voice quipped.

        Please, for the love of Apollo's blinding teeth, shut the hell up, Josephine pleaded.

        How do you know if his teeth are blinding? You've never met Apollo! that voice countered.

        Josephine decided she needed a name for it. Maybe Asshole would be appropriate? Or possibly Pain-In-Her-Ass?

        "And you haven't left Camp in those two years?" Percy pried.

        "Only short field trips, like the Winter Solstice," she said. "I mean, Camp is my home and all. My mortal dad and I — um — clashed too much. It wouldn’t be for the best if I stayed with him. But all you do at Camp is train and train so more. You never know how good you are against monsters. The monsters are in the real world. The real world is where you learn if you're any good or not. That's why Annabeth was so determined to go on this quest. She's been stuck at Camp for five years."

        Josephine could hear the doubt in her voice.

        Percy nudged her. "You're pretty good with those daggers."

        "Really?"

        "Anybody who can piggyback-ride a Fury is okay by me."

        Josephine smiled at him.

        "What do you think?" he asked suddenly.

        She looked at him, confusion written across her face. "What d'you mean?"

        "What do you think about the real world?" he clarified. "Do you want to see it as badly as Annabeth?"

        She took a deep breath, thinking for a moment. "No." Her answer was confident, unlike the rest of her. "I got my fair share of it while making it to Camp.”

        Percy looked like he was ready to ask when Annabeth fell in line with them. Josephine was grateful for the break in the conversation about her. Annabeth took a breath, saying, "You know, I've been thinking ... something funny back on the bus —"

        Whatever she wanted to say was interrupted by a shrill toot~toot~toot, like the sound of an owl being tortured. "Hey, my reed pipes still work!" Grover cried, a little bit ahead of the three. "If I could just remember a find path song, we could get out of these woods!"

        He puffed out a few notes, but the tune still sounded suspiciously like Hilary Duff. However, instead of finding a path, Percy immediately slammed into a tree — and a drachma-sized knot in the middle of his forehead.

✿

After tripping and cursing and generally feeling miserable for another mile or so, Josephine started to see faint light up ahead — the colors of a neon sign. She could smell food — Fried, greasy, excellent food. She hadn't had that kind of food in years, since the menu at Camp Half-Blood was based on grapes, bread, cheese, and extra-lean-cut nymph-prepared barbecue. All of a sudden, she got a ravenous craving for a cheeseburger and crispy French fries.

        They kept walking, the demigods practically leading with their noses — until they spotted a deserted two-lane road through the tall trees. On the other side were a closed-down gas station, a tattered billboard for a 1990s movie, and an open business, which was the source of the neon light and the drool-worthy smell.

        The business wasn't a fast-food restaurant like Josephine had expected. Instead, it was one of those weird roadside curio shops that sell lawn flamingos, cement grizzly bears, and other weird items that could be used for “decoration.” The main building was a long, low warehouse that was surrounded by acres of statuary. The neon sign above the gate was impossible for Josephine to read because if there's anything worse for dyslexia than regular English, it's cursive English on a neon sign. To her, it read: ATNYU MES GDERAN GOMEN MEPROIUM.

        "What the fuck does that say?" Percy asked, squinting at the sign before them.

        "I don't know," Annabeth admitted with a shrug. The daughter of Athena loved reading so much that it was easy to forget she also struggled with dyslexia, too.

        Grover translated for the demigods: "Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium."

        "Gnome Emporium?" Josephine repeated, starting to frown. "I’ve never heard of anything like that before."

        Flanking the entrance, as advertised, were two cement garden gnomes. They were ugly, bearded little runts that were smiling and waving, as if they were about to get their picture taken. A heavy feeling settled over Josephine, making an odd mix of anxiety and hunger — a horrible combination for an empty stomach. Percy crossed the street with Annabeth behind him, following the smell of greasy food that wasn't so appetizing to Josephine anymore.

        Grover’s eyes widened as Percy and Annabeth trailed off. "Hey ..." he warned.

        "The lights are on inside," replied Annabeth. "Maybe it's open."

        "I don't know, guys," said Josephine nervously. "This place is giving me a bad vibe. I mean, there's no one else around here."

        Annabeth and Percy ignored the two with ease, walking closer to Aunty Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium. Josephine exchanged a nervous look with Grover, and the two were forced to follow after Percy and Annabeth.

        The front garden was a forest of statues — cement animals, cement children, and even a cement satyr playing with a set of reed pipes. It seemed Grover was just as spooked as Josephine. "Bla-ha-ha!" he bleated loudly. "Looks like my Uncle Ferdinand!"

        "Ferdinand. Like … the one who went looking for Pan …?” Josephine asked. The other half of the question hung in the air, unneeded to be said; ‘and never came back?'

        Grover nodded, and that made her stomach lurch.

        The four stopped at the warehouse door.

        "Don't knock," Grover pleaded with the others. "I smell monsters."

        "Your nose is clogged up from the Furies," Annabeth told him in a short tone. "All I smell is burgers. Aren't you hungry?"

        "Yes," Josephine admitted, her stomach feeling like it was squeezing itself, "but maybe we should just camp out in the woods tonight. Wait until morning to look for anything. It’ll be easier to see everything while the sun’s up."

        "Burgers? They’re meat!" Grover said scornfully, his eyes narrowing on Annabeth. "I'm a vegetarian. You know this."

        "You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," Percy reminded him with an eye roll.

        "Those are vegetables," the satyr insisted. "Come on. Let's leave. These statues are ... They’re looking at me."

        Then the door creaked open, and standing in front of them was a tall woman — that was all Josephine could tell. The woman behind the door had on a long, black gown that covered everything but her hands. The woman's head was completely veiled; however, her eyes glinted behind a curtain of black gauze, but that was all Josephine could make out. Her golden brown hands looked old, but well-manicured and elegant.

        When she spoke, Josephine was unable to place her accent: "Children, it is too late to be out all alone. Where are your parents?"

        "They're — um..." Annabeth looked around, struggling to come up with an answer for the odd woman.

        "We're orphans," Percy said suddenly.

        "Orphans?" the woman said. The word sounded alien on her tongue. "But, my dears, surely not!"

        "We got separated from our caravan," Percy continued, sticking to the lie now. "Our … circus caravan. The ringmaster told us to meet him at the gas station if we got lost, but he may have forgotten, or maybe he meant a different gas station. Anyway, we're lost.” He tried to peer around the woman. “Is that food I smell?"

        He has no grace, Asshole grumbled.

        Neither do you, Josephine hissed, quickly shoving the voice to the back of her mind.

        "Oh, my dears," the woman continued. "You must come in. Poor children, I am Aunty Em. Go straight through to the back of the warehouse, please. There is a dining area."

        They thanked her and went inside. However, Josephine and Grover trailed behind, continually looking over their shoulder. They were acting as if the woman was suddenly going to disappear — or turn into some blood-thirsty monster.

        Annabeth leaned over to Percy, muttering under her breath, "Circus caravan?"

        He shrugged. "Always have a plan, right?"

        "Why would a restaurant be in the back of a warehouse?" Josephine whispered furiously, stomping to catch up with them. "I told you guys we should have just left!"

        "You said you were hungry," said Annabeth.

        "Well — not anymore, if I'm honest!"

        The warehouse was filled with more statues — people of all kinds. They were all posed differently, all wearing vastly different clothes, and all had different expressions — but all variations of fear and dread. Goosebumps raised all along Josephine's arms. She rubbed her arms, eyeing each statue warily. She felt like she was being watched, the eyes of each and every statue following the questers.

        Percy and Annabeth seemed to be in a trance, gravitating toward the smell of greasy food. They didn't register the way all the statues' eyes would follow them, Grover's nervous whimpers, or the close eye Aunty Em was keeping on them. The daughter of Apollo tensed as she heard the click of a door lock. However, she couldn’t say anything — not with Aunty Em so close and with Percy and Annabeth ignoring her the way they had just before. When they reached the back of the warehouse, they spotted a fast food counter with a grill, soda fountain, pretzel heater, and a nacho cheese dispenser. Everything a couple of demigods leading with their noses could ever want, plus a few steel picnic tables out front.             

        "Please, sit down," Aunty Em invited them over, gesturing to the steel seats.

        "Awesome," Percy said.

        Josephine stalled near the edge of one of the tables. She traced her finger along the cool metal nervously. "But, ma'am … we don't have any money."

        Part of Josephine hoped that the lack of money would make Aunty Em kick them out. 'Not a paying customer, no service' kind of deal. Instead, Em only shook her head. "No, no, child. No money. This is a special case, yes? It is my treat, for such nice orphans."

        Josephine fought the urge to yell. She gave the woman a pained smile. "Really, ma'am, we can just leave —"

        "Thank you, ma'am," Annabeth interrupted, giving the daughter of Apollo a pointed glare.

        When Annabeth spoke up, Aunty Em stiffened. She acted as if saying thank you was a bad thing, but the old woman relaxed just as quickly. "Quite all right, Annabeth," she said. "You have such beautiful grey eyes, child."

        Josephine's heart dropped. They had never introduced themselves, and they had never uttered Annabeth's name — there was no way Aunty Em would know what it was. At least, there was no way Josephine could think of where Aunty Em magically knew Annabeth’s name. Josephine was sure Em was a monster — the odd things, the cement statues, and Grover saying he smelled monsters. But this — Em somehow knowing Annabet’s name — was the final nail in the coffin.

        Their hostess disappeared behind the snack counter and started cooking. Before they knew it, she'd brought out plastic trays heaped with double cheeseburgers, vanilla shakes, and XXL servings of French fries. Percy was halfway through his burger before he remembered to breathe. Annabeth slurped her shake loudly. Grover picked at the fries, eyeing the tray's wax paper liner as if he might go for that instead — but he still looked too nervous to eat. Josephine got three bites in on her burger before she felt too nauseous to eat anything more.

        All of a sudden, Grover’s head perked up. "What's that hissing noise?" he asked.

        Josephine stopped watching Aunty Em nervously, straining her ears for any odd noise — just faintly, she could hear the hissing, and her skin crawled. However, Annabeth only shook her head, acting as if there was nothing wrong.

        "Hissing?" Aunty Em asked, peering at the satyr. "Perhaps you hear the deep-fryer oil. You have keen ears, Grover."

        "I take vitamins. For my ears."

        "That's admirable," she complimented, but the words were dry on her lips. "But please, relax."

        "No, I hear it, too," Josephine spoke up.

        "Do you also take vitamins, my dear?" asked Aunty Em.

        "No."

        "Ah …” Aunty Em leaned a little closer to Josephine, who noticeably leaned back. “Then I suggest you do, Josephine. But, please — relax, my dear.”

        Josephine didn't want to relax. Truthfully, she couldn't relax. Not after the comments Aunty Em made toward Annabeth and Grover, not after hearing the door lock behind them, not with all those human-sized statues (especially with one that looked like Grover's missing uncle), and especially with the way Aunty Em eyed Percy like a ravenous animal.

        Aunty Em ate nothing. She hadn't taken off the cloth around her face, not even to cook. And now that she was done with cooking, she sat forward with interlaced fingers and watched the four eat. It was entirely unsettling, having someone stare at Josephine but, all the while, see absolutely nothing about the person that was staring you down.

        Once he was done with his fries, Percy peeked his head up. "So you sell gnomes," he noticed, trying to sound interested. (Spoiler alert: he didn't do a good job.)

        "Oh, yes." Aunty Em nodded. "And animals. And people. Anything for the garden. Custom orders. Statuary is very popular, you know."

        "A lot of business on this road?" he continued casually.

        "Not so much, no. Since the highway was built …” Ahe sighed deeply. “Most cars, they do not go this way now. I must cherish every customer I get."

        Josephine's neck tingled and her skin crawled, as if somebody was intently watching her. She turned in her seat to look — it was only a statue of a young girl holding an Easter basket. The detail was incredible, much better than any garden statue she had ever seen before. But something was wrong with her face. The girl looked utterly terrified.

        She turned back around in her seat. The faces … All of the cement statues looked terrified. They looked too real, too. She took a hesitant glance at Aunty Em, and a horrible idea struck her in the back of the head the same way the volleyball did the last time she played with her cabin. All the color drained from her face; her blood felt like it ran cold once more. Aunty Em; Em for M; M for Medusa; Medusa as in … Well, Medusa is one of the most infamous Greek myths. The hissing. The statues — all those statues, of people with terror on their faces. Those people looked Medusa in the eye, and she captured their last moments — for eternity.

        "Ah …" Aunty Em — no, Medusa — noticing Josephine looking around. Her tone was one of false sadness. "You notice some of my creations do not turn out well. They are marred. They do not sell. The face is the hardest to get right. Always the face."

        Josephine shifted uncomfortably in her seat, brushing baby hairs out of her face. She looked to Annabeth, to Grover, and to Percy — none of them seemed to have made the connections she had. Grover still looked nervous, but Annabeth and Percy were too engrossed in their meals.

        "So, you, um —” The daughter of Apollo cleared her throat. “You make all these yourself? The … statues?"

        "Oh, yes, Josephine. Once upon a time, I had two sisters to help me in the business, but they have passed on, and now, Aunty Em is alone. I have only my statues. This is why I make them, you see. They are company." She sounded sad — Josephine will give her that — but now she knew what Aunty Em truly was, she couldn’t trust it.

        Annabeth had stopped eating. She sat forward and asked, "Two sisters?"

        Josephine almost cried with relief.

        "It's a terrible story," Aunty Em continued, her shoulders sagging. "Not one for children, really. You see, Annabeth, a bad woman was jealous of me, long ago, when I was young. I had a ... a boyfriend, you know, and this bad woman was determined to break us apart. She caused a terrible accident. My sisters stayed by me. They shared my bad fortune as long as they could, but eventually — they passed on. They faded away. I alone have survived, but at a price. Such a price."

        Now that three out of four were away, something was off about this “Aunty Em,” Josephine thought it would be easier to get out of there. She looked at Percy, expecting him to be eating his fries, but the boy looked halfway asleep with drooping eyelids. 

        "Percy?" she asked, shaking him awake. "I think we need to leave. Uh — the ringmaster is waiting for us, I'm sure." Josephine's words were uneasy. She sat rigidly, her back as straight as a board. Annabeth was tense, her shoulders squared like she was ready for a fight. Grover was eating the wax paper off the tray by now, but Aunty Em didn't let on that she was seeing him eat it.

        "Such beautiful grey eyes," Aunty Em told Annabeth again. "My, yes, it has been a long time since I've seen grey eyes like those." 

        She reached out as if to stroke Annabeth's cheek, but the blonde stood up abruptly. "Josephine's right,” she stated, her voice rather loud compared to Em’s. “We really should go."

        "Yes!" Grover swallowed his waxed paper and stood up, his legs loudly hitting the table. He jarred the whole table – milkshake cups, plates, and Em and Percy. "The ringmaster is waiting! Right!"

        However, Percy didn't stand up with the other questers. It was obvious he didn't want to leave. But Josephine didn't care if she had to drag him out by the feet to get away from Medusa — they were getting out of there.

        "Please, dears," Aunty Em pleaded with them, starting to reach out for Josephine. "I so rarely get to be with children. Before you go, won't you at least sit for a pose?"

        "A … pose?" Annabeth asked warily, eyeing the woman.

        "You mean … a picture? Like … camera, picture?" Josephine asked cautiously, her eyes scanning all the statues that surrounded them.

        "Yes, Josephine, a photograph. I will use it to model a new statue set. Children are so popular, you see. Everyone loves children."

        Annabeth shifted her weight from foot to foot. Her eyes anxiously glanced around at all the “decorations” Aunty Em had made. "I don't think we can, ma'am. You guys, c’mon —"

        "Sure, we can," Percy argued, frowning at the daughter of Athena. "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?"

        Josephine wanted to scream. She stared at the son of Poseidon. If they got out alive, she was going to see just how long she could curse the boy to speak in rhymes. (She wasn’t even sure if she could perform a rhyming curse, but she would find a way!)

        Medusa turned her keen eyes to the daughter of Athena. "Yes, Annabeth," she purred. "No harm."

        Before Josephine could do anything — make a break for it, punch the monster, maybe even bite Aunty Em’s hand that was clasped on her shoulder — the monster was wheeling the questers back out the front door, right into the garden of statues.

        Medusa directed them to a park bench next to the stone satyr Grover thought was Ferdinand. "Now," she started. "I'll just position you correctly. The young girls sit in the middle, I think, and the two young gentlemen on either side."

        "Not much light for a photo," Percy remarked as he sat on Josephine's right.

        "Exactly!" Josephine practically shouted, a little too eagerly. "What a shame. But no light means no photo —"

        "Please, Josephine, dear, relax," Aunty Em tried to coax.

        "Where's your camera?" Grover asked Aunty Em, peering at her nervously.

        The monster stepped back, as if to admire the shot. She ignored the satyr’s question. "Now, the face is the most difficult. Can you smile for me, please, everyone? A large smile?"

        Grover glanced at the cement satyr next to him, mumbling, "That sure does look like Uncle Ferdinand ..."

        "Grover," Aunty Em chastised, "look this way, dear. And, Josephine — please give me a bright smile."

        The monster still had no camera in her hand. Josephine felt ready to vomit. She didn’t want to be a cement statue! "Percy —" she started to say, urgency clear in her voice. It almost looked like to her that Percy was starting to break out of the trance Aunty Em had put him under. 

        "I will just be a moment," Aunty Em told them. "You know, I can't see you very well in this cursed veil ..."

        "Something's wrong," Josephine insisted.

        Aunty Em paused long enough, her long fingers reaching upwards to undo the cloth around her head. "Wrong?" she repeated. "Not at all, dear. I have such noble company tonight. What could be wrong?"

        Grover gasped loudly. "That is Uncle Ferdinand!"

        "Look away from her!" Annabeth shouted. She whipped her Yankees cap onto her head and vanished into thin air. Her invisible hands pushed Grover, Josephine, and Percy off the park bench.

        Josephine panicked out of fear. She raised her hands, her palms facing outward — and all the fear that had been boiling beneath her skin felt like it was burning through her skin. The pain was horrible, and the skin on her palms felt hot. She heard Medusa hiss and recoil away, her feet scraping against the ground. Grover brayed loudly; Percy gasped right next to Josephine. The burning feelings from the palms of her hands faded as quickly as they started.

        She kept her eyes trained firmly on the ground, panic and confusion taking over. She scrambled back, her stomach dropping as she noticed handprints that left burn marks after her — her handprints. Josephine ignored it, hiding behind some statues. Her legs fell out from underneath her, and she looked at her hands. They felt like they were burning — but according to her eyes, they looked fine. Anticipation pumped in her blood. It was like whatever that burning feeling was beneath her skin had finally gotten the chance it had been waiting for. Josephine felt sick to her stomach.

        She heard strange, rasping sounds behind her — almost like the sound of someone coughing, but many, smaller people at once. Josephine didn't dare look with her bare eyes, but she searched for something reflective. Lying aside and discarded, she found a metal flower pot that looked banged up. She lunged for it, using it as a mirror to see what was behind her. The image was garbled and warped, but Josephine could make out the dark reflection of Aunty Em. Only now, her headdress was gone, revealing her face as a shimmering pale circle. Her hair was moving — no, writhing — like snakes. The warped image of such tiny reptiles alone nearly made Josephine drop the flower pot. It was Medusa. But, on her face … boils. Green pustule boils, at that. It was as if the venom from the snakes on her head had appeared on her face, poisoning the monster. 

        There was a small sound next to Josephine that scared her. She jumped slightly, dropping the flower pot; however, the metal was caught in mid-air. The air shimmered, and holding the flower pot in one hand and a navy blue Yankees cap in the other, was Annabeth. The daughter of Athena shook her head, knowing how scared of snakes Josephine was. "What was that?" she asked Josephine with a furious whisper.

        Josephine stared. "What was what?"

        "The boils? Something green came from your hands." Annabeth set the flower pot down, eyeing the daughter of Apollo. “It was like … green mist, and it hit Medusa directly in the face. Don't you hear her? She's coughing!"

        "I — I don't know, but it wasn't me! Green mist didn’t come from my hands!" Josephine insisted with a whisper. Her heart raced with fear; her skin burned with anticipation. It was like her muscles wanted to get back out there and take on Medusa; however, her brain screamed the exact opposite, rooting her feet to the ground. She felt like her body was being split in two.

        Annabeth crouched down next to Josephine, shifting the flower pot so they could just vaguely see Percy. The son of Poseidon was still sprawled at Medusa’s feet, and his jaw twitched — his eyes were trained hard on his hands, but his head was starting to inch upwards.

        However, Annabeth yelled, "No, don't!"

        Medusa moved around, the rasping sound following her wherever she went. Josephine shrank in her skin, cursing herself for letting her fear of snakes scare her so badly that she couldn't help Percy.

        "Run!" Grover bleated. He raced across the gravel, yelling, "Maia!" to kick-start his flying sneakers. 

        However, Percy didn't move. The trance Medusa had over him had started to fade — but it wasn't gone completely. "Such a pity to destroy a handsome young face," she told Percy soothingly. "Stay with me, Percy. All you have to do is look up."

        Josephine thought of the way Medusa was first slain. It was Perseus, the son of Zeus, but he killed the monster in her sleep. He decapitated her, actually. Josephine wasn't sure if that was even possible now. It wasn't like she could throw her daggers at Medusa (that was hoping she hit her mark, which didn’t happen very often). Neither she nor Annabeth could get close enough to Medusa to slice through her — unless they were swinging blindly.

        Maybe their only option was decapitation.

        "The Grey-Eyed One did this to me, Percy," Medusa hissed, bitterness ringing clear in her voice. "Annabeth's mother, the cursed Athena, turned me from a beautiful woman to — this."

        "Don't listen to her!" Annabeth shouted. "Run, Percy!"

        "Silence!" Medusa snarled. Then her voice modulated back to a comforting purr; "You see why I must destroy the girl, Percy. She is my enemy's daughter. I shall crush her statue to dust. But you, dear Percy, you need not suffer."

        "No …" the son of Poseidon muttered.

        "Do you really want to help the gods?" asked the monster. "Do you understand what awaits you on this foolish quest? What will happen if you reach the Underworld? Do not be a pawn of the Olympians, my dear. You would be better off as a statue. Less pain. Less pain."

        Josephine heard a buzzing sound, like a two-hundred-pound hummingbird in a nosedive. Overhead, Grover yelled, "Percy, duck!" She caught a glimpse of the satyr — Grover was flying while holding a tree branch the size of a baseball bat. His head was twitching from side to side, he was navigating by ears and nose alone. "Duck!" he yelled again. "I'll get her!"

        The thing that seemed to jolt Percy back to reality was the lady with snakes for hair, it was the flying goat. His whole body shuddered, and he dove to one side, covering his head for safety.

        Thwack!

        Medusa roared with rage. "You miserable satyr! I'll add you to my collection!"

        "That was for Uncle Ferdinand!" Grover yelled back.

        There it was again — Ker-whack!

        Medusa yelled again, her snakes hissing and spitting angrily. Josephine shivered, closing her eyes like it would make the monster go away.

        "We have to get to Percy," Annabeth murmured to her, grabbing her by the arm. However, Josephine whimpered miserably. She made no moves, nothing that would make it seem like she was going to willingly leave the relative safety of the cement statues. The daughter of Athena huffed, moving her hand down to Josephine’s wrist tightly, and pulled her along. Above them, Grover kept distracting Medusa, letting the others move around without too much worry.

        Percy was crouching low behind some statues. Annabeth stopped behind him, whispering, "Percy!"

        The son of Poseidon had been too busy keeping his eyes closed to notice Annabeth or Josephine's quiet footsteps. He flinched, nearly jumping a foot into the air. "Shit!" he hissed, whirling around. "Don't do that!"

        Annabeth yanked off her Yankees cap, becoming visible. "You have to cut her head off."

        "What? Are you crazy? Let's just get out of here."

        "We have to kill her now," Josephine insisted, looking around nervously for anything snake-like. "Otherwise, she'll hunt us down for the rest of this quest. But I can't throw my daggers at her, because ... well, I can't look at her and I have to look to throw — and that’s if I can even hit her. Annabeth only has a knife and Medusa's so bitter with Athena that she'd tear Annabeth to shreds without a second thought. You have a sword. And I think she wants to keep you as a statue, so you may be able to buy some time to kill her."

        "What? I can't —"

        Annabeth huffed, her cheeks puffing out angrily. "Look, do you want her turning more innocent people into statues?" She pointed to a pair of lovers — a man and a woman with their arms around each other, turned to stone by Medusa. She grabbed a green gazing ball from a nearby pedestal. "A polished shield would work better." She studied the sphere critically, her eyebrows pinching together. "The convexity will cause some distortion. The reflection's size should be off by a factor of —"

        "Would you speak English?" Percy snapped. “What does convexity even mean?”

        Josephine had long grown accustomed to Annabeth's ramblings of words that she admittedly didn't understand. She was used to it and just let Annabeth talk, asking for an explanation later on. "I am!" the daughter of Athena snapped back, scowling at him. "Just look at her in the glass."

        "But don't look at her directly," Josephine reminded Percy. "Not even from the corner of your eye."

        "Hey, guys!" Grover yelled from somewhere above them. "I think she's unconscious!"

        There was a loud roar.

        "Uh — maybe not," corrected Grover, and he went in for another pass with the tree branch.

        "Hurry, Percy!" Josephine urged, grabbing the gazing ball out of Annabeth’s hands and shoving it into Percy's arms. "Grover's got a good nose, but he's gonna crash soon. I don’t wanna see what Medusa does if she gets a hold of him." 

        Percy took out his pen and uncapped it, swallowing hard as he held the gazing ball with one hand. Riptide grew into the bronze sword right before Josephine's eyes.

        She couldn't look — one; she'd turn into a statue, two; she refused to look at the snakes. Despite the refusal to see the snakes, she could still hear them — all the hissing and spitting of Medusa’s hair. And it sent shivers down her spine. She heard the monster coughing, roaring insult after insult at the flying goat.

        She crouched behind the statue they had found Percy behind. She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the noise — soon, the swooshing sound of a bat swinging filled her ears. It had to be Grover going in for another hit. But then — there was the soft thud, like someone forcefully grabbing the tree branch mid-swing. There weren't any sounds loud enough to pinpoint until a crash and a painful, "Umph!"

        "Hey!" Percy suddenly yelled.

        There was silence for a moment. Until Medusa crooned, "You wouldn't harm an old woman, Percy. I know you wouldn't."

        Then, there was silence again. Josephine hoped it was Percy hesitating and not him getting turned into stone.

        From somewhere else, Grover groaned, "Percy, don't listen to her!"

        Medusa cackled. "Too late."

        The rasping sound got louder, and Josephine squeezed her eyes harder. The slashing of a sword cut through the air, and then — a sickening shlock! Then a hiss like wind rushing out of a cavern — the sound of a monster disintegrating.

        Suddenly, Annabeth grabbed Josephine's hand, leading her out from behind the statues of Medusa's victims. Josephine kept her eyes trained hard above the floors, unwilling to look anywhere near where the head might be.

        "Oh, yuck," Grover gagged.

        "Mega yuck," Josephine corrected. She didn't have to see anything to know it was awful. "The sound was horrible."

        Annabeth let go of Josephine's hand, pulling out Medusa's black veil from her back pocket. She advised, "Don't move."

        Josephine didn’t need to be told twice. She heard the rustling and moving of Annabeth wrapping the monster's head in the black cloth, then picking it up from the floor. She finally looked down, grimacing as she spotted the cloth that had green juice dripping from it. She didn't know if that was from the boils or Medusa's blood (do monsters have blood? Maybe it was the snakes' venom.) Where the head had been was a small pool of the same green color.

        "Are you okay?" Josephine asked Percy, her voice shaking.

        "Yeah," Percy answered, though he didn't sound that okay. "Why didn't …” He took a deep breath. “Why didn't the head evaporate?"

        "Once you sever it, it becomes a spoil of war," explained Annabeth. "Same as your Minotaur horn. But don't unwrap the head. It can still petrify you."

        "Don't unwrap it," Josephine agreed. "I don't want to see all those snakes." She shuddered, making an audible noise.

        Grover groaned as he climbed down from a grizzly bear statue. He had a big welt on his forehead. His green rasta cap hung from one of his goat horns, and his fake feet had been knocked off his hooves. The magic sneakers were flying aimlessly around his head.

        Percy grinned a bit at the sight of the satyr. "The Red Baron," he told Grover. "Good job, man."

        Grover managed a bashful grin. "That was really not fun, though. Well — the hitting-her-with-a-stick part,” he nodded, “that was fun. But crashing into a concrete bear? Not fun."

        He snatched his shoes out of the air. Percy recapped Riptide, and it shimmered back into a ballpoint pen. Together, the four of them stumbled back to the warehouse. They found some old grocery bags behind the snack counter and double-wrapped Medusa's head for extra measure. They plopped it on the table where they had eaten and sat around it, too exhausted to speak.

        Finally, Percy broke the silence. "So … we have Athena to thank for this monster?”

        Annabeth flashed him an irritated look. "Your dad, actually. Don't you remember? Medusa was Poseidon's ‘girlfriend.’” She made air quotes around the word girlfriend. “It’s not like you can say No to the gods, anyway, so Medusa felt forced to meet your dad at my mother’s temple. That's why Athena turned her into a monster. Medusa and her two sisters were turned, and they became the three gorgons. That's why Medusa wanted to slice me up."

        Percy's face turned red. "Oh, so now it's my fault we met Medusa."

        Annabeth straightened. In a bad imitation of Percy's voice, she said: "It's just a photo, Annabeth. What's the harm?"

        "Forget it," snapped Percy. "You're impossible."

        "You're insufferable."

        "You're —"

        Josephine stood up from the table, cutting off their argument. "I'm gonna go look in the back. I never got to clean the scratches from Dodds."

        You also want to cry about what happened with the boils, the voice added. (She ignored it, even if the voice wasn’t entirely wrong.)

        As she walked behind the counter, she added, "But we need to figure out what to do with the head."

        She washed her arms with the steel sink where Medusa had cooked for them. She did her best to wash out the scratches without all the supplies she would’ve had back at Camp.

        Annabeth appeared in the kitchen, stopping beside Josephine next to the sink. She frowned at the cuts on Josephine’s arms, her brows furrowing. "I saw some aloe vera back in the garden," she started. "I remember Lee telling me that it can be used with injuries. And back there, that — I mean, the boils —"

        "I don't know." Josephine's voice was shaky. "It wasn't me. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't me."

        Plagues, Beau's voice rang in her head. Sickness. Darkness. Death.

        Annabeth watched her for a moment. "Are you … sure you don't?"

        Josephine nodded quickly. "I'm sure."

        But you have an idea, that voice was back.

        She sighed, trying to shove the voice to the back of her mind — where it wouldn’t stay. She turned off the faucet, shaking as much water off her hands as she could before grabbing paper towels to dry off her hands and arms. She rummaged through the cabinets, looking past the food, and looking for anything to help with cuts. She found a lot of small, individual band-aids. She grabbed them, turning to Annabeth, who was watching her with a frown.

        "I'm just worried," the daughter of Athena admitted suddenly.

        Josephine glanced at her. "About what?"

        "What if you get sick?" said the blonde. "I don't want that. It would be horrible for a quest."

        Josephine frowned. "Oh. Right. The quest.”

        Annabeth smiled. "I'm also worried because you're my friend, Posie." Josephine threw her a nasty look for the nickname, but the blonde raised her hands. "I don't know why you act so distant."

        "I don't act distant."

        "You avoid people," Annabeth said dryly. "Like … everyone but your siblings. You realize people would love to be your friend back at Camp, right? I mean, I consider us friends. You listen when I tell you about all my plans, you ask questions and engage. That's what a friend does. I would listen to you wholeheartedly if you talked to me about things you enjoy."

        Listen even if she tells you all her nightmares? that cruel voice asked.

        "I … didn't know you considered us friends," Josephine admitted, the embarrassment seeping in. Her ears burned and she acted busy with the band-aids.

        'Cause you haven't had many friends before, said Asshole.

        Shut up, neither have you, she replied.

        Annabeth nudged her. "'Course I do."

        Josephine smiled hesitantly at the blonde, leaving the kitchen behind to sit at the metal table with Grover and Percy. She dropped the handful of band-aids on the table as Grover ate the wax paper. Percy watched as Josephine started to put the band-aids on smaller cuts. Annabeth came back with a piece of aloe vera, cutting it in half with her bronze knife. She cleaned off the blade with her shirt as Josephine scooped some of the plant off.

        "Hold this," said Josephine, handing Percy the extra band-aids. She used her teeth to take off the backings of the band-aids. She put off some of the aloe vera, put on the band-aid, and cleaned the extra aloe vera off with an extra paper towel. She repeated the action for the arm, asking for more assistance as she was left-handed.

        Once she was finished, the four were overcome with fatigued silence.

        Percy spoke first, "What did you do back there?" he asked the daughter of Apollo. "I mean … the boils? Medusa coughing?"

        Josephine stretched her fingers, looking at the band-aids that littered her arms. She didn't know, and she had absolutely no idea — despite everything that cruel voice was trying to tell her. "I dunno …" she admitted meekly. "Seriously," she looked at Annabeth pointedly, "I don't know. I've — I've never done that before."

        Suddenly, Percy stood up. "I'll be back," he said.

        "Percy," Josephine called after him, frowning. "What are you —?"

        However, he disappeared through a door before she could finish her question.

        Annabeth shook her head. "Gods know what he's doing right now. You know ... I've been thinking, back on the bus, the Furies asked for 'it,’ not 'him.’ Weren't they asking about Percy? Why would they say 'it?’"

        "Maybe they got confused?" Josephine offered.

        "No. No way the Furies would get confused," argued Annabeth, shaking her head.

        Admittedly, Josephine hadn't really thought about it all that much. The way the Furies had phrased their demands hadn’t really stuck with her. At the time, she was too busy trying not to die to think about it. "So you think they were looking for something. Not Percy, but something like an item?"

        "Why else would they say 'it?’" Annabeth said.

        "Do they think we have the Master Bolt?" asked Grover.

        Josephine's eyes widened. "Do they think we do?"

        "And that we'd give it to them? Just like that?" said Annabeth.

        Percy came back to the picnic table with a box in his hands, ending the others’ conversation on a confusing note. He packed up Medusa's head, and filled out a delivery slip from Hermes Overnight Express:

The Gods
Mount Olympus
600th Floor
Empire State Building
New York, NY

With best wishes,
PERCY JACKSON

        "They're not going to like that," Grover warned. "They'll think you're impertinent."

        Percy poured some golden drachmas into the pouch. As soon as he closed it, there was a sound like a cash register. The package floated off the table and disappeared with a small pop! "I am impertinent," he said.

        Josephine frowned. "You know what that word means?"

        Percy flushed. "Of course I do!"

        "Then, why would you want to be impertinent?"

        "C’mon," Annabeth muttered before Percy could respond. "We need a new plan."

Chapter Text

chapter seven
❛ a green mist ❜

━━━━━  JOSEPHINE WAS PRETTY miserable that night. Truth be told, miserable wasn’t a strong enough word for it. Miserable didn’t even cover the dread she felt, let alone this heavy feeling in her stomach and the odd tingling beneath the skin of her hands (that hadn’t gone away since Medusa tried to turn them all into stone).

        The four of them camped out in the woods that night, all too frightened by the encounter with Medusa to stay inside the gnome emporium. They were stationed a hundred yards from the main road, in a marshy clearing that local kids had obviously been using for parties — the ground was littered with flattened soda cans. fast-food wrappers, and cheap beer cans. They had taken some food and blankets from Aunty Em's, but they didn't dare light a fire to dry their damp clothes. The Furies and Medusa had provided enough excitement for one day. They didn't want to attract anything else (and Josephine’s heart couldn’t take it if they somehow did).

        They — Annabeth, really — decided it was best to sleep in shifts, and Percy volunteered to take first watch. (Surprisingly, Annabeth didn’t tell him to take the first watch. But perhaps that had to do with the fact she was still annoyed about the whole What’s the harm in a photo, Annabeth? ordeal from earlier …) Whatever the reason was, Josephine didn’t argue with either of them. She curled into her blanket, trying to look for warmth — and it wasn’t working. Annabeth, however, seemed to find some — as soon as her head rested on her arm, she was snoring loudly. Grover fluttered into the air with his flying shoes, landing on the lowest bough of a nearby tree. The satyr put his back against the thick trunk, staring up at the night sky.

        The daughter of Apollo stared up at the night sky, unable to fall asleep. She didn’t know if it was the anxiety, the rough ground, or her racing mind — probably a vicious combination of all three was keeping her awake. She looked at all the constellations Mrs. Hall had taught her. When Josephine was still in D.C., Mrs. Hall had been the Pascuals' neighbor in their little community of houses just on the outskirts of the city, and she would often babysit Josephine. For as long as Josephine could remember, Mrs. Hall would be the one who coddled her the way a child needed. Beau wasn’t a parent. Not really. Sure, he did what he was legally obligated to as a parent — shelter, clothes, food. (And hardly, even then, as many nights, Josephine was cooking for herself when Mrs. Hall was too busy to do so.) But beyond that, he didn’t care. He didn’t love Josephine, and that was where the big divide was. He never gave her the love she craved for. He gave her a place to sleep, clothes to put on her back, and food to eat; however, he never gave her attention or any sort of empathy as a person or as his daughter.

        She closed her eyes for a moment, tears pricking in the corners. Josephine didn't want to sleep. She was scared of what was waiting for her when she closed her eyes, when she was at her most vulnerable. However, she also didn't want to stay awake, scared of what monsters might be lurking around.

        "Go ahead and sleep," she heard Percy tell Grover, breaking the silence. "I'll wake you up if there's trouble."

        There was silence for a moment, but then, Grover sighed deeply. "It makes me sad, Percy,” he admitted.

        Percy was silent for a moment. However, finally, he asked, "What does? The fact you signed up for this stupid quest?"

        Just barely, Josephine cracked her eyes open, her eyes struggling to search through the darkness. Overhead, Grover was gesturing to all the trash below him from his perch. "No." He shook his head at Percy. "This makes me sad. And the sky. You can't even see the stars anymore! They've polluted the sky. This is a terrible time to be a satyr …”

        "Oh … Yeah.” Percy’s tone was dubious, and Josephine could almost hear the uncertainty in his voice. “I guess you'd be an environmentalist."

        Josephine scowled to herself. She had always loved nature — the fresh air, changing seasons, sunrises, and everything else nature offered. (Except for bugs and snakes; she hated bugs and snakes — especially snakes). When she learned that nature was suffering because of humans, young Josephine was devastated and gutted. Maybe that's why she got along with satyrs so well — she also cared about the environment the way they did.

        Her eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to see that Grover was glaring at Percy. "Only a human wouldn't be,” he practically hissed, and Percy’s eyes widened in shock. “Your species is clogging up the world so fast —” The saytr stopped himself suddenly, his posture slumping even more. “Never mind. It's useless to lecture a human. At the rate things are going, I'll never find Pan."

        Percy frowned, clearly surprised at Grover’s sudden hostility. "Pam?" he asked. "Like … the cooking spray?"

        "Pan!" the satyr cried indignantly. "P-A-N. The great god Pan! What do you think I want a searcher's license for?"

        Suddenly, an odd breeze rustled through the clearing — the smell of berries, wildflowers, and clean rainwater. It was so strong it even overpowered the man-made stink of trash and muck. The breeze brought reminders of what once had been in these woods, but no longer was. Josephine was now nostalgic for something she had never known.

        "Tell me about the search," said Percy suddenly.

        Josephine raised her eyebrows. Not many ever cared enough to ask, let alone even listen to the satyrs when they spoke about Pan. Grover was looking at Percy cautiously, as if he were afraid the son of Poseidon was just making fun. "The God of Wild Places disappeared two thousand years ago," he started, taking a careful breath. "A sailor off the coast of Ephesos heard a mysterious voice crying out from the shore, 'Tell them that the great god Pan has died!' When humans heard the news, they believed it. They've been pillaging Pan's kingdom ever since. But for the satyrs, Pan was our lord and master. He protected us and the wild places of the earth. We refuse to believe that he died. In every generation, the bravest satyrs pledge their lives to finding Pan. They search the earth, exploring all the wildest places, hoping to find where he is hidden and wake him from his sleep."

        "And you want to be a searcher," Percy caught on.

        "It's my life's dream," admitted Grover. "My father was a searcher. And my Uncle Ferdinand ... The statue you saw back there —"

        "Oh, right ... Sorry."

        Percy, Josephine quickly noticed, didn't seem to have the skill at comforting people. She couldn't blame him, she didn't have that ability, either.

        Grover shook his head, his hands fidgeting nervously with the end of his shirt. "Uncle Ferdinand knew the risks. So did my dad — but I'll succeed. I'll be the first searcher to return alive."

        “Wha —” Percy leaned forward, his eyes widening as he looked up at the satyr. "Hang on — the first?"

        No one ever liked talking about it. Even Josephine’s dreams didn’t like talking about it (and her dreams didn’t seem to mind showing anything, just as long as it was in a cryptic manner). But … that was the reality — no satyr had ever returned once they had set out searching for the lost god Pan. As much as she supported Grover and his determination, she was far more worried about what would happen to him if he were ever finally granted a Searcher’s License. She didn't want to think of what happened to all those satyrs who were granted a searcher's license; she didn't want to think of what would happen to Grover if he got one and went out looking.

        Grover took the reed pipes out of his pocket. "No searcher has ever come back,” he told Percy, his voice laced with much sadness. “Once they set out, they disappear. They're never seen alive again."

        "Not once in two thousand years?"

        "No."

        "And your dad? You have no idea what happened to him?"

        "... None."

        "But you still want to go," Percy said, sounding partially amazed and partially horrified. "I mean — you really think you'll be the one to find Pan?"

        Hope, Josephine quickly learned, was both amazing and horrible. But it was like that with a lot of things — fear, pride, anger, loyalty. She only hoped that hope wasn’t holding Grover hostage. He was one of the most passionate satyrs she had ever met, and he had a heart of gold; however, both of those things could only take someone so far. Not once in two thousand years had a satyr returned after setting for outside Camp Half-Blood after setting out in search of Pan, God of the Wild. 

        "I have to believe that, Percy,” insisted Grover, his voice raw. “Every searcher does. It's the only thing that keeps us from despair when we look at what humans have done to the world. I have to believe Pan can still be awakened."

        Josephine looked at the night sky. The moment she learned of the satyrs and their goal of finding Pan, she wondered why. Why would they keep sending out satyrs for something that seemed so hopeless? Especially after thousands of satyrs had died in the process — but the satyrs had hope in Pan, that was what kept them going. She saw how it kept them going; how hope was doing good for them, even if they weren’t getting what they wanted. They still had reasons to continue. She tried to adopt the same attitude — always having hope. Perhaps it didn't always work, but it was better than nothing.

        Percy looked uncomfortable with the subject, so he changed it; "So … how are we going to get into the Underworld? I mean, what chance do we have against a god?"

        "I don't know …" admitted Grover. "But back at Medusa's, when you were searching her office? Annabeth was telling me and Josephine —"

        Percy scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, I forgot. Annabeth will have a plan all figured out. And Josephine never thought to mention her freaky powers, did she? They would have been real useful against those —"

        Grover frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "Don't be so hard on them, Percy," he chided the son of Poseidon. "They've both had a tough life, but they're good people. After all, Annabeth forgave me, even Josephine didn't judge ..." His voice faltered, glancing at Percy nervously.

        Josephine winced silently, closing her eyes for a moment. She knew Grover didn't mean to, but still, Annabeth wasn't going to be happy to learn that Grover nearly spilled everything to Percy.

        The son of Poseidon frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked. "Annabeth forgave you for what? Josephine didn't judge?"

        Grover refused to answer, nervously playing out-of-tune notes on his reed pipes.

        "Wait a minute …" insisted Percy, sitting up to get a better look at the satyr. "Your first keeper job was five years ago. Annabeth has been at Camp for five years. She wasn't — I mean, your first assignment that went wrong —"

        "I can't talk about it." Grover's voice was quivering. Josephine was afraid that if Percy pressed him any further, the satyr would start crying. "But as I was saying, back at Medusa's, Annabeth, Josephine, and I agreed there's something strange going on with this quest. Something isn't what it seems."

        "Well, duh.” Percy rolled his eyes, looking miffed at Grover’s avoidance of answering. “I'm getting blamed for stealing a thunderbolt that Hades took."

        "That's not what I mean," said Grover. "The Fur — the Kindly Ones were sort of holding back. Like Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy ... Why did she wait so long to try to kill you? Then on the bus, they just weren't as aggressive as they could've been."

        "They seemed plenty aggressive to me."

        Grover shook his head. "They were screeching at us: 'Where is it? Where?'"

        "Asking about me," said Percy.

        Josephine fought the urge to roll her eyes. The Kindly Ones would have worded their questions differently if they were asking about Percy, not something else. Grover also didn’t look convinced, saying, "Maybe ... but we got the feeling they weren't talking about a person. They said, 'Where is it?' They seemed to be asking about an object."

        "But … that doesn't make sense," Percy protested.

        "I know,” agreed the satyr, nodding along. “But if we've misunderstood something about this quest, and we only have nine days to find the Master Bolt ..." Grover sounded like he was looking for an answer from Percy, trying to prompt the son of Poseidon into revealing something.

        "I …” Percy looked self-conscious, his eyebrows knitting together as he glanced down. “I haven't been straight with you," he admitted. “I don't care about the Master Bolt. I agreed to go to the Underworld so I could bring my mother back."

        There was silence for a few moments, then Grover blew a soft note on his pipes. "I know that, Percy.” He didn’t sound surprised, and it convinced Josephine that both were telling the truth. “But … are you sure that's the only reason?"

        "I'm not doing it to help my father," Percy said quickly. His voice was defensive. "He doesn't care about me, and I don't care about him."

        That wasn't true, and Percy was one lousy liar. He did care, even if Poseidon didn't. He cared in the way Josephine did. They wanted to please their parents, who showed them no love, no attention. They wanted to prove that they were worthy of attention and praise from their godly parents. It was what all demigod kids wanted, even if they denied it or were completely unaware.

        Grover watched him sadly, laying his reed pipes in his lap gently. "Look, Percy, I'm not as smart as Annabeth, I'm not as compassionate as Josephine, and I'm not as brave as you — but I'm pretty good at reading emotions. You're glad your dad is alive. You feel good that he's claimed you, and part of you wants to make him proud. That's why you mailed Medusa's head to Olympus. You wanted him to notice what you'd done."

        Percy was silent for a moment, leaning back against a tree trunk. He had his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. "Yeah? Well, maybe satyrs' emotions work differently than human emotions. Because you're wrong. I don't care what he thinks."

        (Percy was a really, really bad liar.)

        Grover watched him for a few seconds more. Then, he sighed, saying, "Okay, Percy. Whatever."

        However, Percy wasn’t done. "Besides, I haven't done anything worth bragging about. We barely got out of New York, and we're stuck here — no money and no way west."

        "How about I take first watch, huh? You get some sleep, Percy," advised Grover. He didn’t give Percy a moment longer, starting to play Mozart — soft and sweet. Slowly, Josephine could feel sleep falling over her. After a few measures of Piano Concerto No. 12, she was asleep.

✿

Josephine woke just as the sun was rising. The word Trickery rang in her mind, different from the cruel voice who taunted her and the voice who told her she would fall. She shook the word away, taking watch and relieving Annabeth, who went back to sleep soon (and snoring away). For the next hour and a half, she stayed awake. She listened to the birds, the distant sound of cars rumbling down streets, and the thoughts churning around in her head.

        She felt guilty for imposing on Percy and Grover's conversation, but she couldn't fall asleep, especially not with them talking in what would otherwise be dead silence. She felt even worse for eavesdropping on what Percy told Grover — the real reason he was going on this quest. She already knew of Grover’s desires to gain a searcher’s license, and she knew of how Annabeth arrived at Camp, and she figured there was a real reason why Percy was leading this quest (beyond being forced to, unless he wanted to be struck dead by Zeus). There was no way a kid who had been at Camp for two weeks would agree to a quest to take back Zeus's stolen Master Bolt (that is over in the Underworld, mind you), and then give it back to Zeus — all on top of being a son of Poseidon, no less.

        Hades was the reason Percy lost his mother. The God of the Dead sent the Minotaur after him, the monster that made Percy lose his mom. It made sense that he wanted to get her back. Josephine understood — she would give anything to be back in Mrs. Hall's comforting arms, sipping hot chocolate as Mrs. Hall told her stories of her youth as she studied abroad in Europe for her literary degree. If there was any chance of having that again, Josephine would go to the ends of the earth to do it; however, she knew she had run out of time. But Percy hasn't yet. Not yet, at least.

        Grover was the first person to wake up after Josephine. He shifted in his sleep, nearly falling out of the tree limb. He scared himself awake and was unable to fall back asleep. Eventually, he fluttered down next to Josephine and crossed the winged shoes underneath him, whispering, “Maia.”

        He was silent for a few moments, fiddling with his reed pipes. “Sorry,” he broke the silence, glancing at Josephine.

        She frowned at him, confusion written across her face. "For what?"

        "For what Percy said about your powers."

        “Oh.” She shifted, redraping the blanket she had taken from Medusa’s over her legs. She didn’t know what to say. Sure, she had felt burning beneath her skin; Annabeth said this “green mist” came from her hands; then, Medusa ended up with a cough and boils on her face. But … what even was it? The green mist, boils, and coughing? “I mean … I dunno if they’re even my powers.”

        Grover pursed his lips, silent for a moment. "I think they are," he admitted. "Annabeth said you raised your hands in front of your face and this … green mist thing-y came out and surrounded Aunty Em."

        Josephine frowned. “I …” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Can you even call that powers? I mean — that green mist thing-y gave her boils and a cough? What kind of power does that?"

        "A power that got us out of Aunty Em's place alive," Grover offered.

        She shook her head. "That was all Percy."

        "We should figure out more about them before we say that it was all Percy," Grover advised, leaning against the tree behind him. "You helped. If that green mist hadn’t given Medu — Aunty Em a cough and boils, she probably would’ve turned us to stone before Annabeth could even come up with a plan."

        Josephine watched Grover for a long moment. She forgot just long enough — satyrs could read emotions. There was no way he couldn’t have noticed her sullen mood. He was trying to help her, trying to say nice things about such a scary “power” to lift her mood. However, instead of taking the compliment, she frowned stubbornly and insisted, "I'm pretty sure it was all Percy and Annabeth." She followed the satyr's lead and leaned against a tree trunk behind her. "You knew I wasn't asleep?"

        "Yeah," said Grover. "Lee says you fidget a lot in your sleep. You were too still."

        The daughter of Apollo flushed pink. "Why would he tell you that?"

        He shrugged, embarrassment creeping across his face as he realized how weird it all sounded. "We got on the topic of sleeping habits, is all. I mentioned that Annabeth snores really loud, and Lee said that you fidget a lot. S’not as weird as it sounds, I swear."

        Josephine wasn’t sure if she could believe that. However, her eyes trailed over to Annabeth’s sleeping form. The daughter of Athena had a line of drool trailing down her chin, and she was snoring loudly, even over the sound of birds chirping happily. "She does, doesn't she …?"

        Grover was starting to smile; however,  the smile quickly dropped. "You really don't blame —?"

        "No!" Josephine shook her head. "Not at all. And neither does Annabeth. Nor Luke."

        She knew that Annabeth, Luke, and Thalia had been Grover's failed attempt at a rescue years ago. And Grover knew that she knew of his failed mission. However, where their understandings of shared information differed was how Josephine knew. Grover always assumed that Annabeth had spilled everything to her at some point, but that wasn’t how it happened. Dreams were nasty things — showing her the worst things the Greek world and myths had to offer. But that never changed the way Josephine saw Grover. Gods know how she would have reacted under all that pressure. Based on what happened in Aunty Em's, she would've given everyone a serious cough and nasty boils before ever saving anyone.

        Silence fell over the two. Josephine could hear Annabeth snoring and Percy mumbling in his sleep. She rubbed at her eyes, dragging them slowly down her face. "You called me compassionate." She broke the silence first. "... Do you really think that?”

        Grover was staring at Josephine's hands, as if he expected her hands to burst into that green mist. She tucked them under the stolen blanket. The satyr flushed, knowing he had been caught. “I think so.” He nodded. “You always listen to people, and you always act like you care. Even to people like Clarisse. You even care about nature. It takes a lot to be a compassionate person.”

        She stared at him, an odd mix of embarrassment, being seen, and feeling understood rushing over her. Josephine had always tried to go out of her way to listen — it was the least she could do. Everyone deserved it, and she knew what it felt like to be completely discarded by someone, especially by someone you cared for and wanted to care for you. No one deserved to feel that way, either. She tried to listen when people spoke, especially when they spoke about their vulnerabilities. She understood that talking, let alone talking about things you were insecure about, was incredibly hard. 

        She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks, Grover.” She tried not to let her voice waver. “That means a lot.”

        He nodded, smiling back. “That’s why people like talking to you. You listen and you remember. It means a lot to people.”

        She didn’t know what to say. She tried because that was the right thing to do; because no one should ever feel ignored; because she didn’t want to treat someone the way Beau had treated her. She remembered because she tried. It was a horrible feeling, thinking that no one ever cared enough to remember, so even if she didn’t care all too much, she still tried. 

        “I dunno …” Her sentence trailed off before it had even really begun. “I guess I try because … it sucks when people don’t care. Or when they don’t remember the things you're good at — or even bad at. When I first came to Camp, it sucked having people constantly ask about the things I was bad at — archery, healing, poetry, even.”

        Grover was silent for a moment, his eyebrows knitting as he thought. “I think you put yourself down too much,” he finally declared. “No one really notices those things as much as you. But people notice how good you are with daggers and swords! You're good at hand-to-hand combat. That counts for something. That’s why Cabin Five and Cabin Six like training with you."

        "But I’m horrible with a bow and horrible at healing," added Josephine, counting the two things off with her fingers. "What kind of daughter of Apollo am I if I can't even shoot a bow?"

        "I think you're a pretty amazing one," admitted Grover.

        Their conversation ended there — Josephine frowning at Grover as he tried to make her feel better. Before she could come up with a reply, Annabeth woke up. The blonde sat up, the blanket covering her body falling into her lap in a heap. She brushed her hair out of her face, blinking at the two. "How long have you two been up?" she asked, her voice groggy.

        "Since the sun started to rise," mumbled Josephine, waving her hand lazily at the sky.

        The daughter of Athena grinned slightly. "I’ve always heard Cabin Seven fall and rise with the sun." 

        She then looked to Grover, and the satyr shrugged. "I dunno long," he admitted. "Maybe ... forty minutes?"

        "Well," said Annabeth, shoving the blanket off her lap and standing up, "we should probably get moving."

        Grover stood up, too. "I'm gonna go looking for anything to help us."

        "Do you want me to go with you?" Josephine asked him. "Safety in numbers and all."

        "I'll be fine," he assured. (However, Josephine didn't fail to hear his small, 'I think.’)

        She tasked herself with helping Annabeth clean up their mess from the short-notice camping. The two folded up blankets, dusting the dirt off of them, and tried to dust the dirt off themselves. Annabeth tossed Josephine a bag of chips, saying with false cheeriness; "Breakfast."

        Josephine raised her eyebrows, opening the bag with a smile. "I've always wanted" — she glanced down at the bag — "barbeque chips for breakfast." She ate the bag of chips quickly, tilting the plastic bag upside down to get the crumbs from the bottom.

        Percy was still asleep, though he was muttering quietly, even shaking slightly. Josephine could see, just barely, that his eyes darting back and forth from underneath his eyelids, as if he were on high alert.

        When Grover came back, he came back with a “friend.” A small pink poodle, even named Gladiola. The satyr held out the dog to Annabeth and Josephine, and it growled at them. "They're nice people, Gladiola," he promised. He looked up at the two girls. "You have to say hello."

        Josephine glanced at Annabeth, and the daughter of Athena watched with apprehension. "Um … hello, Gladiola. I — uh — really like your pink fur."

        Annabeth gave the daughter of Apollo an irritated — furrowed eyebrows and a curled top lip. "That was an unnecessary compliment …" she whispered to Josephine. However, she stood up straight again and looked at the pink poodle. Through a gritted smile, she greeted, "Hello, Gladiola."

        The daughter of Apollo shrugged, saying to herself, "He growled at me, what else was I supposed to do? Growl back?"

        After their greetings, Gladiola didn't seem so wary of Josephine and Annabeth. However, the poodle still very much preferred Grover's company compared to them. Not that Josephine was complaining. The dog looked too worse for wear to her. However, she had been tasked with waking up Percy. They needed to move on and head west, but Grover was too busy with Gladiola, and Annabeth was looking for more chip bags, leaving only Josephine left for the job. She grabbed Percy by the shoulder, shaking him gently. His eyes snapped open, but he squinted as the sun was beating down on them.

        "Well," said Annabeth, standing up straight as she grinned slightly, "the zombie lives!"

        Josephine shook her head. "You're the last one to wake up," she told the son of Poseidon.

        Percy seemed to be trembling. Whatever he was dreaming, it must have really scared him. "How long was I asleep?"

        "Long enough for me to cook breakfast." The daughter of Athena tossed him a bag of nacho-flavored corn chips from Aunty Em's snack bar. However, still groggy with sleep, Percy couldn’t catch — the chips bounced off his forehead and fell into his lap. "And Grover went exploring. Look, he found a friend."

        Josephine grimaced, trying to hide the reaction. "He's really only Grover's friend …"

        Percy blinked owlishly, grabbing the chip bag from his lap. He looked at Grover — the satyr was sitting cross-legged on one of the last blankets left, and Gladiola was curled up in his lap. Grover was petting the poodle slowly.

        Suddenly, the poodle yapped at Percy suspiciously. Grover protested, "No, he's not!"

        Percy's brows furrowed. "Are you … talking to that thing?"

        The poodle growled.

        "This thing," Grover warned, giving Percy a stern look, "is our ticket west. Be nice to him."

        "You can talk to animals?"

        The satyr ignored the question, picking the poodle up by the chest and holding him out to the son of Poseidon. "Percy, meet Gladiola. Gladiola, Percy."

        Percy looked at Josephine, who stood beside him. He looked half-expecting to see her burst out laughing, however, she didn’t. She gave Percy a very serious look, and he raised his eyebrows in response. When she didn’t laugh, Percy leaned closer to whisper, "He's being serious ...?"

        Josephine nodded to him.

        Percy straightened, giving Grover and the poodle a confused look. "I'm not saying hello to a pink poodle," he protested suddenly, rapidly shaking his head. "Forget it."

        "Percy," started Josephine, frowning at him. "You just have to say hi. I said hello to Gladiola, and so did Annabeth."

        The poodle growled again, baring its teeth.

        And that settled it: Percy said hello to the pink poodle.

        Once the introductions were over, Grover explained how he had come across Gladiola — in the woods, and they struck up a conversation. Apparently, the poodle had run away from a rich local family, and that family had posted a $200 reward for his return. Gladiola didn't really want to go back to his family, but he was willing to if it meant helping Grover.

        "How does Gladiola know about the reward?" Percy asked.

        "He read the signs," said Grover. "Duh."

        "... Of course." Percy's tone was sarcastic. "Silly me."

        “So we turn in Gladiola," Annabeth explained in her best strategy voice. "We get the money and we buy tickets to Los Angeles. Simple."

        "Simple," Josephine repeated warily.

        "Not another bus," Percy groaned.

        "No, not another bus, but it is simple," insisted Annabeth. She pointed downhill, towards train tracks that Josephine hadn't been able to see in the dark. "There's an Amtrak station half a mile that way. According to Gladiola, the westbound train leaves at noon."

        Josephine looked up at the sky, she squinted at the blazing sun. "We don't have very long, then."

        Percy looked at her oddly. "What? You can tell the time of day because your dad is the God of the Sun? You have some sun powers, too?"

        She scowled, dropping her head back down. "No," she quipped, glaring at him. "The sun rises in the east, sets in the west. And the sun is above us at noon. And, look, it's above us. Like Annabeth said — simple."

        "Right, of course." The son of Poseidon rolled his eyes dramatically. "Silly me."

Chapter Text

chapter eight
❛ man and the great descent ❜

━━━━━  THE NEXT TWO days were spent on the Amtrak train, barreling west through hills, over rivers, and past waves of amber grain. There weren’t any attacks within those forty-eight hours; however, Josephine’s unease didn’t lessen any. It felt like she and the others were traveling around in a glass display case, being watched from above and even from below. It was like something — or someone — was waiting for the right opportunity.

        Josephine was just anxious for what that “opportunity” was, and when it would rear its ugly head.

        She found herself restless, constantly fidgeting with her hands — anything to keep herself occupied. She needed anything to keep her mind occupied; anything to keep her brain from thinking of the quest. But she found it impossible. Everything reminded her of the quest — the three she was traveling with, the constant rattle of the train, the lack of backpacks, and especially the band-aids littering her forearms. Subconsciously, she picked at the band-aids, the adhesive starting to wear down. 

        Across their Amtrak seats, her elbows on the table, Annabeth watched her. “You need more band-aids?”

        Josephine glanced up for a split second, momentarily forgetting the others were nearby. “Probably,” she quietly admitted.

        Annabeth was silent for a moment, her grey eyes traveling to the aisle. Suddenly, she stood up. “Here. I’ll get ‘em for you.”

        Josephine frowned, going to say something to the daughter of Athena, but Annabeth walked away before she could. She stared off after Annabeth, until a few minutes later — the blonde came back with handfuls of tan-colored band-aids. She slid into the open seat beside Josephine, laying all of the band-aids on the table. Together, Annabeth and Josephine applied band-aids to the peeling, fraying ones — Annabeth would peel the plastic backing off, helping Josephine line the absorption pad along the wound as best they could, and then, press it down. 

        Josephine could tell that Annabeth was itching to ask a question — her eyebrows were knitted together as her lips pursed. It was her thinking face, and Annabeth was always thinking of something. "You can ask, you know," she said abruptly, breaking the silence between them. She rubbed the last band-aid down on her arm, hoping that Annabeth wouldn’t ask. "I … know you want to ask something. That thing — the boils —"

        "Not that." Annabeth shook her head, surprising Josephine. "You say you don't — Well, I have some ideas about that. And I think it may be something that you did, even if you don't know what it is, but —" She paused, her frown deepening. "If it happens again, we know for sure it's you. If not ..." she trailed off, "I dunno, then."

        The silence hung for a few, but long, moments. It was rare for a child of Athena to ever admit they didn’t know something, let alone Annabeth Chase, a girl who prided herself on knowing everything. Somehow, that made Josephine a lot more nervous — Annabeth didn’t know, and there was still a chance that the green mist did come from Josephine. "You really think those boils came from ... me?" she asked.

        The daughter of Athena stared at her. "You don't?"

        She's right, that cruel voice spoke up. You know what you caused: a curse.

        Josephine looked off, frowning. "I — I don’t know. But if it was —"

        "We'll figure it out," Annabeth promised. "There's nothing that doesn't have an answer."

        She looked at the blonde from the corner of her eye. "... Is that something your mom says?"

        The daughter of wisdom flushed. "... Maybe."

        Josephine only smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "You still have questions. I can tell."

        Annabeth's embarrassed expression faded, and her back straightened like someone had taped a stick to her spine. "Did you really think we weren't friends …? I mean, we talk pretty often — about my blueprints and what book I’m reading, and you just thought ..." she trailed off, the embarrassed features coming back, "that we weren’t at least a little close?"

        You figured no one would want to be friends with someone like Josephine Pascual, that cruel voice drawled.

        Josephine frowned, trying to shove that voice to the back of her mind. It had become louder and louder as the days went on — and she didn’t know why. Or what it even was. Part of her thought it was dreams — the foresight she had inherited from Apollo, coming in full force to haunt her in daytime and nighttime. But … she had never heard of odd voices in people’s heads being a sign of foresight. Normally, it was a sign of complete and utter madness.

        "I … don’t know,” she finally replied. "I didn't …" The full admission was on the tip of her tongue: Have any friends before? However, she managed not to blurt it out. "Growing up as a half-blood, I was ... odd — um — so my classmates didn't really have anything to do with me." She frowned, feeling that burn in her throat. She swallowed it down and continued, "I figured it would be the same at Camp."

        Annabeth gave her a sad smile, as if she understood completely. Which, as far as Annabeth knew, she did. She also grew up as a half-blood, but Josephine didn't have the heart to tell Annabeth that they were two different odds. Josephine saw things; she was a prophetic kind of odd; she was told she was cursed by her father kind of odd. Annabeth was just half-blood odd; hunted-by-monsters-like-every-other-demigod odd. "You realize I didn't have many friends, either?" asked Annabeth. "That's not — weird. I'm sure Percy felt the same way, Posie."

        Josephine shrugged, not wanting to argue. Arguing meant having to tell Annabeth how she was a prophetic odd, and not just a half-blood odd. "I … guess so. I guess it was just something that stuck with me from childhood.”

        The silence settled between them comfortably. Josephine sat back in her seat, looking out the Amtrak window beside her. Annabeth twirled a blonde braid around her forefinger, watching as it slowly unraveled itself. However, there was a thought that bothered Josephine …

        “Annabeth,” she started, the embarrassment already starting to creep in, “why do you call me Posie?”

        The daughter of Athena frowned, as if the question stumped her. "What do you mean? Posie’s your name. I mean — your nickname.”

        Josephine stared back. Truthfully, that had not been the answer she was expecting at all. “But … Josephine’s my name.”

        “Everyone calls you Posie.”

        “I want them to call me Josephine.”

        “But …” Annabeth frowned, chewing on her bottom lip. “Oh. Well … Lee calls you Posie. I thought it was okay if I did.”

        Josephine shifted in her seat, looking at the scenery rolling by. "That's ... different."

        She didn’t know how to explain it best. It just was. The name Posie held memories — good and bad memories. Mrs. Hall had been the one to start using the name, calling her by the nickname Posie after she had given Mrs. Hall a handpicked bouquet of wild posies for Mrs. Hall’s birthday. Mrs. Hall knew Josephine disliked the name given to her by her father. She was named after her grandmother, a woman who resented her slot in life, resented her children for having the courage to go out and pursue the things they desired — art, music, photography. It was no wonder Josephine and her father, Beau, already started on a bad foot after he named his (unwanted) daughter after the woman who forbade him from pursuing music as a career. 

        It was only a few years after the start of the nickname that Mrs. Hall became incredibly sick. Truthfully, Josephine had no idea what had happened to Mrs. Hall, as right before her tenth birthday, she had run away. Right before her tenth birthday, she overheard Mrs. Hall on the phone with her doctors. It was the last straw; the final hit that sent Josephine tumbling — so she ran away. But … deep down, Josephine knew; Mrs. Hall was too sick.

        Lee had been the first one to welcome Josephine into Cabin Seven. With open arms and a sunny smile, he showed her patience and care, even when she was horrible at everything their father stood for. He helped her understand where her few strengths lay — swords, daggers, and music. He even helped her in designing the two Celestial bronze daggers that Beckendorf would end up making. He never said it aloud, but Lee was still baffled at Josephine’s affinity for daggers over bows; however, the affinity didn’t come naturally. Josephine clung on to any chance she had at survival, and she knew she had no chance with a bow. So she clung to daggers, swords, and spears.

        Josephine considered them family — Mrs. Hall and Lee. And that status was the reason she was okay with them calling her Posie. She knew they would never leave her or treat her the way Beau Pasucal had. She knew that they loved her; wanted the best for her.

        After a short, silent moment, Annabeth nodded, as if she understood (and perhaps she did). “Then … I'll stop calling you Posie."

        Josephine gave her a tight-lipped smile. "I think I'll be fine with you calling me Posie — in time. Just not —"

        "Right now," Annabeth finished, nodding again. "No, I get it. Don't worry. I should've known with the amount of times you fuss at the Stolls for calling you Posie. But I just thought … I mean, with the way they call me Annie —”

        "No. No, it's okay," Josephine insisted, shaking her head. "I mean, practically everyone has called me Posie. At least once. They hear Lee and Michael say it. Even Austin’s started.”

        But Annabeth only shook her head and shrugged. “I still should’ve figured it out. I called you Posie, and you didn't like it. I won't do it again … if — or until — you give me the green light. I mean, I’d be mad if people kept calling me Annie or Beth."

✿

The reward money for returning Gladiola the poodle had only been enough to purchase tickets as far as Denver. They couldn't get berths in the sleeper car, so they dozed in their seats — well … as best as they could. Josephine's neck got stiff after only twenty minutes; her shoulder hurt from leaning against the window. Even though Percy still drooled in his sleep, he never got any of it on Josephine, the person he was sitting next to. However, Grover kept snoring and bleating every so often, causing Josephine to wake up just as she started to fall asleep. Once, even, Grover shifted, and one of the red shoes fell off his hooves. The three demigods panicked, struggling to stuff the fabric over his hoof before any of the mortal passengers noticed. 

        Once the three re-tied the shoe on (so tight, even, that the shoe didn’t shift at all), they all sat back in their seats. Annabeth took a deep breath, starting with, "So … who wants your help?"

        Josephine glanced away from the middle aisle, from all the mortal passengers who could’ve seen anything. Her eyebrows were knitted with confusion. “What are you talking about?”

        Admittedly, she felt a huge spike in fear. As she dozed in and out of sleep, she had snippets of dreams. Only snippets — gold eyes, a blonde woman in a grassy field (when Josephine got the feeling it was during May), and this sickly green glow, and withered fields of grass and trees. However, Annabeth wasn’t looking at Josephine; the blonde was staring directly at Percy.

        The son of Poseidon shifted in his seat, his nails scratching his arm anxiously. "What … do you mean?" he asked, though Josephine got the distinct feeling he was trying to play dumb.

        Annabeth frowned slightly, apparently having the same feeling of what Percy was doing. "When you were asleep just now,” she said, “you mumbled, 'I won't help you.’ Who were you dreaming about?"

        Percy looked reluctant. He swallowed harshly, his eyes flickering between both Annabeth and Josephine. Eventually, however, he caved. He told them — in his dream, there was this “evil voice” that had a “chilling laugh.” The voice would speak to him; telling him things or asking him to do things. Even more so, this hadn’t just happened once — it had happened twice.

        Josephine’s eyes flickered nervously to the aisle, looking to see if any mortal passengers were walking past. “You … saw Zeus and Poseidon fighting. In a dream? The night before the quest.”

        Percy nodded. “Or the morning of. Kinda hard to tell.”

        She ignored the correction; “Then, a voice talking to you. And then the ground basically … swallowed you?”

        Percy flushed. “You don’t believe me,” he decided.

        “I never said that,” she replied, her tone becoming snappy. She leaned forward, her eyebrows knitting. “What’d the voice tell you? I need to know.”

        Percy’s body became visibly defensive — leaning back, his shoulders squaring, and frowning. “Why?”

        “I … Just because! Dreams are, like, Apollo’s thing, Percy. I …” she shrugged, embarrassment creeping over her as she realized how desperate she sounded, “might know something.”

        He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, he said … ‘Come down, little hero.’” He looked between her and Annabeth once again. “And that’s all.”

        But Josephine only frowned. "That's not what I heard ..."

        Annabeth's eyes narrowed on her, and Josephine’s skin crawled as she felt examined like a science experiment. "What?"

        "I —" Josephine looked nervously between Annabeth and Percy. "Demigods have dreams all the time, you know that, right —"

        "Yeah, yeah." Percy waved his hand dismissively. "I heard that at some point. What do you mean you had —?"

        "A similar dream," Josephine blurted. Instantly, she felt as if some invisible weight lifted from her shoulders. She had never told anyone about her dreams — besides telling Chiron, and that was only the morning they left for the quest. "But that's not what that voice told me."

        Annabeth’s brows knitted, and the familiar analytical look crossed over her face. “That’s why Chiron said … That’s what he meant.”

        Josephine nodded, and the anxiety was already seeping back in; a consuming feeling she couldn’t shake. The relief hardly lasted for a minute. Now, she couldn’t take the confession back. What would they think? Would they think she stole the Bolt? (She obviously didn’t!)

        "Well, okay ..." Percy said slowly. His brain seemed to be wrapping around the idea that demigods do have a lot of dreams. "What d'you hear?"

        Josephine frowned for a moment. She racked her brain, trying to remember the words. "Um … 'Little hero, you will fall. Even if I have to make you. In time.'"

        Once she had the words, they rolled off her tongue effortlessly. That almost scared Josephine. How consumed was she becoming by these dreams? Vaguely, she swore she saw the flashes of the storm Zeus and Poseidon were making in that dream. She swallowed, feeling as if she had a mouthful of sand. "But I don't know why that voice told us two separate things, or why we even had similar dreams."

        Yes, you do, that voice insisted, no matter how much she tried to ignore it. You just don't want to admit it.

        Annabeth straightened in her seat. She was silent for a long moment. "That … doesn't sound like Hades," she finally said. "He always appears on a black throne, and he never laughs, Percy. But ..." she trailed off, looking at Josephine, "it is odd you heard something different. You don't think it could be two separate people talking to each of you?"

        Josephine shivered. "I don't want to know who's trying to talk to me."

        Annabeth frowned. "But maybe whoever's talking to you has an answer," she started to argue. "About what happened back at, you know … Aunty Em's." She said the name like it was something top secret only between her, Josephine, and Percy.

        "Well … they'll have to find another way to contact me," Josephine said, her voice becoming defensive. "Talking to me in my dreams with that creepy voice is the worst way to try and help me."

        Annabeth looked ready to argue some more; however, Josephine gave her a hard look. The daughter of Athena clamped her mouth shut and slunk down in her seat, her arms crossed over her chest. Percy stayed silent during their exchange, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. "In my second dream,” he started, “that voice offered my mother in trade. Who else could do that besides Hades?"

        Annabeth got a pensive expression. "I guess ... if he meant, 'Help me rise from the Underworld.’ If he wants war with the Olympians. But why ask you to bring him the Master Bolt if he already has it?"

        "But what if he doesn’t have it?” offered Josephine. “Remember the Kindly Ones? They were asking where ‘it’ was. Had to be about the Master Bolt."

        Josephine hated the feeling of the unknown. Some of the hatred stemmed from the fear of the unknown. And some of the disdain perhaps stemmed from the dreams that told her everything — well … everything in a cryptic manner. The entire time since leaving Camp Half-Blood, she felt like something was dangling over her head. She felt taunted, and whoever was taunting just knew they were going to fail. If she was honest, that feeling started even before she left Camp. It truly felt like someone was watching her. It didn't feel like they were waiting for her to fail; however, just waiting for the right moment to contact her. She felt less like pray, but more like a … test subject.

        They are, that voice added, suddenly not as harsh. They are getting tired of waiting, however.

        That's the first non-rude thing you've said to me, Josephine replied, surprise even etched into her reply.

        I have my moments.

        Grover snorted in his sleep, maybe he sensed the emotion of dread wafting from the three demigods. He snorted in his sleep, muttered something about vegetables, and then turned his head to the other side so his nose was smushed against the glass. Josephine leaned forward to adjust the cap on Grover's head so it covered his horns. "Percy, you can't barter with Hades,” she told him, looking back at the boy. “You know that, right?"

        She understood why Percy wanted to barter. There was no doubt about that. She knew he was thinking with his grief instead of his head. But a horrible and stupid thing to do, Josephine also knew. She had seen many be led down dangerous roads because of grief. In those dreams, they fought against fate, and they always ended up insane or dead.

        "Josephine's right," agreed Annabeth. "Hades is deceitful, heartless, and greedy. I don't care if his Kindly Ones weren't as aggressive this time —"

        "This time?" Percy repeated, his eyebrows raising. "You mean you've run into them before?"

        Josephine nearly winced at the look on Annabeth's face. Unknowingly or not, the daughter of Athena played with the bead of her first summer — a glazed white bead painted with the image of a pine tree. A pained expression crossed the blonde’s face. Josephine felt sympathy. Annabeth never talked about Thalia, and then to be sprung with the topic with someone she hardly knew … That was hard. 

        She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Percy, think," she told him. "Would you make a deal with that voice for your mom?"

        She didn’t have to wait for an answer to know what he would reply with. Still, she was saying it to try and convince him in some sort of … reverse psychology thing.

        Percy frowned at her, countering with, “What would you do if it were your dad, Josephine?"

        The daughter of Apollo froze, her shoulders tensing. If she were honest, she didn’t know. The idea of saving her father had never crossed her mind; it was always Mrs. Hall.  Before Josephine had to try and stutter out a response, Annabeth answered, "That's easy. I'd leave mine to rot."

        Percy looked half scandalized as he looked back at Annabeth. "You're not serious?" he asked. Josephine figured he had been one of the lucky half-bloods with a good mortal parental situation — or, he had been.

        Annabeth's expression was stony as she watched him. "My dad resented me since the day I was born, Percy," she admitted, her tone blunt for such a sad statement. "He never wanted a baby. When he got me, he asked Athena to take me back and raise me on Olympus because he was too busy with his work. She wasn't happy about that. She told him heroes need to be raised by their mortal parent."

        "But, how ...?” Percy looked baffled. “I mean, you weren't born in a hospital?"

        "I appeared on my father's doorstep, in a golden cradle, carried down from Olympus by Zephyr the West Wind. You'd think my dad would remember that as a miracle, right?” Annabeth’s expression was tinged with sadness and resentment. “Like, maybe he'd take some digital photos or something. But he always talked about my arrival as if it were the most inconvenient thing that had ever happened to him. When I was five, he got married and totally forgot about Athena. He got a regular mortal wife, had two regular mortal kids, and tried to pretend I didn't exist."

        Josephine frowned to herself. She knew of Annabeth’s arrival at Camp — surviving on the streets with Thalia and Luke, then arriving with a horde of Hades’ worst monsters in tow, and then Thalia’s sacrifice. But she never knew anything about Annabeth’s life before she met Thalia and Luke. She never knew that she and Annabeth suffered from similar childhoods: both were carried to the unwanting fathers' doorsteps by Zephyr the West Wind and resented by their mortal fathers.

        Percy looked out the glass window next to Josephine, watching the sleeping cities fly by. "My mom married a really awful guy," he told them. "Grover said she did it to protect me, to hide me in the scent of a human family. Maybe that's what your dad was thinking."

        Annabeth kept worrying at her leather necklace. She was pinching the gold college ring that hung with the beads — her father's college ring. "He doesn't care about me," she insisted. "His wife — my stepmom — treated me like a freak. She wouldn't let me play with her children. My dad went along with her. Whenever something dangerous happened — you know, something with monsters — they would both look at me resentfully, like, 'How dare you put our family at risk!' Finally, I took the hint. I wasn't wanted. I ran away."

        "How old were you?" asked the son of Poseidon.

        "Same age as I was when I started Camp. Seven."

        "But ... you couldn't have got all the way to Half-Blood Hill by yourself?"

        "Not alone, no.” Annabeth shook her head. “Athena watched over me, guided me towards help. I made a couple of unexpected friends who took care of me — for a short time, anyway."

        Her grey eyes were stormy. She stood up suddenly. "I'm going to the bathroom."

        And then she left, giving neither Josephine nor Percy any time to reply. She walked past Josephine, heading straight for the bathrooms. That's how Annabeth was; she dealt with her emotions in private. It was something Josephine learned early on, noticing how the girl ran away from anything that reminded her of her past. She even ran from Luke, to some degree (but maybe that also had to do with her crush that she would never admit to …)

        "What would you do?" Percy asked, looking at Josephine.

        The brunette frowned. "What would I do for what?"

        "If Hades was using your dad as a bartering chip?"

        She was silent for a long moment, looking down at the faux-wood table. "I dunno," she finally admitted with a shrug. "Guess it all depends on if Hades took my father or not."

        Percy blinked. "Is that some sort of riddle?"

        "Well — no. Why would it be?"

        "What do you mean, then?"

        "Exactly what I said." She straightened, looking Percy in the eye. "My father didn't want me — either of them. But especially my mortal dad. He couldn't've cared less if I was sick or not. He took care of me because he legally had to, not because he actually cared. I was a burden, and I knew that. That's why I ran away — especially after Mrs. Hall got sick."

        "Mrs. Hall?" Percy asked, frowning. It was as if the idea of a parent who didn’t care was so foreign to him. (But was it all really that foreign? He also had a godly parent.) "Who's that?"

        Josephine frowned to herself, worrying at the charm of a musical note on her Camp necklace. Mrs. Hall had gotten it for her on her ninth birthday — the last birthday they had together, as Josephine ran away only a few days before her tenth. "Mrs. Hall was my neighbor back in D.C.," she explained. "She used to babysit me when I was younger. My dad didn’t want to pay anyone to watch me — we didn’t have the money, anyway. She was more of a parent than he was."

        "Oh." Percy frowned to himself. "So her becoming sick made you run away?"

        Josephine dropped the charm like it had burned her fingers. "That was ... part of the reason. I realized she would probably pass from her sickness, and — and I didn't want to stay with my dad any longer."

        "How d'you get to Camp?" Percy pried.

        "Luck," she admitted plainly with a shrug. "And Apollo might've been helping me. I'm not so sure."

        Be honest, you had dreams, that voice chided her. You had dreams telling you where to go.

        "He also might not have been helping me." Josephine shrugged.

        "And Apollo doesn't talk to you?"

        She shook her head. "Most godly parents don't."

        "Do you wish he did?"

        Josephine frowned. "No. Well — yeah, s’pose so. But he doesn't."

        But he'll talk to Chiron to keep an eye on me, she bitterly thought. Better than nothing, I suppose.

        "Did he ever talk to you?" asked the son of Poseidon.

        She had gotten sick of the questions, snapping, "Percy, why do you care?"

        He leaned back in his seat, shrugging. "I dunno ... Maybe I want to figure out a way to make you look less miserable when talking about your dads."

        "I don't look miserable." She frowned, embarrassed she was that obvious with her feelings — especially to a boy who seemed a little obtuse in social settings. "Besides, there isn't a way. Even if Apollo ever got his head screwed on right, I don't want him to reach out now."

        What a liar.

        Percy stared for a moment, his brows knitting together slowly. "Did your mortal dad know Apollo was — well — Apollo?"

        Josephine thought for a moment. "... Maybe. I'm not sure if he could see past the Mist. He talked a lot about Apollo. He never moved on. But he always talked about Apollo like he wished he were there and not me, so I didn't exactly listen. I didn't want to hear what he had to say."

        "Oh. Right." Percy's voice was quiet. "I didn't think about that."

        Josephine's eyes stung slightly, remembering the cruel things Beau would say when those spirits took over. "You didn't know. Besides, some part of me feels bad for my dad. He was unlucky enough to catch Apollo's attention."

        "Unlucky?" Percy repeated.

        "People always say that Apollo's lovers have tragic endings," Josephine started to explain. "Hyacinthus. Daphne. Commodus." She took a deep breath. "I guess you can add Beau Pascual to the list. An artist cursed to never make it past playing for no money in empty bars."

        And cursed with Josephine Pascual for a daughter, that voice added. Cursed to be possessed by spirits at night, chanting of madness, sickness, and plagues.

        "So you blame Apollo for your dad struggling to get by."

        It was never purposefully, but yes, Josephine blamed Apollo for the crappy hand Beau had been dealt by the Fates. He wasn't a good man, nor was he a good father — he was still her father. Some part of Josephine couldn't help but love Beau. She clung to those few good memories like her life depended on it. She wanted some parent to care, even if he was obligated to do so. She never blamed Apollo intentionally, but that was how she ended up understanding it. It's how she rationalized it. Like, why her father, Beau? Why had it happened to him? Why was he the one to be possessed by late-night spirits? Then, Josephine learned of her godly parent and his track record for lovers with tragic endings. Again, she clung to that explanation; that pattern; for any reason as to why it was Beau and her.

        She didn't want to love him — Beau Pascual. She wanted to forget him; forget every cruel thing he said; forget all the times he made her feel guilty for being born, something she didn't have a choice in. Josephine hated Beau, but she loved him. She clung to those good memories (no matter how few), to try and forget all the bad (and there was a lot of bad). 

        Her silence seemed to confirm Percy's assumption. However, he didn't say anything else, slinking down in his seat as his arms crossed over his chest. Josephine sat back in her seat, turning her head and looking at the sleeping cities rolling by. She wasn't hoping for sleep, knowing what would be waiting for her.

✿

Towards the end of their second day on the train, June 13th, eight days before the summer solstice, they passed through some golden hills and over the Mississippi River into St. Louis. As soon as they crossed the threshold into the city, Annabeth was sitting up in her seat, practically leaning on top of Grover to get a better look out the giant window beside them. She craned her neck, looking for something —

        Josephine saw it — the Gateway Arch. It was like a silver sentinel, reaching for the sky with a seamless arch. It seemed to be rising from the banks of the Mississippi River, gleaming brightly under the sun. Grover only rolled his eyes, slinking down in his seat more as Annabeth started to grin broadly. 

        Annabeth sighed deeply. "I want to do that," she declared, sitting back down in her seat. However, her neck was still craned to look fondly at the giant monument. 

        Admittedly, Josephine felt like an idiot for completely misunderstanding what Annabeth thought was friendship for just acquaintanceship; however, she had listened enough to Annabeth to know what she meant — the daughter of Athena wants to build something like that, like the Gateway Arch.

        Percy looked at Annabeth cluelessly. "What?"

        "Build something like that. You ever seen the Parthenon, Percy?"

        He shrugged, admitting, "Only in pictures."

        "Someday, I'm going to see it in person. I'm going to build the greatest monument to the gods — ever. Something that'll last a thousand years."

        Percy laughed, raising his eyebrows at her. "You? An architect?"

        Annabeth flushed, her wistful smile flipping into a deep scowl. "Yes, an architect. Athena expects her children to create things, not just tear them down, like a certain God of Earthquakes I could mention."

        Percy didn’t reply this time. He looked off, his eyes darting out the window and at all the mortals going about their lives. Josephine awkwardly glanced between the two, trying to find any words to break the sudden silence.

        However, Annabeth anxiously tugged at her Camp necklace, blurting, “Sorry. That was mean.”

        Percy didn’t seem eager to look at her again, though. “Can’t we work … together?” The question practically sounded like a plea. He took a quick glance at her. “I mean … didn’t Athena and Poseidon ever cooperate?”

        Josephine glanced between Annabeth and Percy once again. The daughter of Athena was silently chewing on her bottom lip, and Percy had his arms crossed over his chest. If there was any way to stop the constant angry snaps and arguments between the two, Josephine was desperate to find it. “ I mean … there was the chariot. Athena invented it, but Poseidon created horses out of the crests of waves. If it wasn’t for horses, chariots wouldn’t be able to move — at least, as fast as they can.”

        Percy looked at her. "What about Apollo and Poseidon? Did those two ever get angry at each other?"

        Josephine frowned, confused as to why the question was being flipped on her. "Well … not really, no. I mean, in the Trojan War, Poseidon got a little angry at Apollo for not fighting, but that's it." She shrugged. "Actually, they worked together to try and overthrow Zeus way back when. Which, I doubt Zeus is happy with, but ..."

        Percy seemed pleased with the answer. "Then, we can all work together. No matter who our parents are. Right?"

        They rode further into the city, and Josephine watched the Arch disappear behind a hotel. She threw a glance in Percy's direction. "We never really didn't get along," she told him. "But — sure — we can continue to get along. Right, Annabeth?"

        The daughter of Athena shifted under Josephine's pointed stare. "I suppose," she said at last.

        They pulled into the Amtrak station downtown. The intercom told them they'd have a three-hour layover before departing for Denver.

        Grover stretched, yawning loudly. Before anything more, he said, "Food."

        Annabeth rolled her eyes, standing up. "Come on, goat boy," she told him. "Sightseeing."

        The satyr frowned. "Sightseeing?" he repeated.

        "The Gateway Arch," she explained. "This may be my only chance to ride to the top. Are you coming or not?"

        Josephine looked at the others. "We're already here,” she started, “and we have three hours. Why not?"

        Grover shrugged. "As long as there's a snack bar — without monsters."

        “Just no monsters, period,” added Percy.

✿

The Arch was about a mile from the train station. And as it was later in the day, the lines weren’t as long as Josephine expected. The four threaded their way through the underground museum, looking at covered wagons and other items from the 1800s. Josephine hated to admit, but it wasn’t all that interesting or thrilling. Annabeth kept rambling interesting facts about how the Arch was built; Grover kept passing Percy jelly beans; Josephine picked through a pack of sour candy. So, at the moment, everyone was occupied.

        Occupied, but still on edge. Percy was clearly on edge, glancing over his shoulder, his head whipping back and forth to analyze all the people around them. His behavior made Josephine on edge, too. He leaned over to Grover, murmuring, "You smell anything?"

        The satyr took his nose out of the jelly bean bag long enough to sniff the air a couple of times. "Underground," he said distastefully, shaking his head. "Underground air always smells like monsters. Probably doesn't mean anything."

        However, Josephine felt that it just “didn’t mean anything.” She felt a tug in her gut — the pull of nerves that told her something was wrong. Her gut was telling her that they should high-tail it out of there. The jittery feeling of eyes on her was in full force now.

        "Guys," Percy said suddenly, drawing the others’ attention back to him. "You know the gods' symbols of powers?"

        Annabeth had been in the middle of reading about the construction equipment used to build the Arch; however, at the mention of gods, she looked over. "Yeah?"

        "Well, Hades —"

        Josephine talked over him, "We're in a public place, Percy. So … what about our friend downstairs?"

        “Oh. Right.” Percy glanced around at all the mortals. “Um … our friend way downstairs. Doesn't he have a hat like Annabeth's?"

        Annabeth’s hand drifted toward the navy blue cap tucked in her back pocket. "You mean the Helm of Darkness," she corrected. "Yeah, that's his symbol of power. I saw it next to his seat during the Winter Solstice council meeting."

        Percy’s eyes widened. "He was there? I thought he wasn’t allowed up on Olympus."

        "The Winter Solstice is the only time he's allowed to visit Olympus," explained Josephine. "On the darkest day of the year."

        Annabeth went on, "But his helmet is a lot more powerful than my invisibility hat. And if what I've heard is true ..."

        "It allows him to become darkness," Grover confirmed, nodding along. "He can melt into shadow or pass through walls. He can't be touched, or seen, or even heard. And he can radiate fear so intense it can drive you insane or stop your heart. Why do you think all rational creatures fear the dark?"

        "And people," Josephine added.

        Percy rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd be afraid of the dark, Posie."

        “It’s not Posie! It’s Josephine!”

        "Just call him Seaweed Brain," Annabeth offered, shrugging her shoulders.

        Percy scowled deeply, but he changed the topic; "Then ... how do we know he's not here right now, watching us?"

        Annabeth and Grover exchanged looks.

        "Well … we don't," admitted Grover.

        A shiver crawled up Josephine’s spine. "Oh, great,” she murmured, arms crossing over her chest. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear …”

        Percy looked more on edge. Despite that, he turned to Grover and asked, "Got any more blue jelly beans left?"

✿

The four were shoehorned into the small elevator car that would take them to the top. They weren’t the only sightseers — there was this big lady with a Chihuahua with an out-of-style rhinestone collar around the neck, and on the other side was the park ranger. None of the guards complained about the pet, so Josephine figured it was a seeing-eye Chihuahua. The lady wasn’t dressed any better than the out-of-style collar. She wore a floppy denim hat and an ill-fitting denim dress that looked ten years out of style. (Denim on denim was something Josephine learned never to wear, courtesy of Silena and Drew from Cabin Ten.)

        The elevator lurched and groaned, but soon, they started inching upwards, heading inside the Arch. Josephine had never been in an elevator that went in a curve, but it was certainly cool.

        The lady with the Chihuahua broke the silence: "No parents?"

        Josephine’s skin crawled as she glanced up and looked the woman in the face. The lady had beady eyes — just like snakes. Her teeth were coffee-stained, something horrible. Annabeth pinched her in the back of the arm, seeing Josephine’s face change.

        "They're below," Annabeth told the woman. "Scared of heights."

        The woman’s face fell, and she frowned deeply. "Oh, the poor darlings."

        Suddenly, the Chihuahua growled. The dog had beady eyes like its owner — vicious and canny. Everyone in the elevator watched the dog. Josephine started to wonder if her first guess — that the dog was a seeing-eye dog — was true or not. The woman glanced down, saying in what seemed to be her best soothing voice, "Now, now, sonny. Behave."

        Percy peered up at the woman. "Sonny … Is that his name?"

        "No," the lady answered easily. Then, she smiled, like that short answer cleared everything up.

        At the top of the Arch, the observation deck reminded Josephine of a tin can — just with carpeting. Rows of tiny windows looked out over the city on one side and the river on the other. The view was pretty, too. She spent most of her time looking out the windows, looking to St. Louis sprawling far below them.

        Annabeth was ecstatic to be up on the Arch. She kept talking — about structural supports, how she would make the windows bigger, and design a see-through floor. Percy was staying as far away as he could from the windows, groaning at the idea of a see-through floor. He seemed ready to be done with sightseeing as soon as they stepped foot on the elevator. If it were up to Annabeth, they would've stayed up there for hours; however, a park ranger announced the observation deck would be closing in a few minutes.

        And just as the park ranger finished that announcement, Percy was steering Grover, Annabeth, and Josephine towards the exit. He practically shoved them all on the elevator, with Annabeth complaining the whole way. Just as he was about to step inside himself, Josephine noticed something odd — the sudden appearance of two other tourists inside, and they were all happiness and smiles as they gushed about the photos they had taken on the Gateway Arch.

        The park ranger forced Percy to step back with an arm over the boy’s chest. "Next car, sir,” he advised.

        Annabeth started to step. "We'll get out," she offered. "We'll wait with you."

        But that was going to take even more time, so Josephine offered, "I'll stay. You two go down."

        Percy gave her a bewildered look as she stepped off (and subsequently, ignoring the way Groer tried to stop her). As she stepped beside him, Josephine whispered, "Two and two. If something happens — to any of us — we're not by ourselves."

        The quiet mentions of danger (and danger meant monsters for demigods) made Percy turn a little green in the face. But the son of Poseidon nodded, tucking his hand into his pants pocket — where Riptide was. Grover and Annabeth both looked nervous at the idea of leaving Josephine and Percy up there without them; however, they let the elevator doors slide shut. And Josephine heard the metal inside whirring as their car started the trek back down the ramp.

        Now, the only people left on the observation deck were Josephine, Percy, a little boy with his parents, the park ranger, and the lady with the Chihuahua. For the first time since arriving at the top of the Arch, Josephine looked closely at the lady and her dog. She had done her best to ignore it, but the Chihuahua hadn't stopped sniffing and growling at Josephine the entire visit. She thought it might be smelling the monsters they had encountered the day before — the Furies and then Medusa. The woman had a tight hold on the dog's leash, so it wasn't able to get any closer to Josephine.

        The daughter of Apollo looked from the dog to the dog owner. She and the lady made sudden eye contact, and to break the awkwardness, she tried for a smile. The lady smiled back, but only a forked tongue flickered between her front teeth. She took a sharp breath between her own teeth, her back straightening as her arm hairs stood on end. Percy looked at her, frowning as he tried to figure out what made her go as rigid as plywood.

        Josephine grabbed Percy by the arm, trying to find the right words to tell him what she had just seen. However, before she could get her mind in order, the Chihuahua escaped the woman’s grip and jumped in front of Percy and Josephine, yapping and baring its razor-sharp teeth.

        "Now, now, sonny," the lady said, though she seemed almost … excited. "Does this look like a good time? We have all these nice people here."

        "Doggie!" the young boy said happily. He tugged at the bottom of his dad's shirt. "Look, a doggie!" However, his parents pulled him away warily.

        Josephine was eyeing the woman. This heavy feeling started to fill her lungs, weighing down on her chest like five fifty-pound weights — dread. She was feeling fear. Worry and anxiety filled her veins as the woman's face caused a long-ago memory to resurface. "Percy, that’s not just a dog," she whispered.

        Instinctively, Percy stepped closer to Josephine. He knew what she meant — monster. "How do you know?"

        "It looks different — last time it was a Yorkie — but that's the same woman, I'm sure of it," Josephine was rambling, the fear bubbling in her stomach like she had swallowed a balloon. "She worked for an animal shelter, then — Eva Slora."

        The Chihuahua bared its teeth at the two demigods, foam dripping from its black lips.

        "Well, son," the lady sighed, her shoulders sagging as if this was a daily occurrence. "If you insist."

        Percy visibly gulped. He looked at the woman, asking, "Um ... did you just call your Chihuahua your son?"

        "Chimera, dear," Echidna corrected. "Not a Chihuahua. Not a Yorkie, either, Josephine. An easy mistake to make.” She rolled up her denim sleeves, revealing that the skin on her arms was scaly and green. When she smiled, Josephine saw that her teeth were fangs; the pupils of her eyes were sideways slits, like a reptile's.

        The Chihuahua barked louder, and with each bark, it grew larger — right before Josephine's eyes. First to the size of a Dobermann; then to a lion. As the monster grew, the louder the barks became — from a mere yap to a booming roar.

        The little boy screamed loudly, the sound piercing Josephine’s ears. His parents pulled him back towards the exit, straight into the park ranger, who stood in paralyzing fear, gaping at the monster.

        The Chimera was now so tall its back bristled against the metal roof. It had the head of a lion with a blood-caked mane, the body and hooves of a giant goat, and a serpent for a tail — a ten-foot-long diamondback growing right out of its shaggy behind. The rhinestone dog collar still hung around its neck, and the plate-sized dog tag was now easy to read: CHIMERA — RABID, FIRE- BREATHING, POISONOUS — IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL TARTARUS — EXT. 954.

        The Chimera faced her and Percy. Like Josephine, he was frozen in fear — Riptide as a ballpoint pen was in his hand, his knuckles had turned white with a fear grip. The two were ten feet away from the monster's bloody maw — a memory she had tried so hard to forget. Her skin tingled and burned, and she knew if she moved, the monster would lunge, and she would die. Josephine would die a horrible, painful death of being the Chimera's chew toy. Unlike Percy, she had come face-to-face with Chimera and his gods-awful mother, Echidna. And Josephine had hardly survived the first time …

        But she also had no idea how to wield weapons at that time. This time she did. She only hoped Tyche was feeling as generous as she did when Josephine was ten and unaware of her father and his godly status.

        The monster-mother made a hissing noise that was her laugh. "Be honored, Percy Jackson. Lord Zeus rarely allows me to test heroes with one of my broods. For I am the Mother of Monsters, the terrible Echidna! As for you, Josephine Pascual ... I came personally to finish you off.

        Her heart crawled into her throat. She forgot what it felt like to be fearful — the paralysis as the mind blanked. You forget who you are; what you know; how you and others worked. It was all-consuming; fear was a mind-killer. All she wanted to do was cower, but glancing at Percy, she couldn’t do that to him.

        Percy blinked at the woman-monster. "Echidna …” He licked his lips, looking deep in thought. “Isn't that the kind of anteater?"

        (Scratch that: Percy Jackson did not need Josephine Pascual’s help. Not if he was going to call Echidna an anteater!)

        Echidna howled with rage. Her reptilian face turned brown and green from furry. "I hate when people say that! I hate Australia! Naming that ridiculous animal after me. For that, demigods, my son shall destroy you!"

        “Did you have to make her even more mad, Seaweed Brain?!” shrilled Josephine, her voice jumping three octaves higher. “What were you thinking?!”

        “Well …” He shrugged. “I thought the name sounded like that anteater from Australia.”

        Josephine was nearly going to strangle Percy when the Chimera charged at them. The monster’s teeth were gnashing, and the anger she had quickly morphed back into fear — and Josephine froze. Percy grabbed her by the arms ,and she slid across the carpeted floor, her hands burning as her back slammed into the glass wall. Percy jumped up next to the mortal family and the park ranger, who were all screaming, trying to pry the emergency exit doors open.

        This is how it was last time — Josephine Pascual as she was frozen with fear. Unlike last time, it was only her in danger as Enchida and the Chimera hunted her outside the deserted animal shelter in a small town in Pennsylvania. Now, there were other people; mortals and Percy, who were counting on her not to get consumed by fear. From across the Arch, Percy desperately locked eyes with Josephine, sending panicked thoughts her way — the mortals needed to get out.

        Josephine climbed back onto her feet, hardly noticing the handprints that were seared into the carpet. It smelled burnt as she started to stand up — but she couldn’t focus on that, not when her knees nearly buckled. Gods, she was so afraid. 

        Percy climbed back onto his feet, Riptide shimmering into his hands. He ran around to the other side of the deck, yelling, "Hey, Chihuahua!"

        Josephine ran behind the Chimera, finally really noticing the burning — both of her hands had left scorch marks on the carpet, the faint smell of burning fabric, and the melting residue was sticking to her fingers. Her hands — they had a faint, green glow to them. She took a glance and glanced back — the carpet she had just sat on looked decayed, like it had magically aged a hundred years and was rotting, especially where her hands had been.

        She bit back a scream, skidding to a stop in front of the mortals. They all eyed her with a crazed look in their eyes — the look of fear and survival. She ignored it, wrapping her fingers around the metal of the door, and started pulling. The burning became worse, and the metal started to warp — small plumes of smoke spiraled into the air as the metal curved inward on itself. Soon, the doors rusted and molded — and the doors creaked open, nearly falling off the hinges.

        Josephine looked back at the mortals wildly. They all stared at her. “Go!” she yelled. However, they still hesitated, staring at her with horror. (Gods know what they were seeing past the Mist.) “By gods — go! Now!”

        That seemed to be it as the four mortals plowed through the rusted, but open, doors. The father was the last one out, and Josephine barely touched his back like some final push; however, she spotted her handprint appear on his shirt as the edges of the handprint started to blacken and spread, like a disease.

        The glow had dimmed until Josephine swore it had never been there at all — unless, of course, for the evidence of the rusted emergency doors and rotting carpet when she had once been. Her blood felt like it was coursing through her body at a million miles per hour. Some part of her felt like she was on cloud nine from using those powers, but another part of her wanted to deny it ever happened. It was a glow this time, not a mist. But who would end up with boils and a cough? Would it be Josephine? She felt like she was going to be sick.

        During all of this, the Chimera had turned on Percy. He swung Riptide wildly, but it didn’t matter — he had to quickly back away before the monster grabbed him with its bloody teeth. Percy jumped forward again, going to make another swing; however, the Chimera’s mouth unhinged like a latch and started to glow — Josephine knew what that meant.

        “Fire!” she screamed. 

        Percy jumped out of the way, rolling across the carpet. He was just in the nick of time — the Chimera shot a column of fire, aiming right where the black-haired boy had been. Josephine darted from the emergency doors to the glass wall, where Percy had rolled off to. The son of Poseidon jumped to his feet, his eyes wide and crazed.

        “Are the mortals gone?” he asked.

        She nodded. “Through the doors!”

        “How —?” Percy glanced past the monsters and to the rusted doors. His eyes widened. “Never mind!”

        It felt like everything around them was on fire, and it looked like it, too. The carpet burst into a blaze; the heat was so intense that Josephine was sure she had no hairs on her arm left (and maybe not any eyebrows anymore). Where Percy had been standing moments prior — a ragged hole in the side of the Arch, with melted metal steaming around the edges.

        She whipped her head back around to proclaim, "You just blowtorched a national monument!"

        "Oh, wow! Really? Like I couldn’t see that!” Percy quipped back. He quickly added, "And it wasn't me! It was that Chimera-Chihuahua … thing!" His sword glimmered in his hands as he lunged for the monster again. He managed to slash its neck, but that was a mistake — Percy fell back as the sharp blade sparked harmlessly off the diamond-studded collar.

        He lost his balance, tilting backward and falling on his back. He was so worried about defending himself against the fiery monster that he forgot about the serpent. And so did Josephine — she shrieked as she saw it slithering across the floor. Before she could do anything (besides a shiver crawling down her spine); maybe make her hands glow green again or even throw one of her daggers, the snake sank its fangs in Percy’s calf.

        Percy hissed in pain as the Chimera pounced forward. He tried to jab Riptide in the Chimera’s mouth; however, the serpent’s tail wrapped around his ankle and pulled him across the ground. Riptide flew out of his hands, spinning out of the burning hole in the Arch’s structure. Josephine watched in horror as the blade tumbled down — right into the Mississippi River.

        Josephine ripped a dagger out of its sheath. Gripping it tightly in her hand, she jumped for the Chimera, digging the blade in its right shoulder. The dog yowled, shaking aggressively, trying to grab her between its bloody maw. She backed away, glancing in Percy’s direction — the son of Poseidon looked sickly green, and he was trying to pull himself up in a sitting position.

        She didn’t know what to do. The last time she had faced Chimera and his mother, she had been alone in Pennsylvania. She had burned down the abandoned animal shelter — with Eva Slora and her Yorkie inside. She knew something was wrong about them, but had no idea about their Greek connections. She only knew they wanted to turn her into a chew toy for the Yorkie-turned-lion. 

        She shrieked as scaly skin wrapped around her calf and yanked her aside. Josephine landed on the carpet, rolling with her head covered against the dagger she had lost grip on as she flew through the air. She slid toward the hole in the wall, the dagger skating across the carpet, landing a foot away from her head. She grabbed the dagger, backing further away from Echidna and her Chimera.

        Percy backed into the hole in the wall, grabbing Josephine by the arm and pulling her onto shaky feet. Every cell in her body screamed at her — they wanted her to sit down and cry. The Chimera advanced, growling, smoke curling from its lips. 

        Echidna cackled. "They don't make heroes like they used to, eh, son?"

        The monster growled lowly. It seemed in no hurry to finish the two off now that it was official — they had lost the fight they never wanted.

        Percy glanced at Josephine, his eyes swirling like green hurricanes. Both of them were aware they had nowhere else to go; however, he stepped closer to the hole. Far below, the river glittered green in the sun.

        "If you are the son of Poseidon," Echidna hissed, glaring at the boy, "you would not fear the water. Show me that the water will not harm you. Jump and retrieve your sword. Prove your bloodline." Her reptilian eyes slithered over to Josephine: "You defeated me before, girl, but it was sheer dumb luck, it seems … For you, I will finish what I started long ago — kill."

        The Chimera's mouth glowed red, heating up for another blast. Every inch of Josephine’s skin tingled, like her body was gearing up for its own attack.

        "You have no faith," Echidna told Percy. "You do not trust the gods. I cannot blame you, little coward. Better you die now. The gods are faithless. The poison is in your heart."

        Josephine’s heart stuttered with fear. She hated the taunts of monsters. She hated having to prove she was a daughter of Apollo. More so, she hated having to be Apollo’s daughter. She never wanted to be a half-blood.

        The helpless look in Percy's eyes was gone, replaced by a look of determination. He had a stupid plan, she just knew it. He backed up, inching closer to her.

        "Die, faithless one," Echidna rasped, and the Chimera sent a column of flames toward Percy.

        "Father, help me," he prayed.

        Percy hooked one arm around Josephine, quickly turning, and leaped off the edge of the now-torched national monument. She screamed loudly, the sound piercing the air as she and the son of Poseidon plummeted towards the glittering river hundreds of feet below.

Chapter Text

chapter nine
❛ êta’s love trap ❜

━━━━━  JOSEPHINE WOULD HAVE loved to have some deep philosophical idea about life and death — why the concept of death shapes life and why every action they take is a step closer to death, and how they shouldn't fear death because of it … or something like that. However, as she plummeted to her death, she had no philosophical ideas. All that came out was: “You’re going to kill me!”

        Percy didn’t seem to like the truth of the matter (and it certainly wasn’t a lie; not even a simple allegation); however, whatever he snapped back, it was carried away by the wind. The Mississippi River raced for them, faster than what felt like light. Despite being the reason they were now plummeting to their death (instead of burning to death), Josephine still found herself tightening her grip on the son of Poseidon. She could see his lips moving, and she knew he was letting out a string of curses that would have any nun washing out his mouth with soap. Her hair whipped around violently in the wind, standing up straight like a burning torch; the wind had long ripped the air from her lungs. Steeples, skyscrapers, and bridges tumbled in and out of her vision.

        She knew hitting any water at a great height was like hitting concrete. Josephine knew that. Why Percy ever thought they — or at the very least, her, a daughter of Apollo — could make it out alive was astonishing to her.

        Josephine squeezed her eyes shut, any possibility of one last philological thought gone from her brain. Percy's fingers dug into her side as he tightened his grip. They tensed as they headed for the water. Then — 

        The impact. It was like colliding with a thousand needles all at once, the water an unforgiving barrier as the weight of the two pushed them through the surface. The shock of it sent jolts through Josephine’s body; even further, the jolt stole the air right from her lungs. There was a whiteout of bubbles. Through the lingering pain of thousands of needles poking her body, Josephine sank to the bottom of the murky river, still clinging onto Percy. 

        They were settled at the bottom for a few moments, then an extra-large catfish lurched away into the gloom. Seeing a catfish face-to-face, in that animal’s home territory, lurched Josephine out of any sense of “peace” — the shock of still being alive and breathing underwater seemed to clog up her lungs. She balked, letting go of Percy immediately. And quickly, the water clung to her, soaking through her clothes and to her bones. Her hair started floating slightly around her. Bubbles escaped through her nose as she breathed out. Josephine squinted through the water — Percy still looked completely dry. The water around Percy's skin looked lighter, the way the water did around hydrophobic things.

        Her lungs started to burn. She was running out of air. She kicked off the ground, swimming for the shore. Once she broke the water, she took a huge gasp of air. She pulled herself onto the dirty shore, shivering from the wind blowing past. She sat on the edge, patting down her shorts to see if her daggers were still on her. Then, she took to wringing out the murky water from her hair. 

        Before she knew it, two pairs of arms were grabbing Josephine under the armpits, pulling her to her feet. She looked around wildly, worried it was police or park rangers — however, it was only Annabeth and Grover, and both were staring up at the smoking hole in the Arch with shock.

        Annabeth’s eyes snapped back down to Josephine, her grey eyes an odd mix of fear and anger. “What the hell happened up there?” she demanded, pulling Josephine away from the Mississippi River.

        Grover bleated loudly. Fortunately, people were too engrossed in everything else happening to take any notice of the very goat-like sounds from an otherwise human-looking boy. "Where's Perrrcy?" he bleated nervously, his eyes already starting to split the way goats normally are.

        Josephine wrung out the bottom of her Camp Half-Blood shirt. "He's still down there."

        She looked upward, the feeling of her clothes clinging to her skin making goosebumps rise across her body. Up near the Arch, helicopters surrounded the structure and the burning, gaping hole. A large crowd of onlookers had gathered around, pushing and shoving each other to get better looks. Josephine swallowed hard, her eyes scanning the mortal faces. She hoped those mortals had gotten out before any flames could catch up to them …

        Annabeth and Grover led Josephine far away from the river, hoping nobody would think she was a part of the commotion — unless they noticed the trail of watery footprints and the trail of water droplets behind her. Josephine kept a close eye on the river, looking for any sign of Percy. She craned her neck around the mortals surrounding her when a little girl said loudly, "Mama! That boy walked out of the river!"

        The mother didn't believe her daughter. She was too busy craning her neck to watch the ambulances. "That's nice, dear …"

        "But he's dry!"

        The mother repeated, "That's nice, dear …"

        A news lady was talking to a bulky camera: "Probably not a terrorist attack, we're told, but it's still very early in the investigation. The damage, as you can see, is very serious. We're trying to get to some of the survivors, to question them about eyewitness reports of people falling from the Arch."

        Josephine felt a surge of relief at the word “survivors.” That family and the park ranger made it out — unless the news anchor was talking about completely different mortals who had gotten caught in the crossfire. But Josephine had to hope it was the family and that park ranger. She risked using her powers, and she had to hope they made it out alive — from the monsters and her powers. (However, that nasty part of her brain — that cruel voice — still reminded her that they could suffer from boils and coughing fits.)

        Josephine pushed through the crowd with Annabeth and Grover, trying to tell them what she had just overheard from the news anchor and the parent and child. The three questers headed closer to the river once again, looking for any signs of a twelve-year-old walking out of the river.

        "... two adolescents; a boy and a girl," another reporter was saying. "Channel Five has learned that surveillance cameras show two adolescents going wild on the observation deck, somehow setting off this freak explosion. Hard to believe, John, but that's what we're hearing. Again, no confirmed fatalities ..."

        Josephine caught a glimpse of unruly hair backing away from the crowds. She pushed past a man in a suit, taking a running start for the son of Poseidon. Grover and Annabeth ran after her.

        Grover tackled Percy in a hug. He bleated, "Perrrcy! We thought you'd gone to Hades the hard way!"

        Josephine frowned. "I told you he was fine," she insisted.

        Annabeth was standing behind Grover and Josephine. Even she seemed relieved to find Percy alive. However, she contorted her face into a scowl and snapped, "We can't leave you and Josephine alone for five minutes! What happened?"

        Percy glanced at Josephine. "We sort of fell ..."

        "Six hundred and thirty feet?"

        Josephine placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. "It was Echidna and Chimera, Annabeth ..."

        She felt like she had to come to Percy's defense, almost. She would’ve been dead if it weren’t for Percy distracting the Chimera. Those mortals would’ve been dead if it weren’t for him distracting those monsters. There was no way Echidna would have let Josephine go, not with such a strong grudge from their intertwined past.

        Annabeth's angry expression faded. She pursed her lips, looking away.

        Behind them, a cop shouted, "Out of the way!"

        The crowd parted quickly, all of them gasping and covering their mouths. From the opening, a couple of paramedics rushed out, rolling a woman on a stretcher in front of them. Josephine recognized her immediately — the mother of the small family who had been trapped on the observation deck with her and Percy. She was babbling, "And then this huge dog, this huge fire-breathing Chihuahua — Chihuahua, can you believe it —?"

        "Okay, ma'am," said one of the paramedics, looking more preoccupied with medical gear rather than listening. "Just calm down. Your family is fine. The medication is starting to kick in."

        "I'm not crazy!" the mother insisted. "This girl — her hands — she saved us. And that boy — he had a weapon. I'm telling you, if it wasn't for that girl — my family and I would be dead!"

        Suddenly, Josephine made eye contact with the mortal woman. The lady's eyes widened, and her arm shot out, pointing at the daughter of Apollo and Percy. She nearly smacked one of the paramedics in the face. "There she is!” she yelled, shocking all of the people around her. “The girl — and the boy's with her!"

        Josephine grabbed Percy by the arm, using Annabeth and Grover as human shields to shield themselves. The questers soon disappeared into the crowd, trying to get as far away from the survivors. If they didn’t, she and Percy would certainly be identified by eyewitnesses.

        "What's going on?" Annabeth demanded. "What is that lady talking about? That lady and her Chihuahua were Echidna and Chimera?"

        "Yes!" Josephine nodded. "They were!"

        She and Percy did their best to explain — the Chihuahua-turned-Chimera started snapping at them, Echidna revealed herself, that she was sent by Zeus, and that she wanted to personally pick Josephine off the face of the earth for their past encounter. Then, Percy explained about an underwater visit he had from this lady messenger who passed on a summons to Percy from Poseidon.

        Grover’s eyes widened. "Whoa … We've got to get you to Santa Monica! You can't ignore a summons from your dad."

        Before anyone could respond, they passed a reporter doing a news break. Josephine felt her heart drop when she heard what the reporter was saying: "Percy Jackson. That's right, Dan. Channel Twelve has learned that the boy who may have caused this explosion fits the description of a young man wanted by the authorities for a serious New Jersey bus accident three days ago. And the boy is believed to be traveling west. For our viewers at home, here is a photo of Percy Jackson. As of now, we do not have an identification of the girl who was with him during this explosion, but here is a photo of her. We do believe she is one of the three who were with Jackson during the attack in New Jersey. If you have any leads, please contact your local police."

        The four ducked around the news van and slipped into a dark alley.

        "First things first," started Percy. "We've got to get out of town!"

        Somehow, they made it back to the Amtrak station without getting spotted. The campers boarded the train just before it pulled out for the next stop. Josephine slumped into a seat as the train trundled west. Before she knew it, darkness had fallen; however, police lights still were pulsing against the St. Louis skyline as the train was barreling west.

✿

The next afternoon, June 14th (only seven days before the Solstice), their train rolled into Denver. They hadn't eaten since the night before in the dining car, somewhere in Kansas. They hadn't taken a shower since Camp Half-Blood, and it was beginning to get obvious.

        "Let's try and contact Chiron," offered Annabeth. "I want to tell him about your talk with the river spirit. And" — her eyes flickered over to Josephine, making the girl self-conscious — "I think we need to tell him what happened at Aunty Em's with … you know.”

        Josephine glanced off, a heavy feeling in her stomach. "Tell him it happened again. Back on the Arch, my hands glowed green."

        Percy frowned. "We can't use phones, right? Something about signals and flares for monsters. I dunno, I didn’t really understand when they explained it to me."

        Josephine was a little humored by Percy’s lack of knowledge, remembering the time she was confused by the Greek world. "There are other ways besides phones," she told him.

        They wandered through downtown Denver for what felt like half an hour. They were looking all over — anyway for water and light to mix where a rainbow could be formed by man-made efforts. The air was dry and hot, which felt unnatural after the humidity of St. Louis. Everywhere they looked, the Rocky Mountains seemed to be staring the four down, like a tidal wave about to crash into the city.

        Finally, they found an empty do-it-yourself car wash. Veering towards the stall furthest from the street and keeping an eye out for patrol cars. Here they were — four adolescents hanging out at a carwash without a car to wash. Any cop in his right mind would figure they were up to no good.

        "What exactly are we doing?" Percy asked as Grover grabbed the spray gun from the wall holder.

        Grover frowned at the sign next to the spray gun. "It's seventy-five cents …" he grumbled. "I've only got two quarters left. Annabeth?"

        The daughter of Athena only shook her head. "Don't look at me. The dining car wiped me out."

        Josephine patted her pockets — nothing but a plastic wrapping from a peppermint she'd taken from the dining car. "I've got nothing," she admitted.

        Percy fished out a bit of change from his pockets, passing Grover a quarter. That left them with two nickels and one drachma taken from Medusa's place. (Questing was going great, obviously.)

        "Excellent," said Grover. "We could do it with a spray bottle, ’course, but the connection isn't as good — and my arm gets tired of pumping."

        Percy frowned at his friend. “What are you talking about?”

        The satyr fed in the quarters and set the knob to fine mist. "I.M.ing."

        "... Instant messaging?" Percy asked. “Isn’t that still electronic?”

        "Iris Messaging, Percy," corrected Josephine. "The Rainbow Goddess — Iris, you know? She carries messages for the gods. If you know how to ask, and she's not too busy, she'll do the same for half-bloods."

        "You summon a goddess with a spray gun?"

        Josephine frowned for a moment, confused about how Percy came to that conclusion. "It's not summoning her … not really, anyway. We're just asking if she'll help us, if anything. Besides, this is the easiest way to make a rainbow."

        Sure enough, the late afternoon light filtered through the vapor and broke into colors.

        Annabeth held her palm out to Percy. "Drachma, please."

        He frowned but tossed it over.

        The blonde raised the coin over her head. "'O goddess, accept our offering." She threw the drachma into the rainbow — the coin disappeared in a golden shimmer. "Half-Blood Hill," Annabeth requested.

        Suddenly, Josephine was looking through the mist — looking right at the strawberry fields, with the Long Island Sound glittering in the far distance. They seemed to be on the porch of the Big House. Standing with his back to them at the railing was a sandy-haired guy in shorts and an orange tank top. He was holding a bronze sword and seemed to be staring intently at something down in the meadow.

        "Luke!" Percy called out.

        The son of Hermes jumped slightly, whirling around. For a moment, he looked startled — but he recognized the campers on the other side of the Iris Message. "Percy!" His scarred face broke into a grin. "Is that Annabeth, too? Josephine? Thank the gods! Are y’all okay?"

        "We're — uh — fine," said Annabeth, her face suddenly self-conscious. She was madly straightening her dirty T-shirt, trying to pull loose braids out to frame her face. "We thought — Chiron — I mean —"

        "He's down at the cabins." Luke's smile faded, and his eyebrows knitted as if Annabeth had crossed into dangerous territory by bringing up the centaur. "We're having some issues with the campers. Listen — is everything cool with you? Is Grover all right?"

        "I'm right here," Grover called. He held the nozzle out to one side and stepped into Luke's line of vision.

        Josephine was frowning. "Luke," she spoke up, "what's happening at Camp? Is Lee and them okay?"

        Before the son of Hermes could answer her, a big Lincoln Continental pulled into the car wash with its stereo turned to what sounded (and felt like) the maximum sound possible. As the car slid into the next stall, the bass from the song vibrated — so much so that it was shaking the pavement and dingy walls of the car wash.

        "Chiron had to —” Luke frowned as the vibrations started messing with the connection of the I.M.. “What's that noise?"

        "I'll take care of it!" Annabeth yelled back, looking very relieved to have an excuse to get out of Luke’s sight. She grabbed Josephine's hand and pulled her along. "Grover, come on!"

        "What?" said Grover. "But —"

        "Give Percy the nozzle and come on!" she ordered, pointing a finger at the satyr and then Percy.

        Grover muttered something about “girls being harder to understand than the Oracle of Delphi.” However, he still ended up handing the spray gun to Percy, following behind Annabeth and Josephine.

        The car with the loud music was parked in the dirty stall beside them. The three walked over, and Josephine spotted the annoying driver. He couldn't be anything older than twenty-two, but the way he dressed made him look like he was going through a mid-life crisis — his head was shaved, his face looked battered and bruised, and his clothes were stained with dirt and oil. He didn't smell, that was the odd part; it was like looking dirty was his aesthetic rather than his situation.

        The man was leaning against the open door. He lazily looked over when he heard their steps of footsteps moving closer in. He scoffed at the sight of them.

        Annabeth frowned. "Could you turn the music down?"

        "What's it to you?" the man countered. "Shouldn't you three have a babysitter or something?"

        The blonde gritted her teeth, looking over at Josephine and Grover, telling them to step closer. "I'm gonna ask nicely only one more time — could you please turn that music off?"

        The man looked between the three with an amused expression. "I ain't doing shit for you. Don't like my music, get lost."

        Annabeth huffed, briefly shifting from foot to foot — as if debating what to do. However, she quickly pulled out her knife, pointing it at the man. She waved it threateningly under his nose, snapping; "Unless you want me to gut you, turn the fucking music down!"

        The man laughed a little, but Josephine noticed the sudden fear in his eyes. Most twelve-year-olds wouldn’t be scary, but one who pulled a knife on you would always be scary. The man’s eyes flickered between Annabeth, Josephine, and Grover. One knife clearly spooked him, but he wasn’t leaving — yet. Josephine pulled out her own daggers, frowning at him (gods know she couldn’t look scary). A bubble of laughter escaped his throat, but he was clearly nervous. Quickly, he shuffled inside his car — but before he could drive off, Grover threw a tin can.

        With his rasta cap off, you could vaguely see the ends of Grover’s horns poking out. But what made the man pause with terror was the sight of Grover's hooves — Luke's shoes flying around the satyr's head for dramatic effect.

        That's when the man screamed. He slammed the car door shut and peeled out of the car wash quicker than lightning. There was silence between the three for a moment — just before they all burst out into surprising laughter. The other two helped Grover catch the flying shoes from the air, coming around the corner, still laughing — until they found Percy standing in the middle of a wet carwash stall with a pale, scared face. 

        His expression made Josephine stop laughing. “Percy? You okay? What’d Luke say?”

        "Not much," Percy assured, though he was a pretty lousy liar (like Josephine already knew). "Come on, let's find some dinner."

✿

A few minutes later, the four were sitting in a booth in a gleaming, chrome diner that was nestled on the corner of a pretty deserted Denver street. Inside, the air was humming with the scent of all-day breakfast — sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee. Grover curled his nose at the meat, but his mouth watered when he saw the drink. All around the questers, families were eating a mix of breakfast and lunch — eggs, burgers, pancakes, milkshakes, sodas, or coffee. Josephine hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she watched all those families with envy as they had their meals.

        Finally, the waitress came over. She raised an eyebrow skeptically as she analyzed the customers. "Well …?"

        "We, um" — Percy cleared his throat, his eyes darting to the others — "want to order dinner. Yeah. Dinner."

        "You kids have money to pay for it?"

        Grover's lower lip quivered. Josephine was afraid he would start bleating, or worse — start eating the linoleum and the booth he sat on. Annabeth looked ready to pass out from hunger. Josephine's stomach grumbled loudly; she laid her arm over her abdomen, her stomach quivering as she smelled all the food.

        Percy gnawed on his bottom lip. If she knew the boy any (and only a couple of days on a quest with him, she felt like she did), she was sure he was trying to think of some sob story — this time, instead of orphans traveling with a circus, maybe they would be undercover spies abandoned by the government. However, before he had a chance to blurt anything out, a rumble shook the whole building, and just outside the window — a motorcycle the size of a baby elephant had pulled up to the curb.

        All conversation in the diner stopped. The motorcycle's headlight glared red, bathing the diner in a bloodbath light. Its gas tank had flames painted on it, and a shotgun holster riveted to either side, complete with shotguns. The seat was leather — but leather that looked like ... well, human skin. The guy on the bike would've made pro wrestlers run for their mothers. He was dressed in a red muscle shirt, black jeans, and a black leather duster, and to top it all off, a hunting knife strapped to his outer thigh. He wore red wraparound shades, and he had the cruelest, most brutal face that Josephine had ever seen — handsome just in an I'll beat your ass way. His face was framed with an oily, black crew cut, and his face was carved with scars from many fights. 

        Josephine recognized the god, seeing that same scowl on Clarisse La Rue — Ares, God of War.

        As the god walked into the diner, a hot, dry wind blew through the place. All the mortals stood, as if they were hypnotized; however, the god waved his hand dismissively, and they all sat down again. Everybody went back to their conversations — chatting brightly as they slurped their milkshakes or stirred their coffees.

        The waitress blinked, as if somebody had just pressed the rewind button on her brain. She looked back down at the questers, repeating, "You kids have money to pay for it?"

        Ares arrived at their table, slinging a chair from an empty table nearby over. He slung one leg over the red seat, leaning his arms on the back of the chair. “It’s on me,” he told them, looking at the campers with hard eyes. 

        Josephine watched the god nervously, trying to exchange looks with Annabeth. However, the daughter of Athena seemed to be trembling in her own skin, watching the god anxiously. It wasn’t every day you got a visit from a god, and it was never a good thing when you did.

        When the waitress didn’t walk away, Ares’s eyes snapped up to her. "Are you still here?" he drawled at the woman. The God of War pointed at her, and suddenly, she stiffened; the woman turned on her heels and marched towards the kitchen.

        Ares’s eyes skimmed over Josephine before he looked at Percy, who sat to the right of her. She couldn't see the god's eyes behind the red shades, but she could feel emotions start washing over her — hatred, anger, resentment, and all sorts of other things she tried not to feel. They were so strong that they even overpowered the feelings of hunger ravaging her stomach. Josephine's fists clenched beneath the table, her nails digging into her palms.

        The War God gave Percy a wicked grin. "So you're old Seaweed's kid, huh?"

        Percy’s brows furrowed. "What's it to you?"

        Inwardly, Josephine winced at his tone. It was one thing to dislike gods. It was another to speak to them like you disliked them, especially a god like Ares. Annabeth's eyes flashed, partially with fear, partially with anger; she was giving Percy a warning look. "Percy, this is —"

        Ares raised his hand. "S'okay," he said in a relatively calm tone compared to what Josephine expected of him. "I don't mind attitude. 'Long as you remember who's the boss. You know who I am, little cousin?"

        Josephine would be surprised if Percy didn't realize who the god before them was. The God of War had the same vicious sneer as some of the kids from Camp Half-Blood — Cabin Five, specifically.

        Percy skimmed the god over with a deep frown. "You're Clarisse's dad," he said. "Ares, God of War."

        Ares grinned and took off his shades. Where his eyes should've been, there were no eyes — only fire. He had two empty sockets that were glowing with miniature nuclear explosions. "That's right, punk. I heard you broke Clarisse's spear."

        Percy shrugged, but Josephine saw how his posture went rigid under Ares’s stare. "She was asking for it."

        "Probably. That's cool.” Ares shrugged, tucking the shades in the front of his shirt. “I don't fight my kid's fights, you know? What I'm here for — I heard you were in town. I got a little — ah — proposition for you."

        The waitress came back with heaping trays of food in each arm — cheeseburgers, fries, onion rings, and chocolate shakes. When she arrived at the table and set it all down, Ares only picked through one of his back pockets and flipped her a couple of gold drachmas.

        The waitress thumbed one of the coins nervously in her fingers, looking at it and then at the god. “B-but, these aren’t …”

        Her voice faltered completely when Ares pulled out a huge hunting knife and started picking at the dirt beneath his fingernails. "Problem, sweetheart?" he asked, cocking one eyebrow at her.

        The waitress swallowed visibly. She quickly shook her head, stuffed the coins in the pocket of her white apron, and turned on her heels to hurry away.

        Percy frowned at the God of War. "You can't do that," he protested. "You can't just threaten people with a knife."

        Ares shrugged, laughing lightly. "Are you kidding? I love this country. Best place since Sparta. Don't you carry a weapon, punk? You should. Dangerous world out there. Which brings me to my proposition: I need you to do me a favor."

        "What favor could I do for a god?" Percy asked, an edge to his voice that Josephine had never heard before.

        "Something a god doesn't have time to do himself. It's nothing much. I left my shield at an abandoned water park here in town. I was going on a little ... date,” he glanced at the four, as if daring any of them to correct his use of the word date, “with my girlfriend. We were interrupted. I left my shield behind. I want you to fetch it for me."

        Josephine wrinkled her nose, sharing a look with Annabeth. Ares and Aphrodite, something she didn't expect to have lasted as long as it had. Perhaps it was only the thrill of the fact they weren’t supposed to be together, given that Aphrodite was married to Hephaestus and all …

        Percy frowned. "Why don't you go back and get it yourself?"

        The fire in the god's eye sockets glowed a little hotter. "Why don't I turn you into a prairie dog and run you over with my Harley? Because I don't feel like it. A god is giving you an opportunity to prove yourself, Percy Jackson. Will you prove yourself a coward?" The God of War leaned forward, a sneer clearly on his lips. "Or maybe you only fight when there's a river to dive into — so your daddy can protect you."

        Josephine liked to believe that she had control over her emotions. Dealing with the Aphrodite and Ares kids (with some of them having control over emotions their parents had godly associations with) gave her perfect practice. Silena Beauregard and Drew Tanaka, daughters of Aphrodite, both had charmspeak; they were able to convince people to do anything with just a bat of their eyelashes — dunk your head in a bucket of ice water or sneak into the Camp store and steal for them. Ares’ kids were able to rile people up easily; they were able to manipulate people with their anger and rage. Admittedly, those kids were far rarer to come across. Despite that, Josephine believed Clarisse La Rue had that power. She had driven many kids to do things they normally never would; anger makes people do stupid things.

        It seemed Percy was easily susceptible to Ares' control — he was scowling, his knuckles white, his hands shaking lightly, that he was clenching his fist so hard. "We're not interested," he snapped. "We've already got a quest."

        That wasn't the right answer, Ares wouldn't take no for an answer, even if the questers didn't want to help him and make a detour. Ares’ placating smile flipped, and his face hardened at the rejection. "I know all about your quest, punk. When that item was first stolen, Zeus sent his best out looking for it: Apollo, Athena, Artemis, and me, naturally. If I couldn't sniff out a weapon that powerful ..." He licked his lips, as if the very thought of the Master Bolt made him hungry. "Well — if I couldn't find it, you got no hope. Nevertheless, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your dad and I go way back. After all, I'm the one who told him my suspicions about old Corpse Breath."

        Percy’s eyebrows raised at that revelation. "You told him Hades stole the Bolt?"

        "Sure.” Ares shrugged casually. “Framing somebody to start a war. Oldest trick in the book. I recognized it immediately. In a way, you got me to thank you for your little quest."

        "Oh.” Percy frowned. “Thanks …”

        "Hey, I'm a generous guy. Just do my little job, and I'll help you on your way. I'll arrange a ride west for you and your friends."

        "We're doing fine on our own."

        "Yeah, right. No money. No wheels. No clue what you're up against. Help me out, and maybe I'll tell you something you need to know — something about your mom."

        Percy's back straightened. His interest had been piqued. "My mom?"

        Ares grinned. "That got your attention, huh? The water park is a mile west on Delancy. You can't miss it. Look for the Tunnel of Love ride."

        "What interrupted your date?" Percy asked. "Something scare you off?"

        Ares bared his teeth, but Josephine had seen that expression on Clarisse. Almost forced; a façade, even. There was a glint in the god's molten-like eyes that gave her the feeling he was nervous. "You're lucky you met me, punk, and not one of the other Olympians,” he snapped at Percy. “They're not as forgiving of rudeness as I am. I'll meet you back here when you're done. Don't disappoint me."

        After that, Ares was gone — Josephine blinked, and he just disappeared, like he had never been there at all. With the God of War gone, everything he brought was, too — the anger and bitterness and unsettling feelings. That's why Josephine didn't like Ares too much. War may be a necessary thing at times, but she hated the destructiveness it brought. Anger clouded people's ability to think.

        Josephine sank down in her seat, the joints in her fingers sore from the minutes of clenching to stop herself from punching anything. Grover looked nervous, and Annabeth looked just as nervous; however, there was a calculating look in her grey eyes, just as there always was. Josephine picked up one of the napkins the waitress had laid down for drinks. She folded it over, pressing the crease down, then unfolded it, and smoothed out the groove she had made — then she repeated the pattern on the other side. "That's not good. Ares sought Percy out," she stated the obvious. "But ... we can't just — not do it."

        "It's probably some kind of trick," said Percy. "We can just not do it. Let's go."

        "We can't," she insisted, shaking her head. "We can't just ignore gods — especially ones like Ares. He has a temper. We can't ignore gods and just keep living our lives."

        Percy leaned against the table, his eyebrows knitted together. "Why does he need us?"

        "Maybe it's a problem that requires brains," Annabeth offered, dragging her finger along the top of the table. "Ares has strength — but that’s all he has. Even strength has to bow to wisdom sometimes."

        "But this water park ..." Percy twirled the ballpoint nervously between his fingers. "He acted almost scared. What would make a war god run away like that?"

        Josephine grabbed the napkin, crumpling it into a ball in her hand. Annabeth and Grover glanced nervously at each other. The daughter of Athena said, "I'm afraid we'll have to find out."

✿

By the time they found the water park, the sun was starting to sink behind the mountains surrounding Denver. Judging from the sign, it once had been called WATERLAND; however, after years of abandonment, some of the letters were smashed out, so it read WAT R A D.

        The main gate was padlocked and topped with barbed wire. Inside were huge (but completely dry) water slides, tubes, and pipes. They were curled everywhere, all leading to completely empty pools that were lined with grime and dead plants. Old tickets and advertisements were fluttering around the old, cracking tarmac. With night coming on, the place looked sad and creepy.

        "If Ares brings his girlfriend here for a date," Percy started, staring up at the barbed wire on the fence line, "I'd hate to see what she looks like."

        "Percy …" Josephine’s tone was nervous with warning. "You need to be more respectful to the gods."

        "Why? I thought you hated Ares."

        "I don't hate Ares, I'm just not …” she struggled to find the right word for a moment, “the biggest fan of his kids. Besides, he's still a god. The gods never take kindly to any kind of insults — including his date."

        "Especially his date,” corrected Grover. “You don't want to insult her looks."

        "Who is she?” Percy snickered quietly for a moment. “Is she Echidna?"

        "No, Aphrodite," Grover said. His brown eyes glazed over in a dream-like manner. "Goddess of Love."

        However, Percy frowned. "I thought she was married to somebody," he replied. "Hephaestus, right?"

        "She is." Josephine nodded. "But that's never stopped them before."

        "Oh …" Percy trailed off awkwardly. He clearly hadn’t expected that to be Josephine’s response. "So … how do we get in?"

        Suddenly, Grover shouted, "Maia!" and his shoes sprouted wings. He flew over the fence, did an unintended somersault in midair, and then stumbled to a rough landing on the opposite side. He dusted off his jeans, spinning around to face the others, as if he'd planned the whole thing.

        "You guys coming?" he asked.

        Annabeth, Josephine, and Percy were forced to climb the old-fashioned way — holding down the barbed wire for each other as they crawled over the top.

        The shadows grew long as they walked through the park, checking out all the abandoned attractions. There was Ankle Biter Island, Head Over Wedgie, and Dude, Where's My Swimsuit? But no monsters came to get them. Nothing made the slightest noise. All the peace made Josephine check over her shoulder every few minutes.

        They found a souvenir shop that had been left open. Merchandise still lined the shelves: snow globes, pencils, postcards, and racks of —

        "Clothes," Annabeth breathed. "Fresh clothes."

        "Yeah," said Percy. "But you can't just —"

        She gave him a hard look. "Watch me."

        The blonde snatched an entire row of stuff off the racks, pulled Josephine by the arm, and disappeared into a changing room. Annabeth tossed Josephine a pair of shorts and a plain T-shirt. "You need to change," she told Josephine. "You smell like a rotting river."

        "Oh.” Josephine peeled the clothes off her face. “Well — love you, too …" she grumbled under her breath.

        Nevertheless, Annabeth was right. Not only did Josephine smell like the Mississippi River, but she felt as dirty as the Mississippi River. She changed, did the best she could to try and freshen up, and brushed her hands through her hair before braiding it into a single braid down her back to try and avoid any further annoyance. Admittedly, she hadn’t paid much attention to the clothes, just happy to get out of the ones she had left Camp Half-Blood in. But soon, she did realize how funny she and Annabeth looked — both were decked out in slightly oversized Waterland T-shirts and bright red shorts. Annabeth even had a Waterland backpack slung over her shoulder, which she quickly filled with more goodies she had “borrowed” from the shop.

        Percy raised his eyebrows at the sight, but Grover thought the girls had a great idea. The satyr shrugged. "What the heck?"

        Soon, all four questers were decked out like walking advertisements for the defunct theme park. They continued searching for the Tunnel of Love. Josephine had the feeling that the waterpark was holding its breath.

        Percy was the one to break the silence next, "So, Ares and Aphrodite … They have a thing going?"

        Annabeth rolled her eyes. "That's old gossip, Percy," she said. "Three-thousand-year-old gossip."

        Josephine shrugged slightly. "Well  … gossip normally stems from some truth. Typically, anyways."

        "What about Aphrodite's husband?" Percy asked.

        She shrugged again. "He's Hephaestus — you know, the blacksmith. He was crippled when he was a baby, after being thrown off Mount Olympus. So … he isn't exactly handsome. But he can build anything you can think of. But Aphrodite isn't the type to care much about stuff like that."

        "She likes bikers."

        Josephine frowned. “Pretty sure Silena’s dad isn’t a biker. I think he owns a chocolate shop over in Manhattan or something."

        That didn't seem to change Percy's mind. He asked, "Does Hephaestus know?"

        "Oh. Yeah, Definitely." Josephine nodded. "He even caught them together once — literally caught them. Like, in a golden net. He invited all the gods to come and laugh at them. He's always trying to catch them again. Any chance to embarrass them, you know? That's why they always meet in pretty sketchy places, like ..." She stopped, looking straight ahead. "Like that."

        In front of them was an empty pool. It was at least fifty yards across and shaped like a giant bowl. Around the rim, a dozen bronze statues of Cupid stood guard with wings spread and bows ready to fire, with little hearts on the ends of the arrows for added effect. On the opposite side of them, a tunnel opened up, probably where the water flowed into when the pool was full. The sign above it read, THRILL RIDE O' LOVE: THIS IS NOT YOUR PARENTS' TUNNEL OF LOVE!

        Grover crept toward the edge. "Guys, look."

        Marooned at the bottom of the pool was a pink-and-white two-seater boat with a canopy over the top and little hearts painted all over it. In the left seat, glinting in the fading light, was Ares's shield, a polished circle of bronze.

        "This is …” Percy shook his head, “too easy. So we just walk down there and get it?"

        Annabeth ran her finger along the base of the nearest Cupid statue. "There's a Greek letter carved here," she mumbled. "Êta. I wonder ..."

        Josephine frowned at all the Cupid statues. If there was anything taught from day one in Cabin Seven — don’t trust anything that had Cupid associated with it. Valentine’s Day included. Eros was depicted the same as Cupid, and well … Eros and Apollo had a bad history. (See in: Eros shooting Apollo with a golden arrow, who fell in love with Daphne, however, she was shot with a lead arrow which made her averse to love — so she was terrified of Josephine’s father, to the point she transformed into a laurel tree so she wouldn’t have to deal with him.) It was a sore subject, and Eros and Apollo have such a bad history it’s bled into their children (though, Eros hasn’t had many children …)

        "Grover," Josephine started, looking back at the satyr, "you smell any monsters nearby?"

        The satyr sniffed the air for a few seconds. He shook his head, saying, "No, nothing."

        Percy looked away from the bottom of the pool to his friend. "Nothing — like, in-the-Arch-and-you-didn't-smell-Echidna nothing, or really nothing?"

        Grover looked hurt. "I told you, that was underground. Underground places always smell like monsters."

        Percy took a deep breath, guilt flashing across his face. "Okay, I'm sorry." He looked back at the pool. "I'm going down there."

        "I'll go with you." Grover didn't sound enthusiastic, but she got the feeling the satyr was trying to make up for what had happened back at St. Louis.

        "No," Percy told him. "I want you to stay up top with the flying shoes. You're the Red Baron, a flying ace, remember? I'll be counting on you for backup, in case something goes wrong."

        The satyr puffed out his chest a little. "Sure. But … what could go wrong?"

        "I don't know. Just a feeling. Annabeth, come with me —"

        "Are you kidding?" the girl squawked, taking steps away from the grimy pool. "Why me?"

        Percy frowned at Annabeth. "Posie and I blow-torched a national monument last time," he countered. "What's the problem now?"

        "Me, go with you to the ... the 'Thrill Ride of Love?' How embarrassing is that? What if somebody saw me?"

        Josephine shook her head at Annabeth’s reasoning. "Geez ..." she muttered. "I'll go. Besides, no national monument and Chimera to blow-torch anything."

        She reached the edge of the pool next to Percy, sliding down the surprisingly clean side. Josephine supposed that if two gods were having a date at the bottom of an empty pool, it would at least be a clean, empty pool.

        The two reached the boat. The shield was propped on one seat from the old ride, and next to it, a pink silk scarf. Josephine tried not to imagine what the date was like, but she had already noticed all the mirrors lined on every side of the pool, which all reflected the boat and the two demigods. They could see themselves, no matter which direction they looked — that was the charm of this pool. It was still conspicuous while still catching Aphrodite's attention with the theme, and most importantly, the two gods could look at their favorite things on the date — themselves.

        Percy picked up the scarf. It shimmered pink, and the scent was addictive — Josephine wasn't exactly sure how to describe the smell, but whatever it was, she could spend a lifetime smelling it. The son of Poseidon smiled dreamily, and he was about to rub the scarf against his cheek when Josephine ripped it out of his hands.

        "Uh — how ’bout I hold it," said Josephine, stuffing the pink scarf in her back pocket.

        "What?” Percy frowned at her, seemingly confused as to why she did that. “Why?"

        "Just get Ares's shield," she said, ready to climb out of the pool.

        Annabeth was at the edge of the pool, holding out a hand to help pull Josephine up. Percy grabbed Ares's shield as Annabeth's eyes slid over to the boat. Josephine looked over her shoulder, grasping the blonde's hand.

        "What is it?" she asked.

        Annabeth chewed on her bottom lip. "There's something on that boat ..."

        Suddenly, Percy called, her voice tilted with fear; "Uh, guys ...?"

        Annabeth’s eyes started to widen. "There's another Greek letter on the boat. Another Êta …" She locked eyes with Josephine. "It's a trap."

        The brunette looked back at Percy, ready to grab him and get out of there; however, a noise erupted all around them — the sound of millions of old gears grinding, as if the whole pool were turning into one giant machine.

        Grover yelled, "Guys!"

        Above them, on the rim, the Cupid statues were drawing their bows into firing positions. Before Josephine could yell for cover, the statues shot — but not at the demigods in the pool. They fired at each other, all across the rim of the pool. Silky cables trailed from the ends of the arrows, arching over the pool and anchoring where they landed to form a huge golden asterisk. Annabeth ducked out of the way, letting go of Josephine so as not to get an arrow lodged in her arm. The smaller metallic threads started weaving together magically between the golden strands, making a net.

        Josephine slid down the side of the pool, bumping into Percy. "We have to get out," he told her.

        The daughter of Apollo was watching the net form in front of her eyes, cursing the Cupid statues silently. "Oh, really? I didn’t think of that!”

        Percy grabbed the shield, and the two bolted for the rim of the pool. However, going up the slope was far harder than it was simply sliding down the slope. Annabeth was trying to pry apart the strands, trying to push her hands through — but it wasn't working.

        "Come on!" Grover shouted. He landed beside Annabeth, trying to hold a section open for Josephine and Percy; however, the silky strands started to just weave over their hands, nearly making them a part of the trap.

        The Cupids' heads popped open from the crown, and video cameras popped out, aiming at the two in the pool. Spotlights rose up all around the pool, blinding them with illumination, and a loudspeaker voice boomed: "Live to Olympus in one minute ... Fifty-nine seconds, fifty-eight ..."

        "Hephaestus!" Annabeth yelled over the noise. "I'm so stupid! Êta is 'H'! He made this trap to catch Aphrodite with Ares. This is going to broadcast live to Olympus."

        They'd almost made it to the rim when the rows of mirrors opened like hatches and thousands of tiny metallic ... things poured out.

        Suddenly and loudly, Annabeth shrieked, crawling away from the pool. Josephine saw it — the metallic things, and it was an entire army of wind-up creepy-crawlies. They had bronze-gear bodies, spindly legs, and little pincer mouths. Even worse, they were all scuttling towards her and Percy in a wave, clacking, whirring metals.

        "Spiders!" the daughter of Athena screamed. "Sp — Sp — Aah!"

        Josephine knew there was no way to get Annabeth back, not with spiders involved. There was no way the daughter of Athena could come up with an escape plan in the state she was in. She and Percy backed into each other. The things were coming out from all around the rim now — millions of them, flooding towards the center of the pool, and completely surrounding the two. She only hoped the things weren't programmed to kill, just bite, corral, and make them look dumber than they probably already did. Then again, this trap was meant for a couple of gods. And, shocker, they weren't gods.

        Percy and Josephine climbed into the boat. The two kicked away the spiders as they swarmed, but the insects were getting too much.

        "Thirty … twenty-nine …" called the loudspeaker.

        The spiders started spitting out strands of metal thread, trying to tie them down. The strands were easy enough to break at first, but there were so many of them, and the spiders just kept coming. Percy kicked one away from Josephine's leg, and its pincers took a chunk out of his new surf shoe.

        Grover hovered above the pool in his flying trainers, trying to pull the net loose, but it wouldn't budge. Annabeth was frozen in fear, screaming about spiders. Josephine looked around, knocking a line of spiders away from Percy's shoulder. She was thinking of a way to escape, but nothing came to mind. She was trying to be hopeful, that there really was a way to get out, but a god made this trap. Hephaestus made this trap, and he wouldn't let Aphrodite or Ares even have a slim chance of an escape, at least, not without some huge level of embarrassment that would keep Olympus talking for a thousand years.

        The Tunnel of Love entrance was under the net. That could be an exit — except for the fact it was blocked by a million robot spiders.

        Loudly, the speaker called: "Fifteen … fourteen …"

        Percy was looking at the water pipes that were behind the mirrors. She followed as his line of sight shifted upwards — the Cupids' heads, where a glass-windowed booth was behind them. "Annabeth!" he yelled over all the commotion. "Get into that booth! Find the 'On' switch!"

        Annabeth wasn't entirely out of her frozen state of terror. She stopped staring at the spiders, and she started looking at Percy. "What?" she called. "But —"

        "Do it!"

        Annabeth scrambled off the ground, heading for the glass-windowed booth. That booth must be the control room. As the blonde searched for the button, Josephine caught on — Percy wanted the pipes to spew out water to hopefully short-circuit the spiders. At least, Josephine hoped that was Percy's plan.

        Annabeth was in the controller's booth now. She started smashing her fist on every button that had to be there. There was no time for wisdom, not with the clock ticking down.

        "Five … four …"

        Annabeth looked up at them helplessly, raising her hands with clear frustration. She was letting them know that she'd pushed every button, yet nothing was happening.

        "Percy —" Josephine started, smashing a group of four spiders under her foot. But the son of Poseidon wasn't listening; instead, his eyes were sealed shut, like he was praying for a miracle. (Which, admittedly, they desperately needed.)

        "Two … one … zero!"

        As the last number was called out, water exploded out of the pipes. It roared into the pool, sweeping away the spiders. Percy pulled Josephine into the seat next to him, fastening their seatbelt just as the tidal wave slammed into their boat, over the top, whisking the spiders away and dousing them completely, but not capsizing them. The boat turned, lifted in the flood, and spun in circles around the whirlpool.

        The water was full of short-circuiting spiders, some of them smashing against the pool's concrete walls with such force that they burst. Spotlights glared down at them. The Cupid-cams were rolling, live to Olympus. But Josephine could only focus on not flying out of the boat. Even with the seatbelt, it felt like she would take a tumble at any moment. 

        Percy's face was serious; almost smug, even. He was looking around the boat, his head held high. Quickly, Josephine realized that none of the buttons had worked — it had been Percy who had made all the water appear. 

        They spun around one last time, the water level now almost high enough to shred them against the metal net. Then the boat's nose turned towards the tunnel, and they rocketed through and into the darkness. Josephine and Percy held tight, both of them screaming as the boat shot curls, hugged corners, and took forty-five-degree plunges past pictures of Romeo and Juliet and a bunch of other grimy Valentine's Day stuff.

        Then they were out of the tunnel, the night air whistling past them as the boat barrelled straight towards the exit. If the ride had been in working order, they would've sailed off a ramp between the golden Gates of Love and splashed down safely in the exit pool; however, the ride wasn’t working. The Gates of Love were chained. Two boats that had been washed out of the tunnel before them were now piled against the barricade — one submerged and the other cracked in half.

        "Unfasten your seat belt," Percy yelled to Josephine over the wind.

        Her eyes widened. "Are you crazy?"

        "Unless you want to get smashed to death." He strapped Ares's shield to his arm. "We're going to have to jump for it."

        Despite the shock of it all, she understood. As the boat struck, they would use its force like a springboard to jump the golden gate. There were people who had survived car crashes that way (of course, still reaping tons of damage that they would have to spend money and time to mend). If they aimed right, they'd get thrown thirty to forty feet away, completely safe from getting all sorts of broken bones, and would hopefully land in the pool. With all sorts of luck, of course. 

        Josephine grabbed Percy's hand tightly.

        "When I say go," he told her.

        "What?" she yelled. "No! When I say go!"

        "What? Why?"

        "It's simple physics!" she yelled. "Lee was telling me all about it, he learned it in school last year. Force times the trajectory angle —" She paused, her brows knitting together. "I think that's what he said …"

        Percy’s voice was shrill as he yelled, "You think?"

        "Okay, I'm sure!" she insisted. "I'm sure that's what he said! It's force times the —"

        "Fine!" Percy shouted. "You don't have to say it twice! When you say go!"

        Josephine hesitated, then she yelled, "Now!"

        CRACK!

        She was right. Just when they took the jump, she got them a maximum lift. Unfortunately, however, that was a little more than what they needed. Their boat smashed into the pileup, and they were thrown into the air, straight over the gates, over the pool, and down towards solid tarmac.

        Suddenly, something grabbed her arm from behind, twisting it further back than it should’ve gone for a moment. Josephine yelped, “Ouch!” as her shoulder screamed in pain. But she looked up — it was Grover. 

        In mid-air, he had grabbed Percy by the shirt and Josephine by the arm. He was trying to pull the demigods out of a crash landing, but the two had all the momentum, and he only had wings on his shoes, keeping him floating. "You're too heavy!" the satyr groaned. "We're going down!"

        They spiraled towards the ground, with Grover doing his best to slow the fall. They smashed into a photo board, the satyr’s head going straight into the hole where tourists would put their faces, pretending to be Noo-Noo the Friendly Whale. Josephine and Percy tumbled to the ground, banged up but alive. Ares's shield was still on Percy's arm, and Aphrodite’s scarf was still in Josephine’s pocket. Annabeth had left the controller's booth, running for the three.

        Once Percy and Josephine caught their breath, they helped Annabeth pull Grover out of the photo board. Josephine was thanking Grover for saving them from falling too fast as she looked back at the Thrill Ride of Love. Back there, the water was subsiding, and their boat had been smashed to pieces against the chained gates. 

        A hundred yards away, at the entrance pool, the Cupids were still filming. The statues had swiveled around so that their cameras were still trained right on them, the spotlights in their faces.

        "Show's over!" Percy yelled to the cameras. "Thank you! Goodnight!"

        The Cupids turned back to their original positions. The lights shut off. The park went eerily quiet and dark again — except for the gentle trickle of water into the Thrill Ride of Love's exit pool. Josephine wondered if Olympus had gone on a commercial break, or if it was entertaining for the gods up there. She wondered if Apollo had seen the entire thing.

        Doesn't matter if he was, she tried to tell herself. He didn't care enough to say anything. So she shouldn’t care if he had just seen her get trapped in Hephaestus’s trap for Ares and Aphrodite. 

        But you still care, that voice drawled. Whether you like it or not, you want to impress him.

        Percy was clearly angry. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes looked almost like a raging storm. He hefted the shield on his arm, turning to the other questers. "We need to have a little talk with Ares."

Chapter Text

chapter ten
❛ all-in-one hotel ❜

━━━━━  THE WAR GOD was waiting for the four in the diner parking lot. His eyebrows raised into his hairline as he saw them trample forward. "Well, well …" he greeted. "You didn't get yourself killed. Great news!"

        Percy stomped up towards the god, his face set into hard lines. "You knew it was a trap."

        Ares gave him a wicked grin. "Bet that crippled blacksmith was surprised when he netted a couple of stupid kids. You looked good on TV."

        Percy unstrapped the shield on his arm and shoved it into Ares’s chest. "You're an asshole," he decided, scowling up at the god.

        Josephine, Annabeth, and Grover caught their breath. Cursing the gods’ names in the presence of other demigods — that was one thing. Cursing the gods’ names in front of the very god you’re cursing … Well, that was just plain stupid. However, Ares only took the shield and spun it in the air like an extra-rigid pizza dough. In the air, it changed forms — glowing brightly as the metal warped into the shape of a bulletproof vest. He slung it across his back, shifting the weight of his feet. "See that truck over there?" He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked across the street from the diner. "That's your ride. Take you straight to L.A., with one stop in Vegas."

        The eighteen-wheeler had a sign on the back, which Josephine could read only because it was reverse-printed white on black, a good combination for dyslexia: KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT. WARNING: LIVE WILD ANIMALS.

        Her jaw dropped, "You’ve got to be kidding? Uh — Lord Ares."

        The War God snapped his fingers, and the door of the truck was unlatched. "Free ride west, Posie.” He peered at her a bit closer, as if finally taking the time to examine his audience. “You know, you're a lot like your father, kid. TV suits you."

        That's the last thing you want, isn't it? that cruel voice spoke up, its tone surprisingly soft. To be compared to Apollo. But Ares isn't wrong. You and Apollo are alike in many ways.

        The god rubbed the top of her head, jostling her head back and forth. Josephine scowled, smoothing down her head when the god unlatched his fingers from her skull. "But — Lord Ares — those are live animals!" she protested loudly.

        "Stop complaining," Ares snapped, rolling his molten-colored eyes. "Anyways, here's a little something for doing the job."

        The God of War slung a blue nylon backpack off his handlebars and tossed it to Percy. Inside the bag were fresh clothes for everyone, twenty dollars, a pouch full of golden drachmas, and a pack of Double Stuff Oreos.

        Percy was scowling. "I don't want your fuck —"

        "Thank you, Lord Ares," Grover interrupted, sending the son of Poseidon his best red-alert warning look. "Thanks — like — a lot."

        Josephine grabbed Percy's upper arm, giving him a cautious look. He reluctantly slung the backpack over his shoulder. The daughter of Apollo glanced back at the diner, which only had a couple of customers now, with the evening having come around. The waitress who had served the questers was watching them nervously out the window, as if afraid Ares might hurt the four. The lady dragged the cook from the kitchen to see. She said something, and he nodded to her, holding up a disposable camera and snapping a picture of them.

        Josephine rubbed at her sore eyes, closing them in frustration. Great, she thought. Just what we need — another article to come out.

        "You owe me one more thing," Percy told Ares, his voice wavering with anger. "You promised me information about my mother."

        "You sure you can handle the news?" The god kick-started his motorcycle, giving the black-haired boy a once-over. "She's not dead."

        Percy looked as if he was ready to faint. "What — what do you mean?"

        "I mean, she was taken away from the Minotaur before she could die.” Ares rolled his eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She was turned into a shower of gold, right? That's metamorphosis. Not death. She's being kept."

        "Kept,” the son of Poseidon repeated, frowning to himself. “Why?"

        "You need to study war, punk. Hostages. You take somebody to control somebody else."

        "Nobody's controlling me," Percy said stubbornly.

        The god laughed. "Oh yeah? Sure, believe that. See you around, kid."

        The boy's knuckles were white with the force he was balling up his fists. "You're pretty smug, Lord Ares, for a guy who runs from Cupid statues."

        Behind the war god's glasses, a fire started to glow. A hot wind smacked Josephine in the face. "We'll meet again, Percy Jackson,” Ares promised. “Next time you're in a fight, watch your back."

        He revved his Harley, then roared off down Delancy Street.

        Josephine looked at Percy. "That was a bad idea,” she told him. “You don't just make fun of gods. Especially don’t insult them."

        "I don't care."

        "You should," she insisted angrily, stomping her foot slightly. "You don't want a god as your enemy. Especially not that god. Not Ares."

        "Hey, guys," Grover said. "I hate to interrupt, but ..." He pointed towards the diner. At the cash register, the last two customers were paying their bill, two men in identical black coveralls, with a white logo on their backs that matched the one on the KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL truck. "If we're taking the zoo express," Grover said, "we need to hurry."

✿

The first thing Josephine noticed (as it smacked her in the face) was the smell in the back of the KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL truck. It almost smelled like the world's biggest pan of kitty litter. The longer she stayed inside the trailer, the more her eyes watered and her nose burned. The place was dark until Percy pulled out Riptide. The sword cast a faint bronze light over a very maddening scene. Sitting in a row of filthy metal cages, three of the most pathetic zoo animals she had ever seen — a zebra, a male albino lion, and an antelope-animal she didn't know the name of.

        Someone had thrown the lion a sack of turnips, which he obviously didn't want to eat. The zebra and the antelope had each got a polystyrene tray of hamburger meat. The zebra's mane was matted with chewing gum, like somebody had been spitting on it in their spare time. The antelope had a stupid silver birthday balloon tied to one of his horns that read OVER THE HILL! Apparently, nobody had wanted to get close enough to the lion to mess with him; however, the poor animal was pacing around on soiled blankets, in a space way too small for him, as he panted from the stuffy heat of the trailer. He had flies buzzing around his pink eyes, and his ribs showed through his white fur.

        "This is kindness?" Grover yelled, his voice rising several octaves. "Humane zoo transport?"

        He probably would've gone right back outside to beat up the truckers with his reed pipes (and Josephine would've helped him), but before he could — the truck’s engine roared to life. And unless they all wanted to fall on their butts, they were forced to sit down as the truck started to wheel away.

        They huddled in the corner on some mildewed feed sacks, trying to ignore the smell, the heat, and the roaming flies. Grover talked to the animals in a series of goat bleats, but they just stared at him sadly. Annabeth was in favor of breaking the cages and freeing them on the spot, but Percy pointed out it would only do any good once the truck had stopped moving. Josephine understood where Percy was coming from. Besides, she had a feeling the four might look a lot better to the lion than those turnips or even the hamburger meat …

        Josephine found a water jug and refilled their bowls. Percy used Riptide to drag the mismatched food out of their cages. He gave the meat to the lion and the turnips to the zebra and the antelope. Grover and Josephine calmed the antelope down, all the while Annabeth used her knife to cut the balloon off his horn. Josephine wanted to cut the gum out of the zebra's mane, too, but they decided that would be too risky with the truck bumping around. The three demigods told Grover to promise the animals they'd help them more in the morning, then they settled in for the night.

        Grover curled up on a turnip sack; Annabeth opened their bag of Double Stuffed Oreos and nibbled on one half-heartedly; Percy slumped against his back, staring at Riptide; Josephine tried to cheer herself up by concentrating on the fact that they were halfway to Los Angeles. Halfway to their destination. It was only June fourteenth. The Solstice wasn't until the twenty-first. That was six days. Six days were plenty of time. However, she had no idea what to expect next. And she hated the unknown. With the unknown, you obviously didn’t know what to expect. The gods were only making it worse as they kept toying with the questers and their quest. At least Hephaestus had the decency to be honest about it — he'd put up cameras and advertised them as entertainment. But even when the cameras weren’t rolling, Josephine had a feeling they were being watched. They were the gods' current top choice of demigod amusement.

        Annabeth broke the silence first: "Hey … I'm sorry for freaking out back at the water park."

        "S’okay."

        "It's just ..." The daughter of Athena shuddered. "Spiders."

        Percy looked up at her, the golden glow from Riptide illuminating half of her face. "Because of the Arachne story," he guessed. "She got turned into a spider for challenging your mom to a weaving contest, right?"

        Annabeth nodded. "Arachne's children have been taking revenge on the children of Athena ever since. If there's a spider within a mile of me, it'll find me. I hate the creepy little things."

        Percy looked at Josephine. “So … snakes? Apollo has some history with them?"

        Josephine grabbed an Oreo, snapping it in half. "Python," she answered. "A serpent Apollo killed to avenge his mom, Leto. That’s enough grounds for a grudge, but my dad also took control of the Delphic Oracle. Double whammy, I s’pose. Just like spiders, Python's offspring always find children of Apollo. They're horrible …” She shuddered, quickly shaking her head (and subsequently, the old memories away). She ate one half of the broken Oreo. "Anyways, thanks for killing Medusa. Gods know I couldn't have done it. I owe you."

        "We're a team, remember?" Percy said. "Besides, Grover did all that fancy flying. Even later on. At the Tunnel of Love ride, you know?"

        Josephine thought the satyr was asleep, but from the corner he was curled up in, he mumbled, "I was pretty amazing, wasn't I?"

        The three demigods laughed. Josephine held out the other half of the Oreo to Percy.

        Annabeth's brows furrowed as she thought over something. "In the Iris message,” she started, “did Luke really say nothing?"

        Josephine stayed silent, looking to Percy for answers. He munched on the broken cookie she offered him, taking his time to answer. Admittedly, the conversation between those two had been bothering Josephine all evening — it seemed to be doing the same thing to Percy. "Luke said you two go way back, Annabeth. He also said Grover wouldn't fail this time. That nobody would turn into a pine tree."

        In the dim bronze light of the sword blade, it was hard to read anyone's expression.

        Grover let out a mournful bray. "I should've told you the truth from the beginning." His voice trembled. "I thought if you knew what a failure I was, you wouldn't want me along."

        "You were the satyr who tried to rescue Thalia, the daughter of Zeus."

        The satyr nodded glumly.

        "And the other two half-bloods Thalia befriended, the ones who got safely to Camp ..." Percy looked at Annabeth. "That was you and Luke, wasn't it?"

        The blonde put down her Oreo, uneaten. "Like you said, Percy, a seven-year-old half-blood wouldn't have made it very far alone. Athena guided me toward help. Thalia was twelve. Luke was fourteen. They'd both run away from home, like me. They were happy to take me with them. They were …” her eyebrows knitted as she reminisced, “amazing monster fighters, even without training. We traveled north from Virginia without any real plans, fending off monsters for about two weeks before Grover found us."

        "I was supposed to escort Thalia to Camp," Grover admitted, sniffling. "Only Thalia. I had strict orders from Chiron: Don't do anything that would slow down the rescue. We knew Hades was after her, you see, but I couldn't just leave Luke and Annabeth by themselves. I thought …” He took a shaky breath. “I thought I could lead all three of them to safety. It was my fault the Kindly Ones caught up with us. I froze. I got scared on the way back to Camp and took some wrong turns. If I'd just been a little quicker ..."

        "Stop it," Annabeth told him, frowning deeply. "No one blames you. Thalia didn't blame you either."

        "She sacrificed herself to save us," the satyr bemoaned miserably. "Her death was my fault. The Council of Cloven Elders said so."

        "Because you wouldn't leave two other half-bloods behind?" Percy asked, his eyebrows knitting together. "That's not fair."

        "Percy's right," agreed the blonde. "I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for you, Grover. Neither would Luke. We don't care what the Council says."

        Grover kept sniffling in the dark. "It's just my luck. I'm the lamest satyr ever, and I find the two most powerful half-bloods of the century — Thalia and Percy."

        Josephine leaned forward, rubbing the satyr's shoulder. "You're not lame, Grover! You're braver than any other satyr I've met. You've even got the biggest heart. None of this is luck, it's fate."

        You don't believe that, that voice said, the cruel tone back now. Even you understand how much luck has to play in fate. You're a bad omen, an unlucky child.

        "Besides, Percy is really glad you're here right now," Annabeth said, kicking the boy in the shin roughly.

        The son of Poseidon flinched. "Yeah. It's not luck that you found Thalia and me. You do have the biggest heart of any satyr ever. You're a natural searcher. That's why you'll be the one who finds Pan."

        There was a deep, satisfied sigh. Josephine waited for Grover to say something, however, his breathing only became heavier. When the sound turned to snores, she realized he had fallen asleep.

        "How does he do that?" Percy marveled.

        "I don't know," Annabeth admitted. "But that was really a nice thing you told him."

        "I meant it — without you having to kick me to say it, either …"

        “Sorry.”

        (However, Annabeth didn’t sound very apologetic.)

        The three half-bloods rode in silence for a few miles, bumping around on the feed sacks. The zebra munched a turnip. The lion licked the last of the hamburger meat off his lips and looked at them hopefully. Annabeth rubbed her necklace like she was thinking deep, strategic thoughts.

        "That pine tree bead," Percy started, looking at Annabeth. "Is that from your first year?"

        Annabeth looked. She hadn't realized what she was doing. "Yeah," she answered. "Every August, the counselors pick the most important event of the summer, and they paint it on that year's beads. I've got Thalia's pine tree, a Greek trireme on fire, a centaur in a prom dress — now that was a weird summer ..."

        Josephine grinned slightly. That was her first summer at Camp, and it had to be her favorite bead. It was always a fun story to tell new campers when they asked.

        "And the college ring is your father's?" Percy pressed.

        "That's none of your busin —" Annabeth stopped herself. "... Yeah. Yeah, it is."

        Percy watched her for a moment. "You don't have to tell me."

        "No ... it's okay." She took a shaky breath. "My dad sent it to me folded up in a letter, two summers ago. The ring was — like — his main keepsake from Athena. He wouldn't’ve gotten through his doctoral program at Harvard without her …” She looked down at the ring. “That's a long story. Anyway, he said he wanted me to have it. He apologized for being a jerk, said he loved me and missed me. He wanted me to come home and live with him."

        "That doesn't sound so bad."

        Josephine raised her eyebrows silently. It didn't sound bad, but it was. There was always a catch when you were a half-blood.

        "Yeah, well,” Annabeth shrugged, “the problem was, I believed him. I tried to go home for that school year, but my stepmom — she was the same as ever. She didn't want her mortal kids put in danger by living with a freak. Monsters attacked. We argued. Monsters attacked. We argued. I didn't even make it through winter break. I called Chiron and came right back to Camp Half-Blood."

        "You think you'll ever try living with your dad again?"

        Annabeth wouldn't meet Percy's eyes. "Please,” she scoffed, though it sounded pretty half-hearted. “I'm not into self-inflicted pain."

        "You shouldn't give up," he insisted. "You should write him a letter or something."

        "Thanks for the advice," Annabeth snapped, her tone back to its usual iciness, "but my father's made his choice about who he wants to live with."

        Josephine met Percy's eyes. She gave him a silent message: Drop it.

        They passed another few miles of silence.

        "So if the gods fight," Percy started, breaking the silence again, "will things line up the way they did with the Trojan War? Will it be Athena versus Poseidon?"

        Annabeth put her head against the backpack Ares had given them and closed her eyes. "I don't know what my mom will do. I just know I'll fight next to you."

        He frowned, as if the answer surprised him. "Why?"

        "Because you're my friend, Seaweed Brain. Any more stupid questions?"

        He didn't seem to have any more questions for Annabeth. Instead, he asked Josephine, "Were Apollo and Poseidon on the same side?"

        She nodded. "They sided with the Trojans. Apollo and Poseidon have never really had any spats — at least, between them specifically. So no picking between my father and my friend." She nudged his shoulder lightly, trying to smile at him.

        He smiled back at her, his eyes flickering to the peeling band-aids that littered her forearms. “How are those scrapes healing?”

        Josephine glanced down at her arms, shrugging. "Fine, I guess. Though they aren’t looking any better, like at all. It’s odd …"

        "You don't think you could — like — heal them with that green mist thing-y, right?" Percy asked.

        She blinked, having almost entirely forgotten about the green glow, coughs, and boils (which is exactly what she wanted). "I — I don't think so. We don't even know what that power is. I don't even know if we should call it a power. I mean, it gave Em boils ..."

        "But it got us out alive," he insisted. "And ... you don't know what that power is? The green mist and the green glow? You know, back at the Arch when you got those mortals out?”

        Josephine shook her head. "I have no idea. Before we met … Aunty Em, I'd never done anything like that before. I — I don't want to do it again."

        "What do you think it is?"

        She shrugged. "Lee and Michael have never talked about anything like that before. I think Annabeth has ideas, but ..." She looked at the blonde. The daughter of Athena had dozed off, bracing her head with the back of her arm, her other arm draped over her stomach.

        "That's Annabeth." Percy nodded. "She's always scheming and thinking."

        Josephine smiled slightly. "I'm glad you guys aren't ... being weird about the powers and all."

        Percy glanced at her. "How would we be weird?”

        "I dunno …" She shrugged, embarrassed she had even said anything like that in the first place. "Judging me. Being wary around me — things like that."

        They don't have to, even if they should, that voice added. You're scared of yourself enough for all four of you combined.

        "'Course we wouldn't," said Percy, shrugging casually. "I can breathe underwater, Posie, so I'd be an asshole to judge you for that. Besides, it's helped us a lot on this quest. It even helped those mortals back at the Arch."

        Josephine gave him a grateful smile. "But stop calling me Posie."

        He frowned. "Why do you hate that?"

        "It's ..." she sighed, "a nickname with memories. I guess that's the best way to put it."

        "Oh." Percy shifted. "Did your dad call you Posie or something?"

        "No, he didn't. He — uh — wasn't one for nicknames."

        "Who started calling you Posie, then?"

        The daughter of Apollo took a deep breath, wondering if it was better to just be honest. It's not like it can't hurt anything, she thought to herself. He already knows about Mrs. Hall.

        What if he makes fun of you? that voice countered. Calls you stupid? Naïve?

        I hate you, she thought bitterly. All you ever do is make my anxiety worse.

        I'm here to help you see more — whether or not I make your anxiety worse is not my problem, I'm here to help you understand.

        See what? she asked. Understand what?

        In due time, that voice responded. Telling you too soon will scare you away.

        Another few miles of silence rumbled by as Josephine argued back and forth with that odd voice in her head.

        "Forget it." Percy's voice broke her out of her stupor. "You don't have to tell me."

        "Oh." Josephine straightened. "It's not that. I — I don't care to tell you. Posie came from Mrs. Hall. She started calling me Posie after I gave her a bouquet of wild — well — posies I picked for her birthday. She did it once, and then it just stuck."

        "Lee calls you Posie," Percy noticed. "You don't mind him doing it."

        She worried at the musical charm on her necklace. "He was the first to welcome me into Cabin Seven. He always tried to make me feel better when I felt ... out of place."

        Percy's eyebrows knitted. "Out of place?" he repeated.

        The daughter of Apollo chewed on her bottom lip.

        Go ahead and tell him, that voice said. Josephine could practically hear the eye roll. Since you told him about Posie, go ahead and confess your whole life story.

        And she did — sort of. "I told you back at Camp, I felt out of place first arriving, right?" She looked at Percy

        He nodded. "I thought you said it to just make me feel better," he admitted.

        "Well … partially,” she admitted, “but it’s true. I was never good at anything Apollo's the god of. And it took him a month to claim me. Longer than any other kid in my cabin. I'm horrible with a bow; that's why I use daggers. I cause more injuries than I heal. I — Point is, I never felt like I was a daughter of Apollo."

        "So ... what?" Percy looked confused. "You think Apollo wrongly claimed you or something?"

        "No, I'm his kid," said Josephine, shaking her head. "I just think I'm horrible at everything he's the god of. Besides —" She cut herself off, her fingers stuttering over the musical note.

        "Besides what?"

        She glanced at the son of Poseidon.

        Tell him, the voice urged. Let him see just how crazy you are.

        "Forget it," she said quickly, looking off.

        Percy didn't look like he wanted to, but he forgot it. (For the time being, Josephine knew.) "Could you write to your father — your mortal father? Beau, was it?" he asked, changing the topic. "I know you ran away, but —"

        "I don't know,” admitted Josephine with a shake of her head. "I don't want to — even if I could. He wasn't a good dad, and I'm sure he doesn't want anything to do with me now. He's probably enjoying forgetting I ever existed."

        Percy looked at her leather necklace. "That charm his?”

        "No.” She shook her head. “It was my ninth birthday gift from Mrs. Hall. The last birthday I had with her.”

        "So music’s a thing in your family?" Percy asked curiously. "Was your mortal dad any good?"

        "Guess so." She shrugged. "That's how he got Apollo's attention."

        Percy's face flushed. "How did your dad, like, explain you being born? I mean —"

        Josephine gave the boy a bemused look. "Because they were both men?"

        His face reddened — somehow. "Yeah.”

        Josephine only sighed. "My dad talked about Apollo as a past lover, not as my father. He only ever talked about Apollo, never any other lover he had. He talked about my birth, just said it was inconvenient for him." She shrugged. "I never questioned it. I didn't wanna know. I just assumed I was a one-night stand that happened because my dad was trying to get over Apollo. Assuming now, I was probably born a similar way to Annabeth — you know, appeared on Beau's doorstep in a golden cradle, carried by Zephyr the West Wind. But my dad couldn't see past the Mist, so who knows what he saw."

        "You're sure he couldn't see past the Mist?"

        "He would've acted a little differently to all the monsters trying to kill me," she admitted dryly. "Or, at least, I hoped he would’ve. The only thing I remember really acting weirder out by was all the snakes. They were everywhere growing up. Always managed to find their way in the house — makes a lot of sense now. He also just never believed me when I would tell him I saw snakes in my bedroom at night …”

        Percy glanced at the sleeping forms of Annabeth and Grover. He looked conflicted. "You said, back on the Amtrak train, about a dream — having the same dream as me."

        Josephine's pursed lips were gone. Now, her eyes widened, and she straightened. "Demigods have dreams, Percy," she said, twirling a front strand of hair around her finger. "Like — all the time."

        His brows furrowed. "The exact same dream as me?"

        "It wasn't the exact same …" she corrected quietly.

        "It was close enough." Percy rolled his eyes dramatically. "Sure, half-bloods have dreams, but do most have the exact dreams as others."

        "I don't know," Josephine answered earnestly, shaking her head. "I'm not a Morpheus kid, okay? I don't know dreams and what they mean."

        However, Percy didn't look convinced. "When I was still staying in Cabin Eleven, I remember …” He frowned. “Someone told me that they believe you have the gift of foresight."

        Josephine sank against the cool metal walls. She pulled her knees into her chest. "What?" she squawked, her voice sounding foreign ot her. "That's ... really dumb. Like … majorly dumb. I don't have the gift of foresight."

        Deny. Deny. Deny, that voice repeated to her in her head. This is what you get for being honest. The boy will learn how crazy you are.

        "Your dad's the God of Prophecy, right?"

        "Yes, but —"

        "And you said something about Besides —"

        "— Percy —"

        "Your eyes gloss over, as if you're getting déjà vu —"

        "— Please —"

        "There are even times it feels like you're just looking through —"

        "Percy, I am begging you to drop it!" Josephine pleaded, tears brimming in her eyes.

        The son of Poseidon's mouth clamped shut. He looked regretful and guilty.

        Her fingers were shaking as she clenched them into her palms.  She quickly wiped away a tear that traced down her face. "Who — fucking told you? Back in Cabin Eleven? Who?"

        "... Luke."

        It felt like Percy had just smacked her in the face. How did Luke even know? Not even Lee knew! And she had only just told Chiron! (Ignoring the fact he knew for two years already …)

        "Look, Josephine, it's not Luke's fault that he told me," Percy started to say. "I just —"

        "I just didn't think Luke knew ..." she mumbled.

        Percy's face blanked. "You never told him? You've told people? Who?"

        "I never told Luke," she insisted. "I told Chiron — that's it. Apollo knows, too. He told Chiron to watch me."

        "Why them?"

        "’Cause I didn't want to talk about it. Talking about it makes it real. Makes me sound crazy."

        "Crazy?" he repeated.

        "Be honest, Percy, if you didn't know about the Greek world, would you?" countered Josephine.

        He opened and closed his mouth like a fish. Finally, he sat back, pressing his back against the metal wall behind them. She took that silence as a No.

        "Well ... I don't think you're crazy," he said.

        She stared at the boy with sad eyes. "I told Chiron the day you were offered the quest. That was the night I had the dream about Zeus and Poseidon fighting. I — I didn't know what else to do, and I felt like I was about to drown." She took a breath, trying to steel her nerves — it wasn’t working. "I told him, and he said that's why Apollo asked him to watch over me. Like he was waiting for me to fuck up or something. Chiron and Apollo think that's what I inherited from Apollo. Not archery skills, not musical abilities — but the gift of foresight."

        She stared at the metal walls of the truck for a quiet moment. Then, she finally said, "It's more of a curse than anything."

        "What do you see?" Percy asked. "Do you think it could help us?"

        A dream flashed across Josephine’s vision — the dream of the Pascual home and the figure in the doorway. She shook her head, doing her best to shake the vision away. "Besides that one dream I told you about, I don't think I've seen anything that could help."

        That's not true, the voice chided her.

        It'll have to be, she snapped. I don't want to think about my dreams.

        "What else do you see in the dreams?"

        "People going mad," she answered simply. "They always try and fight against fate, and that either ends with them going crazy — crazy or dead."

        "Oh." Percy shifted, wrapping his arms around his knees. He looked nervous. "Have you talked to Apollo about it?"

        "I've never talked to Apollo,” she told him honestly. “Besides, when he claimed me, he's never done anything else for me. I’ve prayed to him every dinner for the past two years and … nothing. No answer from him."

        "They don't talk to us a lot, huh?" he asked with a lick of malice in his voice.

        Josephine looked away, swallowing the bile in her throat. "No, they don't."

✿

Josephine was back in her nightmares. Even now, she didn't dream of Beau Pascual — not this time. She didn't dream of him rocking back and forth on the kitchen tiles as tears pooled in his eyes as he muttered, "Plagues. Madness. Sickness …" 

        She looked around, finding everything around her dead and rotted — just like last time. Her skin prickled with the same unease. She turned, finding the same scene as last time — the crumbling house and how she was at fault for it. Her hands burned, that familiar feeling from Aunty Em's and the Arch boiling beneath her skin.

        You caused this, that cold voice sneered at her. Not the one who had spoken as Poseidon and Zeus fought; it was the voice that had been taunting her inside her very own head.

        "Where are you?" She looked around wildly, hoping to catch a glimpse of the person taunting her.

        I'm not there with you, the voice said.

        "Then … where are you?" she demanded, her voice rising.

        Somewhere you'll get to soon, the voice promised.

        Josephine looked around with a frown, wondering if the ground would swallow her whole again this time. Even if it wasn’t the same voice and the two brothers weren’t fighting, what’s to say the ground wouldn’t split open? 

        That burning beneath her skin was growing, and she dug her nails into her palms. "Why do you keep doing this?" she demanded, her voice echoing louder as she yelled. "Why keep talking to me? In my head?"

        The voice was quiet for a moment before admitting; I've been asked to. Their tone was far away this time, as if recalling old memories.

        "By who?"

        In time, you'll learn.

        She stomped her foot. "I'm tired of hearing this In time bullshit! What are you keeping from me?"

        A lot of things, the voice admitted. But if you learned now, you would be too scared to continue. I told you that.

        "And you think telling me that doesn't make me scared enough?" she countered.

        … Perhaps it does, the voice agreed. A chill crawled down Josephine’s spine at their tone. Our time together is almost up. Before the clock runs out completely, I'm tired of being called the Voice, Asshole, or any other name you come up with. Call me Onesimus.

        She frowned, repeating, "Onesimus?"

        Before the voice — Onesimus — could respond, the ground opened beneath her feet, and she fell.

✿

Someone was shaking her awake. "Josephine, wake up!"

        Annabeth had a tight grip on the girl's arm. "Come on! Grover's waking up Percy. We have to leave, like, now."

        Josephine caught the panicked tone and sat up, her sleepy state quickly washing away. Percy was rubbing one of his eyes as Grover said. "The truck's stopped. We think they're coming to check on the animals."

        Annabeth hissed, "Hide!"

        That was easy for her to say. She just put on her magic cap and disappeared. Grover, Percy, and Josephine had to dive behind feed sacks and hope they looked like turnips.

        The trailer doors creaked open. Sunlight and heat poured in.

        "Man!" one of the truckers said, waving his hand in front of his crooked nose. "I wish I hauled appliances." He climbed inside and poured some water from a jug into the animals' dishes. "You hot, big boy?" he asked the lion, then splashed the rest of the bucket right in the lion's face.

        The lion roared in indignation.

        The man hardly paid any attention to the poor animal. "Yeah, yeah, yeah …"

        Next to Josephine, under the turnip sacks, Grover tensed. For a peace-loving herbivore, he looked downright murderous.

        The trucker threw the antelope a squashed-looking Happy Meal bag. He smirked at the zebra. "How ya doin', Stripes? 'Least we'll be getting rid of you this stop. You like magic shows? You're gonna love this one. They're gonna saw you in half!"

        There was a loud knock, knock, knock on the side of the trailer.

        The trucker inside with them yelled, "What do you want, Eddie?"

        A voice outside — it must've been Eddie — shouted back, "Maurice? What'd ya say?"

        Maurice hissed under his breath, annoyed at Eddie’s lack of competence. "What are you banging for?" he repeated, standing up to his full height.

        Knock, knock, knock.

        Outside, Eddie yelled again, "What bangin'?"

        Maurice rolled his eyes and went back outside, cursing at Eddie for being an idiot. A second later, Annabeth appeared next to Josephine. She must have done the banging to get Maurice out of the trailer. She said, "This transport business can't be legal."

        “No kidding," Grover agreed. He paused, as if listening. "The lion says these guys are animal smugglers!"

        Josephine’s eyes widened. "We have to free them."

        Outside, Eddie and Maurice were still yelling at each other, but she knew they'd be coming inside to torment the animals again any minute. Percy grabbed Riptide, looking downright confused about something, and slashed the lock off the zebra's cage. 

        The zebra burst out. And then, it turned to Percy and bowed. To the zebra, Grover held up his hands and said something to the zebra in goat talk — like some sort of blessing.

        Just as Maurice was poking his head back inside to check out the noise — the zebra leaped over him and into the street. There was yelling, screaming, and all sorts of cars honking. The four questers rushed to the doors of the trailer — just in time to see the zebra galloping down a wide boulevard lined with hotels, casinos, and neon signs. 

        The reality sank in as Josephine watched it all unfold. They had just released a zebra in Las Vegas.

        Maurice and Eddie ran after it, with a few policemen running after them, shouting, "Hey! You need a permit for that!"

        Annabeth glanced at the others. "Now would be a good time to leave," she prompted.

        "The other animals first," Grover insisted, turning back to the rest of the cages. Percy cut the locks with his sword. The satyr raised his hands and spoke the same goat-blessing he'd used for the zebra. Faintly, Josephine heard Percy tell the animals, "Good luck." The antelope and the lion burst out of their cages and went off together into the streets. Some tourists screamed. Most just backed off and took pictures, probably thinking it was some kind of stunt by one of the casinos.

        "Will the animals be okay?" Percy asked Grover. "I mean, the desert and all —"

        "Don't worry," the satyr insisted, smiling placidly. "I placed a Satyr's Sanctuary on them."

        Percy frowned. "Meaning …?"

        "Meaning they'll reach the wild safely," explained Grover, waving a hand at all the chaos caused by releasing the wild animals. "They'll find water, food, shade, whatever they need — until they find a safe place to live."

        "Why can't you place a blessing like that on us?" Percy asked.

        "It only works on wild animals."

        "So it would only affect Percy," Annabeth reasoned, nodding to herself as if that was the most logical answer imaginable.

        Percy flushed red. "Hey!"

        "Kidding, kidding …" The blonde waved her hand casually, shrugging. "Come on. Let's get out of this filthy truck."

        The four stumbled out into the desert afternoon. It was a hundred degrees easily, and they must've looked like deep-fried vagrants; however, fortunately for them, all the mortals were too interested in the wild animals to pay them any attention. They passed the Monte Carlo and the MGM. They passed pyramids, a pirate ship, and the Statue of Liberty (which was only a small replica of the real thing back over in New York City, as Percy kindly pointed out two times; New Yorker pride and all, Josephine figures). 

        Admittedly, she wasn't sure what they were looking for. Maybe just a place to get out of the heat for a few minutes, find a sandwich and a glass of lemonade — just enough comfort to have any brain power to have a slight chance of making a new plan to head west.

        At some point, they must have taken a wrong turn as they found themselves at a dead end. A dead end that led right to the entrance of the Lotus Hotel and Casino. The entrance was a huge neon flower, the petals lighting up and blinking brightly even in the middle of the day. No one was going in or out, but the glittering chrome doors were open, spilling out air conditioning that smelled like flowers — lotus blossom, surely.

        The doorman smiled at the four. "Hey, kids! You look tired. You want to come in and sit down?"

        Over her two years of knowingly being a demigod, Josephine’s learned to be suspicious of practically everything — especially anything that seemed too good to be true. Anybody might be a monster or, worse, a god. It was nearly impossible to tell a lot of the time — but this guy seemed normal. One look at him, and she could see that. Besides, the girl was so relieved to hear somebody who sounded sympathetic that she nodded and said they'd love to come in. Inside, they took one look around, and Grover whispered, "Whoa …"

        The whole lobby was a giant game room. And Josephine didn't mean cheesy old Pac-Man games or slot machines. There was an indoor water slide snaking around the glass elevator, which went straight up at least forty floors. There was a climbing wall on the side of one building, and on the other side, there was an indoor bungee jumping bridge. There were virtual-reality suits with working laser guns. And hundreds upon hundreds of video games, each one the size of a widescreen TV. Everything she could think of, it was there. There were a few other kids playing, but not that many. No one was waiting for any of the games. There were waitresses and snack bars all around, serving every kind of food imaginable.

        "Hey!" a bellhop said. At least Josephine guessed he was a bellhop. He wore a white-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt with lotus designs, shorts, and flip-flops. "Welcome to the Lotus Casino. Here's your room key."

        Percy stammered, "Um, but ..."

        "No, no," he said, laughing. "The bill's taken care of. No extra charges. And no tips. Just go on up to the top floor, Room 4001. If you need anything, like extra bubbles for the hot tub, or skeet targets for the shooting range, or whatever — just call the front desk. Here are your LotusCash cards. They work in the restaurants and on all the games and rides."

        He handed them each a green plastic credit card.

        Josephine knew there had to be some mistake here. Obviously, this guy thought they were some millionaire's kids. Percy was holding the card when he asked, "How much is on here?"

        The bellhop's eyebrows knitted together. "What do you mean?"

        Percy frowned back. "I mean — when does it run out of cash?"

        The worker laughed loudly. "Oh, you're making a joke. Hey, that's cool. Enjoy your stay!"

        With one shared confused glance, they took the elevator upstairs and checked out their room. It was a suite with four separate bedrooms and a bar stocked with candy, sodas, and chips. A hotline to room service, along with fluffy towels and waterbeds with feather pillows; there was a big-screen television with satellite and high-speed Internet. The balcony had its own hot tub and, sure enough, there was a skeet-shooting machine and a shotgun, so they could launch clay pigeons right out over the Las Vegas skyline and plug them with the gun. Josephine didn't see how that could be legal. The view over the Strip and the desert was amazing, though she doubted they'd ever have time to look at the view in a room like this.

        "Oh, my gods …" Annabeth trailed off, her eyes widening as she took everything in. "This place is ..."

        Grover supplied the answer, "Sweet. Absolutely sweet."

        There were clothes in the closet, and they fit Josephine perfectly. She frowned heavily, poking her head out of her private room to look at the others. It was all just too strange; too pleasant … She saw Percy throw Ares's backpack in the trash can, as if they didn't need it anymore. Admittedly, it really did seem like they didn’t need those Oreos or that pack of drachma anymore. Everything they could ever need was at their fingertips with one simple, plastic card.

        The first thing Josephine did was take a show. And the show even had her favorite — strawberry scent. Admittedly, it felt amazing after a week of grimy, monstrous travel across the country. She changed clothes, ate a bag of chips, and drank three Dr. Peppers before her stomach pleaded with her to stop. But, all in all, she came out feeling better than she had in a long time. In the back of her mind, some small problem kept nagging at her — but she was sure it could wait. Even that annoying, cruel voice seemed to have dulled to a simple lull.

        Josephine came out of her bedroom and found the other three lounging around, also having refreshed themselves on the hotel's generous dime. Grover was eating chips to his heart's content, all the while Annabeth and Percy fought over the TV remote.

        "All those stations," Percy was telling Annabeth, frowning at her, "and you turn on National Geographic. Are you insane?"

        "It's interesting!"

        “National Geographic!”

        "I feel good …" Grover sighed heavily, smiling placidly as he leaned back on the sofa. "I love this place." Without his even realizing it, the wings sprouted out of his shoes and lifted him a foot off the ground, then back down again.

        "So what now?" Josephine asked, stopping in front of the sofa (and in front of the National Geographic channel that Percy and Annabeth were still bickering over). "Sleep?"

        Suddenly, Grover and Percy looked at each other and grinned. They both held up our green plastic LotusCash cards. "Playtime," Percy told her, an unusual glint in his eyes.

✿

Josephine couldn't remember the last time she had so much fun. She came from a relatively poor family. A family that believed a little too much in hard work and zero play. The Pascual family's idea of fun was eating out, and maybe going to see a movie in the theater (but even the theater was an oddity as Beau hardly had enough to buy them a meal and then two tickets). And then, when Josephine made it to Camp, all there was to do was train and train some more.

        She quickly found Mario Kart, a giant grin forming on her face as she realized what the game was. That was the only game she was ever allowed to play. One of Beau's friends had a kid Josephine's age, and so, when the two adults were writing music together, their kids would often play that game — see which kid was the better cart racer. Josephine proudly won Mario Kart: Super Circuit every time. She spent most of her time competing against another girl, Judith, with Mario Kart. (She raced as Toad while Judith raced as Princess Peach.) They were always trying to beat each other's high score. 

        Eventually, a young boy wandered over at the sound of loud music and dramatic sound effects. He wore a loose-fitted, long-sleeved white shirt and black wool shorts.

        Josephine glanced over, asking him, "You want to play?"

        The boy looked at her with wide, surprisingly dark eyes. "Can I?" he asked. "I've never played this before. I think it's new."

        Josephine smiled down at him. "That's okay! I can teach you how to play." She looked at Judith, saying, "He's gonna go this round instead of me."

        The blonde girl nodded. She had a baby blue dress on, and her blonde hair was curled into perfect ringlets that framed her murky hazel eyes. She had a reddish complexion with light brown freckles splattered across her face. She started the game, and Josephine took that as the time to explain the game to the young boy.

        As she played, she caught glimpses of her friends. Percy was on the artificial ski slope, having gotten tired of bungee jumping six times in a row. Grover was jumping from game to game. He really liked the reverse hunter game — where the deer go out and shoot the rednecks instead of the redneck shooting the deer. Annabeth was playing trivia games and other brainiac stuff — stuff Josephine knew she would enjoy. The casino had a huge 3-D sim game where it was possible to build a whole city from scratch, and the game would let the player see the holographic buildings rise on the display board. It wasn't a game for Josephine, but Annabeth loved it.

        "Josephine!" Judith shouted, snapping her fingers in front of the girl's face. "It's your turn — or the kid's turn."

        The brunette girl looked away from one kid in a red shirt and gigantic blue jean bell-bottoms. "Yeah?" she asked, looking between Judith and the boy. "Oh — right. Yeah. Sorry." She waved the young boy over, who was marveling as the bell-bottom pants kid broke his kill streak. "Come on, Nico. You can play this round."

        The black-haired boy bounded over with an excited smile on his face. Judith tossed him the controller, and he caught it, slinging the strap over his head. The blonde stepped in line with Josephine, waiting for Nico to finish.

        "Are you okay?" Judith asked, leaning over so she didn’t have to yell. "You looked like you spaced out."

        The daughter of Apollo wasn't sure when she couldn't ignore the odd feelings anymore. That annoying voice wasn't a dull hum anymore — it was yelling at her, telling her to get out. Admittedly, Josephine wasn't entirely okay. The people around her looked normal and human enough, but they dressed as if they were from completely different decades. They talked as if from another time, too. At some point, she mentioned something about the music artist Queen and how they started in 1972 in London. (So what if she knew all sorts of little facts about music and musical artists!)

        "Did I?" asked Josephine passively. "Hey — you remember that band I mentioned earlier?"

        Judith's eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, Queen or something. Never heard of them."

        But everyone knew of Queen, even decades after their music reign. Josephine felt a trickle of sweat travel its way down her neck. So ... what band is popular right now?"

        Judith snorted, covering the action with her hand. "Bands? There aren't a lot of bands right now, Josephine."

        Boy bands didn't become marketable until the 1960s, when the Beatles hit the scene over in the U.K.. Josephine knew that, and she was grateful to her past self for struggling through those books about music artists now. She pushed back her hair, prodding with, "Then, who's your favorite artist at the moment?"

        "Elvis," Judith answered quickly.

        "Presley?"

        "What other Elvis is popular right now?"

        "... What's right now?" Josephine asked, her tone careful and slow, as if afraid of the answer she would get.

        Judith looked at her oddly. "1954, Josephine. You're acting really odd, are you sure okay?"

        A bubble of shocked laughter made its way out of Josephine’s chest. "1954 — funny," she said without any humor in her voice. "It's not 1954."

        "Yes, it is," the girl in the dress insisted.

        Josephine took a step back, looking at Judith as if the girl had threatened her life. Judith did look straight out of the fifties. The sloped shoulders of her blue dress, the raised bustline, and the padded skirt with a powdery blue patterned with dainty yellow and pink flowers — the dress style Dior had popularized, the New Dress look. There was a silk pink band looped underneath her head and tied in a perfect bow at the top of her head.

        "Be serious," Josephine insisted, her tone taking on the sound of desperation. She looked around wildly, finding every other kid in that hotel glued to the TV screen, or the video game, or food, or whatever else was entertaining them. She hurried away from Judith and Nico to tap a guy on the shoulder. And when she asked for the year, he monotonously replied 1997. Another guessed it was 1983. When she prodded further, they both didn’t know exactly how long they had been there — a month at the most, but only maybe a week. How long had she been at the casino? It seemed like only a couple of hours, but was it? That man's voice — no, Onesimus's voice — was growing louder, yelling at her for being a fool and falling for the trap. 

        She shook her head, knocking the angry voice around. Shut up, she pleaded with it. I know we messed up, but I don't need you chastising me for it now!

        Josephine tried to remember why they were there. The four — she, Annabeth, Grover, and Percy — were going to Los Angeles. They were supposed to find the entrance to the Underworld. They were heading on a deadly quest to get back Zeus's lightning bolt and save Percy's mother. They had to stop Hades from causing World War III.

        "Oh my gods ..." she muttered under her breath, squeezing between two boys fighting over whose turn it was to play a game. She looked around for any sign of her friends, shaking kids out of their games to ask if anyone had seen a glimpse of anyone that slightly resembled the appearances of Annabeth, Percy, or Grover.

        Josephine rounded a corner, where she had last seen Percy — and ended up running straight into someone. She sprawled on the floor, feeling her hands burn slightly as they scraped against the carpeted floor. "Percy?" she asked, looking at the boy who had slammed his head against hers.

        The son of Poseidon pulled her to her feet, looking scared and panicked. "We have to get out of here!"

        "I know," she agreed with a nod. "This girl swears it's 1954."

        "You've noticed?"

        "Yeah. Do you know how —?"

        Percy shook his head, admitting, "No idea. We just need to find Grover and Annabeth."

        They found Annabeth first. She was building her artificial city.

        "Come on," Percy told the girl. "We've got to get out of here."

        No response.

        Josephine moved Percy out of the way by the shoulders. She saddled up next to Annabeth, gripping the blonde by both shoulders, forcibly turning her body; however, Annabeth’s head moved so her eyes stayed glued to the screen. "Annabeth!" Josephine yelled over all the excitement around them.

        The daughter of Athena finally turned her head to look away. "What?" she asked, obviously annoyed.

        "We have to leave," Josephine told her.

        "Leave? What are you talking about? I've just got the towers —"

        "This place is a trap."

        Annabeth ignored that. Josephine shook her shoulders again. "What?"

        "Listen. The Underworld. Our quest!" Percy chimed in.

        "Oh, come on, Percy." Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Just a few more minutes."

        Josephine was starting to grow desperate. There was no way they could finish this quest without Annabeth (or even Grover!). "Annabeth, there are people here from 1954! Kids who have never aged since entering this place. It's a trap!"

        "So?" The blonde shrugged. "Can you imagine a better place?"

        Josephine frowned deeply, forcibly pulling Annabeth away. The blonde yelled out, trying to shake off Josephine’s hold; however, the daughter of Apollo didn't let go, forcing Annabeth to look her in the eyes. "Spiders. Large, hairy spiders."

        That jarred her. Annabeth's vision cleared, and her jaw dropped. "Oh my gods …" she said. "How long have we —?"

        "We don't know," answered Percy. "But we've got to find Grover!"

        The half-bloods went searching, and finally, they found the satyr still playing Virtual Deer Hunter.

        "Grover!" they all shouted.

        He said: "Die, human! Die, silly, polluting​​​​​​, nasty person!"

        "Grover!" Percy shouted again.

        The satyr turned the plastic gun on the son of Poseidon and started clicking, as if he were just another image from the screen. Josephine and Annabeth looked at each other before taking Grover by the arms and dragging him away. His flying shoes sprang to life and started tugging his legs in the other direction as he shouted, "No! I just got to a new level! No!"

        The Lotus bellhop hurried up to the group of four. "Well, now, are you ready for your platinum cards?"

        "We're leaving," Percy told him, frowning deeply.

        "Such a shame," the worker replied in an odd sing-songy voice, and Josephine got the feeling that he really meant it — they'd be breaking his heart if they left. "We just added an entire new floor full of games for platinum-card members."

        He held out the cards, and Josephine's hand itched to grab one. She knew that if she took one, she'd never leave. She'd stay there, happy forever, playing games forever — but would forget her siblings, Wyatt, the quest, and maybe even her own name. She'd be playing Mario Kart with Judith and Nico until the end of time.

        Onesimus screamed at her; Get out, you dumb girl!

        Grover reached for the card, but Josephine smacked his arm back. Defiantly, she said, "No, thanks. We’re leaving. Now."

        They walked towards the door, and as they did, the smell of the food and the sounds of the games seemed to get more and more inviting. Josephine thought about their room upstairs. They could just stay the night and sleep in a real bed for once …

        Then — they burst through the doors of the Lotus Casino and ran down the sidewalk. It felt like afternoon, about the same time of day they'd gone into the casino, but something was wrong. The weather had completely changed. It was stormy, with heat and lightning flashing out in the desert.

        Somehow, Ares's backpack was slung over Percy's shoulder. It shouldn't have been possible since the boy had thrown it in the trash can in Room 4001. Percy ran to the nearest newspaper stand. The three ran after him, reading over Percy's shoulder. Josephine read the year first. Thank the gods, it was the same year it had been when they had gone in. Then she noticed the date — June twentieth.

        They had been in the Lotus Casino for five days. They had only one day left until the Summer Solstice. One day to complete the quest.

Chapter Text

chapter eleven
❛ stretched limits ❜

━━━━━  TO NO ONE’S surprise, it was Annabeth’s idea. She loaded the other questers into the back of a Vegas taxi (as if they actually had money), telling the driver, "Los Angeles, please."

        The cabbie chewed his cigar, sizing up the four questers. "That's three hundred miles. For that, you gotta pay upfront."

        Annabeth shifted in her seat, starting to pull out her green LotusCash card. "You accept casino debit cards?" she asked.

        He shrugged. "Some of 'em. Same as credit cards. I gotta swipe 'em through, first."

        She leaned forward, holding the green card between her pointer and middle fingers. “Here.”

        However, the man only looked at it skeptically. Josephine didn’t blame him — the card looked like one that would come with a playset for kids to learn how money transactions work.

        The blonde noticed his skepticism. "Swipe it," she invited him, nodding at the machine up front.

        Wordlessly, he passed the cigar from his right to his left, snatching the card out of Annabeth’s fingers. He reached forward, swiping the LotusCash in the machine — the meter machine started rattling on the dashboard. The lights flashed, and finally — an infinity symbol came up next to the dollar sign.

        The cigar fell out of the driver's mouth. He looked back at the four through his rearview mirror, his eyes wide. "Where to in Los Angeles — uh — Your Highness?"

        Annabeth sat up a little straighter. Josephine could tell she liked the Your Highness title. "The Santa Monica pier. Get us there fast — and you can keep the change."

        Maybe she shouldn't have told him that — the "you can keep the change" part. The cab's speedometer never dipped below seventy the whole way through the Mojave Desert. On the road, the questers had plenty of time to talk. Percy told Annabeth, Grover, and Josephine about his latest dream; however, the more he spoke, the more he seemed to be forgetting. The Lotus Casino had short-circuited all of their memories.

        "The servant called the ..." the boy trailed off, not knowing what to name the other person talking. "It — it was the same voice from the dream with my dad and Zeus on the beach shore. The dream where they were fighting, you know? The servants — I thought I recognized the voice, but I'm not sure anymore. But the servant called him 'my lord' — or something like that. I don't remember that well." He shrugged, looking annoyed and bothered.

        "The Silent One?" Annabeth suggested, her eyebrows knitted together. "Or the Rich One? Both are nicknames for Hades."

        "Maybe ..." Percy agreed; however, he didn’t sound sure of what she was suggesting.

        "That throne room sounds like Hades's," Grover spoke up, looking away from the taxi’s window and back to the others. "That's the way it's usually described."

        The son of Poseidon shook his head. "Something's wrong,” he insisted, making Josephine frown. Back at Camp, he had been so sure that Hades was the god who had orchestrated the thievery; now, he was taking that all back. “The throne room wasn't the main part of the dream. And that voice from the pit ... I dunno. It just didn't feel like a god's voice."

        Josephine was sunk in her seat, chewing on her bottom lip as she racked through her knowledge of Greek mythology — unfortunately, she was coming up with nothing. If it was the same voice she had heard in that dream back at Camp, Percy was right, that voice didn't sound like a god's voice. God's voices don't make the blood run cold immediately; that's only after they're angry and threatening someone’s life. It was a time like this when she wished Onesimus would speak up and at least offer up something (even if that offer would also include an insult about Josephine along with it).

        Annabeth's eyes widened. It looked like she had come to a horrible conclusion.

        "What?" Josephine asked, sitting up.

        Annabeth’s eyes snapped over to her. "Oh! N-nothing. I was just — No, it has to be Hades. Maybe he sent this thief, this invisible person, to get the Master Bolt, and something went wrong —"

        "Like what?" Percy prodded.

        "I — I don't know." The daughter of Athena shook her head. "But if he stole Zeus's symbol of power from Olympus, and the gods were hunting him, I mean — a lot of things could go wrong. So this thief had to hide the Bolt, or he lost it somehow. Anyway, he failed to bring it to Hades. That's what the voice said in your dream, right? The guy failed. That would explain what the Furies were searching for when they came after us on the bus. Maybe they thought we had found the Bolt already."

        Josephine wasn't sure what was wrong with Annabeth. The blonde looked petrified. What had she come up with to make her that scared? Josephine thought about her latest dream, where the voice — it still felt weird to give the voice a name, as if it were a real entity — had spoken to her. Someone wanted Onesimus to talk to her. Was it Apollo? Was it that voice she heard in her dream back at Camp, the one telling her that in time she would fall? That voice and Onesimus didn’t sound the same. But how hard could it be to change the sound of your voice when you are already able to speak inside the mind of a demigod?

        "But if I'd already retrieved the Bolt," started Percy, "why would I be traveling to the Underworld?"

        "To threaten Hades," Grover suggested, shrugging lightly. "To bribe or blackmail him into getting your mom back."

        Josephine’s eyebrows raised into her hairline. "I thought you were a pacifist," she pointed out, poking Grover in the shoulder lightly. "You think some evil thoughts."

        The satyr smiled slightly. "Why, thank you!"

        "But the thing in the pit said it was waiting for two items," Percy reminded them, looking at the three individually. "If the Master Bolt is one, what's the other?"

        Grover shook his head, clearly mystified. Annabeth was looking at Percy as if she knew what his next question was, and that she was silently willing him not to ask it. Percy didn't seem to care, asking, "You have an idea what might be in that pit, don't you, Annabeth? I mean, if it isn't Hades?"

        "Percy …” She glanced over to the cabbie, “let's not talk about it. Because if it isn't Hades ... No. It has to be Hades."

        Wasteland rolled by. They passed a sign that said: CALIFORNIA STATE LINE, 12 MILES. Josephine got the feeling they were missing one simple but critical piece of information. It was like when she stared at a common word she should know, but couldn't make sense of it because only one or two letters were floating around in her vision. And it started to become even more confusing — the longer she stared at the word, the more letters started warping and floating. The more she thought about the quest, the more she was sure that confronting Hades wasn't the real answer — the real answer was floating around like those few letters on a simple word, and they wouldn’t stop. There was something else going on; something even more dangerous.

        I never thought I would ask this, she started, her tone pleading, but Onesimus, please talk to me. You have the answers, I know you do!

        His cruel voice didn't respond.

        The brunette audibly sighed and looked out the window.

        Percy leaned over to her, whispering, "You have any more dreams?"

        Her brows knitted together. "What …?" she muttered back. For a split moment, she had forgotten that Percy knew she had dreams and visions. “Oh. Uh — no. No, I haven't." She waited for Onesimus to chime in and call her a liar, but he never did. "But ... I have been thinking Hades isn't the answer. Call it gut instinct."

        The son of Poseidon didn't look happy, but he tried to smile. "Your gut instincts are magical or something?"

        "I like to think so," she admitted, shrugging with some embarrassment. "Maybe my gut instincts are also driven by visions."

        He frowned slightly. "Is that even possible?"

        "My hands glow green," she replied dryly. "And you can breathe underwater. Isn’t that what you told me before? Why are you asking about possibilities now?"

        Even if Josephine felt a little lighter after having a not-so-serious conversation with Percy, there was still one massive problem. They were hurtling towards the Underworld at seventy miles per hour, betting (or more like hoping) that Hades had the Master Bolt. If they got there and found out they were wrong, there would be absolutely no time in the world to correct their mistake. The Summer Solstice deadline would pass, and war would begin — a war so catastrophic it'd be considered the next World War. And that was if they even made it out of the Underworld. Josephine doubted they could just waltz in, accuse Hades of being the thief (potentially incorrectly), and waltz back out — no, he would kill them on the spot and probably send them to the Fields of Punishment.

        Josephine thought about all that her dreams and Onesimus have been telling her. It didn't make sense (not at all), but she still couldn't help but try and connect the dots. After the Winter Solstice last December, her nightmares became worse — rapidly, at that. Then, after Percy arrived at Camp, Onesimus started talking to her — a lot, as well. Then, she discovered her hands glowed green, and she could give people boils on the quest she was told to go on. And now Onesimus was telling her that someone sent him to talk to Josephine and that “in time,” she’ll be told things that will terrify her. All lovely stuff. And what any of that meant, Josephine had no idea. She really hated the unknown.

        "The answer is in the Underworld," Annabeth assured Percy. "You saw spirits of the dead, Percy. There's only one place that could be. We're doing the right thing."

        The daughter of Athena tried to boost their morale by suggesting clever strategies for getting into the Land of the Dead, but Josephine's heart wasn't in it — none of their hearts were in it, not even Annabeth’s. There were just too many unknown factors. It was like cramming for a test without knowing the subject. They were only able to plan so much with so little time and so little information given to them. 

        The cab sped west. Every gust of wind through Death Valley sounded like a spirit of the dead. Every time the brakes hissed on an eighteen-wheeler, it reminded Josephine of Echidna's reptilian voice.

✿

At sunset, the taxi dropped them off at the beach in Santa Monica. It looked exactly the way L.A. beaches do in the movies — only the fact that it smelled horrible. There were carnival rides lining the pier, palm trees lining the sidewalks, homeless guys sleeping in the sand dunes, and surfers waiting for the perfect wave.

        The four questers walked down to the edge of the surf.

        "What now?" Josephine asked, breaking the silence among them.

        The Pacific was turning gold with the setting sun. It amazed Josephine that the gods could control things that changed the fabric of the world they lived in. Apollo, her father, controlled the sun, and without him and his light, the world would be in shambles. Poseidon, the God of the Sea, controlled the majority of the earth. There was more water than land on the planet. If either god ever wanted to strike back at humanity, there would be nothing humans could do — besides wait for their demise, that is.

        Josephine wondered if Percy would ever think of that. Two-thirds of the earth's surface was water, it was in the air all around them, and it was constantly at their disposal if they knew the right places to look. She had to wonder if Percy would ever realize how powerful he could be.

        Suddenly, he stepped into the surf. She frowned after him, her voice laced with confusion as she called, "Percy? What are you doing?"

        However, Percy kept on walking, further into the water until it was up to his waist, then to his chest.

        "Percy!" she called again. "Are you okay?"

        Annabeth was frowning. "You know how polluted that water is? There're all kinds of toxic —"

        That's when his head went underwater.

        "He does know he's not immune to any of that gunk in the water just because his dad is the God of the Sea?" Josephine looked out into the water, scanning for any sign of Percy. "And so, when he comes down with something, he is all on his own!”

        Annabeth sighed, placing her hands on her hips. "We're just gonna have to wait for him to get back."

        "Hopefully with answers," Grover added, plopping down into the sand.

        Josephine sat beside the satyr with a huff, drawing her name out in the sand before wiping it away. She watched the sun as it slowly got closer to the sea, waves rippling with the pinks, oranges, and yellows of the sunset. That's when she started to miss Camp more than ever, watching as the last rays of the day disappeared. She missed it all — the routine, her siblings, and even the brightness of Cabin Seven during the day. She missed sitting around the campfire every night (’cause gods know she was too afraid to sing with the rest of her siblings for a sing-along). She even missed trying not to get pulverized by the Ares Cabin during every Capture the Flag game. Josephine wanted to get back home. Where she was safe and happy — as happy as she could be with so many secrets and shortcomings.

        Finally, when the sunset was almost gone completely, Percy came out of the sea. He told the three waiting what had happened while he was under the sea, and then he showed them the pearls.

        Annabeth grimaced at the sight of them. "No gift comes without a price," she warned him.

        He frowned at her, tucking them back away in his pocket. "They were free," he protested.

        "No, they weren't." Josephine shook her head. "There's a phrase in Ancient Greek that translates pretty well into English: 'There is no such thing as a free lunch.' So, there will be a price — eventually."

        Grover sighed and stood up, wiping the sand from his fake shoes and pants. "Thank you for being such an optimist, Josephine …"

        She frowned at him, placing her hands on her hips. “I’m being honest, not … an optimist!”

✿

With some spare change from Ares's backpack, they took the bus into West Hollywood. Percy showed the driver the Underworld address slip he'd taken from Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium, however, the driver claimed he had never even heard of DOA Recording Studios.

        As they started to walk to some open seats, the driver pointed at Josephine and Percy. "You know … you two remind me of something I saw on TV," he said, and all of them froze in panic. "You two child actors of something?"

        "We're …” Percy started nervously, glancing at Josephine, stunt doubles. For a lot of child actors. Lots of business out there for that kind of stuff."

        "Oh!” The driver nodded, waving them along. “That explains it."

        They thanked him and got off quickly at the next stop. Quickly, Josephine smacked Percy on the back of the head. "What kind of lie was that?" she demanded.

        He cradled the back of his head, glaring daggers at her. "It was better than any lie you could've come up with!" he hissed.

        “It wasn’t a good lie, though!”

        They wandered for miles on foot, looking for DOA. Nobody seemed to know where it was. It didn't appear in the phone book. Twice, they had to duck into alleys to avoid cop cars.

        For no apartment reason, Percy froze in front of an appliance store window, and when Josephine looked — in the window was a television, and it was playing an interview with some bald, older man. The man was talking to Barbara Walters. She was interviewing him in a nasty apartment, where he was clearly in the middle of a poker game, and sitting beside the man was a young blonde lady. She continuously kept patting his hand in some comforting manner.

        One obvious crocodile tear glistened on the man's cheek as he painfully bemoaned. "Honest, Ms. Walters, if it wasn't for Sugar here — my grief counselor — I'd be a wreck. My stepson took everything I cared about. My wife ... my Camaro ... I — I'm sorry. I have trouble talking about it."

        Barbara Walters turned to the camera, a look of sympathy written across her face. "There you have it, America. A man torn apart. An adolescent boy with serious issues. Let me show you, again, the last known photo of this troubled young fugitive, taken a week ago in Denver."

        Across the screen, covering Ms. Walters and the bald man — a grainy shot of Percy, Josephine, Annabeth, and Grover standing outside the Colorado diner, talking to Ares. Josephine glanced at Percy, remembering something he told her — he had a stepdad that Grover believes his mother only married because he smelled so disgustingly human to hide Percy’s demigod scent. The bald, ugly man had to be Percy’s stepdad.

        "Who are the other children in this photo?” prompted Barbara Walters, continuing to speak as the photo was still on screen. “One is certainly the accomplice spotted with Jackson back in the Gateway Arch explosion. However she is still unnamed. But who is the man with them? Is Percy Jackson a delinquent, a terrorist, or perhaps,” she paused for a short moment, to make it even more dramatic, “the brainwashed victim of a frightening new cult? When we come back, we chat with a leading child psychologist. Stay tuned, America."

        "C'mon," Grover told Percy. He hauled the boy away before he could punch a hole in the appliance store window. (Which would certainly earn them another news coverage.)

        It got dark, and hungry-looking characters started coming out on the streets to play. If Josephine had been two years younger, she would've been cowering in a corner; however, she had made her way across America and throughout sketchy cities. Still, L.A. was intimidating, and she still wanted to cower in the corners. The city was spread out, chaotic, and hard to move around in. It reminded her of Ares. It wasn't enough for L.A. to be big; it had to prove it was big by being loud, strange, and difficult to navigate. She didn't know how they were ever going to find the entrance to the Underworld by the next day, the Summer Solstice.

        They walked past gangbangers, bums, and street hawkers, who looked at them like they were trying to decide if they were worth the trouble of mugging. Some of them eyed Annabeth and Josephine with hungry looks.

        As they hurried past the entrance of an alley, a voice called from the darkness, "Hey, you."

        And, like a total idiot who had never lived in New York, Percy stopped.

        Before Josephine knew it, she and her friends were surrounded. A gang of kids had circled them. There were six of them — kids with expensive clothes and mean faces. The kind of kids who could cause trouble with poorer kids and play victim to get out of any trouble. The kind of kids Josephine hated. One of the boys focused on Josephine, readying his fist like he was going to punch her.

        Admittedly, she had never been in a fight with a mortal kid before. She always opted to just stay hidden in the back of crowds and classrooms when the rich kids went searching in school. She didn’t want to fight this kid, but as he drew his fist back, she seemingly didn’t have much choice — until Percy pulled out Riptide. (An even more idiotic decision on his part.)

        When the sword appeared out of nowhere, the gold light bathing the dark L.A. street, the mortal kids backed off. However, the leader was either really stupid or stupidly brave as he changed his target from Josephine to Percy, taking out a switchblade.

        Then, Percy stupidly swung his sword.

        (There was a lot of stupidity going around, it appeared.)

        The kid yelped. But he must've been one hundred percent mortal as the blade passed harmlessly right through his chest. He looked down, his brows knitting together. "What the fuck …?"

        Percy looked at the others desperately. "Run!" he screamed to them.

        He and Annabeth pushed two kids out of the way, leading the way for Josephine and Grover to follow. They raced down the dark street, Riptide providing hardly any light as Percy’s arms moved as he ran. None of them knew where they were going. Despite that, they turned a sharp corner.

        "There!" Annabeth shouted, pointing wildly.

        Only one store on the block looked open, its windows glaring with neon. The sign above the door said something like CRSTUY'S WATREBDE ALPACE.

        "Crusty's Waterbed Palace?" Grover translated as they ran closer to it.

        Admittedly, it didn't sound like a place Josephine would ever go except in an emergency, but this definitely qualified. The four burst through the doors, ran behind a waterbed, and ducked down, all breathing heavily. A split second later, the gang kids ran past outside — but they didn’t run inside the shop.

        "We lost them," Josephine sighed, her shoulder hanging with relief.

        A voice behind them boomed, "Lost who?"

        They all jumped. Standing behind them was a guy who looked like a raptor in a leisure suit. He was at least seven feet tall, with absolutely no hair. He had grey, leathery skin, thick-lidded eyes, and a cold, reptilian smile. He moved towards them slowly, but Josephine got the feeling he could move fast if he needed to. His suit might've come from the Lotus Casino; it belonged back in the seventies. The shirt was silk paisley, unbuttoned halfway down his hairless chest. The lapels on his velvet jacket were as wide as landing strips. The silver chains around his neck — Josephine couldn't even count them.

        "I'm Crusty," he greeted, giving the four a tartar-yellow smile.

        He really didn't have to tell them that. Josephine knew immediately by his appearance.

        "Sorry to barge in," Percy told him. "We were just — um — browsing."

        "You mean hiding from those no-good kids," Crusty grumbled, his eyes flickering up to the window. "They hang around every night. I get a lot of people in here, thanks to them. Say, you want to look at a waterbed?"

        Josephine was about to say “No, thanks,” when he put a huge paw on her shoulder and steered her deeper into the showroom. There was every kind of waterbed ever imaginable — different kinds of wood, different patterns of sheets; queen-size, king-size, emperor-of-the-universe-size.

        "This is my most popular model." Crusty spread his hands proudly over a bed covered with black satin sheets, with built-in Lava Lamps on the headboard. The mattress vibrated, so it looked like oil-flavored jelly. "Million-hand massage," Crusty told them. "Go on, try it out. Shoot, take a nap. I don't care. No business today, anyway."

        "Um ..." Josephine said, "No, thank you — uh — sir. We —"

        "Million-hand massage!" Grover cried. Soon, he dove into the mattress. "Oh, you guys! This is cool."

        "Hm …" Crusty said, stroking his leathery chin. "Almost, almost …"

        Percy frowned, repeating, "Almost what?"

        Crusty looked at Annabeth and Josephine. "You two girls, do me a favor and try these over here. Might fit."

        Annabeth’s eyebrows knitted. "But what —?"

        The man patted her reassuringly on the shoulder, leading her and Josephine over to the Safari Deluxe model with teakwood lions carved into the frame and a leopard-patterned bedspread, and the LEGO Mania model with the board and base built from giant LEGO pieces and a patterned LEGO bedspread. When the two girls didn't want to lie down, Crusty pushed them.

        "Hey!" Josephine protested loudly.

        Crusty snapped his fingers. "Ergo!"

        Ropes sprang from the sides of the bed, lashing around Josephine and Annabeth, holding them to the mattresses. Grover tried to get up; however, there were ropes springing up from his bed, too, lashing him down as well. "Not cool!" the satyr yelled, his voice vibrating from the million-hand massage. "Not cool at all!"

        The giant looked down at Josephine and Annabeth, then turned towards Percy and grinned. "Almost. Damn it."

        Percy took one step away; however, Crusty grabbed him by the back of the neck like a misbehaving kitten. "Whoa, kid. Don't worry. We'll find you one in a sec."

        "Let my friends go." Percy tried to kick him.

        "Oh, sure, I will. But I got to make them fit, first."

        "What do you mean?"

        "All the beds are exactly six feet, see? Your friends are too short. Got to make them fit."

        Josephine's eyes widened. She twisted her right hand around to grab the rope, praying for any sign of the green glow to rot the rope away. Nearby, Annabeth and Grover kept struggling.

        "Can't stand imperfect measurements," Crusty muttered. "Ergo!"

        A new set of ropes leaped out from the top and bottom of the waterbeds, wrapping around Grover, Annabeth, and Josephine's ankles, then around their armpits. The ropes started tightening, pulling them from both ends. Josephine could barely focus on summoning that burning feeling beneath her skin, trying not to cry out from the pain. It was a type of pain she had never felt before — the pain of being stretched alive, her joints ready to pop out of their sockets and detach from her body.

        "Don't worry," Crusty told Percy. "These are stretching jobs. Maybe three extra inches on their spines. They might even live. Now, why don't we find a bed you like, huh?"

        "Percy!" Grover yelled.

        With each passing second, the pain worsened. Josephine would have given almost anything to stop it. She tried focusing on anything else around her. She tried telling herself that Percy could get them out of this alive. However, her hopes weren’t high as she saw Percy just standing there. And her hopes were completely dashed when he blurted, "Your real name's not Crusty, is it?"

        "Legally, it's Procrustes," he admitted, shrugging casually. If Josephine's body wasn't about to be snapped in half, she would have an Of course moment. She remembered the story — the giant who tried to kill Theseus with over-hospitality on his way to Athens.

        "The Stretcher," Percy said.

        "Yeah," the salesman said. "But who can pronounce 'Procrustes?' Bad for business. Now, 'Crusty,' anybody can say that."

        "You're right. It's got a good ring to it."

        The monster's eyes lit up. "You think so?"

        "Oh, absolutely." Percy nodded along. "And the workmanship on these beds? Fabulous!"

        Josephine wanted to scream. Percy had to stop trying to make friends with Procrustes to get them free, it would take too long to work.

        The giant grinned hugely, but his fingers didn't loosen on Percy's neck. "I tell my customers that. Every time. Nobody bothers to look at the workmanship. How many built-in Lava Lamp headboards have you seen?"

        "Not too many."

        "That's right!"

        "Percy!" Annabeth yelled. "What are you doing?"

        "Don't mind her," Percy told Procrustes, waving his hand lazily. "She's impossible."

        The giant laughed. "All my customers are. Never six feet exactly. So inconsiderate. And then they complain about the fitting."

        "What do you do if they're longer than six feet?"

        "Oh, that happens all the time. It's a simple fix."

        He let go of Percy's neck, but before the boy could react, he reached behind a nearby sales desk and brought out a huge double-bladed brass ax. He held it out to Percy, saying, "I just center the subject as best I can and lop off whatever hangs over on either end."

        "Ah," Percy said, swallowing hard. "Sensible."

        "I'm so glad to come across an intelligent customer!"

        Josephine gripped the ropes around her wrist tightly, feeling the burn from the green glow. Her stomach churned with pain and adrenaline; her bones and joints screamed out in agony. The ropes started to fray around her palms and fingers. The ropes were really stretching them now. Annabeth was turning pale. Grover made gurgling sounds like a strangled goose.

        "So, Crusty ..." Percy started, trying to keep his voice light. Josephine saw him glance at the sales tag on the Valentine-shaped Honeymoon Special. "Does this one really have dynamic stabilizers to stop wave motion?"

        The ropes snapped in Josephine's hands. She shook off the melted pieces, grabbing her daggers from their resting place. She sliced through the ropes around her armpits, sawing through the ropes around her ankles. She ignored the horrible aching her body screamed with the best she could; Josephine didn't have time to cry in pain.

        "Absolutely. Try it out."

        "Yeah, maybe I will. But would it work even for a big guy like you? No waves at all?"

        "Guaranteed."

        "No way."

        "Way."

        "Show me."

        Procrustes sat down eagerly on the bed, and he patted the mattress. "No waves. See?"

        Percy snapped his fingers. "Ergo."

        Ropes lashed around Crusty and flattened him against the mattress. "Hey!" he yelled.

        Josephine stumbled off the bed, bracing herself against Annabeth's. When the bed moved, the daughter of wisdom looked over, her eyes so glassy that it scared Josephine. She sawed away at the ropes around Annabeth's wrist and arms, letting Annabeth cut the ones around her ankles so she could go help Grover. Josephine snuck over to the satyr.

        "Center him just right," Josephine heard Percy say.

        The ropes readjusted themselves at the boy's command. Crusty's whole head stuck out the top. His feet stuck out the bottom.

        "No!" the giant said. "Wait! This is just a demo."

        Percy uncapped Riptide. "A few simple adjustments ..." he murmured.

        "You drive a hard bargain," the monster told Percy. "I'll give you thirty percent off on selected floor models!"

        "I think I'll start with the top." The son of the sea raised his sword.

        "No money down! No interest for six months!"

        Percy swung the sword — Crusty stopped making offers.

        Grover sat up, holding onto Josephine's arm after she finished cutting away at the ropes around his wrists and arms. The girl was glaring at Percy as he walked back over. "It took you long enough," she snapped.

       Percy raised his eyebrows at Josephine. "Sorry," he amended. "At least you look taller."

       Her eyes hardened. "Hilarious. I had to use those freaky green powers to get out, you know."

       Percy rolled his eyes, looking at the bulletin board behind Procrustes' sales desk. There was an advertisement for Hermes Delivery Service, and another for the All-New Compendium of L.A. Area Monsters — “The only Monstrous Yellow Pages you'll ever need!” Under that, a brought an orange flyer for DOA Recording Studios, offering commissions for heroes' souls. “We are always looking for new talent!” DOA's address was right underneath with a map.

       "Come on," Percy said, tugging the map off the board.

        "Give us a minute," Grover complained, rubbing his back. "We were almost stretched to death!"

        "Then you're ready for the Underworld," said Percy, turning back around to face them. He waved the paper slightly to grab their attention. "It's only a block from here."

Chapter Text

chapter twelve
❛ breaking and entering ❜

━━━━━  THE FOUR STOOD in the shadows of Valencia Boulevard, looking up at the gold letters etched in black marble: DOA RECORDING STUDIOS. Underneath, stenciled on the glass doors: NO SOLICITORS. NO LOITERING. NO LIVING. It was almost midnight by now, but the lobby was brightly lit and full of people. Behind the security desk sat a tough-looking guard with sunglasses and an earpiece.

        Percy turned to his three companions. "Okay. You remember the plan."

        "The plan." Grover swallowed nervously, his eyes darting around the building. "Yeah. I love the plan …"

        Annabeth’s eyebrows were knitted. She had her thinking face on. "What happens if the plan doesn't work?"

        "Don't think negatively," Percy chided her. However, the way he said it, it sounded more like a question than a command.

        Josephine looked at the building with wary eyes. "You're telling us not to think negatively as we're entering the Land of the Dead. That seems a little counter-intuitive to me …"

        You're getting closer, Onesimus told her. The time is coming near.

        And this isn't the time for you to talk, she hissed back at him. Earlier would've been great if you gave me some answers, but don't talk now.

        I can't give you answers, he told her. Not yet, anyway.

        The son of Poseidon took the pearls out of his pocket, the four milky spheres the Nereid had given him in Santa Monica. Josephine never said it aloud, but the gift didn't seem like much of a backup in case something went wrong. 

        Noticing his worried expression, she sighed and placed a hand on Percy's shoulder. "You're right, I — we," she gave Annabeth a hard look, “shouldn't be so negative. We'll make it, I'm sure of it.” She looked not-so-discreetly at Annabeth and Grover, not-so-secretly hinting at them to add comments.

        The satyr’s mouth formed a small O. "Uh … oh, right!" the satyr chimed in. "We got this far. We'll find the Master Bolt and save your mom. No problem. No problem at all!"

        Annabeth tried to give Percy a smile. "Yeah, they're right. The plan's gonna work perfectly."

        Percy managed to give the three a small smile before slipping the four pearls back into his pocket. "Let's whup some Underworld ass."

        Smiling slightly at the ridiculousness of his sentence, Josephine walked after Percy into the DOA lobby. Onesimus was whispering in her head — an odd half-chant and half-chid. She shook her head, rattling the man's voice around her mind.

        Inside the DOA lobby, Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel grey. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and Josephine saw that every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, standing up, staring out the windows, or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, talked — or did much of anything at all. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see them all just fine; however, if she focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking ... transparent. She could see right through their bodies. They were all ghosts.

        The security guard's desk was a raised podium, so they had to look up at him. He was tall and elegant, with dark-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.

        Josephine read the name tag, and she then looked at the man with bewilderment. She was sure her mouth was hanging open and that her expression wasn't very kind.

        Percy leaned closer to the man, asking, "Your name is Chiron?"

        The man leaned across the desk, closer to the black-haired boy. Josephine couldn't see anything in his glasses — except hers and Percy's reflections, that is. The man’s smile was sweet and cold at the same time. "What a precious young lad." He had a strange accent — British, maybe, but also as if he had learned English as a second language. "Tell me, mate, do I look like a centaur?"

        "Well … n-no."

        "Sir," the not-Chiron man added smoothly.

        "Sir," Percy repeated.

        The man pinched the name tag and ran his finger under the letters. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON."

        "Charon."

        "Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon."

        Percy glanced at Josephine briefly. "... Mr. Charon."

        "Well done." The man sat back. "I hate being confused with that old horseman. And now, how may I help you, little dead ones?"

        Percy, looking like he had just gotten sucker punched in the gut, looked at Josephine. She only shook her head in disapproval. Both of them knew just how horrible a liar she was.

        Annabeth shoved an arm between them, shoving her body in between the two and making them stumble to the side. She placed her arms on the counter to see Charon better as she declared, "We want to go to the Underworld."

        Charon's mouth twitched — maybe in amusement, maybe in annoyance, or more likely, an odd mix of both. "Well, that's refreshing."

        Josephine's brows knitted. "What do you mean?"

        "Straightforward and honest. No screaming. No, 'There must be a mistake, Mr. Charon.’" He suddenly looked the four over, his eyebrows over the rims of his glasses. "How did you die, then?"

        Before Annabeth could come up with another lie, Grover spoke up. "Oh ... um ... drowned — in the bathtub."

        Charon’s eyebrows raised higher. "All four of you?"

        With no other choice, they nodded to him. (However, Annabeth did give the satyr dagger eyes, and he shrank back into his skin, giving her an apologetic smile.)

        "Big bathtub," Charon remarked, looking mildly impressed. "I don't suppose you have coins for passage. Normally, with adults, you see, I could charge your American Express, or add the ferry price to your last cable bill. But with children ... alas, you never die prepared. Suppose you'll have to take a seat for a few centuries."

        Fortunately for them, Annabeth had reminded all of them that nothing was free; even more fortunate, Crusty had a stash of drachmas in a drawer of his office desk — that Percy ended up taking. It wasn’t like Crusty needed them anyway. Percy pulled out the pouch the drachmas were in, saying, “Oh … but we have coins.” He placed four golden coins on the counter — one for each of them.

        "Well, now ..." Charon licked his lips. "Real drachmas. Real golden drachmas. I haven't seen these in ..." His fingers hovered greedily over the coins. They were so close. Onesimus was getting louder in Josephine's head, urging her to hurry up. Suddenly, Charon looked at Percy. "Here now …" he started, "you couldn't read my name correctly. Are you dyslexic, lad?"

        "No." Percy shook his head. "I'm dead."

        Josephine sucked in her bottom lip, trying to stop either reaction she was about to give — laughter at the ridiculous statement or anger at the ridiculous statement. 

        Charon leaned forward and took a sniff of them. "You're not dead. I should've known. You're a godling."

        "But, sir” — Josephine pushed past Annabeth to lean closer to Charon — “we have to get to the Underworld!"

        Charon made a growling sound deep in his throat. Immediately, all the people in the waiting room got up and started pacing, agitated, lighting cigarettes, running their hands through their hair, or checking their wristwatches. Charon straightened behind the desk. "Leave while you can," he told the questers. "I'll just take these and forget I saw you."

        He started to go for the coins, however, Percy got there first. He swiped them off the counter, stuffing them back in the pouch. "No service, no tip," he snapped.

        Charon growled again — a deep, blood-chilling sound. The spirits of the dead started pounding on the elevator doors.

        However, that didn’t deter Percy. He sighed deeply, saying, "It's a shame, too … We had more to offer." He held up the entire bag from Crusty's stash. The son of Poseidon took out a fistful of drachmas and let the coins spill through his fingers — they noisily fell back into the cloth bag, shining in the dark lobby of DOA.

        Charon's growl changed into something more like a lion's purr. "Do you think I can be bought, godling? Eh ... just out of curiosity, how much have you got there?"

        "A lot." Percy nodded confidently. "I bet Hades doesn't pay you well enough for such hard work."

        "Oh, you don't know the half of it. How would you like to babysit these spirits all day? Always 'Please don't let me be dead' or 'Please let me across for free.’ I haven't had a pay raise in three thousand years. Do you imagine suits like this come cheap?"

        Josephine glanced at Percy. She knew what he was trying to do — sweeten the ferryman up so he would let them into the Underworld even though they were not dead. And Percy was trying to do it with golden drachmas and the promise of pay raises. “Yeah …” she started. “You do deserve better and better pay, Mr. Charon. And a lot more appreciation and respect. More gratitude, too. This kinda job can’t be easy.”

        With each word the daughter of Apollo listed off — better pay, appreciation, respect, gratitude — Percy stacked another gold coin on the counter. Charon glanced down at his silk Italian jacket, as if imagining himself in something even better. "I must say, kids, you're making some sense now. Just a little."

        Percy stacked another few coins, adding, "I could mention a pay raise while I'm talking to Hades."

        Charon sighed, his shoulders sagging at the mere idea of better pay and higher-quality suits. "The boat's almost full, anyway. I might as well add you four and be off." He stood, scooped up the coins Percy had stacked, and said, "Come along."

        The four pushed through the crowd of waiting spirits, who started grabbing at their clothes like the wind, their voices whispering things Josephine couldn't make out. However, Charon shoved them out of the way, grumbling, "Freeloaders …"

        He escorted them into the elevator, which was already crowded with souls of the dead, each one holding a green boarding pass. It was bad enough to stand out like a sore thumb for being alive, adding to the fact that they didn’t have boarding passes either. Josephine spotted two spirits trying to hitch a ride by hiding behind Grover (who jumped a foot into the air when he realized); however, Charon grabbed the spirits and shoved them back into the lobby — no matter how much they wailed that they deserved the four spots on the boat.

        "Right,” Charon sighed,  wiping his hands clean of those two souls. He gave the spirits in the lobby a hard look over his glasses, announcing loudly, “Now, no one get any ideas while I'm gone. And if anyone moves the dial off my easy-listening station again, I'll make sure you're here for another thousand years. Understand?"

        Instead of letting the spirits have a chance at replying, the doors slid shut at the press of a button. He pulled out a key card from his suit’s pockets and slipped it into a slot in the elevator panel — then, they started to descend.

        Annabeth was the one to break the silence. "What happens to the spirits waiting in the lobby?"

        "Nothing," Charon said.

        Josephine glanced at the blonde, exchanging a look with her. "For how long? Like … forever?"

        Charon nodded. "Forever. Or — until I'm feeling generous."

        "Oh," said the daughter of wisdom. Then, she started to nod slowly in understanding. "That's ... fair."

        Charon arched a single eyebrow at her. "Whoever said death was fair, young miss? Wait until it's your turn. You'll die soon enough, where you're going."

        Percy frowned at Charon’s words. "We'll get out alive," he was insistent.

        The ancient ferryman snorted at the son of Poseidon's optimism, ending the conversation there — ending on an abrupt, sad tone.

        Suddenly, Josephine got a dizzy feeling. They weren't going down anymore. Now, they were going forward. It was like the Arch’s elevator, but a million times worse. Hades was going to be a million times worse than Echidna and the Chimera. The air turned misty around them; the spirits started changing shapes. Their modern clothes — jeans, polos, dresses — were flickering, morphing into grey hooded robes. The floor of the elevator began swaying beneath them.

        Closer, Onesimus insisted. You'll get some answers soon.

        Josephine blinked hard. When she opened her eyes, Charon's creamy Italian suit had been replaced — now, by a long black robe. His tortoiseshell glasses were gone. Where his eyes should've been were empty sockets — like Ares's eyes, except Charon's were entirely dark, full of night and death and despair.

        Charon must’ve felt eyes on him, as his head snapped over to Josephine. She jumped at the sudden attention, and he cocked his head at her. "Well?" he prompted.

        Josephine averted her eyes quickly. "N-nothing," she croaked.

        The daughter of Apollo thought Charon was grinning — but, no, he wasn’t grinning at her. The flesh of his face was becoming transparent, letting her see straight through to his skull. The floor kept swaying. Suddenly, Josephine wasn't sure if it was because of pure shock coursing through her body. She was seeing Charon's skull, here.

        Grover groaned, clutching his stomach. "I think I'm getting seasick …"

        She looked at the satyr with pleading eyes. "Don't you dare puke."

        When she blinked again, the elevator wasn't an elevator anymore. They were standing in a wooden barge. Charon was poling them across a dark, oily river, swirling with bones, dead fish, and other, stranger things — plastic dolls, crushed carnations, soggy diplomas with gilt edges.

        "The River Styx," Josephine murmured, frowning deeply. "It's so ..."

        "Polluted," Charon agreed. "For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything you come across — hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me."

        Mist curled off the filthy water. Above them, almost lost in the gloom, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the far shore glimmered with greenish light, the color of poison. Josephine's stomach lurched at the sight; that was the exact same green her hands glowed. She knew that meant something, she was just now realizing she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want the answers to those questions as badly as she once thought she did — not if it meant having to go to the Underworld for them.

        Panic had long seized Josephine's heart. She had no place there. She didn't belong — not yet, at least. She wasn't dead, but the people around her were. In search of something she knew was alive, she seized Percy's hand, holding it tightly. She needed reassurance that someone also had a beating heart. She needed to make sure the people she was on a quest with hadn't suddenly disappeared. Percy seemed to understand her worries. He never let go of her hand; in fact, he squeezed her hand tightly, as if making sure she was still alive, too.

        The daughter of Apollo found herself muttering a prayer — maybe to her father, maybe to the Fates to reconsider if they really wanted this to be her last moments, maybe even to Onesimus that the answers to her questions truly would be worth it. However, she wasn't sure how much her prayers would matter. Down here, only one god mattered, and he was the one they had to confront.

        The shoreline of the Underworld came into view. Craggy rocks and black volcanic sand stretched inland about a hundred yards to the base of a high stone wall, which marched off in either direction as far as Josephine could see. A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones — the howl of a large animal.

        "Old Three-Face is hungry," Charon remarked, his tone taking on a sickly humorous sound. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. "Bad luck for you, godlings."

        The bottom of the boat slid onto the black sand, jarring them to a full stop. The dead began to disembark — a woman holding a little girl's hand; an old man and an old woman hobbling along arm in arm; a boy no older than Josephine was, shuffling silently along in his grey robe.

        Charon looked at the questers, but Josephine felt he was looking right through them. "I'd wish you luck, mate,” he remarked, “but there isn't any down here. Mind you, don't forget to mention my pay raise.”

        He counted their gold coins into his pouch, then took up his pole. He warbled something that sounded like a Barry Manilow song as he ferried the empty barge back across the river. With no other option left, the four followed the spirits up a well-worn path.

        No luck down here, especially for the unlucky, Onesimus agreed. So listen to me, Josephine Pascual.

✿

Josephine wasn't sure what she was expecting — Pearly Gates, a big black portcullis, or something. But the entrance to the Underworld looked like a cross between airport security and the Jersey Turnpike. There were three separate entrances under one huge black archway that said: YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS. Each entrance had a pass-through metal detector mounted with security cameras. Beyond this were toll booths manned by black-robed ghouls like Charon.

        The howling of the hungry animal was really loud now, but she couldn't see where it was coming from. The three-headed dog, Cerberus, who was supposed to guard Hades's door, was nowhere to be seen — for now, at least.

        The dead queued up in the three lines, two marked: ATTENDANT ON DUTY, and the other marked: EZ DEATH. The EZ DEATH line was moving right along. The other two were crawling at a snail’s pace.

        "What do you figure?" Percy asked, looking at the others. He gestured between the three lines.

        "The fast line must go straight to Asphodel," Annabeth murmured, probably correct in the assumption. "No contest to get in. They don't want to risk judgment from the court, because it might go against them."

        Percy’s eyebrows raised. "There's a court for dead people?"

        Josephine nodded. "Yeah. Three judges. They switch who sits on the bench. King Minos, Thomas Jefferson, Shakespeare — people like that. Sometimes they look at a life and decide that person needs a special reward — the Fields of Elysium. Sometimes they decide on punishment — you know, someone who’s done something really bad. But most people — well — they just lived. Nothing special, good or bad. So they go to the Fields of Asphodel."

        "And do what?"

        Grover shrugged. "Imagine standing in a wheat field in Kansas. Forever."

        It wasn't the ending Josephine wanted for herself. Or Mrs. Hall. Neither of them deserved that. But her father … Truthfully, she didn’t know if he deserved that either. He was just a man trying to get along, too.

        "Harsh," murmured Percy.

        "But there's harsher," Josephine told him. She pointed and he followed her lead. "Look."

        Where she was pointing — a couple of black-robed ghouls had pulled aside one spirit and were frisking him at the security desk.

        "He's that preacher who made the news, remember?" Grover asked.

        "Oh, yeah," Percy said, staring at the man. "What're they doing to him?"

        "Special punishment, I'm sure," replied Josephine. "Those kinds of punishments are given out by Hades. The really bad people get his personal attention as soon as they arrive. The Kindly Ones will set up eternal torture for him."

        As soon as the word “Kindly Ones” rolled off her tongue, a shiver crawled up her spine. Josephine realized she was in their home territory now. There would be no easy escape from the Kindly Ones.

        "But if he's a preacher," the black-haired boy started, his brows knitted in confusion, "and he believes in a different hell ..."

        Grover shrugged. "Who says he's seeing this place the way we're seeing it? Humans see what they want to see. They're very stubborn” — he glanced at the other three awkwardly, realizing he was the only one who wasn’t human among them — “persistent, that way."

        The four got closer to the gates. The howling was so loud now it shook the ground beneath Josephine's feet, but still, she couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Then, about fifty in front of them, the green mist shimmered — standing just where the path split into three lanes was an enormous shadowy monster. She hadn't seen it before because it was half transparent, like the dead. Until it moved, it blended with whatever was behind it. Only its eyes and teeth looked solid. And it was staring straight at them.

        Percy's jaw hung open. "He's a Rottweiler."

        Josephine gave the boy an odd look. "He has three heads and is even bigger than the Chimera, and that’s what you notice?”

        Cerberus was twice the size of a woolly mammoth, mostly invisible, and had three gigantic heads. The dead walked right up to him — no fear at all. The ATTENDANT ON DUTY lines parted on either side of him. The EZ DEATH spirits walked right between his front paws and straight under his belly, which they could do without even crouching.

        "I'm starting to see him better," Percy muttered. "Why is that?"

        Josephine's heart got lodged in her throat as the thought struck her. "I think it's because we're getting closer to being dead …"

        The dog's middle head craned towards them. It sniffed the air and growled.

        "It can smell the living," remarked Percy, his tone growing even more nervous.

        "But that's okay," Grover tried to insist. However, his trembling gave away just how scared he truly was. "Because we have a plan."

        "Right," Annabeth said. Josephine had never heard the daughter of Athena's voice sound quite small. "A plan."

        With no other choice, they moved towards the monster. The middle head snarled at them, then barked so loud Josephine was sure her brain rattled in her skull. Even Onesimus's whisperings clattered with the bark.

        "Can you understand it?" Percy asked Grover.

        "Oh yeah." The satyr nodded. "I can understand it."

        "Then …” Josephine glanced at the monster nervously, “what’s Cerberus saying?"

        "I — I don't think humans have a four-letter word that translates. Not exactly."

        Percy took the big stick out of his backpack — a bedpost he'd broken off Crusty's Safari Deluxe floor model. He held it up. He tried to smile like he wasn't about to die. (It wasn’t working.) "Hey, Big Fella," he called up. "I bet they don't play with you much."

        Cerberus growled loudly.

        "Good boy," the son of Poseidon said weakly.

        He waved the stick. The dog's middle head followed the movement. The other two heads trained their eyes on Percy, completely ignoring the spirits surrounding them. The son of the Sea God had Cerberus's undivided attention, and Josephine wasn't exactly sure that was a good thing (or a really, really bad thing).

        Suddenly, Percy threw the stick out into the gloom with a loud, "Fetch!" After a short, few seconds, Josephine heard the bedpost go ker-sploosh in the River Styx. However, Cerberus was completely unimpressed, staring daggers at the boy. His eyes were baleful and cold. The three-headed dog was now making a new kind of growl, deeper down in his three throats.

        "Um …" Grover glanced nervously at his friend. "Percy?"

        "Yeah?"

        "I just thought you'd want to know …" Grover swallowed harshly, his eye darting upwards to Cerberus’ three hands.

        Percy was too scared to glance back. "Yeah …?"

        "Cerberus? He's saying we've got ten seconds to pray to the god of our choice. After that ... well — he's hungry."

        "Wait!" Annabeth suddenly called, throwing up one hand in a Wait motion. She started rifling through her pack. Josephine's face was apprehensive.

        "Five seconds," Grover warned. "Do we run now?"

        The daughter of Athena produced a red rubber ball the size of a grapefruit. It was labeled: WATERLAND, DENVER, CO. Before Josephine could stop her, the blonde marched straight up to Cerberus, the ball held above her head. Annabeth stopped at the dog’s feet, where he could still look down at her. "See the ball?” she shouted, waving it slightly as if that red color wasn’t the brightest thing down there. “You want the ball, Cerberus? Sit!"

        Cerberus looked as stunned as Josephine was. All three of his heads cocked sideways. Six nostrils dilated.

        "Sit!" Annabeth called again.

        Josephine was sure that at any moment, the daughter of wisdom would become the world's largest dog biscuit. But instead, Cerberus licked his three sets of lips, shifted on his haunches, and sat, immediately crushing a dozen spirits who'd been passing underneath him in the EZ DEATH line. The spirits made muffled hisses as they dissipated, like air being let out of some tires.

        Annabeth almost grinned. "Good boy!"

        She threw Cerberus the ball. He caught it in his middle mouth. It was barely big enough for him to chew; even then, the other heads started snapping at the middle, trying to get the new toy.

        "Drop it!" Annabeth ordered, pointing her finger downwards.

        Cerberus's heads stopped fighting and looked at her. The ball was wedged between two of his teeth like a tiny piece of gum. He made a loud, scary whimper, then dropped the ball (now slimy and bitten nearly in half) at Annabeth's feet.

        "Good boy." She picked up the ball, ignoring the monster's spit all over it. She looked over her shoulder at the others, raising the ball above her head. "Go now. EZ DEATH line — it's faster."

        Josephine frowned. "But —"

        "Now!" Annabeth ordered in the same tone she was using on the dog.

        Grover, Josephine, and Percy inched forward warily; Cerberus started to growl.

        "Stay!" Annabeth ordered the monster. "If you want the ball, stay!"

        Cerberus whimpered, but surprisingly, he stayed where he was.

        "What about you?" Josephine asked Annabeth as they passed her.

        "I know what I'm doing, Posie," she muttered. "At least, I'm pretty sure ..."

        Josephine glanced over at the nickname, but she didn’t correct Annabeth’s usage of it. She, Percy, and Grover walked between the monster's legs. All the while, she was hoping the blonde wouldn't catch a mean streak and order Cerberus to sit. They made it through unscathed, but Cerberus wasn't any less scary-looking from the back.

        Annabeth stared up at the monster, calling, "Good dog!"

        She held up the tattered red ball, and probably came to the same conclusion Josephine did — if she rewarded Cerberus this time, there'd be nothing left for another trick. The daughter of Athena threw the ball anyway. The monster's left mouth immediately snatched it up, only to be attacked by the middle head while the right head moaned in protest. While the monster was distracted, Annabeth walked briskly under its belly and joined them at the metal detector.

        "How did you do that?" Percy asked her.

        "Obedience school," she said breathlessly, tears brimming in her eyes. "When I was little, at my dad's house, we had a Dobermann ..."

        "Never mind that," Grover said, tugging at Percy's shirt. "C’mon!"

        They were about to bolt through the EZ DEATH line when Cerberus moaned pitifully from all three mouths. Annabeth stopped at the sound. She turned to face the dog, which had done a one-eighty to look at the four. Cerberus panted expectantly, the tiny red ball in pieces in a puddle of drool at its feet.

        "Good boy," Annabeth said, but her voice sounded melancholy and uncertain.

        The monster's heads turned sideways, as if worried about her.

        "I'll bring you another ball soon," Annabeth promised faintly. "Would you like that?"

        The monster whimpered. Josephine didn't need to speak dog to know Cerberus was still waiting for the ball.

        "Good dog. I'll come visit you soon. I — I promise." Annabeth turned to her friends. "Let's go."

        Grover and Percy pushed through the metal detector, which immediately screamed and set off flashing red lights. "Unauthorized possessions! Magic detected!"

        Now, Cerberus started to bark. They burst through the EZ DEATH gate, which started even more alarms blaring. They raced into the Underworld, hoping the dog wouldn’t bound after them (especially in hopes of another red ball from Annabeth).

        A few minutes later, they were hiding, out of breath, in the rotten trunk of an immense black tree as security ghouls scuttled past, yelling for backup from the Furies.

        When it sounded like no one was nearby, Grover murmured, "Well, Percy, what have we learned today?"

        "That three-headed dogs prefer red rubber balls over sticks?"

        "No," Grover told me. "We've learned that your plans really, really bite!"

        Josephine gave the satyr a warning look — for the bad joke and for the horrible timing. She pretended not to see Annabeth wipe a tear from her cheek as she listened to the mournful keening of Cerberus in the distance, longing for his new friend.

        You're closer, Onesimus insisted. Just listen to my orders.

        So my answers are gonna come from this scary place? she asked. That's lovely.

        Some answers will come from here, Onesimus replied. Yes.

Chapter Text

chapter thirteen
❛ pets and pawns ❜

━━━━━  IMAGINE THE LARGEST concert crowd ever seen, a football field packed with a million fans. After that, picture a field a million times larger than that. Imagine it packed with more people than humanly possible, and that all of the electricity had gone out — no noise, no light, no beach ball bouncing around over the crowd. Instead of cheering and adoring fans, it was whispering masses of people just milling around in the shadows, waiting for all eternity.

        That was the Fields of Asphodel. The black grass had been trampled by eons of dead feet. A warm, moist wind blew like the breath of a swamp. Black trees — she recognized them as poplars and elms — grew in clumps here and there.

        The cavern ceiling was so high above the questers it might've been a bank of storm clouds, except for the stalactites, which glowed a faint grey and looked wickedly pointed. Josephine tried not to imagine they would fall on her at any moment; however, her mind continued to wander as dotted around the fields were several stalactites that had fallen and impaled themselves in the black grass. She guessed the dead didn't have to worry about little hazards — you know, like being spontaneously speared by stalactites the size of booster rockets. They didn’t have to worry as they were already dead.

        She, Annabeth, Grover, and Percy tried to blend into the crowd, keeping an eye out for security ghouls as they tried to find their way out. She couldn't help but look for her father or Mrs. Hall among the spirits of Asphodel. She wasn’t even sure if either had passed (but deep down, some part of her just knew they were), but even then, the dead were hard to look at. Their faces shimmered when looked at head-on. They all looked slightly angry or confused all the time. They'd come up to her and speak, but their voices sounded like chatter — like bats twittering. Once they realize that Josephine couldn't understand them, they frown and move away.

        That's what made Josephine realize the dead aren't scary, they're just heartbreaking.

        I don't ever want to end up like them, she thought quietly as an elderly man walked through her.

        Then don't, Onesimus said passingly, his voice eager to get away from here. Become something better than just the Field of Asphodel.

        That's easy for you to say, Josephine gripped. You're not the one who sucks at being a daughter of Apollo!

        You don't suck, Onesimus corrected. You just have ... different strengths than your siblings. A different path. Now, hurry! Your answers are near!

        The four questers crept along, following the line of new arrivals that snaked from the main gates towards a black-tented pavilion with a banner that read:

JUDGMENTS FOR ELYSIUM AND ETERNAL DAMNATION
Welcome, Newly Deceased!

        Out the back of the tent came two much smaller lines.

        To the left, spirits flanked by security ghouls were marched down a rocky path towards the Fields of Punishment, which glowed and smoked in the distance; a vast, cracked wasteland with rivers of lava and minefields and miles of barbed wire separating the different torture areas. Even from far away, Josephine could see people being chased by hellhounds, burned at the stake, forced to run naked through cactus patches, or whatever else Hades thought fit for their forever punishment. She could just make out a tiny hill, with the ant-size figure of Sisyphus struggling to move his boulder to the top. And there were worse tortures, too — things she never wanted to live through.

        The line coming from the right side of the judgment pavilion was much better. This one led down towards a small valley surrounded by walls — a gated community, which seemed to be the only happy part of the Underworld. Beyond the security gate were neighborhoods of beautiful houses from every time period throughout history, Roman villas, medieval castles, and Victorian mansions. Silver and gold flowers bloomed on the lawns. The grass rippled in rainbow colors. Josephine could hear laughter and smell barbecue cooking —

        Elysium. She knew exactly what she was looking at.

        In the middle of that valley was a glittering blue lake, with three small islands like a vacation resort in the Bahamas — the Isles of the Blest, for people who had chosen to be reborn three times, and three times achieved Elysium. Josephine knew that's where she wanted to go when she died.

        That's where you want to go, I'm sure? Onesimus read her thoughts.

        Of course! When you died, where did you go? Josephine found herself asking.

        Whoever said I was alive like you? he countered. Whoever said I could die the way you can?

        So ... you're not human, not a passed-on half-blood? Josephine asked, surprised at Onesimus’s answers. Admittedly, she didn’t know what she expected him to reply with. She had just assumed Onesimus was a half-blood who had died; perhaps even a monster sent by whoever stole the Master Bolt to taunt her. 

        But Onesimus didn't respond to her question.

        "That's what it's all about," Annabeth said suddenly, breaking Josephine out of her stupor. "That's the place for heroes."

        But Josephine thought of how few people there were in Elysium; how tiny it was compared to Asphodel or even the Fields of Punishment. So few people did any good in their lives. It was depressing.

        They left the judgment pavilion and moved deeper into Asphodel. It got darker. The colors faded from their clothes. The crowds of chattering spirits began to thin. After a few miles of walking, they began to hear a familiar screech in the distance. Looming on the horizon was a palace of glittering black obsidian. Above the parapets swirled three dark batlike creatures — the Furies. Josephine got the feeling they were waiting for the questers.

        "I suppose it's too late to turn back …" Grover said wistfully.

        Josephine wanted to take up on Grover's obvious hints and run as far away from the palace as she could — but she couldn't. They couldn’t leave, not with so many lives at stake. 

        Onesimus was whispering in her ears, telling her to go further. Answers! he told her.

        I get it! You've told me this enough! she snapped back.

        "We'll be okay, you guys," Josephine said, trying her best to sound confident. "Everything will work out."

        "Maybe we should search some of the other places first," Grover suggested. "Like, Elysium, for instance ..."

        Annabeth linked her arm with Grover’s forcefully. "Come on, goat boy."

        The satyr yelped. Suddenly, out of nowhere (and with no one saying, Maia), Grover’s shoes sprouted two pairs of white wings, and his legs were lifted into the air. Then, the shoes shot forward, dragging Grover along behind them. Annabeth lost her hold on him, and she tilted on the balls of her feet from the suddenness. Grover landed flat on his back, right into the black grass.

        Annabeth straightened, smoothing down her shirt as she huffed loudly. "Grover," she chided with a roll of her eyes. "Stop messing around."

        The satyr looked at her, tilting his chin upwards and through his top lashes from his spot on the ground. For a moment, his mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Eventually, he managed to say, "But I didn't —" 

        However, the wings on the shoes were flapping crazily now. Grover yelped again as his feet were lifted off the ground, and then he started screaming as they started dragging him off. "Maia!" he yelled, but the magic word seemed to have no effect. "Maia, already! Nine-one-one! You guys, help!"

        Grover outstretched his hands to the others, grasping wildly at the empty air. Percy was the first to move after him. He darted forward, nearly tripping over his feet, as he extended both hands out to try to grab Grover — but he was too late. The satyr was picking up speed, and fast; he was sliding down a dark hill, barreling through dark tufts of grass and bobbing around any fallen stalactites. 

        With no other choice, the others ran after him.

        It wasn’t easy running after a satyr who was flying down the hill like a possessed lawnmower. He screamed loudly, trying to dig his hands into anything he could — tufts of grass, rocks, fallen stalactites, or even spirits. But it was all in vain, especially the spirits, considering they weren’t solid matter, and his hands would slide right through them.

        “Grover, untie the shoes!” Annabeth shouted, running ahead of Josephine and Percy.

        It would’ve been a genius fix to a horrible problem — except for the fact that Grover couldn’t reach the shoelaces to untie them. He kept trying to sit up, but the momentum kept pulling him back down.

        They — Josephine, Percy, and Annabeth — had to keep running after him. But it was proving to be incredibly difficult. Grover was zipped between the legs of spirits who only chattered at him in annoyance. She was certain that Grover was going to barrel straight through the dark gates of Hades’s palace, and that’d be one way to enter — but then, his shoes veered sharply to the right, dragging him in the opposite direction. Somehow, the satyr’s screams became even louder as he was dragged off into the unknown.

        The three skittered to struggling stops, nearly tripping over themselves to keep on the lawnmower path of Grover Underwood. The further the shoes took him, the steeper the slopes became, and the faster Grover started flying (and the even more panicked his screams became). The three chasing him were sprinting now just to keep up, let alone have a chance of catching him. Josephine felt a painful stitch form right underneath her right rib, however, she ignored it—she couldn’t just let Grover get dragged off into the darkness of the Underworld. The cavern walls started to narrow in, and her heart started to race with adrenaline plus claustrophobia. At some point, they had entered some kind of side tunnel in the Underworld—no black grass or trees, just rock underfoot, and the dim light of the stalactites overhead. 

        Onesimus was yelling at her now, telling her this wasn’t the way to the answers she desperately wanted. She did her best to shove his voice to the back of her mind, where she would no longer have to hear him. She knew this wasn’t the way to the answers, but Grover …

        “Grover!” she yelled, her chest and lungs constricting as she tried to catch her breath. Her voice echoed loudly in the tunnel. “Hold on to something!”

        His head whipped wildly back and forth, trying to grab a glimpse of her. “What?” he yelled back. He was grabbing at the gravel beneath him, but it was useless. There was nothing big enough to slow him down, not even slightly.

        The further they ran, the colder and darker the tunnel became. The hairs on Josephine’s arms stood on end, almost like they were on alert. Her skin tingled nervously, and she wiped her hands on the end of her shirt anxiously. Her hands, she could feel that … whatever it was, it was boiling just beneath her skin. It smelled evil down here—a heavy stench that made it hard to breathe, even if she hadn’t already been out of breath. It infiltrated her nose, infecting her brain, making her think of things she never wanted to think about; things she shouldn’t even know about — dark blood spilled on an ancient stone altar, the foul breath and stench of a murderer. 

        In front of her, Percy skittered to a stop, looking on in a horrified mix of fear and astonishment. Josephine was forced to slow down, skittering around Percy — yet, the sight even forced her to stop in shock and fear. Before them, the once-narrow, tight tunnel widened into a huge, dark cavern. In the very middle of it was a chasm the size of an entire city block — and Grover was sliding straight for the edge.

        Josephine grabbed Percy by the arm, trying to pull him along. “C’mon, Percy! Grover!”

        Percy stared on in horror. “But that’s —”

        “What you saw in your dreams,” she interrupted. “I know!”

        From the narrow tunnel, Annabeth pushed past the two, sprinting for the chasm. “Grover’s going to fall if we don’t catch him!” she snapped back at them.

        As it normally goes, the blonde was right — and Percy knew it, too. He started moving again, sprinting after Annabeth and Josephine. The satyr was screaming loudly, clawing at the ground; however, the winged shoes continued to drag him toward the pit — and it didn’t seem possible that they would reach him in time.

        What ended up saving him was his hooves. The flying sneakers had always been a loose fit on Grover, no matter how hard they pulled on the shoelaces or how tightly they knotted the bow. And that was the thing that saved him — and the big rock Grover flew into. The left shoe came flying off, picking up speed as it was suddenly totting only its weight instead of the weight of a twenty-eight-year-old satyr. It sped off into the darkness, disappearing down into the chilling chasm. However, the right shoe was still tied around Grover’s hoof, and it was still tugging him along — but at a far slower pace. Grover spun his body around, wrapping both arms tightly around the large rock, and used it as an anchor.

        He was ten feet from the edge of the pit, ten feet from the sharp drop into nothingness. Annabeth and Josephine threw themselves the three feet of distance between them and Grover, grabbing an arm each, and pulled him over the rock and back up the slope. The right shoe fought back, trying to pull Grover back toward the chasm. Eventually, it slid off, and it started to circle them angrily, trying to kick their heads in protest — then, it threw itself into the chasm to join its left half.

        The four stared at the dark pit for a moment, the stunned silence settling over them like a heavy, albeit cold, blanket. Then, Grover sank to the ground, gasping for air as he angled his head toward the obsidian gravel. Josephine’s limbs felt like they had been replaced with lead. It felt like someone had placed heavy rocks on her chest as she tried to breathe, as she tried to catch her breath. 

        Grover was scratched up, and his hands were bleeding. His eyes had turned slit-pupilled, the way they did whenever he was terrified. And given what had just happened, all of that was a good outcome. “I don’t know how …” he panted, still staring down at the gravel. “I didn’t …”

        Josephine kneeled beside the satyr, rubbing her own trembling hand over his back. “Grover, it’s okay. We know you didn’t do anything. The shoes — there’s something wrong with them.” She looked back at the chasm, her eyes struggling to adjust to its darkness specifically. “I just … don’t understand why they did it. I mean —”

        “Posie, wait,” said Percy, his eyes scanning the chasm. “Listen.”

        She stopped, looking up from Grover and to the chasm. For a long moment, all she could hear was the blood rushing inside her ears and the rapid heartbeat against her ribs. Then, she heard it — a deep, hollow whisper from the darkness. It was a voice meaner than Onesimus could ever hope to sound. She didn’t know what it was saying, and the more she listened, the less she understood—as if she understood anything in the first place.

        She stood up on shaky knees, her blood having long run cold. “Let’s just leave, okay?” Her voice was panicked, and she sounded desperate, but she didn’t care — that voice was worse than evil.

        Annabeth stalled, still staring at the pit. “This place —”

        Percy quickly shushed her, holding out a hand to her. Annabeth looked miffed at him for a moment, but she didn’t bite back a response, letting the silence seep back in. But the silence seemed to let the voice become louder — the evil voice was muttering louder now, from far, far below them. It was coming from the pit. 

        Panic created this painful bubble in Josephine’s chest, and she was still struggling to breathe even after minutes of no movement. Her hands shook, and the burning beneath her skin started to become stronger; it started to become harder to ignore and push down.

        Grover looked up. “Wha-what’s that noise?”

        “Tartarus,” replied Annabeth. Josephine looked at her, and from the look in her eyes, she knew Annabeth could hear it now, too. It was written in her steely grey eyes. “That’s the entrance to Tartarus.”

        Get out, you idiotic girl! Onesimus was nearly pleading with her.

        There was a sudden shring! that made her jump in surprise — but it was just Percy uncapping Anaklusmos. The Celestial bronze sword expanded, gleaming brightly in the darkness. She thought it must have been her imagination, but Josephine swore she heard the evil voice falter — just for a moment before it returned to its chant. She could nearly make out the words now — ancient words, even older than Ancient Greek. It almost sounded like …

        “Magic …” Percy suddenly whispered, tightening his grip on Riptide.

        She couldn’t stand it anymore — the darkness, the chanting, Onesimus yelling, none of it. The burning beneath her skin felt like it had a pulse — it was becoming something tangible. She remembered the pain she had felt back at Aunty Em’s, but she also remembered the all-consuming fear she had. It was one or the other, and both options terrified her, and she could control neither one — but the anxiety of the evil voice in the chasm was stronger. She held out her right hand, turning over her hand so her palm faced upwards — a ball of green light exploded from her skin, chasing back the darkness. Her skin burned and tingled, and the glow danced lifelessly inches above her skin — instead of giving anyone boils on the skin, she made a makeshift lantern. She kept her hand firmly away from the three with her, worried the glow would become too strong and latch onto them, giving them whatever new symptom of sickness this time.

        Her eyes flittered nervously from the pit to her outstretched hand, where the green glow was casting long shadows just before her feet. The burn was starting to become normal now; unwanted, but expected — she didn’t like it. “We have to leave,” she practically pleaded with the others. “It’s dark magic in there.”

        (But then what was my hand-lantern trick? part of her brain wondered, which she quickly tried to squash. Onesimus, however, had already heard the thought, too. What makes magic dark is the person who wields it, he told her. You don’t want to do bad, do you?)

        Annabeth’s eyes lingered on Josephine’s hand, but she looked the daughter of Apollo in the eye — instantly, some odd understanding passed between them. They remembered the conversation they had on the Amtrak, where Annabeth promised there had to be an answer to Josephine’s green glow. “We have to get out of here,” she agreed.

        Percy and Annabeth scooped Grover up by the arm on either side, helping him to his shaky hooves. It took a few minutes, but they eventually got the satyr moving, and they started the long trek back up to the tunnel. With the makeshift hand-lantern, Josephine led the way, holding out her hand carefully as the green glow bathed the area in this sickly green color, creating long shadows that danced as she walked. The glow never wavered, and the burning had become so consistent that she no longer felt it — like it had just been a figment of her scared imagination. 

        The further the four got away, the louder and angrier the voice became. Onesimus started urging her to hurry, and — she felt it. It was like a shiver up her spine, and Josephine broke out into a run. The others behind her didn’t question it. They must’ve felt the same thing she did, quickly following suit as she raced up the slope.

        Whatever senses that had been working overtime for that shiver to run up her back, it was the thing that saved her life — hers and the others. Cold blasts of air whipped around Josephine, making her movements sluggish as she fought against the winds. The wind was trying to pull her back, right into the chasm she was running from. It was like the pit was inhaling, trying to pull them back in, realizing they were trying to escape. Behind her, she felt someone grabbing at her shirt, and as she turned around — she saw Percy slipping on the gravel, trying to cling onto anything he could. She didn’t think about it, fully turning around and grabbing the collar of his T-shirt. If it had been her right hand, the fabric would’ve rotted in her grasp — and Percy would’ve slipped even further. If they had been any closer to the edge, he would’ve been sucked right in.

        Percy rightened himself, hooking his right arm with her left, and started tugging her back up the gravel. Josephine didn’t fight it, turning her back to the chasm, and raced back up the slope with the son of Poseidon. They made it back to Annabeth and Grover, and the four continued to struggle forward, fighting against the inhales of breath every step of the way. They finally reached the top, where the large cavern narrowed into the tunnel, and just beyond the end of the tunnel, Josephine could see a blimp of the miserable-looking Fields of Asphodel. Percy was the last one to make it to the top, having pushed Josephine in front of him. She didn’t think twice, holding out her left arm and helping him up. And as soon as Percy made it out of the chasm’s right, the wind died, and then a wail of outrage echoed from deep within the pit.

        Annabeth’s eyes widened. “Go, go, go!”

        No one needed to be told a fourth time. The green glow had long since died from Josephine’s hand. They were running through the dark tunnel in pure darkness — but they didn’t think twice about it. Running through darkness was better than whatever was screaming at them from that pit. The questers spilled out from the entrance of the tunnel, tripping over one another to try and get away. They collapsed in what felt like relative safety inside an empty, poplar grove.

        Grover sat at the roots of one tree, panting as he placed a hand on his chest. “What was that? Another of Hades’s pets?”

        Josephine didn’t know how to respond, collapsing beside him and leaning back onto the poplar tree, her head against the thick trunk. There was a lot she didn’t know about Hades. She thought Cerberus was bad, but compared to whatever was down there, he was like a slobbering, joyful puppy.

        No, it’s not another of Hades’s pets, disagreed Onesimus, his voice shocking her. Through all the commotion, she had almost forgotten about him. It’s something worse.

        A shiver crawled up Josephine’s back. She quickly looked between the others physically with her — Grover, Percy, and Annabeth. What do you mean? she asked him. What is it?

        Onesimus was silent for a long moment. The silence became so long that she figured he wasn’t ever going to reply. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s dogged a question that way. But he replied, eventually. I can’t tell you, he admitted. Not yet.

        Suddenly, Annabeth and Josephine locked eyes. The daughter of Apollo could tell her friend was nursing an idea — she was chewing on her bottom lip, her brows knitted together deeply, as she tugged at her leather necklace. It was probably the same idea Annabeth had gotten during the taxi ride to L.A., but she was still too uncertain about it — or, more likely, too scared by it to share with the others. And whatever could terrify Annabeth, petrified Josephine.

        Percy capped Riptide, and there was a golden shimmer as the sword disappeared back into a simple-looking ballpoint pen. “Let’s keep going,” he decided. He stood up, dusting off his pants, and looking at Grover. “Can you walk?”

        Grover’s eyes were still slitted like a goat’s, but he tried to swallow his fear. “Yeah, sure. I never liked those shoes anyway.” He tried to sound brave, making a joke to lighten the mood — but he was trembling as badly as Josephine was.

        She smiled lightly as she met his eye, grabbing Grover’s hands as he helped her to her feet. Such a simple thing made her feel better — he didn’t hesitate to grab the hand that glowed green, even if the glow had long since died out. Her skin still tingled, and she still felt like something was boiling just beneath her skin. Whatever was in that pit was nobody’s pet, not like how Grover had suggested. Something that unspeakably old and dangerously powerful could never be a pet. 

        She was so anxious to get away that she was almost relieved to turn her back on the dark tunnel and make her way toward the Palace of Hades — almost, that is.

✿

High up in the gloom, Josephine saw vague outlines — the three Furies overhead, circling the parapets of the palace like flying guard dogs. The outer walls of the fortress glittered black in the dim light of the Underworld, and in the center of the wall stood the two-story-tall bronze gates — and they were wide open. Hades was expecting visitors.

        The closer they walked, the clearer she could see the smaller details — the engravings on the gates that depicted scenes of death. Not two scenes were the same, either. Some were more modern: an atomic bomb exploding over a city, a trench filled with gas mask-wearing soldiers, a line of famine victims waiting with empty bowls — but all of them looked as if they had been etched into the bronze thousands of years ago, the deep curves and etches having oxidized from the cool, damp air of the Underworld. Josephine had to wonder if these carvings were prophecies that had been made thousands of years ago, and if so, who had seen them.

        With the open gates, they had run out of excuses to stall their meeting with Hades — so they went inside. Just inside, between the outer walls and the main castle, as if it had been tacked on as an afterthought, was the strangest-looking garden Josephine had ever seen (and that was considering something since Cabin Four liked to create all sorts of odd concoctions when it came to plants). The air was cool and damp, making her skin prickle with goosebumps. Walls of flowers lined the courtyard, luminous and smelling faintly as Josephine walked by. For such a dark place, it was covered in plants — multi-colored mushrooms, luminous plants, and subterranean trees. The colors of them, too: sickly greens, noisy blues, radiation orange, and they all glowed neon. White birch trees grew high into the air like frozen ghosts, looming menacingly over the four. Lined along a dark path on the ground were poisonous shrubs, littered with multi-colored mushrooms in between. 

        Further inside the garden, the lack of flowers started to become apparent. All the bright colors caught attention, but the closer one looked, the more they noticed how few those flowers actually were. To compensate for the lack of floral diversity were precious jewels — clumps of raw diamonds, piles of rubies, and clusters of jagged emeralds were strewn about in the dark grass carelessly. A brook winded through the greenery, weaving through the walls of flowers and birch trees, leading further into the garden. Here and there, strewn about, were frozen party guests — the kind like Medusa’s. It was petrified children, satyrs, and centaurs — and all were smiling grotesquely, though their eyes were wild with forever fear.

        The brook and the path worked in tandem to lead to the very center of the garden, and that’s when Josephine spotted it — an orchard of pomegranate trees. Their orange blooms were neon bright in the darkness. The cold, damp air was filled with the overwhelmingly sweet yet tart smell of the fruit growing all around them.

        Annabeth paused just before the orchard. “The Garden of Persephone …” she murmured, her eyes taking in the scene hungrily. She had to be, as an aspiring architect — the way the brook and pathway winded together, the walls of flowers and how they created a scene of seclusion, the shrubbery and how it made the ginormous garden feel almost homely (if able to forget the fact they were currently in the Underworld). Yet, she was able to tear her eyes away from it, looking back at the others. “We’ve got to keep walking.”

        Josephine swallowed nervously. Her eyes took one last gigantic sweep of the garden. “Gladly,” she agreed with zero complaints.

        The tart smell of the pomegranates was starting to become overwhelming. She was fighting the urge to march up to a tree and just pluck one. But she dug her nails into her palms, forcing herself to remember the story of Persephone — one bite of Underworld food, and the Goddess of Springtime could never leave the Underworld. Being trapped in a place like this was the last thing she wanted. 

        They walked up the dark steps leading to the palace, weaving between carefully placed black columns, through a black marble portico — and they were in the house of Hades. Josephine’s skin crawled as the realization dawned on her. This place was the very opposite of everything her father stood for. The entrance hall had a polished bronze floor, which seemed to boil in the reflected torchlights high above them, nailed to the black columns. But as Josephine looked up, she realized there was no ceiling — just a cavern roof far, far above them. Weather wasn’t a concern down here, only the dead were (and whatever was in that chasm).

        Every side doorway was guarded by a skeleton in some form of military gear. Some wore ancient Greek armor, some donned British redcoat uniforms, and some had on camouflage with tattered American flags on the shoulders. They carried spears, muskets, or M-16s. None of them bothered the four, but their hollow eye sockets carefully followed their movement down the hall. Josephine’s skin crawled, but she forced herself to keep her head trained forward as she and the others made their way to the big set of doors on the very opposite end.

        At the very end, guarding the double doors, was a pair of U.S. Marine skeletons. They grinned down at the four, rocket-propelled grenade launchers held at their chest rigidly, just like they had never forgotten their military training.

        “That’s …” Josephine stared at the skeletons, “just a little overkill, don’t you think?”

        Grover eyed the security with the same weariness Josephine had. “I bet Hades doesn’t have trouble with door-to-door salesmen ‘cause of it.”

        “I doubt guns and an undead army are why the Underworld doesn’t get any salesmen,” she replied dryly.

        Percy steeled his shoulders, stepping in front of Josephine and Grover. He held a tight hold on the backpack Ares gave him, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Well, guys, I s’pose we should,” he looked between the two skeletons, “knock …”

        From the back of her mind, Onesimus quipped, That would be kind of you, yes. She did her best to shove him even further away. The last thing she needed was him chiming in as they tried to confront Hades for stealing the Master Bolt (which Josephine still didn’t believe he took).

        Percy hesitated, his eyes flickering nervously between the guarding skeletons, before finally stepping forward close enough to the door. He raised his hand, his finger curled inward, getting ready to knock when — a hot wind blew past them, coming from down the hall and wrapping around them, and the doors swung open. The guards stepped aside, lowering their guns to face the ground.

        Annabeth looked over her shoulder for any sign of where the sudden breeze came from. When she found nothing, she turned back around, locking eyes with an anxious Josephine. “I guess that means Entrez-vous,” said the daughter of Athena, starting to step forward.

        The room inside was just as Percy had described — a vast room with black marble walls and bronze floors. Nailed to columns made from the same dark marble with torches that burned brightly in the dark Underworld, and their firelight glinted lustrously off the polished bronze floors. There was a dais on the other end of the room, with bronze steps leading up to a throne made out of human bones. Instead of the throne being empty, as Percy saw it in his dream of the room, this throne was holding a god.

        The God of Riches wasn’t the first god Josephine had ever met (no, that was Mr. D — unfortunately for her), but there was no mistaking that Hades was a god. Josephine has heard that Apollo and Aphrodite are as dazzling as one thinks a Greek god would be; Dionysus could show off terrifying powers that a Greek god could — but Hades just had this sickly presence about him. He didn’t need to be as muscular as Ares to radiate power. 

        He was commanding, without even trying to be. He was at least ten feet tall, dressed in black, silk robes, and had a crown of braided gold on his head. His skin was as white as paper, with shoulder-length jet-black hair. He lounged on his throne, fused of human bones, looking lithe, graceful, and as dangerous as a panther. She just knew it in her gut — Hades was meant to be giving orders. Even if he wasn’t over two thousand years old, he would still know more than she ever could —

        No, she was there to get something back. She wasn’t there to cower at Hades, the God of the Underworld’s feet. (That being said, she would rather high-tail and run the entire way back out of the Underworld.) 

        Her skin crawled as goosebumps raised along her arms. There was this tight ball right in the middle of her chest — it was her terrible fear and horror of meeting the God of the Dead. It was Hades’s doing; his aura was affecting her, just as Ares’s had. But she had managed to subdue the anger that came to fruition when Ares found them in the diner. She could at least try and subdue the fear ravaging her stomach and pooling in her chest from the mere presence of Hades; however, she wasn’t sure what much she could do. Hades had these intense eyes — almost mesmerizing in a horrible way. And the god hadn’t even spoken yet.

        Hades’s dark eyes flickered from one to the other — Grover, Annabeth, Josephine, then Percy. His displeased face somehow worsened when his eyes landed on Percy. “You are brave to come here, Son of Poseidon.” His voice was oily and cold. “After what you have done to me, very brave — or perhaps you are simply very foolish.”

        This strange sense of numbness crept into her bones — she felt that it was infecting every inch of her. It seeped into the folds of her brain, telling her to just lie down and take a small nap at Hades’s feet. The way a cat would — curl up and snooze away, forever. She swallowed hard, feeling as if her tongue had swelled to twice its normal size. She breathed in and out through her nose, keeping her eyes carefully trained away from Hades’s face and feet. 

        Percy stepped forward, though he was trembling. “Lord …” he hesitated, his brows furrowing, “and Uncle — I come with two requests.”

        Hades arched his eyebrows at the boy. When he sat forward on his throne, his hands holding each armrest next to him, shadowy faces appeared in the golds of his black robes — faces of torment, as if the garment were stitched of trapped souls from the Fields of Punishment, trying desperately to get out. “Only two requests?” he repeated, his nose curling. “Arrogant child. As if you have not already taken enough. Speak, then. It amuses me not to strike you dead — yet.”

        Josephine swallowed again. This was going about as well as she had feared. Still avoiding glancing at the God of the Dead, her eyes locked on the small throne placed next to Hades’s. It was shaped like a black flower, gilded with gold on the edges that glinted in the torchlight. Part of her wished Queen Persephone were here. According to the stories, the goddess had a way of calming her husband’s awful moods — but it was summer. Persephone was far above them, up on Olympus, with her mother, Demeter, Goddess of Agriculture. Persephone’s visits to and from the Underworld and Olympus created the seasons.

        Annabeth cleared her throat, the sound ringing throughout the Underworld’s throne room. Her forefinger prodded Percy in the back — a poke that told the son of Poseidon to keep talking. He glanced back at Annabeth, almost resentfully, before turning his head back to face Hades. “Lord Hades,” he started, his eyes darting all across the throne room. “Look — sir — there can’t be a war among the gods. It would be …” he shrugged, “bad.”

        Grover nodded from behind him. “Really bad,” he added helpfully.

        “So … return Zeus’s Master Bolt to me,” finished Percy, awaiting the god’s answer.

        Josephine quickly glanced at the son of Poseidon. “Please, Lord Hades,” she added, sending Percy another look.

        “Please, sir,” he revised his wording. “Let me carry the Master Bolt to Olympus. Back to Zeus.”

        Hades’s entire lower half of his face curled with anger, so much so that his teeth started to even bare. His dark eyes grew dangerously bright, looking cool lava becoming ready to be heated up once again. “You dare keep up this pretense? After what you have done?”

        Percy opened his mouth — perhaps getting ready to graciously accept the Master Bolt from Hades — but he faltered, a small, “Huh?” filtering out of his lips. He quickly glanced over his shoulder at Josephine, Annabeth, and Grover. The people who had traveled across the country with him looked just as confused as Percy did.

        Percy turned back. “Um … Uncle,” he started, looking hesitant, “you keep saying ‘After what I’ve done’ … What exactly have I done?”

        Hades’s face twisted, and all around them, the throne room shook — a tremor so strong it had to have been felt on the surface in Los Angeles. Debris fell from the cavern ceiling, covering the four in a thick layer of Underworld dust. The doors along every wall burst open, and skeleton warriors poured in — hundreds of them, all marching in perfect formation, from every time period and nation in Western civilization. They lined the perimeter of the room, blocking all conceivable exits.

        Oh … Onesimus murmured in what sounded like a sympathetic tone. Not going well, huh?

        And you’re not helping! Josephine nearly wailed aloud.

        Hades’s entire face contorted as he glowered at the son of Poseidon. “Do you think I want war, godling?”

        Percy’s eyes darted downwards, carefully away from Hades’s face and to his feet. “You’re … the Lord of the Dead,” he said, his tone more even than Josephine had ever heard from him. “A war would expand your kingdom, right?”

        Hades scoffed, his hands tightening on the armrest of his bone throne. “A typical thing for my brothers to say! Do you think I need more subjects, Son of Poseidon? Did you not see the sprawl of Asphodel?”

        Percy tilted his head to one side, looking at the line of skeletons blocking the doors along the wall. “Well …”

        Hades leaned forward on his throne, his eyes ablaze with anger. “Have you any idea how much my kingdom has swollen in this past century alone? How many subdivisions I’ve had to open?”

        Josephine stepped forward, placing a hand on Percy’s shoulder. She opened her mouth, ready to try and attempt any sort of damage control she could muster — Hades, however, was on a roll, now. “More security ghouls,” he bemoaned, leaning back on his throne, and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Traffic problems at the judgment pavilion. Double overtime for the staff. I used to be a rich god, Percy Jackson. I control all the precious metals under the earth. But my expenses —!”

        “Charon wants a pay raise,” Percy blurted.

        As soon as the words left his mouth, Josephine tightened her grip on his shoulder before pulling him back, like she was trying to keep a child under control. 

        “Don’t get me started on Charon!” bellowed Hades, and more debris fell from the throne room’s roof. “He’s been impossible ever since he discovered Italian suits! Problems everywhere, and I’ve got to handle all of them personally. The commute time alone from the palace to the gates is enough to drive me insane! And the dead just keep arriving.” He stared coldly at Percy, who swallowed anxiously. “No, godling. I need no help getting subjects. I did not ask for this war!”

        “But …” Percy glanced at the others, as if trying to get them to back him up, “Lord Hades, you took Zeus’s Master Bolt.”

        “Lies!” Hades bellowed, and the ground rumbled beneath them; another layer of debris fell on them. Hades rose from his throne, towering to his full height. “Your father may fool Zeus, boy, but I am not so stupid. I see Poseidon’s plan.”

        Percy stared at the god for a brief moment. “Poseidon’s plan?” he repeated, confusion etched into his words.

        “You were the thief on the Winter Solstice,” Hades said, sounding sure of himself. “Your father thought to keep you his little secret. He directed you into the throne room on Olympus. You took the Master Bolt and my Helmet. Had I not sent my Fury to discover you at Yancy Academy, Poseidon might have succeeded in hiding his scheme to start a war. But now you have been forced into the open. You will be exposed as Poseidon’s thief, and I will have my Helmet back!”

        “But —” Annabeth cut her sentence short. Josephine could tell that the blonde’s mind was working at a million miles an hour. “Lord Hades, your Helmet of Darkness is missing, too?”

        “Do not play innocent with me, girl!” snapped Hades, staring down at them from his full height. “You, the Apollo spawn, and the satyr have all been helping this hero — coming to threaten me in Poseidon’s name, no doubt — to bring me an ultimatum. Does Poseidon think I can be blackmailed into supporting him?”

        “No!” protested Percy loudly. “Poseidon didn’t — I didn’t —”

        “I have said nothing of the Helmet’s disappearance,” snarled Hades, making Percy’s mouth clamp shut, “because I had no illusion that anyone on Olympus would offer me the slightest justice, the slightest help. I can ill afford for word to get out that my most powerful weapon of fear is missing. So I searched for you myself, Percy Jackson, and when it was clear you were coming to me to deliver your threat, I did not try to stop you.”

        Josephine’s heart felt like it had turned to stone, quickly sinking to the very bottom of her stomach. Is this what Onesimus was telling her about? Was this her answer? That there were a million different things at play, and when she just felt like she was getting her mind wrapped around everything, another piece of the game would be thrown in, shattering any understanding she had. “You didn’t try and stop us?” she asked. “But —”

        “Return my Helmet now or I will stop death,” Hades threatened, his eyes flashing dangerously bright. “That is my counter-proposal. I will open the earth and have the dead pour back into the world, the living world. I will make your lands a nightmare. And you, Percy Jackson — your skeleton will lead my army out of my palace.”

        Every single skeletal soldier took one step forward, a sound that was reminiscent of a million guns being fired — not helping the fact that every skeleton moved to make their weapons at the ready. Josephine’s heart jumped into her throat, becoming lodged as her hand dropped down to where she kept her two daggers.

        However, Percy stared up at Hades, his brows furrowed deeply. “You’re as bad as Zeus,” he decided. “You think I stole from you? That’s why you sent the Furies after me?”

        Hades nodded. “Of course.”

        “And the other monsters?”

        The god curled his lip. “I had nothing to do with them. I wanted no quick death for you — I wanted you brought before me alive so you might face every torture in the Fields of Punishment. Why do you think I let you enter my kingdom so easily?”

        Percy’s eyebrows arched considerably. “Easily?” he repeated, disbelief lacing his words.

        Hades slammed his fist into the armrest of his throne. “Return my property!”

        “But I don’t have your Helmet!” Percy shouted back. “I came for the Master Bolt —”

        “Which you already possess!” snapped Hades, interrupting the boy. “You came here with it, little fool, thinking you could threaten me!”

        “But I didn’t!” the son of Poseidon protested.

        Hades stared at the boy, his nostrils flaring painfully wide. Then, he dismissively waved at the backpack slung on Percy’s shoulder. “Open your bag, then.”

        Percy hesitated, glancing down at the shoulder strap. However, he slung the backpack off his shoulder, setting it down to unzip it. Josephine fought the urge to lean forward to look, but she still had a clear view — inside was a two-foot-long metal cylinder, spiked on both ends, humming with energy.

        Her jaw fell, and her eyes darted back up to the black-haired boy. “Percy,” she started, “how —?”

        She thought she saw his hands trembling as he held onto the unzipped backpack. “I — I don’t know. I … don’t understand.”

        “You heroes are always the same,” sneered Hades, staring at the Master Bolt with disgust. “Your pride makes you foolish, thinking you could bring such a weapon before me. I did not ask for Zeus’s Master Bolt, but since it is here, you will yield it to me. I am sure it will make an excellent bargaining tool. And now — my Helmet. Where is it?”

        Hades slowly sank back into his throne, staring at the backpack hungrily, as if he expected the Helmet of Darkness to dart out and head straight for him — but they didn’t have the Helmet with them. At the very least, it wasn’t in Percy’s backpack with the Master Bolt, and no one else of the four had a backpack anymore. Chiron had said from the beginning that this all must be some trick pulled by Hades, something she had never fully believed, and now she had confirmation. Every single brother, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, had been tricked — cards played to make the brothers at each other’s throats. And someone had played those cards, and that’s who the Big Three needed to go after. 

        Her eyes darted back to the backpack, where the Master Bolt was still humming. Percy had gotten the backpack from …

        Answers, Onesimus spoke up. I never said they would be easy to get. But this is the path to them.

        She stepped around Percy, making her way closer to the god (despite feeling as if her knees could give out at any moment). “Lord Hades, wait,” she spoke up, and his eyes darted to her, and a new layer of goosebumps appeared over her arms. “This isn’t — There’s an explanation! You and your brothers — you’ve been tricked!”

        “Tricked, Josephine Pascual?” repeated Hades, baring his teeth like an angry dog.

        In one fluid movement, the skeletons aimed their weapons. From high above, there was a fluttering of leathery wings — the three Furies swooped down to perch on the back of the god’s throne. The three grinned eagerly at each other, like their favorite show was on.

        Josephine winced, licking her lips nervously. “I — Okay, maybe tricked wasn’t the right word. You, Zeus, and Poseidon have been lied to! We didn’t —” She looked back at Annabeth, Grover, and Percy. “We thought —”

        Hades’s eyes narrowed on Josephine, and she got the feeling he was looking straight through her. “Lied to …?” he mused the idea, though he was still scowling. “Daughter of Apollo, perhaps you should look at Percy Jackson if you want lies. Besides, you, of all godlings, know about lies, Josephine Pascual. I know why the son of Poseidon came here — I know the real reason he brought the Bolt. He came to bargain for her.”

        He raised his fist out in front of him, turning his palm upwards and uncurling his fingers — out came a sphere of golden fire. It slipped through his fingers, falling down the bronze steps of the dais — until it exploded at the very bottom step, maybe thirty feet in front of Josephine. Bathed in a golden light was a woman who was frozen; she was in the middle of struggling against something. She quickly looked back and saw the look of longing on Percy’s face. His hands were kept firmly by his side, though his knuckles had turned a few shades lighter now.

        A look of satisfaction masked Hades’s face. “Yes, I took her. I knew, Percy Jackson, that you would come to bargain with me eventually. Return my Helmet, and perhaps I will let her go. She is not dead, you know — not yet. But if you displease me, that will change.”

        Percy looked as though he was wrestling with a thousand different emotions. Slowly, his hand started to drift toward one of his pockets. 

        “Ah, yes, the pearls,” Hades said suddenly. “Yes, my brother and his little tricks. Bring them forth, Percy Jackson.”

        Percy hesitated for a moment, but, however, he did bring the pearls out of his pocket. He carefully stepped closer to Hades, cradling them in his palm. 

        “Only four,” the god pointed out. “What a shame. You do realize a pearl only protects a single person, correct? Try to take your mother, then, little godling. And which of your friends will you leave behind to spend eternity with me? Go on. Choose. Or give me the backpack and accept my terms.”

        Josephine looked back at Annabeth and Grover, whose faces were painted with the same despair and anger she felt. 

        Percy turned his back on Hades, closing his fingers around the pearls. “We were tricked,” he said. “Set up.”

        “Yes, obviously,” replied Annabeth shortly, her brows furrowed together. “But why?”

        “And by who?” wondered Josephine, her mind trying to wrap around everything they had learned. “That voice in the pit —”

        “I don’t know yet,” replied Percy, his face stormy. “But I intend to ask.”

        From his throne, Hades scowled. “Decide, boy!”

        Grover grasped Percy by the shoulders, making him look the satyr in the eyes. “Percy, you can’t give him the Bolt.”

        “I know that,” he replied quickly.

        “Leave me here,” offered the satyr, looking from Percy to Annabeth and Josephine. “Use the fourth pearl on your mom, Percy.”

        “What?” The son of Poseidon’s eyes widened. “No way!”

        “I’m a satyr,” Grover insisted. “We don’t have souls like humans do. He can torture me until I die, but he won’t get me forever. I’ll just be reincarnated as a flower or something. It’s the best way.”

        “Not a chance, Grover.” Annabeth drew her knife, her eyes flickering to the rows of skeleton soldiers aiming guns at them. “You and Josephine go. Grover, you have to protect Percy. You have to get your searcher’s license and start your quest for Pan. Posie — Josephine, you have to figure out what that green mist was, even if it was you or not.” Her eyes flickered back to the golden form of Percy’s mother. “Get his mom out of here. I’ll cover you. I plan to go down fighting.”

        Josephine’s eyes lingered on the golden image of Percy’s mother. She thought about the conversation she accidentally eavesdropped on — a big reason Percy was going on this quest was to get his mother back. “I’ll stay,” she offered. “About that green mist — maybe it can work on the undead. On their bones or something. Maybe not boils, but … something. I’ll find a way to get out.”

        Answers, Onesimus told her. For a while, it was something he dangled over her head like a treat, to get her going to where he wanted the way people do for dogs. Then, as they entered the Underworld, he started saying it more — a lot more, and she understood it to be that the Underworld was where the answers were. She just needed more time down here, despite how much she wanted to escape with one of the pearls.

        “No way.” Grover shook his head. “I’m staying behind.”

        “Think again, goat boy,” Annabeth said shortly. 

        Josephine frowned at both of them. “But —”

        “You guys, stop it!” snapped Percy, staring hard at the ground. His hands were truly trembling by now. “I know what to do. Take these.” 

        He handed a pearl to each of them. Josephine took it in stunned silence as Percy grabbed her wrist and shoved the pearl deep into her palm. Her fingers curled tightly around the pearl, expecting a cool sensation; however, it felt scalding hot. It was like a burning sensation searing into the skin on her palm. But she couldn’t bring herself to look, and she also couldn’t believe Percy. He was going to leave his mother behind in the Underworld, all for them and the rest of the world. Josephine knew firsthand what it was like to lose a parent, and truthfully, she didn’t know if she could’ve made the same sacrifice as Percy.

        Annabeth stared at him, pursing her lips tightly. “Percy …”

        However, the son of Poseidon was careful not to look any of them in the eye before turning back around. His eyes locked onto the golden form of his mother. “I’m sorry,” he told her, his voice shaky. “I’ll be back. I’ll find a way.”

        The smug look on Hades’s face had long melted away. He started to sit up on his throne. “Godling …?”

        Percy steeled his shoulder, looking up to the god. “I’ll find your Helmet, Uncle,” he promised. “I’ll return it. Remember about Charon’s pay raise.”

        Hades started to stand up now. “Do not defy me —”

        “And it wouldn’t hurt to play with Cerberus once in a while. He likes red rubber balls.”

        “Percy Jackson, you will not —”

        The son of Poseidon looked over his shoulder at the three behind him. “Now, guys!”

        The four questers smashed the pearls at their feet. For a scary moment, nothing happened.

        Hades swept one long arm across, controlling a mass of skeleton soldiers. “Destroy them all but Apollo’s spawn! Leave her alive!”

        Josephine’s heart raced as she stared at the god. It felt as if her stomach had lurched into her throat, becoming lodged up there. The army of skeletons rushed forward — swords out, guns clicking to full automatic. The Furies lunged off the back of the throne, their whips bursting into flames. Just as the skeletons opened fire, and the four braced for impact — the shards of a pearl exploded at Josephine’s feet with a burst of green light and a gust of fresh sea wind. Before she knew it, she was encased in a milky-white sphere, which was starting to float off the ground.

        Annabeth, Percy, and Grover were all just in front of her. Spears and bullets sparked harmlessly off the pearl bubbles as the four floated upwards. Hades bellowed with such rage that the entire fortress shook, and Josephine knew it wasn’t going to be a peaceful night in L.A.

        “Look up!” Grover suddenly yelled. “We’re going to crash!”

        The satyr was right — the four were racing right toward the stalactites, which Josephine figured would easily pop the bubbles and skewer them.

        “How do you control these things?” Annabeth shouted, her voice muffled through the layers of spheres. 

        “I don’t think you do!” Percy yelled back.

        With no other option, the four started to scream as they floated for the stalactites on the ceiling — but nothing. Nothing but darkness, at least. But they couldn’t be dead. If Josephine were dead, she wouldn’t be feeling a rushing, racing sensation in her gut. Or Onesimus telling her to keep her hand closed tight. Or the burning sensation still scorching away at her right palm (even after throwing the pearl at the ground, so it wasn’t the pearl’s fault).

        The four bubbles were floating upwards still, through solid rock as easily as bubbles would move through the air. It made Josephine a little queasy to think about. What if the bubbles decided to pop all of a sudden? What if they popped all because Poseidon wasn’t happy with what his son had chosen? For a few moments, she couldn’t see anything through the smooth walls of the sphere, then — her pearl broke through on the ocean floor. Above her, the three other milky spheres holding Percy, Grover, and Annabeth were soaring through the water, heading right for the surface.

        The four exploded onto the surface of the water, in the middle of Los Angeles Bay. They ended up knocking a surfer off his board, to which he gave an indignant, “Dude!”

        Annabeth and Josephine spluttered for a moment, but managed to keep their heads above the water’s surface. Grover, on the other hand, started to sink, flailing his arms wildly — Percy quickly grabbed Grover underneath the arms and dragged him over to a lifebuoy. He then grabbed Annabeth and Josephine and pulled them over, too. A curious shark was circling them — a great white shark about eleven feet long.

        Percy glared at the animal. “Beat it!”

        The shark turned in the opposite direction and raced away. 

        The surfer screamed something about “Bad mushrooms,” quickly paddling away from the four as fast as he could with his board. Josephine looked up at the sun — with the way it was in the sky, it was morning now. The morning of June 21st, the day of the Summer Solstice.

        In the distance, Los Angeles was on fire — plumes of smoke were curling into the air from all over the large city. There had to have been an earthquake from Hades’s rage. By now, he was probably sending an army of the dead after them. But at the moment, the Underworld wasn’t the questers’ biggest problem. They had to get to shore. They had to get Zeus’s Master Bolt back to Olympus by the end of the day. Most of all, they needed to have a serious conversation with the god who had tricked them.

        Look at your hand. Your palm, Onesimus told Josephine.

        Josephine did as told, turning her palm upwards and unfurling her fingers — in the very middle of her palm, where Percy had placed the milky white pearl, was a small ring. It was small enough that she could wear it around her pinky finger. It had the head of a snake, but the snake’s mouth was carved to look as if it were biting the end of its tail, creating an endless loop. It was the color of pure black, and it could’ve been carved out of black marble. Just vaguely, Josephine could see emerald eyes glinting (real emerald gems that were chipped small enough to fit into the eye sockets) in the sunlight, as if it was winking at her.

        Josephine knew this — the snake biting its own tail. It was an Ouroboros.

        It’s an answer, Onesimus declared.

Chapter Text

chapter fourteen
❛ a godly showdown ❜

━━━━━  AS SHE CLUNG to the buoy, Josephine spotted Coast Guard boat after Coast Guard boat rocketing across the water, steering straight for the sandy shores of Los Angeles. She, Percy, Grover, and Annabeth clung to the buoy as Percy tried to wave down any attention from another boat zooming by. One of the boat drivers seemed to have seen something from the corner of his vision, glancing over — his eyes widened as he spotted four kids clinging onto one buoy. He quickly turned the boat in their direction, ignoring his confused coworkers, and aimed the boat directly at them. The water pushed them up and down as the weight of the boat gliding through the water shifted the weight of the surface. Once the others on the boat spotted the four questers, they started working — grabbing towels, water bottles, and life jackets. Another was grabbing a discarded ladder from the bottom of the boat, getting ready to sling it over the side.

        As they sailed over, Percy quickly slipped off his shoes, giving them to Grover to wear. Josephine realized — it was better for Percy to be barefoot than for the mortals on that boat to see Grover’s goat hooves. The buoy rocked up and down as the boat slid in front of the four. Josephine tightened her grip on the material as a worker tossed a ladder over the side of the boat. Annabeth was the first to paddle over, quickly followed by Josephine — two Coast Guards grabbed Annabeth by the arm, helping her climb up the slick wall of the boat. Once she was up, they reached down and pulled Josephine out of the water by her upper arms. She could hardly focus on the sudden pain from her shoulders as another Coast Guard quickly unfolded a towel and wrapped it around the girl’s shoulders. 

        Back in the water, Percy was helping Grover paddle over; they first pulled Grover onto the boat, wrapping a towel around his shoulders the way they had for Annabeth and Josephine. By the time they pulled Percy onto the boat, barefoot and soaking wet (which wouldn’t be so shocking if he wasn’t the son of Poseidon), the Coast Guards were all glancing at each other in confusion — however, they couldn’t question the four for any details on how they got out in the middle of the Los Angeles Bay with street clothes on and not bathing suits (and on where Percy’s shoes had gone to — or any of their parents). Josephine could hear all sorts of chatter over the driver’s radio — their radios were jammed with distress calls, and every Coast Guard on duty was called out, and they were even calling in those who were supposed to be off today. It was like the whole city of Los Angeles had one, wide sweep of panic.

        They ended up dropping the four questers off at the Santa Monica pier, advising them to keep the towels embroidered with the Coast Guard’s emblem and the water bottles that read I’M A JUNIOR COAST GUARD! A few of them on the boat did look over their shoulders with questioning glances as they sped off to answer more distress calls filtering through their radio. The four stood on the pier for a moment, their dripping clothes making uneven circles around their feet — even Percy, who was supposed to be waterproof. Josephine got the sudden déjà vu of being soaked with plumbing water, with her clothes sticking to her skin uncomfortably and her hair clinging to her back in one large lump.

        They glanced at each other before making their trek to the Santa Monica pier, stumbling their way down to the beach. From the sand, Josephine could see it all — the city of Los Angeles burning against a beautiful sunrise (if it was even possible to ignore all the sirens wailing, people screaming, and smoke curling into the air). Part of her felt as if she had just crawled back from the dead — which she had … in a way. Her heart was heavy in her chest, a horrible mix of confusion, guilt, and questions to make an already muddy mind even muddier. She held onto so much confusion and questions, but her guilt was nearly insurmountable. Percy had to choose between saving his mother or his friends (and the world), and he had chosen his friends …

        “I don’t believe it.” Annabeth broke the silence with her declaration. “We went all that way —”

        “It was a trick,” Percy interrupted her, staring at the large city with a hard expression. “A strategy worthy of Athena.”

        The daughter of wisdom snapped her head over to glare at him. “Hey — watch it!”

        Percy sighed in annoyance, giving Annabeth a hard look — he didn’t want to start a fight between the two of them after everything that had just happened. “You get it, don’t you?” he asked her.

        The blonde’s nostrils flared briefly, however, she pursed her lips. Her eyes darted down to the sand before them as her sudden blaze of anger faded. “... Yeah, I get it.”

        Grover huffed loudly, stomping around in Percy’s shoes, trying to shake off the sand sticking to the wet fabric. “Well — I don’t! Would somebody —?”

        Josephine suddenly grabbed Grover by the shoulder, leaning slightly to look the satyr in the eyes. She raised her eyebrows at him as their eyes met — he seemed to understand what she was trying to send, his miffed expression softening as his shoulders lost their tension. She understood his confusion and anger; it was something she was battling with, too — but they didn’t need to be taking each other’s heads off now. They needed to put their heads together so they could figure out their next moves (beyond confronting the god who had given Percy that backpack, somehow hiding the Master Bolt). Instead of being fooled by a plan worthy of Athena, they needed to come up with one that would help them complete this quest.

        She looked at the son of Poseidon, nearly reaching out to grab his upper arm; however, she kept her arm firmly by her side. “Percy,” she started, “we’ll get it figured out. And — I’m sorry for … you know.” 

        She was hesitant to say it in full, just by the expression on his face as she tiptoed around the topic: Josephine Pascual felt sorry for Percy Jackson that he had to give up his mother to save his friends and the world. She didn’t know many people who would take that chance, even her, and she had two absent fathers. She felt guilty that she even let him make that choice — his mother seemed to be a great person, even dealing with a horrible mortal man to protect her demigod son. Many parents of demigod children wouldn’t do that. Beau Pascual would never have done that. He hardly dealt with her, let alone another mortal man who would cover the stench of her godliness. And Percy had his mother in his grasp — she was right there, and then he lost her again. That was a wound that was going to sting for a long, long time.

        Percy swallowed hard, keeping his eyes carefully trained away from hers. He looked back out to the burning city of Los Angeles, beginning to walk again — the others were forced to hurry after him. “The prophecy was right,” he declared. “Four shall go west and face the god who has turned.” The ones behind him all shared looks as this was their first time hearing any prophecy line in full. “But it wasn’t Hades. He didn’t want a war between the Big Three. Someone else pulled off the theft — someone that wasn’t me. Someone stole Zeus’s Master Bolt and Hades’s Helmet, and they framed me ‘cause I’m Poseidon’s kid. So Poseidon will get blamed by both sides — Zeus and Hades. By sundown today, there’ll be a three-way war. And I’ll have caused it.”

        Grover shook his head, looking mystified as Percy rattled off on a tangent. “But … who would be that sneaky? Who would want war that bad?”

        Josephine gave the satyr a rather pointed look. “Perhaps the god who gave Percy the backpack with the Master Bolt, Grover. You know, Ares, God of War?”

        The son of Poseidon stopped dead in his tracks suddenly, with Josephine nearly running straight into his back. She skittered to a stop, her wet shoes slowly sinking into the white sand. He looked down the length of the beach, his troubled expression quickly morphing into one of anger — he was scowling at a figure down the length of the beach.

        Josephine looked over Percy’s shoulder to see it — it was Ares. He was waiting for them, in his black leather jacket and his sunglasses, with an aluminum baseball bat propped onto one shoulder, his head tilting away from it. His motorcycle rumbled beside him, shaking the sand in its surrounding vicinity, its headlights bathing the shaking sand in this blood-red color. She swore the god smirked as he realized they noticed him, like he was pleased to be seen. “Hey, kid,” he greeted Percy casually, dropping the bat off his shoulder and onto the top of his shoe. “You were supposed to die.”

        Josephine felt it — the bubbling anger starting to grow in the pit of her stomach. But after meeting Hades, Ares’s effects felt almost … childish, sad, or bleak, even. It was like she was seeing the God of War as a try-hard after meeting a god who didn’t have to prove he was a god, Hades just simply was — he was the Lord of the Underworld, the God of the Dead.

        However, Ares’s effects still seemed to wash over Percy, but perhaps that was just because he already had anger of his own — the God of War’s presence was simply creating a dangerous mix of the son of Poseidon’s growing anger. “You tricked me,” spat the boy, his shoulders steeling like a piece of sheet metal. “You stole the Helmet and the Master Bolt. Not me!”

        Ares grinned wickedly, his face stretching apart like a Cheshire Cat grin. “Well, now — don’t get the story twisted. I didn’t steal them personally.” He shook his head like that assumption was foolish to come up with. “Gods taking each other’s symbols of power — that’s a big no-no, Percy Jackson. But you’re not the only hero in the world who can run errands.”

        Percy’s nostrils flared. “Who d’you use, then? Clarisse? She was there at the Winter Solstice.”

        In full admission, Josephine wasn’t particularly fond of the daughter of Ares; however, it didn’t seem in Clarisse’s style to steal — not that she believed Clarisse couldn’t, but that she wouldn’t. Despite it being his daughter who was accused, Ares seemed amused by Percy’s theory. “Doesn’t matter. The point is, kid, you’re impeding the war effort. See, you’ve got to die in the Underworld. Then Old Seaweed will be mad at Hades for killing you. But by then, Corpse Breath will have Zeus’s Master Bolt — see where I’m going with this? — so Zeus’ll be mad at Hades.” His free hand started to inch into the pocket of his pants. “And Hades will still be looking for this …”

        There was a moment of tension as the four watched Ares with hawk-like alertness. Slowly and deliberately, enjoying the bated attention of the questers, the God of War slipped out a ski cap from his pants pocket — it was the kind of ski cap that you would see stereotypically drawn on bank robbers. Ares turned the fabric over in his hand for a moment, the knitted material having the looseness of water between his fingers, before setting it between the handlebars of his purring bike. The black fabric stiffened, sitting up straight, as it slowly morphed from knitted material to polished metal — it was now an elaborate bronze war helmet — that was just Ares’s style.

        Grover’s dark eyes widened. “The Helmet of Darkness …” he murmured, his eyes soon taking on a goat-like slit that happened when he was scared.

        Ares’s skin stretched over his grin. “Exactly, satyr. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah — Hades will be mad at both Zeus and Poseidon ‘cause he doesn’t know who took the Helmet, just that one of them took it. And pretty soon, we got a nice, little three-way slugfest going on.”

        Annabeth’s jaw fell. “But they’re your family!” she protested.

        Ares shrugged, looking pleased with the chaos he was causing. “Best kinds of war, Blondie. Always the bloodiest. Always brings out the worst in ‘em. Drugs up old issues, resentment always becomes worse. Nothing like watching your relatives fight, I say.”

        “That’s a horrible way to think,” murmured Josephine, her expression curling with disgust as she looked at Ares.

        Percy scowled at the God of War. “You gave me the backpack in Denver,” he recalled. “The Master Bolt was in there the whole time, wasn’t it?”

        “Yes, but … no,” corrected Ares, tilting his head to one side arrogantly. “It’s probably too complicated for your little mortal brain to understand — but the backpack is the Master Bolt’s sheath, just morphed a bit to look a little more mortal. The bolt is connected to the sheath.” He gestured to the pocket where Percy was storing Riptide. “Sort of like that sword you god, kid. It always returns to your pocket, right?”

        Josephine quickly glanced at Percy, who stuffed his hand into his pocket, perhaps to check and see if the ballpoint pen was still there. She didn’t know how Ares knew about Riptide like that, but perhaps the God of War just made it business to know about other people’s weapons — to know their strengths and weaknesses, their blind spots, their agility and precision. “Anyway,” the god continued, “I tinkered with the magic — just a bit — so the Bolt would only return to the sheath once you reached the Underworld. You get close to Hades and — What’s the mortal phrase? Bingo, you got mail? Exactly, you got mail, kid. If you died along the way,” he shrugged, “no sweat off my back. I still had the Helmet.”

        Josephine’s eyes flickered to Hades’s Helmet on the handlebar, which glinted gold in the sunlight. “But why not just keep it for yourself? The Helmet? You already had it, why risk Hades getting his hands on it? Why risk him figuring out you have it?”

        The God of War looked at her sharply, and she grimaced, expecting some kind of retaliation for questioning the god; however, his eyes drifted above her, to the length of the sandy beach. It was like how people got a far-off look in their eyes when they were thinking about something, only Josephine couldn’t see his fire-like eyes from behind dark sunglasses. It was similar to how she got a far-off look in her eyes as Onesimus spoke to her, like Ares was also listening to a voice inside his head. 

        “Why didn’t I …?” he murmured, questioning the plan aloud. “Yeah — with that kind of firepower …” He held the silent trance for one second — two seconds … Josephine exchanged a nervous look with Annabeth, wondering if the god was about to fly off the handle. She got the feeling that whatever voice Ares was listening to, it was giving a long monologue about something. Then, as quickly as the god fell into the trance, he fell out of it. His face cleared, his eyes falling back to the four. “I didn’t want the trouble, ‘course. Better to have the boy caught red-handed, holding the thing.”

        “You’re lying,” Percy decided, scowling at Ares. “Sending the Bolt to the Underworld wasn’t your idea, was it?”

        Ares’s face twitched, his lips tugging downward into a deep scowl. “‘Course it was, kid!” Smoke began to drift into the sky, curling around his sunglasses, as if they were about to catch on fire.

        “No …” Percy shook his head, adamant about his thoughts. “You didn’t order the theft. Someone else sent a hero to steal the two weapons — Zeus’s Bolt and Hades’s Helmet. Then, when Zeus sent you to hunt the thief down, you caught the hero, but you didn’t turn him over to Zeus. Something convinced you to let the thief go. You kept the items until another hero could come along and complete the delivery — me.” His green eyes drifted out to the sea. “... That thing in the pit is ordering you around.”

        “I’m the God of War, Percy Jackson! I take orders from no one! I don’t have dreams!”

        Josephine’s brows knitted together. “We never said anything about dreams, Lord Ares …”

        Oh, dreams … Onesimus sighed, almost in a humored manner, like he was enjoying the playthrough. What a wonderful way to give and receive information. Maybe the short-sighted god is dealing with things similar to you, Posie — dreams, voices, indecisions.

        Ares looked fully agitated now, scowling deeply as smoke continued to curl off his sunglasses in small amounts. However, he straightened his posture, trying to cover his agitation with a smirk — it didn’t work. “Let’s get back to the problem at hand, Posie — you’re all still alive. But I can’t have Old Seaweed’s kid taking that Bolt back to Olympus. He might just get those hard-headed idiots to listen to him. So I’ve got to kill him — and all of you, too.

        He snapped his finger and the sand exploded five feet in front of him — out charged a wild boar, even larger and uglier than the one whose head was hung above the door of Cabin Five at Camp Half-Blood. The beast pawed at the sand, its nostrils flaring as it puffed angrily. It glared angrily at Percy with its beady eyes, lowering its razor-sharp tusks as it waited for the command to kill.

        Percy stepped into the surf — where the waves were breaking at the sand and sea foam was forming. “Fight me yourself, Ares. Not with that stupid-looking boar.”

        Josephine looked at the son of Poseidon with wide eyes, wondering what had gotten over him. However, Ares only laughed — but there was an edge to his voice, a certain uneasiness you wouldn’t expect the God of War to have. “You’ve only got one talent, kid — running away. You ran from the Chimera. You ran from the Underworld. You don’t have what it takes.”

        Percy frowned, not liking the digs Ares was making. “Scared?” he countered.

        Ares gave a bark of laughter, but there was still this level of tension to him. “In your adolescent dreams, kid.” However, now his sunglasses were starting to melt from the heat in his eyes — warping around the bridge of his nose, melting down the side of his face. “No direct involvement from gods. Sorry, kid. You’re not at my level.”

        Annabeth must have seen something Josephine hadn’t. Something from the boar because she pointed ferociously at the wild animal, her face twisting with fear. “Percy, run!” she screamed.

        The giant boar charged at the son of Poseidon, its four hooves digging through the sand to get momentum. As the wild animal rushed for Percy, he whipped out the pen, yanking the plastic cap off — with a shring! the Celestial bronze sword shimmered into view. He tightened his grip on the leather-bound handle, side-stepping at the right moment. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching, as Percy swung Riptide upwards in one large slash. The boar squealed loudly as its severed right tusk fell into the sand at Percy’s feet. Disoriented from pain and shock, the wild animal charged right into the ocean.

        Percy stepped back into the surf, water rushing over his feet and ankles. He held Riptide with one hand, shooting his hand out to the ocean. “Wave!” he shouted, and the sea responded. Immediately, a large wave surged up from the currents, hitting the sand — a curl of blue water with sea foam on top. The water crashed right on top of the boar’s head, curving over him like a glove, and soon — the wild boar was surrounded by a layer of ocean water, and was being dragged toward the ocean. It squealed in terror, but once the large wave receded, the boar was no more.

        A stunned silence settled over the five, including Ares. No, especially Ares. The God of War stood beside his bike, the engine still vibrating the sand around him. By now, the temples of the sunglasses had melted completely. Percy’s jaw set as he turned back around to face the god. “Are you going to fight me now?” he questioned. “Or are you gonna hide behind another pet pig?”

        Ares’s nostrils flared as his neck turned a deep shade of purple in anger. “Watch it, kid. I could turn you into —”

        “A cockroach,” Percy interrupted, his tone flat. “Or a tapeworm. Yeah, I’m sure. That’d save you from getting your godly ass whooped, wouldn’t it?”

        A burst of flames danced along the rim of Ares’s melting shades now, the flames reaching the end of his short buzz cut. “Oh, man, you’re really asking to be smashed into a grease spot.”

        The son of Poseidon, however, didn’t seem deterred. He faced the God of War, holding Riptide to one side. “If I lose,” he started, “turn me into anything you want — grease spot, cockroach, tapeworm, whatever. You can even take the Bolt. If I win, the Helmet and the Bolt are mine, and you have to go away.”

        Ares sneered at the boy. He kicked the end of the baseball bat with the toe of his boot, kicking up a cloud of sand dust as the baseball swung into the air. “How would you like to get smashed? Classic or modern?”

        Percy held out Riptide silently, turning the sword over in his hands.

        Ares raised his eyebrows at the weapon. “Fine. That’s cool, dead boy,” he decided. He turned the baseball bat over with one hand. “Classic, it is.”

        He moved to grip the bat with two hands, the way you would hold a two-handed weapon like a sword or spear. In a dark red shimmer, the baseball grew and changed shape — turning into a gigantic, two-handed sword. The hilt was a large, silver skull with a ruby encrusted in its open mouth. Josephine’s stomach dropped when she saw it, the silver blade glinting brightly in the sun, perfectly sharpened for any demigod-slicing activities Ares may want to entertain himself with.

        She surged forward before either Ares or Percy could charge. “Percy,” she whispered under her breath, grabbing him by the upper arm. “Don’t do this. You can’t. He’s a god.”

        “He’s a coward and a pain in my ass,” Percy disagreed, frowning at her.

        Josephine silently glanced at the God of War. He was still watching them from his spot beside his motorcycle. The bad thing was, she didn’t entirely disagree with Percy’s assessment. After what she had just learned, she saw the god in a more light of annoyance rather than fear. “... Ares’s a lot of things, Percy, but he’s a god before all of those things. A god with a lot of godly power.”

        Annabeth stepped beside them silently as what had to be a thousand different thoughts rolled through her mind. But what was the most noticeable thing on her face was anxiety. Her grey eyes flickered back to Ares from over her shoulder. She looked back at Percy, her brows knitting together. “... Wear this, at least,” she decided. “For luck.” She reached her hands under the blonde braids at the back of her neck, untying her Camp necklace with her years and years of experience, along with the college ring her father had sent her as a peace offering. She pursed her lips as she tied it around Percy’s neck.

        She stepped back, giving the son of Poseidon a tight-lipped smile. “Reconciliation,” she said. “Whether our parents work together or not, we do.”

        Percy smiled, adjusting the leather-bound necklace. “Thanks, Annabeth.”

        Grover rushed forward, pulling something out of the back pocket of his pants. “And take this!” He handed Percy what Josephine realized was a flattened tin can. It was still dripping with water, and she couldn’t tell if it was flattened on purpose or because it had been sat on. He must’ve been carrying it for a thousand miles by now. “The satyrs stand behind you, Percy.”

        “Grover, I …” The black-haired boy trailed off. He turned the can over in his hands, his brows knitting together in what must’ve been confusion mixed with an acceptance that this was how satyrs were. “I don’t know what to say, G-man.”

        Grover smiled, clearly pleased with himself. He patted Percy on the shoulder, and the son of Poseidon quickly stuffed the tin can into the back pocket of his pants.

        Josephine was silent for a moment, knowing Percy was expecting something from her — perhaps one of the few items she still had on her after the bus explosion back in New Jersey, or some encouraging words. But she didn’t know what she could give him, or what she could even say. What she wanted to say was that she thought Percy was an idiot to even think about fighting Ares, but the son of Poseidon had clearly made up his mind — he would fight the God of War for the chance of getting the Master Bolt and the Helmet of Darkness. It was admirable, even if the mere idea of it terrified Josephine. 

        Her eyes slowly looked down to where she kept her daggers. They meant a lot to her. They were weapons designed by her and Lee (with the help of Beckendorf), made by Beckendorf, son of Hephaestus, only for her use. The daggers wouldn’t help Percy in the fight, and truthfully, he did need all the help he could get. But the daggers meant everything to her, and it would mean giving up something she cared deeply for if she gave it to him — even if for a short term. However, the small action of her giving a dagger over would always pale in comparison to Percy leaving his mother behind in the Underworld.

        Despite that, Josephine still grabbed one dagger by the hilt, pulling it out of the waistband of her shorts. She grabbed Percy’s wrist, pulled his hand forward, and placed the dagger carefully in his open palm. “It won’t do you any good in the fight,” she admitted. “But these were the daggers that helped me a lot with learning how to fight better.”

        Percy stared down at the dagger for a moment. Then, he wrapped his fingers around it, the leather-wrapped hilt sliding into his hand. He looked up and nodded to her, smiling. “Thanks, Posie,” he told her.

        She gave him a tight-lipped smile, not correcting the use of her nickname.

        Further down the length of the beach, Ares started for the four, his black leather jacket trailing behind him. The gigantic sword glinted like fire in the early sunrise. “You all done saying goodbye?” he asked, raising his eyebrows over his melted sunglasses. They were smoking now, but the fire had stopped dancing. “I’ve been fighting for thousands of years, kid. My strength is unlimited, and I cannot die. What have you got?” He pointed his chin at the son of Poseidon.

        Percy didn’t reply to the question, keeping his feet in the surf. He backed further into the water until he was ankle-deep. Suddenly, Ares rushed forward; Josephine, Annabeth, and Grover jumped backward; the God of War had his two-handed sword over his head, then — he cleaved it into the wet sand, the blade slowly sinking from the weight. And where the sword had landed was where Percy had just been; however, now, he was even further back in the water. 

        He was now hip-deep in the water, and a thin layer seemed to be clinging to him up until the waistband — the same way the water had wrapped around the wild boar. Percy readied Riptide by his right side, like he was ready to slash, and the layer of water around him seemed to push him upwards — into the air and catapulting over the god, with a torrent of water in his wake. As his feet angeled toward the sand on the opposite side of Ares, he brought Riptide down in one great movement — but Ares was just as quick, even as the torrent of water doused him. He spun around, the layer of water on his jacket propelled off the ends, as he deflected a strike that would’ve caught him directly in the spine with the hilt of his sword.

        The deflection made Percy lose his footing. As his feet hit the surf, he stumbled backward, nearly falling on his butt. Ares grinned viciously, his skin stretching around the smile. “Not bad, kid, not bad.”

        However, he didn’t give time for Percy to recover. He lunged forward, moving the upper half of his body to gain momentum to swing the two-handed sword. Percy’s face balked as he realized and quickly rolled onto dry sand, becoming covered in a thin layer of it, and clumsily climbed to his feet. But he didn’t get time to recover, having to sidestep out of the giant sword’s range. Past Ares’s large frame, he glanced back at the surf, and tried to dart past — but Ares seemed to know exactly what Percy was trying to do. He took two large steps forward, making Percy clamber backwards, swinging Riptide wildly. The god was pressing Percy so hard that the boy had no chance of getting back into the surf and was now putting all his attention into not being sliced into small, demigod pieces.

        But that was the thing about their weapons. Ares’s giant, two-handed sword had a far longer reach than Riptide did. That was one of the first things Josephine had learned when deciding to fight with weapons like swords and daggers over bows (partly because she was so bad with bows): if you have a shorter blade compared to your opponent, then you’re going to have to get in closer if you wanted any hits. It seems obvious, and it is, but in the middle of battle, you don’t exactly have time to stop and think about obviousness. 

        Percy glanced past Ares again, his eyes darting out to the surf that was now even further away. Then, he looked up at Ares, having to tilt his head back slightly — the God of War grinned down at him. The son of Poseidon tightened his grip on Riptide, stepping to the opposite side of Ares’s sword, trying to step in with a thrust — but Ares saw him for what he was trying to do. The god knocked the Celestial bronze blade out of Percy’s hands with a single back swipe and then raised his right foot, kicking Percy in the very middle of his chest. Josephine winced, gritting her teeth as the boy went airborne — flying twenty to thirty feet backward. If it hadn’t been for the soft sand of a dune he landed on, Percy Jackson would’ve broken his back into tiny little pieces.

        Beside her, Annabeth gasped loudly, looking at the burning city of Los Angeles. “Percy!” she yelled, her voice carrying over the sand. “Cops!”

        Josephine quickly looked — red and blue lights were blinding her vision as she tried to look at the shoreline boulevard. She heard many car doors slamming shut. But she could tear her eyes away from Percy and Ares’s fight long enough to try and decipher what the police officers were doing.

        “There, officer!” somebody yelled from the sidewalk. “You see?”

        With his figure masked by the blinding blue and red lights, Josephine heard a gruff voice. “Looks like that kid on TV … What the hell is goin’ on?”

        Another cop’s voice said, “That guy’s armed. Call for backup.”

        Percy shook the dazedness from his eyes, quickly rolling to one side as Ares’s blade slashed the dune into bits. He stumbled to his feet, running for Riptide, and scooped it into his hands. He spun around, trying to make a swipe for Ares’s face — only for the god to easily deflect the swipe with his sword.

        Percy glanced back at the surf, quickly stepping backward for it. He forced the God of War to follow, but Ares seemed like he was enjoying himself. He swung the giant sword in a circle to one side of him, grinning broadly. “Admit it, kid,” he prodded Percy with taunts. “You got no hope to win this. I’m just toying with you!”

        From the streets, Josephine saw a second cop car pull up, its sirens blaring in overtime. Further down the street, she saw a third one nearly tilting on two wheels as it took a sharp curve. There were tons of spectators by now — people who had left their houses for the streets after the gigantic earthquake caused by Hades. They were all gathering in the street, watching in horror as two people fought violently on the beach. Among the crowd, she thought she saw a few who were walking with a strange, trotting swiftness of disguised satyrs. There were shimmering forms — like spirits from the Underworld to watch the battle. Overhead, she heard the flap of leathery wings circling the way a predator does for food.

        Percy tried to step further into the water, but Ares launched himself forward — the tip of his blade ripped the boy’s sleeve and grazed his forearm. Percy winced, jumping back into the water.

        A police officer’s voice rippled through a megaphone, “Drop the guns! Set them on the ground — now!”

        It was the Mist’s fault. Back in New Jersey, when that mortal man snapped a photo of Percy with Riptide out, the sword looked like a blurry baseball bat. Seemingly to all these mortal eyes, the two swords looked like guns. As Josephine realized this, Ares’s weapon started to flicker — sometimes it looked like a shotgun, then back to the two-handed sword. Perhaps Riptide looked like another shotgun or some other type of gun to the mortals.

        When the police officer’s voice reached Ares’s ears, he stopped trying to slice Percy into bits. He turned to glare at the spectators, giving Percy a moment to breathe — he quickly plunged his arm into the water, healing the cut Ares had given him. By now, there were five police cars, and an even greater number of officers were lining up behind them, pistols trained on the two fighting in the sand.

        The God of War scowled at the crowd. “This is a private matter!” he bellowed, his voice shaking dust off nearby buildings. “Be gone!”

        He made a large sweep with one hand and from his fingertips shot red flames — they rolled onto the sand, barreling for the line of patrol cars, growing larger and larger until it was a wall of red flames. The officers hardly had any time to react — except for diving for cover before their vehicles exploded right in front of them. The growing crowd of pedestrians behind the officers all scattered into small groups, screaming inaudibly as so many voices mixed together.

        Seeing the chaos, Ares roared with a bout of laughter. “Now, little hero.” He turned back around, facing Percy. “Let’s add you to the barbecue. Only hurt for a minute.”

        He took one large step forward, lifting his sword to one side to give a large slash; however, Percy managed to deflect it, knocking Ares off balance. The son of Poseidon lunged closer, close enough to make a strike with Riptide. Before attacking, he tried to fake the god out with a feint to the left — but Ares saw Percy’s move for what it was, hurling his leg out, his shin striking Percy directly in the chest, and sending the half-blood sprawling backward in the ocean. Percy sat in the ocean, the waves knocking him on the back and washing over his shoulders. Ares was up to his thighs now, wading further in after the son of Poseidon.

        Ares stalked Percy, grinning confidently. The boy climbed to his feet, the waves washing against his lower back, as he lowered Riptide, like he was too exhausted to go on. However, Josephine saw the way he was watching the god, like the way a hawk does for a fish jumping out of water. Somehow, Ares’s grin widened, and he raised his sword for another blow, then — Percy jumped, just a small torrent of water to launch himself over Ares, and quickly following Percy was a wave. 

        The wave grew quicker than Ares could react, growing in size as Percy gained momentum in the air. Before he knew it, a six-foot wall of water slammed into the god’s face, leaving him cursing and sputtering with a mouth full of seaweed. Percy landed behind Ares with a splash, raising Riptide for the god’s head. Ares did manage to turn around in time to raise his sword — but he was still disoriented from the wall of salt water to the face. Realizing Ares had turned around, Percy changed direction — he lunged to one side, stabbing Riptide downward, straight through the water, sending the point through the god’s heel.

        The roar that followed made Hades’s earthquake look like a minor event — from this close to the source, at least. The very water that had slammed Ares in the face was blasted back from him, leaving a wet circle of sand that was fifty feet wide. Percy wasn’t spared, either, flying backward out of the circle of water, sliding across the sand toward the other questers. He climbed to his feet, readying his sword to point at Ares.

        But Josephine saw it — ichor. The golden blood of the gods. It wasn’t much, but a small trail of it came from the gash in the War God’s boot. Somehow, Percy Jackson had managed to maim Ares, the God of War, without breaking every bone in his body.

        The expression on Ares’s face was beyond hatred. It was pain, shock, and complete disbelief that he had been wounded — by a twelve-year-old demigod, no less. He limped towards Percy, muttering Ancient Greek curses.

        But something stopped him, just at the edge of the fifty-foot circle. It was as if a cloud had covered the sun — but it was far worse than just a cloud covering the sun. Lights faded enough to dull any shadows the climbing sun created, and all sounds and colors drained away — the police sirens muffled, the mortals screaming became hushed, the red flames burning away the patrol cars' noiseless. A cold, heavy presence passed over the beach — slowing time, dropping the temperature to what felt like freezing, and making Josephine feel like life was hopeless and fighting for good was useless. Even Onesimus’s comments about the battle halted, as if something had paused him mid-sentence.

        But just as quickly as it descended upon them, the darkness lifted. 

        Still paused at the edge of the circle he had created, Ares looked stunned. Behind them in the city, the police cars began burning loudly again — crackling with fire as bursts of red flames shot into the air from the gasoline. The crowd of spectators had completely fled by now. Josephine, Annabeth, and Grover stood on the beach, all frozen in shock, watching as the sea water flooded back around Ares’s feet. His glowing, golden ichor dispersed in the tide, covering his demigod-made injury.

        Instead of continuing the fight, the God of War lowered his sword. “You have made an enemy, godling,” he informed the son of Poseidon. “You have sealed your fate. Every time you raise your blade in battle, every time you hope for success — you will feel my curse. Beware, Perseus Jackson. Beware.”

        His body began to glow, and Josephine’s eyes widened. She wasn’t sure if anyone had ever told Percy about the death that comes from seeing a god in their true form. Ares was probably hoping that no one had ever told him.

        “Percy!” she shouted. “Don’t look!”

        The daughter of Apollo turned away, shielding her eyes, as the god revealed his true immortal form. A wave of hot wind blasted into her, wrapping around her in an uncomfortable blanket of warmth. And as quickly as the light appeared, the light died, taking with it the warmth and Ares.

        With the God of War gone, the gentle tide rolled out to reveal Hades’s bronze Helmet of Darkness. Percy silently walked back out to the surf, picked up the weapon of power, and walked back to the three waiting for him. However, before Percy could reach them, she heard the flapping of leathery wings again. Descending from the smoky sky were three evil-looking grandmothers with lace hats and fiery whips. They landed in the space between Percy and the other three questers. 

        The middle Fury — the one who had been Mrs. Dodds — stepped forward, her leathery wings tucked behind her back. Her sharp fangs were bared, but for once, she didn’t look threatening, like she wanted to kill Percy. Rather, she looked more disappointed, as if she had been planning to have supper on Percy’s thigh bone but had decided she would get indigestion instead.

        “We saw the whole thing,” the Fury hissed. “So … it truly was not you?”

        Percy looked back down at the Helmet, which glinted in the sun. Then, he tossed it to the Fury, who caught it with surprise. “Return that to Lord Hades,” he told her. “Tell him the truth — that Ares had it. Tell him to call off the war.”

        The Fury hesitated — then she ran a forked tongue over her green, leathery lips. “Live well, Percy Jackson. Become a true hero. Because if you do not, and if you ever come into my clutches again …” She let the threat hang unfinished, but soon, she cackled, savoring the idea. Then, she and her sisters rose on their bat wings, fluttering into the smoke-filled sky — and they disappeared.

        Percy joined Grover, Annabeth, and Josephine near the end of the beach, where the sand met the infrastructure of Los Angeles. Josephine was sure that her face mirrored Annabeth and Grover’s expression of awe.

        The satyr stared at the black-haired boy, his jaw hanging slightly. “Percy … That was so incredibly —”

        “Terrifying,” Annabeth answered for him.

        “Cool!” Grover corrected.

        Josephine started to smile. “Terrifyingly cool,” she decided. “I’ve never known of anyone who fought a god and lived.”

        However, Percy didn’t look happy to take the compliments. He looked completely and utterly exhausted. “Did you guys feel that …?” His expression churned as he glanced back to where Ares once stood. “Whatever it was.”

        The happy expression to see Percy living melted away. The three all shared an uneasy glance before nodding.

        “Must’ve been the Furies overhead,” Grover assumed with a shrug.

        It could have been, but Josephine wasn’t so sure. Something had stopped Ares from killing Percy — not Ares himself, but something more powerful than him and the Furies. Silently, she glanced at Annabeth and Percy, and an unspoken understanding passed between the three of them. They all had a strong feeling of what was in that pit; of what had spoken from the entrance into Tartarus.

        Percy reclaimed his backpack from Grover, looking inside — the Master Bolt was still there. It was such a small thing to send four people to the Underworld, almost be trapped by Hades, and fight the God of War, and nearly cause World War III. Percy zipped the bag closed quickly, slinging one strap over his shoulder. “We have to get back to New York,” he said. “By tonight.”

        “That’s impossible,” decided Annabeth, slowly starting to shake her head. “I mean, unless we —”

        “Fly,” finished the son of Poseidon, nodding at her.

        Josephine looked from the blonde to Percy, her eyes widening. “Fly? As in, airplane fly? Zeus’ll kill you before the plane even gets off the ground!”

        Annabeth stared at Percy as if he had suddenly grown three heads like Cerberus. “You were warned by Chiron to never do that, or Zeus will strike you out of the sky. You’re carrying a weapon that has more destructive power than a nuclear bomb.”

        “Yeah, I am,” Percy agreed. “But it’s the only way. C’mon.”

Chapter Text

chapter fifteen
❛ up on mt. olympus ❜

━━━━━  IT WAS QUITE startling to see just how easily mortals could (and would) warp the truth of it all to fit into the confines of what they could only feasibly understand. Alarming, yes, but a small part of her was also … envious. To so easily chalk up all the crazy stuff to anything but the Greek gods and monsters — Josephine was green with envy that she couldn't do the same. She wished she could. She wished she could just see what the mortals saw and then go back to her mortal home, with her mortal family (maybe with some mortal pets, too), and live out her mortal life, perhaps mentioning the crazy fight on the beach in passing for small talk.

        Yet, she couldn't. She couldn't do any of that. This — the gods, the monsters — was her life. She was no regular mortal; she was a demigod, with the blood of Apollo flowing through her body (and it was really messing with her life).

        The walk from the beach to the paved ground was rather nerve-wracking — not as nerve-wracking as watching Percy fight Ares or meeting and confronting Hades when they thought he was the Master Bolt thief. (Josephine had doubts that anything could ever top those.) She just didn't know what the mortals would see or assume. Would they immediately handcuff and cart off her, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover to the L.A. police station? Would the mortals assume the four were some sort of victims of some crazy scheme, targeted by the madman Percy had just fought on the Santa Monica beach?

        Somewhat.

        Many mortals stared at them as the four climbed the last sand dune and made their way onto the cracked, worn sidewalks. Many others refused to look at them, perhaps too scared — maybe they were thinking the four would somehow curse them, or maybe that if they made eye contact, Percy would declare a fight with them. Josephine's skin crawled with so many eyes on her. She didn't blame the mortals any, but part of her wanted to snap at all of them. It wasn't her fault, they didn't have to be staring at her like it was! It wasn't like she asked for her father to be Apollo, or like she asked to go on this quest for the stolen Master Bolt.

        She leaned over, grabbing Percy by the upper arm to whisper, "We need a way to get to the airport …"

        The son of Poseidon glanced at her from the corner of his eye. However, before he could do anything, a swarm of mortals suddenly surged forward — a woman dressed nicely, a couple of men with huge hunks of cameras slung on their shoulders, and a large microphone in the woman's hand. A news anchor and her cameraman.

        The idea of being on camera, filmed, and broadcast to gods knows how many people made her skin crawl even more — but there wasn't anything she could do about it. The cameramen were already filming, skimming from each ragged face of the four as the news anchor talked at a rapid rate to the one camera pointed at her. Josephine's mind spun as she tried to listen to the story the news anchor was telling. In a matter of minutes from the Percy–Ares battle concluding, a story had already been spun — the explosion at the Santa Monica beach had been caused when a crazy kidnapper fired a shotgun at a police car. The crazy kidnapper accidentally hit a gas main that had ruptured during the earthquake. (What ironic timing …)

        Josephine silently shook her head as she listened to it all. The crazy kidnapper (Ares) was apparently also the same man who had abducted Percy all the way back in New York State. Then, somehow, the crazy kidnapper managed to grab the nameless girl from the St. Louis Arch explosion (Josephine) and the two other adolescents (Annabeth and Grover) and brought them all the way across the country — a ten-day odyssey of terror. (Which, yes, it was, but not for the reasons all those mortals think.)

        If you thought about it for more than five minutes, you would find a tiny million holes in the story — but they didn't, because they had no reason to question the crazy story. It was easier to believe the crazy stuff they passively hear on the news than to look into it just a little bit deeper. Besides, none of the four was going to correct them. One; they'd probably get thrown in some mental institution if they tried to tell the real story (you know, the "crazy kidnapper" actually being a god). Two; Percy being painted as a victim of everything actually was a good thing. Percy Jackson wasn't an international criminal, after all; he was just a poor little victim of a madman.

        It was startling, yes, but it was also fascinating to see the Mist and mortal minds working together to protect the mortals. Josephine watched in fascination as the news anchor spun a tale of all the snippets of information they had over the ten days — the commotion on the Greyhound bus in New Jersey was actually Percy trying to get away from his captor. (Afterward, witnesses would even swear they had seen the leather-clad man on the bus. "Why didn't I remember him before?" they would cry. "Must've been the trauma of it all …") Instead of Percy and Josephine being responsible for the St. Louis Arch explosion, it was the crazy man's fault. After all, no kids could've done something like that. That concerned waitress in Denver? She had seen the man threatening his abductees outside her diner, had gotten a cook to take a photo, and had gone to notify the police. Reaching the end of the mortal-and-Mist spun tale, the ever-brave Percy Jackson (Josephine noticed the way he stood up taller after that) had stolen a gun from his captor in Los Angeles, battling the man shotgun-to-rifle on the beach. By some miracle, the police had arrived just in time. But during the "spectacular explosion," five police cards had been destroyed, and the captor had fled.

        There were no fatalities; Percy and his three friends were safely in police custody.

        There was no arguing against this story now — that is, if they even wanted to try and dispute anything. The four questers just nodded and acted tearful and exhausted (which wasn't hard), and they played like victimized, traumatized kids for the cameras as the story was fed to the watchers.

        "All I want," Percy croaked, tears obviously making a film over his eyes, "is to see my loving stepfather again. Every time I saw him on TV, calling me a" — his eyes flickered from three cameras pointed at him, trying really hard to tug at the heart string of viewers — "… delinquent punk, I knew — somehow — we would be okay. And I know he'll want to reward each and every person in this beautiful city of Los Angeles with a free major appliance from his store in NYC. Here's the phone number …"

        The four were in the police station, with reporters crowding around them as Percy rattled off the phone number to his stepfather's store. Josephine couldn't fail to notice the glint of satisfaction in the boy's eyes as many reporters started jotting down the number on their hand or a small notebook. The story the reporters and Percy spun was so moving that the mortals in L.A. raised enough money for four tickets for the next plane that would leave for New York. None of the four were still keen on the idea of flying — but they had no choice here. They had less than a day to return the Master Bolt to Zeus, and Josephine only hoped that the God of the Sky would cut them all some slack — especially Percy (and especially considering the circumstances of Percy having the Master Bolt in a backpack).

        She tried to tell him that — that Zeus would probably give them leeway with the whole son-of-Poseidon-not-supposed-to-be-flying rule; however, she still had to drag Percy onto the plane before it flew off without him. It should've been a sign that flying with Percy Jackson was going to be a nightmare, with or without the constant worry of Zeus frying them to death hanging over their heads. His panicked state made Josephine's panicked state even worse than it normally was. With every spot of turbulence, he would grab her arm tightly, digging his nails into her skin. ("Percy, that hurts," she hissed at him, trying to pull her arm out of his grip.

        "What's gonna hurt worse is if Zeus strikes us down," he hissed back, his eyebrows pinching as they passed through another small spot of turbulence.

        "We won't even know if he does," she countered. "We'll be dead before we feel the pain."

        "That makes me feel so much better, Posie …")

        After some point in the air, he didn't end up letting go of her arm until they touched down safely in La Guardia. Josephine was still rubbing the nail indentations on her arms as the four walked out of the terminal, where a bunch of local press were waiting for them, just beyond the bounds of security. They ducked behind a group of adults, whispering furiously to one another as they tried to find a way around it all. The press would only hold them up, and daylight was only going to last for so much longer. Fortunately, Annabeth had a plan: she lured the press away while under her invisible Yankees cap, shouting, "Percy Jackson's over by the frozen yogurt! This way!"

        The three lagged around, Percy ducking down here and there if some mortal's eyes lingered on them for just a bit too long, as they waited for Annabeth to rejoin them at the baggage claim. They spilled outside the La Guardia airport, and Percy grabbed a taxi from a nearby taxi stand. Tight for money, they all had to split the taxi as the driver eyed them — a group of four preteens putting all their money together for a single taxi surely wasn't the best thing to witness pouring into your car.

        The taxi ride to Manhattan wasn't that long, but with New York traffic — it took over an hour. (From what Percy said, the distance between La Guardia and Manhattan was only around thirty minutes.) It gave them time to digest everything without cameras shoved in their faces and no Percy Jacksons clinging to arms as they looked ready to vomit on airplanes. As they crept through traffic along the Queens–Midtown Tunnel, Percy told them something: that the others, Josephine, Annabeth, and Grover, needed to get back to Half-Blood Hill. They needed to let Chiron know what was going on.

        Surprisingly, Josephine found herself shaking her head. The idea of leaving Percy to face Mount Olympus alone made her stomach queasy with this heavy feeling of unease. "I'm going with you," she declared.

        He quickly frowned at her, looking taken aback. "Posie," he started. "If things go bad, you three" — he looked between the others in the taxi with him —" can get out alive. I have to do this. By myself."

        She frowned back at Percy. She didn't know why she was so insistent upon this. Percy was right: they needed to get to Camp and tell Chiron everything, and that he probably should be doing this by himself, as this was his quest — but the idea of leaving Percy alone didn't sit right with her. It wasn't that Percy was incapable (he certainly wasn't), she just … couldn't let him do this alone.

        "Given your track record," she began, racking her brain with the most obvious answer she could muster, "things will definitely go bad. That's why I should go — try and meditate or something. A middle man of sorts." She looked back at Annabeth and Grover, who looked ready to argue with Percy themselves. "You guys go, tell Chiron everything. Percy and I will do our best not to get blown to smithereens by Zeus."

        Percy scowled at the small dig Josephine had made. "You're really instilling them with confidence, Posie …" he grumbled.

        Josephine glared at the son of Poseidon for the repeated use of the nickname. However, instead of fighting that battle (again), she only rolled her eyes silently to herself.

        As she predicted, Grover and Annabeth ended up protesting Percy's plan; he ended up arguing back, insisting that they all needed to go to Half-Blood Hill. (He was even still trying to convince Josephine that she needed to stick with the others and make it back to Camp with their lives and limbs still attached; however, she only shook her head and insisted that she would go with him.) She had to admit, she was finding it incredibly hard at the mere idea of splitting up, not even actually going separate ways yet — even if it would only (and hopefully) be for a short amount of time. And truthfully, she never thought she'd feel that way about anyone besides her siblings and Mrs. Hall. She never thought she would be able to be around people and not constantly worry about how she was going to sound — if she would say something weird, or accidentally mean, or just mess something up. She still had those worries, but they were few and far between with Annabeth, Percy, and Grover.

        She didn't think she would ever not be worrying. For as long as she could remember, Josephine had always been worrying. About something, anything — Beau, Mrs. Hall, her next meal, schoolwork, if the water would be working the next time she came home. This constant feeling of having this tightness around her heart, that had already spread so far it had taken to making her entire chest feel like it was knotted into a million small ones. It was a horrible feeling, but a feeling she couldn't get rid of no matter the amount of breathing exercises, stretching, or meditation she did. Even with the others, she still worried, but they knew that — and they tried to help. Even Onesimus did, with his constant insults and nagging. Not many people ever cared to try.

        We both know why you want to go up to Olympus, he told her. She could almost incision his face — dark hair and dark eyes with strong features coated in a layer of disgust. It was all she imagined, at least, as she had no idea if Onesimus ever even had a physical form. You want to find Apollo and scream at him. Be honest.

        That's not it! she denied fervently. (However, both of them knew better. Onesimus was right, and he silently gloated in the truth, leaving Josephine with the knowledge that he was.)

✿

As their taxi from La Guardia pulled over on some sidewalk on the outskirts of Manhattan, she had to quickly slip out of the vehicle — before Percy could slam the door in her face and force her back to Camp Half-Blood. She ignored his vexed expression, pulling him away from the taxi with Annabeth and Grover still inside. She saw their heads pivot around to watch until they couldn't any longer as their driver disappeared into traffic on another street.

        Not too much further down the sidewalk, a taxi was parked, letting out a couple of adults who looked to be in their twenties. Josephine grabbed Percy by the arm, making sure the backpack with Zeus's Master Bolt was still on his shoulder, and they trekked for the emptying taxi before it could leave. The driver, a man in his early fifties perhaps, didn't seem to care they were a couple of preteens — the only thing he cared about was if they had enough money for the ride all the way to the Empire State Building.

        Before they slid into the backseat, Percy stopped her. "Just so you know," he started, "I'm letting you go with him."

        With one foot planted on the car's floorboards, her body angled to slide into the taxi, Josephine scoffed loudly. "Uh-huh. Sure. If that's what you want to think, Seaweed Brain."

        She got inside, ignoring the nosy stare the driver was giving them from the rearview mirror. Seeing two kids, who admittedly looked rough for wear, bickering outside a cab surely wasn't the strangest thing he's seen in New York City. With no other choice, Percy climbed inside after her — and the taxi sped off for Manhattan.

        Thirty minutes later, Josephine and Percy were walking into the lobby of the Empire State Building. She found herself cringing silently as she realized something — not only did they look rough for wear, they looked homeless, and probably with crazed stares from lack of sleep, too. With their tattered clothes, scraped faces, and body odor (that they were just nose blind to by now), they didn't look like the typical audience of the Empire State Building. They looked furthest from corporate workers or city tourists.

        But they had to do this. They had no other choice (besides certain death if they didn't). They walked straight to the man behind the front desk. When the worker didn't look at them, Percy declared, "Six hundredth floor."

        "Please," added Josephine when Percy didn't. He only rolled his eyes.

        The man was reading a huge book — it had a picture of a young-looking boy with a wand on the front. Harry Potter, Josephine was pretty sure, but she had no idea which book it was. "No such floor, kiddos." He shook his head behind the thick book, not even bothering to glance at them.

        She frowned deeply. Sure, they looked homeless, but she had doubts that there was a high chance of homeless kids babbling about six hundred floors who didn't know about the gods. "We — I mean, Percy needs to talk to Zeus."

        The worker glanced up over the book, his expression vacant and stern. "Sorry?" His tone was false politeness that people use for people they think less of.

        "I know you heard me," she replied hotly.

        Either this worker was just mean, or he was having a particularly bad day. His vacant, stern expression melted into one of unmistakable annoyance. "No appointment, no audience, kiddos," he told them flatly. "Lord Zeus doesn't see anyone unannounced."

        Josephine frowned back at the worker. After everything, this man reading some book about a wizard boy wasn't going to be the very thing that stopped them from giving the Master Bolt back to Zeus. By the gods, not even Hades nor Ares could. She elbowed Percy in the arm, motioning to the backpack slung on his shoulder.

        He nodded in understanding — the backpack's contents would surely give them an exception. "Oh, I think he'll make an exception …" the son of Poseidon slipped off the strap, setting it on the counter, before he unzipped it and tilted it for the man to look inside, "this."

        The guard didn't look impressed by their attempt. He lazily glanced inside, easily spotting the metal cylinder; however, he didn't seem to realize what it was for a few seconds — then, his face paled and he swallowed harshly. "That … that isn't —"

        "Yes, it is," Percy interrupted, nodding at him. "You want me to take it out and —"

        "No!" The guard dropped his book, it hitting the desk with a loud clatter as his page number became lost. "Gods, no!" He scrambled out of his seat in fear, fumbling around his desk for something — a key card, which he practically threw into Josephine's chest. "Insert this in the security slot. Make sure nobody else's in the elevator with you."

        Josephine held the card tightly between her fingers as she nodded at the man. Percy tugged the backpack off the counter, zipped it back closed, and slung it back over his back. "Thank you, sir," she told the guard, taking the lead for the elevator. They made their way inside the elevator, silent as mice, making sure no mortals were trying to get inside with them. As the metal doors drew closed, and it was still just the two of them, Josephine pushed the key into the security slot. Nothing happened for a few moments — until the card disappeared with a shimmer, and a button appeared on the metal console. It was a red button and it had a small 600 plated above it in gold.

        She pressed it, and nothing exploded (to her knowledge), and then started the long wait until they made it to their destination.

        From speakers overhead, muzak played quietly — nothing too loud to be head-splitting, but enough to not have occupants in complete silence. "Raindrops keep falling on my head …" were some of the lyrics. However, there was enough quiet in between the lyrics and the music composition to drive Josephine a little mad.

        She broke the silence between her and Percy. "If things go south, I'll start talking."

        He glanced at her, but then kept his eyes firmly trained on the floor pattern just before his feet. "If things go south, you get out and to safety."

        Josephine frowned as she stared at Percy's side profile. It was something she had noticed over the quest, but it was something that was becoming far more prominent — his affliction to always be the hero. Instead of picking another petty argument, she let him say his piece on what he thinks she should do. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning her right shoulder against the cool metal as she waited for the numbers to increase.

        He broke the silence next. "You didn't want to come with me 'cause you thought I needed help dealing with Zeus, right?"

        Even if she didn't say it aloud, Josephine knew that wasn't the entire reason. Yes, she was worried about Percy meeting Zeus and giving back the Master Bolt, but … She glanced at him, deciding it was better not to create more lies than she already had. "Part of me does want to find Apollo."

        She saw the way his brooding expression softened, and she quickly looked away. She didn't want pity, especially not from Percy Jackson. It wasn't like Poseidon was a good godly parent, either. "I'll hold my own," he told her. "Go find Apollo. Maybe … don't fight him, though."

        Josephine gave him a dry smile at the attempt of a joke. "I'll try not to. I won't abandon you right as we get there. If I see Apollo, I'll talk to him. How 'bout that?"

        However, she sounded none too excited at the prospect of talking with her father. She knew it was odd considering that was one of the main reasons she was in the elevator, climbing all the way to the 600 hundredth floor.

        Having cold feet? Onesimus asked in what could have been a polite tone, but Josephine knew better — he was picking on her.

        Don't start now, she snapped back.

        Ding! The double doors slid open, sending a burst of air rushing in — sweet as honey and as light as a feather. Despite having done this time and time again, her breath still hitched in her chest at the sight of Olympus. Before the doors closed again, sealing the two back inside, Percy stepped out, Josephine behind him. They found themselves on a narrow stone walkway in the middle of the air. Sprawling out far below them was Manhattan as they were at the height of airplanes. Stretched out right in front of them — white, marble steps that wound up the spine of a pearly-white cloud, even further into the sky.

        Ah, Olympus. Onesimus's tone was wry and cutting. How lovely.

        Stop being miserable, she quipped back.

        From the top of the clouds rose the decapitated peak of a mountain, its summit covered with white snow. Clinging to the mountainside were dozens of multi-leveled palaces — a city of pristine mansions, all with white-columned porticos, gilded terraces, and bronze braziers that glowed with a thousand fires. Roads paved wildly curved pathways up to the peak, where the largest palace gleamed against the pearly snow and golden sun. Precariously perched gardens bloomed with olive trees and rose bushes. In the distance, Josephine could make out an open-air market filled with colorful tents, a stone amphitheater built on one side of the mountain, a hippodrome, and a coliseum on the other. It was an ancient Greek city, except it wasn't in ruins; it was pristine, clean, and colorful. It was the way Athens must've looked twenty-five hundred years ago.

        She had been through here before, but she still found herself amazed. She and Percy passed some giggling wood nymphs, who threw olives at them from their gardens. Hawkers in the market offered to sell them ambrosia-on-a-stick, a new shield, and a genuine glitter-weave replica of the Golden Fleece (as seen on Hephaestus-TV, of course). The nine Muses were tuning their instruments for a concert in an always-green park while a small crowd gathered around them — satyrs, naiads, and a bunch of good-looking young adults who must've been minor gods and goddesses.

        As Josephine and Percy passed by, with Josephine admittedly gaping at the instruments the nine Muses held in awe — one of them glanced up from her lyre. Her brown eyes were doe-like, deep as the earth, and her face was eternally youthful. Her timing was perfect as her eyes locked onto the daughter of Apollo. If she didn't know any better, she could've sworn the look that flashed through the Muse's eyes was one of certain sympathy; however, when she blinked, the Muse's attention was on her lyre, as if her eyes had never once strayed.

        I'd be wary of the Muses, Josephine, advised Onesimus, his voice still holding a tilt of animosity to it. Known for their tragedy — especially that one.

        Melpomene? she asked, glancing back. Her eyes didn't linger on the instruments, but this time, on the Muse's face. The Muse didn't look up, still.

        Onesimus didn't reply, but she knew she was right. There was only one Muse of Tragedy. However, his warning reminded her of something — of how she and Onesimus came to know each other. Shouldn't I be wary of you, then? she countered, some part of her hoping he would reveal something more about himself. A voice that isn't my own talking in my head, telling me things? People would think I'm crazy if I said anything.

        But I am here for your benefit, Onesimus replied. I am here to be useful to you. A guide. Not here to just play music about tragedies and scare half-bloods that I make eye contact with them — no, that is what Melpomene does. Besides cursing people she dislikes with tragedies.

        Nobody seemed worried about an impending civil war between the Big Three brothers. Truthfully, everybody seemed in good-spirited, festive moods. Several residents of Olympus turned to watch her and Percy pass, whispering amongst themselves behind cupped hands. They climbed the main road, walking to the grand palace at the peak. As they made it closer, she realized something — this palace was a copy of Hades's palace all the way down in the Underworld, except for the colors of the palaces. In the Underworld, that palace was carved of black marble and bronze; this palace glittered white and silver. Hades must've built his palace to resemble this one. He was never welcome on Olympus — except for the Winter Solstice. So, for his exclusion, he built his own Mount Olympus all the way underground. Despite his cruelty and callous attitude, some part of Josephine felt sorry for the god. To be banished from this place so easily and tossed aside (especially when he had really done anything besides being the God of the Dead) — anyone would become bitter.

        Calling Hades bitter is putting it lightly, Onesimus added helpfully.

        You act like you know him personally, she replied.

        I know of him, 'course, he responded quickly. God of the Dead. Lord of the Underworld. Everyone knows him.

        Steps led up to a central courtyard. Beyond that, the throne room — Josephine remembered the layout somewhat. Truthfully, to describe the throne room as just a "throne room" didn't cover it. This place made Grand Central Station look like the armory behind Cabin Six — cluttered, disorganized, and discarded.

        Placed evenly around the room were twelve columns — massive columns carved Corinthian-style from white marble, with gold details painted all across them, making them glitter in the sun. The columns didn't lead to open air, however — far above them was a domed ceiling, which was decorated with moving constellations despite the bright daylight outside. Twelve thrones, built for beings the size of Hades, were arranged in an inverted U, just like the cabins at Camp Half-Blood. An enormous fire crackled in the central hearth pit. The thrones were empty — except for two.

        The head throne was on the right, and there was a throne to its immediate left. Josephine didn't need to guess who the two gods were. They were waiting for her and Percy to approach, sitting in their thrones stiffly. She glanced at Percy, but he kept his eyes carefully trained forward. With no other choice, she walked after Percy and toward the two gods, only hoping she didn't look as sick with nerves as she felt. When she visited Olympus with other campers, she never talked to Zeus or Poseidon — even if she had the chance to, she wouldn't have. She had never spoken to them, let alone with the Master Bolt shoved inside some inconspicuous-looking backpack.

        Like Hades, these gods were giant, but still human-looking; however, unlike Hades, Josephine couldn't look at them without feeling her skin start to tingle, as if her body was starting to burn. The God of the Dead terrified her down to her bones, but she could try and look at him without quivering in fear. (Key word: try.) Zeus, the Lord of the Gods, wore a dark blue, pinstriped suit. He sat on a simple throne carved out of solid platinum. He had a well-trimmed bear, marbled grey and black like a storm cloud. His face was proud and handsome, but still grim all at the same time, and his eyes were a rainy grey. As she and Percy made their way closer, the air crackled all around and smelled strongly of ozone.

        The god beside the Lord of the Gods was his brother — Poseidon. However, he was dressed very differently from Zeus. Truth be told, he reminded Josephine of a beachcomber from Key West. He wore leather sandals, khaki Bermuda shorts, and a Tommy Bahama shirt decorated with coconuts and parrots all over it. His skin was deeply tanned, his hands scarred like a well-worked fisherman's. His hair was jet-black, like Percy's. Now able to look back and forth from father to son, the resemblance was uncanny — the same brooding expression, same sea-green eyes, Percy even had the sun crinkles around his eyes, though his were far fewer and less pronounced than the God of the Seas.

        His throne was a deep-sea fisherman's chair. It was the simple, swiveling kind — a black, leather seat and a built-in holster for a fishing pole. Instead of a fishing pole, the holster held a bronze trident, and it was flickering with green light around it vaguely.

        Neither god was moving or speaking, but there was an unmistakable air of tension around them — they had just finished an argument before any guests arrived.

        Taking a deep breath to try and stop from retching, Josephine knelt at Zeus's throne. Her fingers were clenched tightly, her fingernails digging into the skin of her palms. "Lord Zeus," she spoke. (In her head, she thanked any gods listening for not letting her voice crack with fear. Despite the thanks not being for him, Onesimus proudly said, Well, thank you, Posie!)

        Percy slowly approached the fisherman's throne and knelt at Poseidon's feet. "Father."

        Josephine's heart lurched as her head turned to glance at him. One wrong move, one wrong word — Zeus wouldn't hesitate to blast them into smithereens.

        Above her, Zeus's voice rumbled like far-off thunder. "At least the girl has the sense to address the master of the house first …"

        "Peace, brother," Poseidon replied. His voice was just as deep as Zeus's; however, his was warmer and didn't make the hair on Josephine's arm rise. "The boy defers to his father. That is only right."

        The air crackled as Zeus's temper started to flare. "You still claim him then?" he snarled at his brother like a wolf. "You claim this child whom you sired against our sacred oath?"

        "I have admitted my wrongdoings," admitted the God of the Seas. "Now I would hear him speak."

        Josephine glanced at Percy again, her eyes pooling with sympathy. For two years, she had felt the nasty sting of feeling like Apollo's mistake. Despite that, she had never been called that outright — called a wrongdoing, by her own father. Beau might have said something of the like years before, but Apollo hadn't (at least, not directly to her face). She couldn't imagine how Percy felt, especially since he had started to put his father on some pedestal by now.

        Percy's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Yet, his eyes didn't waver from the bottom of Poseidon's throne. But that doesn't mean Josephine didn't see the obvious flash of hurt washing over his face.

        "I have spared him once already," grumbled Zeus. "Daring to fly through my domain — bah! I should have blasted him out of the sky for his impudence."

        "And risk destroying your own Master Bolt?" Poseidon countered. "Let us hear him out, brother."

        For a moment, Zeus grumbled some more. However, he decided, "I shall listen. Then I shall make up my mind whether or not to cast this boy down from Olympus."

        "Perseus," said Poseidon. "Look at me."

        From the corner of her vision, Josephine watched as Percy did just that. The father and son looked at each other for a moment, silent as mice, and she could only imagine what was rolling through Percy's mind.

        "Address Lord Zeus, boy," Poseidon commanded his son. "Tell him your story."

        With how Percy glanced at her as he turned to face Zeus better, Josephine knew what he was trying to tell her: Help me! She stood up, ignoring the weakness in her knees, carefully avoiding Zeus and Poseidon's eyes, and she stepped back. She helped (though she tried to say as little as possible) Percy tell the story — the quest, the monsters, Hades, the reveal, Ares, and the deal the God of War and Percy made before battling each other. When finished, Percy slung the backpack off his back, carefully taking out the metal cylinder, which had started sparking like a firework in the Sky God's presence, and laid it at Zeus's feet.

        For a long moment, there was only silence. And it was only broken b the crackling of the hearth fire behind them, warming Josephine's back.

        Instead of breaking the silence, Zeus only opened his palm — the lightning bolt flew into his grasp. As he closed his fist, his fingers firmly tightening around the Master Bolt, the metallic points flared with electricity, until he was holding what looked more like the classic thunderbolt — a fifteen-foot-long javelin of arcing, hissing energy that made the Josephine's hair stand on end.

        Zeus seemed to stare through them for a long time. "I sense the boy tells the truth," he finally decided with a murmur. "But that Ares would do such a thing … it is more unlike him."

        "He is proud and impulsive," Poseidon remarked, sounding far too eager to say it. "It runs in the family."

        Josephine swallowed nervously as Onesimus snickered at Poseidon's comment. "Lord?" she spoke up, glancing at them quickly.

        They both answered, "Yes?"

        "When we talked to Ares, it sounded like he wasn't working alone. He talked about dreams, too. I think someone — or some-thing — else came up with the idea. Percy," she grabbed his arm, perhaps to make sure he hadn't fled like she wanted to, "tell him about those dreams you had — about that voice. About it stopping Ares."

        Percy glanced at her quickly, appearing shocked that she would even bring up that dream. She stared back, not realizing out of everything they told Zeus and Poseidon, she wasn't supposed to mention the dreams of the voice speaking to Percy. However, he took a deep breath, his chest rising — before quickly deflating as he began his explanation. He described the feeling he had on the beach in Santa Monica, that momentary breath of evil that washed over all of them. That breath of evil seemed to halt the world and stop Ares from killing Percy for drawing some of his golden ichor.

        "In my dreams," he started, his brows pinching together as he recalled something that probably felt years ago, "the voice told me to bring the Bolt to the Underworld. Ares hinted that he'd been having dreams, too. Like what Posie," he quickly glanced at her, "Josephine said. I think he was just being used, like I was, to start a war."

        Zeus frowned. "You are accusing Hades, after all, boy?"

        Percy quickly shook his head. "No — I mean … Lord Zeus. I've been in the presence of Hades. This feeling on the beach was …" he shrugged lightly, "different. It was the same thing I felt when I got too close to that pit down there, in the Underworld." His expression turned even more troubled as he stopped for a moment, as if nursing an idea he tried to abandon. He looked up at his father and the Lord of the Gods. "That was the entrance to Tartarus, wasn't it? Something powerful and evil is stirring down there … Something even older than the gods, right?"

        Both Poseidon and Zeus shared a look — an unreadable look, but Josephine understood enough to know they were having a silent exchange. Until they started an intense, quick discussion in Ancient Greek. The two gods were speaking so quickly that, even with two years of studying the language under her belt, Josephine only caught one word: Father. Percy's father clearly made some kind of suggestion, where Zeus quickly shook his head and cut his brother off. The God of the Seas frowned and started to argue, but Zeus held up his hand angrily.

        "We will speak of this no more," the Lord of the Gods decided with a cutting tone. "I must go personally to purify this thunderbolt in the waters of Lemnos, to remove the human taint from its metal." He rose from this grand throne, his eyes moving to stare at Percy as he did. Josephine may have imagined it, but it seemed that Zeus's eyes softened just a fraction of a degree. "You have done me a service, boy. Few heroes could have accomplished as much."

        The son of Poseidon straightened like a piece of plywood had been taped to his back. "I had help, sir," he began, talking rapidly. "Josephine Pascual, Grover Underwood, Annabeth Chase —"

        "To show you my thanks," Zeus began, speaking over the demigod, "I shall spare your life. I do not trust you, Perseus Jackson. I do not like what your arrival means for the future of Olympus. But for the sake of peace in the family …" his eyes darted in Poseidon's direction for a brief moment, looking rather incensed, "I shall let you live."

        "Oh. Um …" Percy glanced at Josephine, who nodded to him quickly. "Well … thank you, sir."

        "Do not presume to fly again. Do not let me find you here when I return. Otherwise, you shall taste this bolt — and it shall be your last sensation."

        Thunder shook the palace, the rattling so resonant that Josephine felt it in her bones. Goosebumps raised along her arms and legs as the electricity in the room suddenly grew stronger — then there was a blinding flash of lightning, and the God of the Sky was gone. She and Percy were left in the throne room, along with Poseidon, who still sat on his fisherman's throne. Zeus's threat repeated over in her head, and she had a sinking feeling his words were just meant for Percy — at the very least, if she was with Percy in the throne room when the god came back, she would also be dead.

        Besides, it was obvious — there was tension between father and son. She briefly squeezed Percy by the upper arm and murmured, "I'm gonna go." She glanced at Percy's father. "Y'know, let you two talk."

✿

She had fled the throne room like Zeus had personally set her pants on fire. Truth be told, with how foul of a mood he seemed to be in, she didn't put it past the god to set her pants truly on fire for lingering too long in the throne room. She bounced down the marble steps that had led up to the extravagant palace quickly, all the way until she reached the very last step. There was a pause as she stopped on the step, unsure now of what to do. She had fled the throne room to escape the tension between Percy and Poseidon, but another part of her had also hoped to maybe find Apollo as she escaped —

        But he didn't see anyone who looked like the human embodiment of the sun. And as she looked around the court she had walked through to make it to Zeus, she realized she really had no idea what Apollo looked like. Sure, she had heard things — blond, blue-eyed, tan, always smiling. But like any god, he could change his appearance at will — what if she found him, he wasn't blond? Would he look more like her? Brown hair and dark brown eyes? But that didn't make sense, either. She didn't seem much of herself in Apollo, so why would he look like her? (Well, the correct phrase would be: Why would she look like him?)

        She tried not to dwell on it, retracing her steps, feeling the eyes of nature spirits and minor gods following her. She glanced twice at every god she passed by, looking for anything that reminded her of anyone from Cabin Seven or even herself — Lee's smile, Michael's furrowed brows, Austin's infectious laughter, or even her own habit of chewing her bottom lip. Yet, she found nothing.

        She found herself following the sound of distant music around her. She didn't really know why beyond the fact that Apollo was the God of Music. He either always found music or he always was creating music. She didn't find him with the Muses (and Melpomene didn't look up from her silver lyre, to the relief of Josephine). She didn't find him in what felt like the thousands of gardens she passed by. She didn't find her father with the hawkers hounding her to buy ambrosia-on-a-stick —

        Apollo found her being hounded by the hawkers, failing to make her escape from the ambrosia-on-a-stick and genuine replicas of the Golden Fleece. His hair was golden in color, fanning around his long face in perfect waves. His skin was blemish-free and perfectly tan for any god of the sun. He had on a pair of light-wash jeans with a white T-shirt with a yellow flannel on top. Josephine wasn't sure how she knew, she just did. Apollo's hair was far longer than Lee's ever had been, reaching to about his shoulders, but the color and wave were the same. He and Michael even had the same long face, a square jaw, and thick eyebrows — not to mention all three had the same practically blinding blue eyes.

        He dug a drachma out of the front pocket of his jeans, holding it between his fingers. "Here," he said as he tossed the hawker the coin, the golden metal glinting in the sunlight beaming down on them. "Two ambrosia-on-a-stick."

        The hawker, balding near his front hairline and crinkling around his coal-black eyes, stared at the god. "… I need two drachmas —"

        Apollo stared at the hawker. "Two ambrosia-on-a-stick," he repeated, his voice not so warm this time.

        The hawker didn't argue, and none of the others tried to stop them as Apollo led Josephine away. She nibbled on her ambrosia-on-a-stick, trying to savor the sweet taste of Mrs. Hall's famous chocolate cake. She only ever made it for special occasions — birthdays, celebrations of any kind, the times Josephine got awards or concerts for her piano skills. (The word "concerts" is used lightly, as they were just school-planned to try and give the parents something to prove that their kids were learning and thriving.) Her fingers twitched anxiously as Apollo breezily finished his own ambrosia. She didn't know what to say to him. For two painstakingly long years, all she wanted was to meet and talk with Apollo, her father. And now, she finally had her chance — but now, all words were escaping her. All the questions, demands, and cries she had been ready to level at his head like she was some prodigy at bows were gone. It was all gone.

        What's worse was the fact that the two, the father and daughter, were just sitting on some small, empty Olympus street. She looked down at the cobbled street, worn from thousands and thousands of years of feet walking over it. It was the only thing that looked … average on Mount Olympus. The marble bench she sat on made her back ache, and she realized just how much time had passed since she had slept in her own bed — far too long. Far too long since she's sat in Cabin Seven, listening as Michael and Austin begin to bicker over something and as Lee starts to try and bring them down from a spat. (He never succeeded.) She missed her normal, even if she felt out of place in Camp Half-Blood's normal.

        On the opposite end of the small bench sat Apollo. They were technically father and daughter, but they couldn't have looked more apart. She was sure he felt it, too, as he kept tapping his crossed feet in a slow tempo. To the naked eye, however, he looked casual as he had his legs extended outward, his ankles crossed over another, and his arms intertwined over his chest.

        "I know you talked to Chiron about me. About the dreams and the foresight."

        It wasn't what Josephine wanted to break the ice with, but it was the first words that tumbled out of her mouth. It was the first coherent sentence she could muster up.

        The god sighed deeply, his head tilting to his right slightly. She didn't know if that meant he expected her to say this, in his God of Foresight manner, or if he thought he had predicted her better and believed she wouldn't bring it up. "It's a … challenging power to have," he admitted. "And I wish it hadn't been you — or any of your siblings. When a child of mine is born with that gift — the gift of foresight — that's always a sign …" He paused, frowning at the worn cobblestone.

        Josephine was starting to wish she had never said anything at all. The uncomfortable silence was better than whatever this was. "Sign for what?"

        Apollo kept his eyes firmly trained on the mansion opposite of them. "That we need to become ready for something." He straightened his posture, his hands resting on his knees as he looked at her. "And that gift — your gift — is supposed to be vital in that preparing."

        She stared at the god, her back hunched as she rested her elbows on her knees. Her half-eaten ambrosia-on-a-stick dangled from her fingers out before her. "It doesn't feel helpful. It doesn't feel like a gift. I get these terrifying dreams of my childhood home and my dad and this — voice telling me that I'm going to fall." Her eyes burned as she thought about it, however, she refused to cry. "In time, that would say. And then this voice — a different one — started talking in my head. Keeps telling me things —"

        "A voice in your head?" repeated Apollo, looking troubled at the revelation.

        She stopped. But eventually, she slowly nodded to her godly father. She hadn't meant to say that, knowing well how saying she had a voice in her head that wasn't her own would sound, but once she started talking — it was hard to stop. It was like a water valve that couldn't be turned off once turned on.

        He watched her for a long, silent moment, the sun carving out the right side of his face. "Dreams and premonition are the gift of foresight, Josephine," he eventually began, "not a … voice. That —" His eyebrows furrowed together. "What's this voice telling you?"

        She briefly wondered if it was even worth saying anything else, or if she could lie her way out of this (despite knowing how bad of a liar she was, especially on the spot like this). "At — at first, the voice just kept beating me down. That I was a burden, unlucky, and all sorts of other horrible stuff. Then the voice — he told me to call him Onesimus — changed and said he would help me get … answers. He stopped being so mean." She glanced at her father, trying to read his expression. She couldn't at all. "I don't think he's connected to the man who's been telling me I was going to fall. I mean, I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I feel like he would've said something —"

        "Onesimus …?" Apollo muttered to himself.

        She stopped, looking at him closely. "Does that name mean something?"

        The god suddenly straightened again. "No. Just … be careful with that voice. And tell Chiron, too. He will help you when and where I can't."

        When have you ever? Onesimus muttered bitterly. Tell him that I'm not something to be worried about, Josephine!

        She ignored Onesimus, trying to shove him to the very furthest parts of her mind. "Why? Why tell Chiron?"

        Apollo looked even more troubled, like he couldn't believe he was saying this. "I'm not even entirely sure what Onesimus means myself. Or what he represents."

        Josephine forced herself to take a deep breath, doing everything she could to steel her nerves. What she wanted was answers — from Apollo and from Onesimus, who kept promising them to her. She spun the snake ring on her pinkie finger. "Onesimus kept promising me answers," she said passively, trying to keep her voice steady. "He kept making it seem like the Underworld would give me some. The only thing I got was this." She tugged the black marble ring carved to look like an ouroboros off her pinkie, showing it to Apollo in her palm.

        Apollo grimaced when he saw the snake's features. "I hate snakes …"

        She frowned at him, sliding the ring back on her finger. "Okay, sure. But what does the ring mean? That can't be the answers Onesimus meant."

        She tried not to scowl when he only shrugged. "I … don't know. The ouroboros is a symbol of life — ever-repeating, never-ending. The cycle of life, death, and rebirth. But I don't know what the ouroboros means for you."

        Josephine only sighed, closing her fingers into a fist as her nails dug into her palm. "Well, Onesimus promised me answers, but I only got that ring. I have so many questions, though — especially after we met Medusa and my hands —"

        Before she could finish, a voice called from up the empty street, "Posie?" From a corner, Percy paused for a brief moment — until he began jogging for her and Apollo. Seeing the boy, the god's attitude flipped a hundred and eighty degrees. He straightened, pulling his shoulders back as he patted his daughter on the back.

        "We'll continue this later, Little Posie," he promised, winking at her. "And make sure to tell Chiron!"

        As Percy jogged closer, Apollo disappeared in a column of sunlight. Josephine averted her eyes until the heat disappeared, looking upwards to find Percy slowing down. He looked from where Apollo had once been to where she still sat on the bench, her back hunched over her legs.

        "You fight him?" he asked in a joking tone and with a head tilt.

        "I didn't even yell at him." She stood up, sighing to herself. "So — how'd it go with Poseidon? Did you fight with him?"

        Percy shrugged lightly, shaking his head. He glanced back down the path he had just come from, as if checking to see if no one was walking behind them. "No. Um … Poseidon told me what he thinks of that voice from those dreams."

        She raised her eyebrows curiously. "Well? What'd he say?"

        "Kronos."

        Josephine stared, her heart sputtering to a stop. Vaguely, she could hear Onesimus muttering worries in her ears. "Kronos?" she repeated, leaning closer to Percy as if that would make her hearing any better.

        "That's the voice I heard in my dreams, Posie," he insisted. "My dad was telling me Kronos does this every so often. He'll enter people's nightmares and give them evil thoughts."

        She straightened, feeling a tightness in her chest — thousands of knots of worries undoing and knotting themselves over and over again. Was Kronos trying to give her evil thoughts? Was that who was talking to her through her dreams? She swallowed her nerves as best she could. "What can we do 'bout it?"

        Percy shrugged. "I don't think there's anything we can do about it."

        She frowned to herself. Had this been what Apollo was telling her about when it came to the gift of foresight? Was she supposed to help and stop Kronos? That didn't even seem possible — to stop him and his rise. He was in a pile of tiny Titan bits all the way down in Tartarus.

        "Look," Percy began, pulling her along as they tried to find the elevator back to the mortal world, "I don't want to tell anyone else. I'm not even sure if Poseidon was supposed to tell me, okay? I don't want to worry the others."

        Lies, secrets, and more secrets and lies. Hades had told her about lies — how she was someone who relied heavily on them. Josephine didn't want to keep more secrets, she didn't want to create more lies. But she understood Percy. She knew Annabeth and Grover, and that Annabeth would want to create her own plan to try and stop Kronos, and Grover would go along with it because that's the satyr he is. Besides, a small part of her brain thought, maybe your gift of foresight could help prevent Kronos from fully rising. It didn't seem likely, truthfully, but Josephine had learned to cling to whatever hope she could find.

        "You have any good news?" she asked, passing by the hawkers once again. This time, they did a double-take of their surroundings, as if checking to see if Apollo was here to swindle them again.

        Slowly, Percy's face broke out into a bright smile. "Hades sent my mom back. He kept to his end of the deal."

        She smiled back. "That's awesome, Percy! C'mon —" She tugged on his arm, retracing their steps back to the elevator. "We need to get you back to your mom!"

        She dropped his arm, turning around to look for the pathway forward. Percy kept pace behind her, saying, "Hey, why don't you correct us when we call you Posie now?"

        Josephine glanced back at him, surprised by the question. "I've … had a chance of heart, I s'pose. Besides, if I can call you Seaweed Brain, I guess you can call me Posie."

Chapter Text

chapter sixteen
❛ summer revelations ❜

━━━━━  JOSEPHINE, PERCY, ANNABETH, and Grover were the first heroes to return alive to Half-Blood Hill after a quest since Luke. Naturally, everyone treated the four questers as if they had won some reality TV contest instead of saving the world. It was odd, to be truthful, as she had become so used to blending into the background. Or if she wasn't blending into the background, she was hiding in Cabin Seven to avoid all the other campers. But now, here, after the quest, she couldn't avoid excited, chattering campers as they all asked what it was like; what leaving Camp Half-Blood, seeing the mortal world, and fighting a bunch of nasty monsters was like.

        She felt as if she had vertigo climbing down Half-Blood Hill into Camp — her vision swimming as she looked from camper's face to camper's face, trying to keep her feet steady beneath her as she walked, shoulders bumping with other campers'. Her eyes were darting back and forth, between so many different people's faces, that the features started to blur all together into one confusing assemblage of a half-blood's face.

        As the four questers pooled into Camp Half-Blood, surrounded by beaming, delighted campers, they received garbled information by tens of chattering voices — some Camp tradition that even Josephine didn't know about where campers who arrived from successful quests were given laurel wreaths to wear, have a big feast that was prepared in their honor, and then led a procession down to the bonfire where they got the chance to burn a burial shrouds their cabins had made for them while on the quest. She didn't say it aloud, but the burial shrouds made Josephine's stomach squeeze uncomfortably. It was so common for half-bloods to die on quests, their cabin mates prepared in advance to save themselves a bit of time when they received the news their cabin mate died at some monster's hands.

        Instead of saying anything, Josephine smiled as the four were given their individual chances to burn their shrouds. They all stood around the growing fire, watching as they each gathered the materials into their arms. Annabeth's shroud was beautiful in the firelight — a grey silk that was carefully embroidered with white owls. It was obvious to see her siblings had put a lot of care into making it for their Head Counselor, and it was no wonder, considering their mother, Athena, was also the Goddess of the Crafts. Many of her children took strongly to weaving, quilting, and embroidering. Josephine could tell Annabeth found it hard to burn — her fingers twitched at her sides, as if calculating the amount of stitches it took to complete the edges and assemble the owls.

        Josephine's shroud was a brilliant golden color, decorated with lyres, bows, and small posies (no doubt, Lee's idea and inclusion) in a deeper, dark yellow color. As they watched Annabeth's burn, she tried to figure out who made her burial shroud — the posies were certainly Lee's idea, but he had fingers for healing and arrows, not embroidery. Austin had the talent for music and Couplet Curses; Michael was the best in Cabin Seven when it came to arrows. Darcy and Preston, who were still visiting Camp, both had an affliction for poetry. Oftentimes, when still living at Camp, they would be seen by the Canoe Lake, bouncing ideas off one another. She knew it really didn't matter in the end — she had survived the quest. Some part of her knew that all of her siblings had taken time to create it, and that brought a bit of comfort to her. Maybe one or the other had made for time stitching the bows, lyres, and posies, but they all had thought of her; she knew Cabin Seven hadn't forgotten about her while she wasn't at Camp.

        She gathered the material into her arms, the silk dropping downwards, as if knowing what was going to happen. The idea of all her siblings working on this one thing made it hard to burn. Despite that feeling, she held her arms as high above the growing fire as she could and dropped the shroud. The yellow fabric instantly blended in with the fire, melting into an ugly clump as everyone watched.

        Percy stood beside her, his shroud bundled into his arms. "Shame to burn it," he told her. "It was really pretty."

        She glanced around the fire, looking to see how many of her siblings were close. They were on the other side of Annabeth, who was talking to Grover about his own shroud (a deep, earthy green embellished with reed pipes and nature). "Don't tell my siblings," she started, leaning closer to Percy to whisper, "but I hate the color yellow."

        He stared at her, the fire dancing along the left side of his face. He seemed to be fighting back a smile. "But —"

        "I know! It's all over Cabin Seven." She grinned, straightening back to her normal height. "It's just better not to say anything at all."

        Given that Percy didn't have any siblings, the Ares Cabin volunteered to make his shroud. It was exactly as Josephine expected when she heard who had made it — an old bed sheet that had been wallowed in some mud, painted with smiley faces with X'ed-out eyes around the border for a makeshift stitch, and the word LOSER painted in the middle with the same red that seemed to have been used for Cabin Five. Percy didn't say anything — no protesting, no insulting Cabin Five (much to their dying smugness), no compliments either. He simply took the shroud along with the others and marched down to the fire. Since he was the one given the prophecy and, technically, the leader of the quest, he was the last to burn the shroud. Even then, he didn't complain. Truthfully, he looked satisfied as he bundled the sheet up into a ball and tossed it into the fire.

        "Fun to burn?" Josephine simply asked.

        He slowly nodded. "Yeah. Fun to burn."

        Like on normal nights around the campfire, the Apollo Cabin led the sing-along. Josephine hid her voice underneath all the other people singing, helping pass around toasted marshmallows from her front-row seat. She was patted on the back by her siblings, all giving her hugs and prods for all the information about what happened on the quest to retrieve the Master Bolt. Instead of sitting alone, Percy was surrounded by his former Cabin Eleven cabinmates. Even Annabeth's siblings weren't glaring at him as they used to. They were too busy talking excitedly about all their sister and Head Counselor saw while out in the mortal world, and Annabeth was happy to oblige with the stories of the monsters the four fought. Grover and the other satyrs sat together, with the other satyrs admiring the brand-new searcher's license he had quickly received from the Council of Cloven Elders. The Council had called Grover's performance on the quest "Brave to the point of indigestion. Horns-and-whiskers above anything we have seen in the past."

        Truth be told, the only ones who didn't seem to be in a party mood were Cabin Five. They kept giving Percy poisonous looks across the growing fire, and something told Josephine that they would never forgive the son of Poseidon for disgracing their father. (But it wasn't like Clarisse and her siblings were the first, or even the worst, of Percy's enemies.)

        As grumpy and temperamental as always, even Dionysus's welcome-home speech couldn't dampen Josephine's good spirits. Known for his rather lackluster speeches, most campers turned a blind eye when he started, only acting as if they were listening. "Yes, yes, so the little brat didn't get himself killed and now he'll have an even bigger head." His purple eyes glared resentfully in Percy's direction. "Well … huzzah for that. In other announcements, there will be no canoe races this Saturday."

        Josephine was ecstatic to be back in Cabin Seven; happy to be in her own bed, staring up at the bunk above her as she fretted over whether or not she would have dreams. They, the dreams, weren't any better, but the comfort of her norm, the norm being Camp Half-Blood and its routine, lessened it just a bit. But only by a sliver. When she had left Camp, still trying to figure Percy Jackson out (however, some part of her felt like she was still trying) and wondering if she was going to survive it all, Onesimus didn't even have a name. He still sounded eerily like her, repeating all of her worries and self-doubts, furthering those destructive feelings — but things had changed. He still muttered at her like a devil on her shoulder, but they were observations, not just about her, but about things around her. Things had changed so much that Lee even had to point it out.

        Her brother leaned against the post of her bunk bed, grinning down at her. "So — this quest made you some kinda social butterfly?"

        She fought a roll of her eyes. It wasn't in bad nature, she just knew her brother was trying to tease her, get under her skin. It's what brothers did. "Social butterfly's pushing it," she replied. "I just …" she shrugged, "talk to a couple extra people. Nothing crazy."